#saturdays alright snippet

[taegularities]

regarding: colour me in — alright. almost 8 months later… they're coming back 🥹 that's how long it's been since a main chapter dropped? crazy. but cmi12 is (nearly) done and ready 🎨🤍

dropping next Friday, August 2nd, 8pm EST! might shift to Saturday in case i need more time to edit.

the chapter's name is cmi: palette; and palette will be around 32k long (sorry? you're welcome? idk lmao) :D you can of course take your time to read it, but i promise it'll be worth it <3

lots and lots of glimpses into our babies' and their friends' lives!! it's a beautiful chapter that then leads to deeper aspects of their relationship.

this chapter is already part of the new arc, which means we'll see a whole new side of all the characters. there'll be fluff, but there will also be angst, hardships and tears. partly heavier, partly lovelier than before. we'll go on a whole journey with them before this lil story comes to an end <3

also! i have decided on how many parts this series has left, but this could change anytime 🤧

maybe you saw already, but i've been struggling with colour me in. not because i don't love the story — it's my everything. but because the site has gotten quieter — so i'll need you all in for this one to get to the story's end eventually. i wish i could read thoughts, but i can't so pls lmk how you feel about this 🥺

i often get very nervous about my fics and i still am this time, as well, but i'm confident you'll like this part 💕 so give it all your love; a little support always goes super far. cmi is nothing without y'all and i live for your cheers. that said, see you soon 🤍

snippet under the cut! 🌺

–

🎨 let's talk about it | join the taglist 🎨

love you all <3

[twost3ps]

Adam: now lute remember the plan

Lute: Yup, but is it really necessary?

Adam: yes it is! Oh, here he come hold my beer

Adam walking then pretending to fall and twist his ankle

Adam: Oh no, my ankle, I probably need a big, strong person to carry me

Random angel: I am here

Jophiel pushes the angel out the way: Oh my god, adam, you alright!?

Adam: wait what-

Jophiel then picked up adam like he weighs nothing

Later

Lute: do you have any regrets sir?

Adam: Do you know if she is free on Saturday?

AH- IVE YET TO DRAW HER LMAO

At the end of the day though Adam still is a woman liker and thinks shes a bad bitch. Angel of beauty, come on

Here’s a snippet of her

I def see her being involved in the creation of man and being the one to draft out what the humans looked like. She spent so long drafting Adam. To her, he’s kinda like that oc you fell in love with come to life. All that artwork, blood sweat and tears. There are sketchbooks upon sketchbooks of him, drafts and other concepts of him until she landed it. She’s mad obsessed lol

[moopiter]

Rest Easy

It was supposed to be a nice night at home, curled up on the couch with the chilly fall wind blowing just outside the window. But instead of flying to your balcony and diving into your arms, Homelander slumps against your front door, powerless. Homelander X GN Reader 2.8K

Ao3

Little authors note: I'm having so much fun posting all my little snippets! I also finally have a use for the 1.4 TB of Homelander reaction images I have for no reason.

You casually pulled your phone out of your jacket pocket. 9:58pm. No new messages.

The chilly fall air ruffled your hair as you sunk farther into your coat.

He always let you know if he couldn’t make it, or if he’d be late. This... this wasn’t like him at all.

You sat out on the balcony waiting patiently, tapping the metal railing and humming songs to help yourself pass the time.

It’d been a little over six months since your little relationship with the strongest supe started.

Somehow, he’d picked you out of all the other nobodies at Vought. One little conversation between coworkers he’d eavesdropped on had been his own undoing. It was something along the lines of... “If we were together, I’d take care of him and give him forehead kisses" or something of the like.

It was so silly, it made you smile. You’d kept that promise.

But where was he? It was Saturday night, and he was supposed to be cuddled up on the couch with you watching scary movies. Cozy, warm, and safe.

Instead, you were freezing your ass off, worried to death.

Granted, you never really had to worry about him, but you still did.

There was the occasional bad day, when the world was too much for him, but he always came to you like a deranged moth to a flame. Those days when he couldn’t grit and bear it anymore, you’d remind him you were there and that he was never alone. Sometimes you got paranoid he’d have one of those episodes, the bad thoughts would win, and he’d cut you out of his life.

If you weren’t around, who’d take care of him?

From what he’d shared with you, nobody.

*Thump*

The sudden thud against your front door was loud enough for you to hear it from the balcony. Whatever it was made a horrific, slow metallic scarping noise as it slid down your door, and another thump as it hit the ground.

You walked through your apartment hesitantly. It almost sounded like a person.

A really heavy person, with—oh.

Oh no.

Homelander.

You practically ripped the front door open, caution thrown to the wind.

It was Homelander. Slumped over on the ground, barely propped up against the doorframe with his chest absolutely heaving. He looked up at you with uncharacteristic, pleading blue eyes. Thank God no one had been around to see or follow him up here.

Something was terribly wrong.

Once the initial moment of shock subsided, you hurriedly reached down to drag him in, hooking your arms underneath his.

It took a lot to pull him past the doorframe.

He was deadweight.

“Are you okay? What happened?” You practically wheezed, straining to hold him up and shut the door at the same time.

His brows were bunched together, and his face twisted in pain. He was pale, not to mention he felt like he was a thousand degrees. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

You hoisted him up just a little further with what little strength you had compared to him. Supporting him the best you could, he shakily found his footing again. “It’s alright. I’m gonna help you. Come on, you’ve just gotta make it to the couch.”

He whimpered as he stood, bearing almost all of his weight on you.

It was a battle getting him to the couch 10 feet away. You grimaced as you practically dragged him the last few steps. “Did you walk all the way here from the tower?”

He staggered, obviously unable to multitask between speaking and hobbling to the couch.

“I flew, but then I... I fell."

You laid him down on the couch about as gently as you could, finally getting a good first look at him.

His breathing was shallow and labored, his entire body shaking, and he was sweating.

Homelander never broke a sweat. Ever.

There was a helplessness in his eyes you’d never seen before. Dark circles underneath them like a deathly shadow. His entire expression was twisted in pain, as if each subtle movement was almost unbearable.

You pressed the back of your hand to his forehead gently, your face contorted in worry.

He leaned into your touch like it was a lifeline as your skin graced his brow.

The sun was probably colder.

He laughed between ragged breaths. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”  

But his lies didn’t soothe either of you.

You huffed as you sat down beside him, hands moving to the sides of his neck. “You’re not. We’re past that, okay?”

He closed his weary eyes, too weak to put up much of a fight.

“You’re sick. How did you get sick?” Your heart was pattering now, feeling his swollen lymph nodes under your fingers. You weren’t a supe expert, but supes didn’t get sick.

The couch creaked as he tossed his head back, letting out a pained whimper. “I don’t know... I...”

It hurt just watching him.

Your hands moved to his jaw again, holding his head to keep his eyes on you. “Did you eat something? Did someone-“

He tried to shake his head, gritting his teeth. “N-no. It was just a normal day. I started feeling dizzy a couple hours ago. I took off to fly here, and it hit me like a fucking train.”

“Okay. It’s okay. Shh.” You moved your hand to gently brush his damp hair back to keep him from getting too worked up. “It’s going to be okay. It doesn’t matter. I’m going to take care of you.”

You stood up to grab some supplies.

Homelander suddenly tried to sit up and grab your wrist, his fingers just barely ghosting over your skin. He was too weak to grab you, even if he wanted to.

“D-Don’t go.” He sniffled.

It made your heart throb.

You leaned back down, taking his hand in yours and grasping it gently as you rubbed your thumb across the back. A hand that was once unyielding and powerful was weak and fragile in your grasp. “I’ll be right back, it’s okay. Do you think medicine would help?”

“No medicine. Please.” He whined, laying the back of his hand across his forehead like a Victorian child dying of scarlet fever.

But for all you knew, maybe he was dying.

You gave his hand one last reassuring squeeze before leaving his side.

☆

You rung the washcloth out in the sink, the cold water dripping through your fingers and running down the drain.

Something terribly wrong, but you didn’t want to make him more nervous than he already was. You just couldn't shake the feeling no matter how heard you tried.

Grabbing what you could, you made your way back to the couch

Sitting back down at his side, you gently took his hand that covered his eyes. You eased it back down to his chest, replacing it with the cold washcloth. “Should we call someone back at Vought?”

“I don’t want them finding out about this. Do you have any idea what they’d do to me?” He grit his teeth as he clenched his clammy hands, chest heaving. “That’s why I came here... I just need a minute.”

You gently reach out to grasp his hand again to calm him down, and he whimpers as he presses the washcloth against his forehead with the other. “It’s okay. I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry.”

The glass of water you’d grabbed sloshes as you grab it from the table with your free hand. “Here. Drink. You need water.”

Gingerly, you hold it up to his lips.

He lets out a pathetic noise of protest, trying to take the glass from you and save what tiny bit of his dignity he has left, but that was gone the second he hit the floor in the hallway. His fingers wrap around yours holding the glass, tipping it ever so slightly as it meets his lips.

It’s like his neck won't even bend.

You look over him while he makes pained noises trying to scarf the stuff down, trying not to notice the glass fogging just from how hot his breath and skin is.

There’s a heat rash creeping up from underneath his collar.

You dip your fingers under the red and gold leather to pull it down and get a better look at the red splotches. They only seem to get worse under his suit. “Does this hurt?”

“Everything hurts… My whole body hurts.” He groaned, the words so unfamiliar.

Your hand gripped around his a little tighter out of instinct.

“I think you should rest; you’ll feel better when you wake up.”

He nodded weakly, pulling the washcloth over his eyes. “Will you stay with me?”

“Of course silly.” You answered in a heartbeat, moving to lay your body next to his. “I’m right here.”

Homelander let out a painful noise as he pushed himself onto his side to lay his head against your chest.

Laying your arms across his shoulders, you tangled your hands in his damp hair, pressing your lips to his forehead, trying your best to be reassuring.

“Rest easy, sweetheart.”

He was out almost instantly, his labored breathing the only noise in the room.

You held him tightly with one arm as you grabbed your phone from the side table behind you, never letting him go. Usually, he would’ve put up some fuss, but all he did was make a tiny, painful noise from having to shift the slightest.

Mindlessly scrolling wasn’t helping.

You set your phone down and held onto him tighter, listening to every raggedy breath.

Much to your horror, his body shook as he coughed.

You rubbed his back, unable to hide the concern on your face as you looked down at him hesitantly. “You alright?”

He groaned as he lifted his head, the slightest tinge of red on his lips.

Blood.

You shakily brought your hands to his jaw, scooting yourself backwards to get a better look at him.

His half-lidded eyes followed yours, obviously he was too out of it to taste the metallic tinge.

“I’m fine.” He slurred.

You gently rubbed his cheeks with your thumbs soothingly. “You can stop trying to tell yourself that. I’m here to take care of you, not hurt you. You’re not fine.”

He whimpered and huffed, drawing in a deep breath as he put the words together. “I’m not sure what death feels like, but I bet it feels better than this. My lungs burn.”

He tried to smirk and laugh sarcastically, but it gave way to another coughing fit.

Now it’s your turn to try and lie to yourself.

Your voice dips low, sweet and soothing as you press another kiss to his forehead. “You’re gonna be okay. You’re just sick. It’ll… pass.”

His expression twisted as he swallowed hard, bringing a weak hand to his lips.

He ran his thumb against the corner of his mouth, pulling it back and staring at the diluted red liquid filling the ridges of his fingerprint.

Your hands moved to gently guide his hand back down, his terrified, shaky eyes meeting yours.

“Are you sure you don’t want to call Vought?”

Homelander’s labored breathing picked up, fear gripping his heart. “N-no. They… I want to stay here with you. Please.” He whimpered as he laid back down, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck to try and stop his head from spinning. “I-I’m scared. They'll.... they'll want to do bad things, worse things.”

Painful memories flood your consciousness. He’s obviously not in his usual state of mind.

“It’s gonna be okay. Just rest. I’ll protect you.”

 His overheating body and sweat were anything but comfortable, but you held him tighter against you than you ever had, hoping and praying he wouldn’t die in your arms tonight.

The night passed in bits and pieces.

Every time he stirred, you woke up from your light slumber to hold him closer or rub soothing circles into his back. Hushing his pained whimpers. He’d had a couple fever dreams, mumbling and crying against you, but never opening his eyes.

You kissed the top of his head and held him tighter, wishing you could do more.

It was more and more reassuring every hour that passed, but all you could do was hold on and wait.

☆

His whining was what woke you up first, then the lack of heat and pressure on top of you.

Your eyes fluttered open to Homelander groaning as he tried to prop himself up above your body, his arms framing you. The longer hair on top of his head fell down in front of his face, his brows furrowed in pain as his chest heaved.

You gently moved your hands to his shoulders to support him as you scooted out from underneath him, blinking yourself awake.

“Hey, take it easy.”

You eased him to the side to shift some of his weight off you, and onto the couch instead.

Gently, you pressed the back of your hand to his forehead despite the tiniest bits of protest—warm but not hot. Moving both hands to just under his jaw, you moved his collar to the side; the rash was getting better.

He made little noises of defiance as you felt around his neck. His lymph nodes weren’t as swollen, but still tender. He let you move his neck around just a bit more, almost like a wounded bird.

You breathed a sigh of relief, reaching to brush back the strands of hair that had fallen across his forehead. “Are you feeling better, sweetheart?”

His eyes were still half-lidded and groggy as he looked into yours, but they followed you a lot better as you gently touched him. Less disoriented.

Red eyes flashed momentarily but fizzled out.

He blinked and knitted his brows together, huffing as his head fell forward. “Getting there.”

“Aw. It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re okay. You’re doing a lot better.” You smiled sweetly, stroking his cheek. “You had me worried.”

Last night wasn’t worrying, it was absolutely terrifying.

He leaned into your touch and sighed. “I don’t feel as bad. I don’t know what happened.”

“Well, all that matters is you’re not a sickly little potato sack coughing up blood anymore.” You laughed, pulling him into a hug. “I thought you were going to die on me.”

“I’m Homelander, I don’t just die- especially not from whatever the fuck that was.” You could feel him scowling against your shoulder, the littlest it of bite back in his voice.

You half pulled away from him, half pushed him back as your hands gripped his shoulders and held him in front of you like a puppy. “Aw! You’re doing so much better!”

Homelander winced from the sudden movement, clenching his jaw and screwing his eyes shut.

Okay, maybe not all the way better.

“I’m gonna get you more water. You stay here.” You gave his shoulders a little reassuring squeeze as you went to stand, but his needy hands followed you as he moved to get up too.

You giggled. “Are you coming with me?”

He mumbled as he put his arms around your shoulders and leaned his weight against you again.

You sighed with a smile, turning to let him lean against your back with his arms over your shoulders as you stood and walked to the kitchen. “Okay, okay.”

He made little needy, grumpy noises as he held on tighter, his feet just barely floating off the ground as you trudged forward. “When I figure out whoever the fuck is responsible for this-“

“Do you need soup too? Are you hungry?” You smiled, cutting him off.

Another thought suddenly dawned in his mind.

He could have even more of your attention if he was sick. Finally experience was it was like to be looked after and taken care of. He was blowing one of the best opportunities he’d ever been handed.

He shut his mouth and nodded fervently against your shoulder, putting more and more of his weight on you before giving in to a fake coughing fit.

"I just… Oh I feel awful again… I’m… oh no..”

You laughed, of course he would do that.

He’d have every bit of your undivided care and attention, at least until you were sure he was 100% better.

You weren’t sure what happened, but you were sure you wouldn’t stop taking care of him until he was content.

A sweet smile spread across your face as you carried him with newfound determination.

“Poor thing. I’ll make you soup.”

☆

Ty for reading! I like to think somewhere in the countryside Butcher is bashing his rotting head against the steering wheel of his Cadillac for the duration of this fic. Imagine going through all the effort to infect Homelander without him noticing and he just coughs up the tiniest bit of blood and basically gets mono.

Homelander was also originally supposed to just straight up die, but I couldn't bear to write it. I'm what they call diabolical (ba dum tss) but i hold back for all the real homie lovers.

[charrlote365]

One Step Deeper

Reference Idol: fromis_9 LEE CHAEYOUNG Word Count: 10.513

Tags: Pranks, feet, Kpop idol, fantasy, fromis_9, Lee Chaeyoung

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, the kind where the sunlight filters through the curtains just enough to cast a golden glow over the room. I had been lazying around in my living room, surrounded by my collection of Marvel action figures, each meticulously assembled and proudly displayed on the shelves. The doorbell rang, breaking the silence.

"Coming!" I called out, pushing myself off the couch and heading towards the door.

As soon as I peeked from the door hole before opening it, I could see there stood Chaeyoung in front of my door, her bright smile lighting up her face. She was wearing a casual outfit, and a straw hat. Yeah, summer has arrived, and she already look hot in her outfit. Ehem, hot, I mean literally hot since its 38C outside today. Yet, still managed to look effortlessly chic, as always. Fate works in a mysterious way, and somehow Chaeyoung and I had been 'close' for years, long before she became an idol. It feels like as if I'm her guardian angel. Despite her busy schedule, we still made time to hang out whenever possible.

"Hey there, stranger danger," she greeted, stepping inside. "I brought some snacks!"

"Hey! Stranger danger?? You're even more dangerous person here," I teased back, stepping aside to let her in. "Snacks, huh? Aww you really know the way to my heart."

We settled into the living room, munching on chips and catching up on life. It wasn’t long before Chaeyoung, ever the prankster, suggested we play a game to spice things up.

"You don't have games around to play? Boring. How about Truth or Dare?" she suggested with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Alright," I agreed, knowing full well that with Chaeyoung, this game could go anywhere.

We took turns, the questions and dares starting off innocently enough. She dared me to sing a snippet of one of her songs in the most dramatic way possible, and I dared her to do a silly dance routine. Laughter filled the room, each round bringing us closer to the inevitable escalation.

It was Chaeyoung’s turn to dare me again. She grinned wickedly, and I knew I was in for it.

"I dare you lay on the floor and my feet right on your dick," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief holding laugh.

I raised an eyebrow, a sense of foreboding creeping in. "What did you just say????"

"You don't dare?? Huh, pussy," she replied, her grin widening.

Reluctantly, I stood up, and laying on the floor. This situation is really bad for me, because although it's degrading, I found it to be sexy and exciting. I dont know what Chaeyoung is thinking, she maybe went crazy after walking under that hot weather outside.

Chaeyoung stood up, slipping off her casual shoes to reveal a pair of sleek, brown heels with some leather laces around it and I could see her toe nails painted black, making the whole feet set looking elegant yet deadly to my heart.

"Since I'm in good mood now, let me spare you this time, but if you lose the next round, I’m stepping on your dick," she declared, her tone both playful and serious.

My heart raced. This was a high-stakes game now. We started the next round, the tension palpable. The question was simple, but my nerves got the better of me, and I gave the answer.

Chaeyoung burst out laughing, seeing my defeat. "Looks like I win!"

I watched, half in horror, half in excitement, as she positioned her heel above my delicate junior. With a teasing glance in my direction, she applied pressure, the crunch of my pepe echoing in the room. My beloved junior is being crushed by her heels, and I couldn't help my self to let a moan out.

"Ahh.. Chaeng ahh.. No, Chaeng! Stop! Please, I'm begging you!" I yelled, as I reached out my hand and gripped her legs, feigning desperation.

She paused for a moment, her heel still on the top of my dick. "Oh? Are you really begging me?" she asked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Yes! Think of my future! Our future! Our kids!" I pleaded dramatically, my hands clasped her legs even harder.

Chaeyoung laughed, a bright, infectious sound. "You're so dramatic! I know you're enjoying it right," she said, pressing down even harder slowly.

"Chaeyoung, nooo!" I continued, my voice a mix of genuine concern and playful exaggeration. "You're a monster!"

I could feel her heels from my dick skin, the texture is hard, and the way she was stepping hard on it while rubbing them on my junior making me more excited, the pain was turning into tickles, which slowly grew into ecstasy. Without even realizing it, my body arched back as I push my crotch even harder on the surface of her heels and matching the rubbing rhyme of her foot on my crotch. I've reached my limit and my eyes started to roll back as my body twitched hard, I finally came. I had never come that hard in my whole life, that's the most satisfying thing ever. And you know what? She realized what just happened.

"Ohh..You actually look like you're enjoying this," she teased, stepping back and surveying the damage. My cum was over all the places. It squirted out from my short pants onto the floor and all over her feet temple.

I, who still trying to catch a breath, shaking my head. "Maybe I am. It's weirdly satisfying, but sorry, I messed up your heels and my cement is now all over your feet."

She raised an eyebrow, her grin widening. "Yeah? and whose fault is that? Now lick clean them up"

I nodded, still feeling the adrenaline rush. "Okayy!! Bring it on!", I then licked her starting from her thighs. She was holding herself from laughing from the tickles. Oh my good lawd she's indeed an idol. Her legs were shaved clean so they were so smooth and pale white. My tongue was surfing on her skin like I was licking a giant soap bar mixed with her skin pheromones.

"Ahh.. that tickles", she said with her breath getting faster. She must be feeling it too. I continued licking to her feet, there's mixed aroma of my cement, her sweat, her perfume and her feet odor. They all combined together as a cocktail of sensation that's beyond words, hitting my taste and smell buds and I could feel my dick getting bigger again.

"Hey, I saw that". She said while looking how big my dick got big again even after all that just happened. "Let me kill it again", she said with a grin on her face.

I swallowed hard, knowing what's going to happen (again). "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?", I teased her.

She nodded slowly few times while looking straight at me, her grin mischievous. "Absolutely. Ready?". I quickly laid down on the floor again with my pepe standing up hard rock. Her face clearly showed she really enjoying to tease me… with her feet. She placed her feet around my dick with a deliberate, almost with love care, as if mocking the very fragility of it. My dick, wrapped in her delicate feet, I could feel her skin wrapping them, it kind of feel cold, despite the heat of our situation right now. My cement from before added the sticky feeling to it and acted as grease to smooth out the friction between our skin. Chaeyoung’s grin widened, and I could see the glint of mischief in her eyes.

Slowly, she started grinding my dick with both of her feet, clamping them up around as if she wanted to strangle down my dick. The sharp feeling suddenly raised within it, my delicate dick. I couldn't help myself from moaning again. "Begging won't help you now," she teased, her voice a sing-song taunt that sent shivers down my spine knowing how crazy she could be. She held the position, allowing my tense to build.

From my point of view from the floor, I could see every muscle in her leg and the blue veins bulging from her feet, and the way her feet strangling my dick slowly seemed almost like suspended in time. The heel hovered graciously, casting a small shadow to the side of us, away from the sunray shining through the window. My heart pounded in my chest as I watched, caught in a mix of excitement and fear of my dick getting crushed by her big feet as she's is grinding them even harder and faster. I couldn't hold it anymore, I wanted to let her know how good it felt.

"Chaeyoung, pleaseee, It feels so good now so please don't stop. I'm going to come againn very soonn" I pleaded, my voice cracking with a blend of genuine concern and playful desperation. I knew she wouldn’t stop anyways, but part of the thrill was in the act of begging, in the slim, tantalizing hope that she could feel the excitement together with me.

She glanced down at me, her eyes twinkling with delight. "You're really going to make me do this, huh?" she asked, her tone both teasing and triumphant. Her foot descended deeper slowly, then.. out of nowhere, as if it's a jump scare from a cheap horror movie, she gripped my dick with her feet much harder and even put her weight on them, as I didn't expected that to happen, I shouted so loud I feared the whole neighborhood could hear my scream.

"Chaeyoung ahhhhhh!" I cried out loud, as I finally came the second time, a strange exhilaration coursed through me like a lighting. I couldn't tell apart between the pain and the feeling of ecstasy anymore as they both were overwhelming me at the same time.

I was twitching like a broken doll on the floor. "You're a monster!" I yelled, half-laughing, half-serious. She found it exhilarating that I was in a such pathetic situation.

"And I know you're loving every second of this," she replied, stepping back to enjoy my pathetic face. She wiggled her toes, as if to spread out my cement which now covered her feet even thicker. She then suddenly sat down on the floor and bowed down towards me and started cleaning my dick with her mouth. I could feel the deep warmth from inside of her mouth since her feet was kind of cold earlier. She licked and sucked the leftover cements from my dick tip like its the last sip from the boba drink. I Couldn't help myself not to put my hands on her head and push her head down to my crotch to keep her doing whatever she's doing right now.

When she finished, she looked up to me with her puppy eyes and gulped everything she just licked from my dick and asked, "Happy now?".

I looked at her, then changed my view to all the mess we made. "Maybe?," I teasingly answered, a grin spreading across my face.

Chaeyoung’s eyes sparkled with satisfaction as she took her place back on the couch. "I knew it. Ready for more?"

I was frozen. I thought this already ended but now she asked to do even more. I nodded slowly, still feeling the tickle-ness on my dick. "B-Bring it on, Chaeyoung. But please, be gentle this time with me!"

She laughed hard, nodding. "Aight, Deal. But now, it's your turn to show me what the feet of yours can do to me." -End note: -I'm not into feet so I dunno if this considered good for feet lovers. Can comment if you're one of them lol. -Picked Chaeyoung again this time as reference since somehow I feel most comfortable with her in my head and heart with different kind of plots. -My next work will be about Hayoung! A sweet one almost like fluff like.. hopefully.

[beabnormal24]

I just saw that you’re writing Carcar fic, a snippet pls 🙏

I love your stories so much so I’m really excited ❤️

This is the first thing that I read when I wake up, thank you so much anon because this means a lot to me, so I'll do it.

(I edited this post, 'cause I had a bit of trouble publishing it)

Soo, a not-so-little snippet for you!

“Mate, I honestly think you’re just exaggerating. It doesn’t sound like that big of a deal to me, really.” Logan stretches his legs out, knocking his feet right against Oscar’s knee. 

Oscar grumbles in lieu of an answer, lowering his head until he can hide his gaze in the bottom of his pint. 

“Don’t know why you hate the guy so much; he seems alright to me.” 

The thing is, Oscar Piastri does not hate Carlos Sainz.

Hate is too strong of a word for an individual with whom Oscar tends to have zero to no interaction whatsoever, except for forced polite greetings in the elevator and those rare times when Carlos decides that going out with Lando is worth his time. 

Oscar sincerely thinks that only pretentious people claim to be as busy as Carlos does, so much so that he never seems able to find an evening to spend an ounce of time with his best friend. 

So, no, Oscar does not hate him. He just can’t stand him, which is a big difference and Logan should note that. 

Is the prospect of working alongside him on his most important project of his entire career going to deepen that grudge? Probably, surely. 

But Oscar is, in fact, a professional, no matter what Carlos thinks of him, and he knows how to work with people he would rather keep a safe distance from. Nail guy and Germophobic guy should be more than enough proof. 

“You don’t know him.” Oscar protests, sighing in frustration. Lando raises an unimpressed eyebrow next to him, tapping his chin. “Alright, sorry Lando. You do not know him in a working context.” 

“I mean, how different can that be?” Logan says doubtfully. “Lando said you don’t even work in the same department.” 

“Lando is just biased because Carlos got to him before us.” 

Lando snorts, shaking his head with an amused smile. “Wow, thanks Oscar, you make it sound like I can make my own decisions.” 

Oscar shrugs. “You’re welcome.” 

“Has he started complaining about being paired up with Carlos, yet?” Yuki asks just as he settles down two other pints on their booth’s table. 

Alex trails behind him, carefully balancing two portions of fries on each arm before sliding in the empty seat next to Logan. 

“Mate, you have no idea.” Logan groans, placing a sloppy kiss on Alex’s cheek as he steals a fry from his portion. 

Alex rolls his eyes, but still lets him with a fond smile. Oscar sincerely thinks he could puke. 

“I really don’t understand why you despise him so much. He seems alright to me.” Alex says, failing at hiding the curiosity behind his voice. 

“Babe! I said the same exact thing!” 

“And he’s a great golf player, honestly.” 

Oscar sighs, knowing that he’s left with his shoulders against the wall. 

It’s not like his friends would understand, anyway, since they do not have to walk in his shoes. 

Logan and Alex do not count, because they like everyone, and Yuki is one of the most unfazed people Oscar has ever met, Lando is just obsessed with Carlos for reasons Oscar will probably never fully comprehend. 

He’s left alone, on this matter, even when they all go out together and Charles and Carlos tag along, Carlos is the only one who seems to not have any joke or a single word to address to Oscar. 

Lando says that he’s probably the one actually ignoring him. Oscar thinks that Carlos is just plain out rude to him, and only him. 

But that’s a bit childish, so he’ll keep that thought to himself. 

Everyone starts focusing on their own food, and Oscar stupidly hopes that the topic must’ve finally been brought out of his last Saturday night as a free man before three months of utter nightmare. 

And then Yuki quips in and reduces his hopes to shreds. “On his first day, Carlos told Andrea that he thought Oscar was too young for that position, and that he would be inexperienced. Oscar heard him, and he’s totally convinced that Carlos knows that he heard him but he still never apologised and Oscar took that personally because he’s peevish.” 

“I am not peevish!” Oscar groans bumping his forehead against the table. 

“Yeah, Oscar, you are a bit peevish. Just a tiny bit, though.” He feels Lando’s hand coming up to pat him on the back, sympathetic. “Come on mate, I’m pretty sure he didn’t mean it like that.” 

“Yeah, I mean, we say similar stuff about each other all the time at my workplace.” Alex offers, in an awful attempt at cheering him up. 

It doesn’t do any magic at all, because Alex works as a teacher and Oscar has gone to school for enough years to know that teachers are only capable of hating each other for stretching out their hours longer than they should and preferring different students. 

Well, unless they’re shagging like Alex and Logan, but they work in two different schools so that should not apply. 

“It’s not just that.” Oscar tries to defend himself. Because holding a grudge for something that happened three years ago does sound a bit childish, and he’s not. 

The rest of the table looks at him inquisitively, impatiently waiting for an answer, just the sound of the background music filling the silence that Oscar would so much prefer over having to talk about Carlos, of all people. 

The worst topic they could choose for a Saturday night out at the pub, really. 

“He’s just-“ he makes a vague gesture, hoping that they might understand it easily. Of course, everyone just blinks at him. “I mean, who goes around with only shirts that have his initials stitched on it? Who goes around acting like they know everything and they’re the best at it? And he says that Lando is his best mate, but I don’t see him hanging out with him that often, no? That’s just top dickhead behaviour, if you ask me.” 

“Aw, Osc!” Lando exclaims, and in a matter of second, Oscar finds himself with his head caged under Lando’s elbow, the Brit’s hand mussing his hair. “You’re so cute, defending my honour.” 

“You never did that for me.” Logan protests, and then more quietly to Alex. “Babe, he never did that for me.” 

Alex smiles, patting his back lightly. “Do not worry, Lo, I’ll do it for you.” 

“I’m not defending anybody’s honour.” Oscar splutters out, his cheeks growing hot, heart thumping in his chest, wild – a dangerous zone. He slaps Lando’s hands away from his hair, trying to ruffle them to some kind of order, but it’s no use, they’ll never make sense. 

Carlos’ hair is always perfectly styled and composed. What a dickhead, indeed. 

“I’m just stating the obvious.” 

“Still, I can guarantee you that you do not need to worry about that.” Lando assures him, trying to reach back for his head, but Oscar is quicker this time, leaving him to poke Yuki’s cheek with a finger, instead. “He’s got other things to do on Saturday, usually.” 

Oscar takes a sip of his beer to cover his snort. 

He doesn’t trust Lando’s words, he’s probably just too biased by having been Carlos’ friend for such a long time. 

Someone who’s not even married and who earns as much as Carlos does surely should not have that many things to do instead of hanging out with his friends. 

But anyway, it’s none of his business. Rather, he should be glad he can at least escape him on Saturday. 

“Sure.” 

— 

On Monday morning, Oscar clocks into work on time, his jacket is completely dry, his hair kind of makes sense and there’s a spring in his step, and he just feels good overall. 

He has spent most of his Sunday sitting on the couch binge watching the entire final season of Brooklyn 99 and he’s convinced himself that whatever mind games Carlos might want to play with him, Oscar is stronger and smarter, and he won’t let himself get squashed. 

Logan kind of fuelled his confidence, as well, with his usual monologues about the importance of believing in himself and remembering all the sweat and tears he put in to reach the place he’s in now, though Oscar is pretty sure he only comes up with them to exercise for his drama kids. 

But the point is that he knows that it’s his job, that it’s his career, and even if he would probably get the promotion either way, he still wants to earn it. If not for Andrea, then for himself. 

The fact that it’s his biggest project ever, just motivates him more. 

He plops down on his office chair with a smile that must be breaking his face if the way Yuki glances at him curiously from the other side is anything to go by. But he just shrugs it off, playing dumb. 

He’s just in a good mood, is that illegal? 

“It is if you’re called Oscar Piastri.” Yuki tells him, no hair on his tongue. “You always look like-“ he makes a serious face, his lips closed into straight line, one eyebrow raised, sceptical. Oscar does not look like that, he thinks (he hopes). “Like those statues from Christmas Island.” 

“I do not look like that at all.” Oscar glares at him, turning his computer on. “And it’s Easter Island.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” 

He spends the morning going through Andrea’s instructions over and over again until he can exactly tell the position of every single letter, and then he spends the rest of it making a first draft for a spreadsheet with all the products they will probably need to change a million times. 

Carlos does not write him, nor does he come around to ask for him, either, but Oscar doesn’t question it that much. God knows he has his own side-projects, although minor, to care about but he guesses that spending some time to start brainstorming over this new one it’s not entirely a bad idea. 

He’ll just email the file Excel to Carlos once it’s done, and then maybe they’ll shortly discuss about it, Oscar will even accept some suggestions because, against all odds, he is ready to work as a team. Besides, his creativity is pretty close to a zero percentage, but he has heard that Carlos knows how to do a mean presentation, and that’s how teams work, right? 

Combine your best skills and all that stuff about sharing each other’s strengths. Oscar wouldn’t know about that, really, since he’s always preferred the solitary work, but he doesn’t have that much of a choice right now. 

Yuki asks for poke at lunch, and Oscar is a man of his word, so as soon as the clock strikes half past twelve, they’re already out the door chattering about the latest apex legends’ update. 

The guy behind the cash register smiles at him sweetly when he pays, and Oscar swears he winks at him as he slides the receipt over the counter, and sure enough when he looks at it there is a phone number scribbled on the paper. 

Oscar isn’t exactly interested in dating as of now, but the guy was cute, and it did boost his ego a bit, and it might not be a bad idea to go out with someone that is not his roommate, his roommate’s boyfriend, his coworker and a weird friend from university. Maybe he could even get laid, which doesn’t seem like a bad prospect at all. 

It’s just the combination of all these tiny little things that makes him feel better, more confident, almost ready to let himself believe that he could change his mind about Carlos, like Lando has been trying to make him for years, now. 

Maybe he could actually reconsider him, even if just by stopping viewing him as a pretentious dickhead. 

But Carlos just makes it incredibly difficult, it seems. 

Oscar has just started settling back behind his desk when his attention gets caught by the new email in his inbox, that definitely was not there before. 

To: oscar.piastri@g...  From: carlos.sainz.vasq...  Sub: team project 

Hi Piastri,  attached you will find your part of the project.  Please, do not contact me on my lunch breaks, Friday nights and weekends. I will not respond.  I sincerely hope you do not need any clarification, but if you do, you can write to the email above.  Good work. 

[See more] 

“You have to be fucking kidding me.” He almost slams his laptop shut, feeling the rage bubbling up inside of him. Logan likes to say that he’s an emotionless human being, Yuki just compared him to a freaking statue, and yet Carlos Sainz is enough to make him doubt himself and his capability to have a decent control of his own emotions. 

He inhales deeply, nostrils flaring as he tries to calm himself down. Breath in, and breath out, it’s just the first day of three months. 

Which means that it can go even worse, fuck. 

“What is it?” Yuki asks, curiously peering over his screen to take a glance. 

Oscar had almost completely forgotten about his presence, and he just groans and turns the laptop around, not finding it in himself to explain without cursing one Spanish lineage or two. 

“Mh, okay, yes.” Yuki mumbles, nodding understandingly with his chin propped up on his palm. 

Oscar can see his eyes moving from one side to the other of the list, a list, of things that Oscar should do, that Carlos decided Oscar should do, just to prove himself once more as the biggest prick Oscar might’ve ever met in his life. 

“Well, I don’t see the problem here.” 

“You don’t- what?” Oscar splutters out, blinking once, twice. Yuki’s expression doesn’t change, it stays confused, amused even. “Isn’t it obvious? He gave me a list, Yuki, a list.” 

“Yes and?” Yuki asks, unsure. “I mean, I would kill to have a teammate who tells me what I have to do. Splitting parts is the worst step for a team project, in my opinion. You should be glad.” 

“I should be glad?” Oscar says, he almost feels crazy about it. “Yuki, can’t you see it? He’s doing it in purpose! He probably just decided what parts he didn’t want and gave them to me so I can, like, do his dirty laundry. I am almost 100% sure he’s going to take all the credit after and he just- ugh!” 

Yuki looks at him, unimpressed, standing in front of Oscar’s desk like he’s seconds away from giving him a slap on his head. When they’re like this and the height difference is completely reversed, Oscar remembers that Yuki can be incredibly frightening, too. 

“Oscar, listen to me.” Yuki says, gentle. Well, not really gentle, because Oscar is pretty sure that Yuki lacks that definition, but something akin to gentleness, surely. “I think you’re a bit stressed out right now, I get it, it’s an important project-“ 

“My most important project.” Oscar interrupts him. He feels compelled to remind that detail, which he doesn’t find small at all. 

It will dictate the rest of his career, his future, his curriculum, his self esteem. He might be exaggerating, but he’s used to take things seriously only when he manages to convince himself that they are, in fact, serious. 

But now that he thinks about it, he may just need a change of perspective:  maybe having to work alongside Carlos is just a challenge for himself, one last obstacle to overtake before he can finally make all his years of studying and working his back off worth it. 

He just needs to impose himself and he needs to show himself and to Carlos that he knows what he’s doing, and that it can easily be a 50/50 kind of work. 

Perfectly balanced, yeah. 

“- and I mean, anyway, if you’re not happy with whatever he decides, you can just go and talk to the guy.” 

“You know what, Yuki?” Oscar says, standing up as he shuts his laptop close, feeling thrilled about the prospect of taking reins between his hands, for once. It must feel amazing, to finally have control over something, and it only makes him want that promotion more. “I think I’m going to give him a little speech about respect.” 

“That’s not what I meant, but you do you.” Yuki shrugs before finally going back to his desk, sitting hunched over his screen and probably causing himself twenty different problems to his back. 

It’s a spur of the moment, Oscar is not used to get them often, he prefers to be more levelheaded, in a way, more rational, logical. 

But Carlos has always managed to get under his skin in a way that he never was able to point out, like he could just crawl inside and gnaw at it and smirk that too full grin of his that some would define as charming, Oscar just finds unappealing. 

If he were to admit it, he would probably find the reasons of their mutual grudge behind deeply buried thoughts that Oscar has long since tried to forget about. 

Like that time he had been scratching his own wrist with his nails, too long, too uneven, waiting for Lando to give him an ounce of his attention, just for Carlos to get it all with a bat of his eyelashes and a show of his straight teeth. 

And Oscar has thought that, well, he did not know how to style his hair and he had always had bunny teeth and he did not post shirtless selfies on his socials, and he did not like to hop from one club to another to spend the time on a Saturday night, so hoping that Lando could turn around and look at him and say ‘Oscar’ all British accented and tongue in the little gap was just- ridiculous. 

Rationally, that should not be considered as Carlos’ fault, but Oscar just knows that he knows. He swears he had seen him, winking at Oscar jokingly before taking Lando away by the hand, tilting his head to the side, curious, wicked, and then acting like Oscar wasn’t there, not even trying go engage him into conversations. 

At work, it’s quieter, at least. 

The only reason why Oscar still hasn’t spilled a hot coffee all over the front of his shirt is because Carlos kind of is his superior, after all, and people would surely almost immediately suspect of him if they were to find a distressed Carlos Sainz in sight. 

But they still work in different sections, and they never have to cross paths unless they happen to be in the same elevator at the same time, or by the same coffee machine at the same time. They never make small talks, sometimes Carlos just glances at him and nods his head and makes a half assed comment about his commitments for the week like he’s someone too important to be around Oscar. 

And Oscar wants to strangle him or scoff at him and give him a piece of his mind, but he does not, because he’s rational and levelheaded. 

On top of that, the inexperienced comment and the lack of apology thereof does still sting, though he’ll never admit it. 

The upper floor is a little bit nicer than the one his and Yuki’s office is, with longer corridors and opaque glass doors and plants that are actually alive. 

Well, he and Yuki had tried to keep one between their desks, but the attempt had failed after they had realised they had forgotten watering it for four weeks straight. But at least they had tried. 

Oscar doesn’t really think about what he’s going to say when he pushes the door open, nor does he when he strides into the office, basically uninvited. 

And then when he finally thinks about it, it’s just to remain utterly speechless at the sight of Charles half slumped down on the little couch in the corner, scrolling away on his phone. 

“Hi Oscar.” Charles says, enthusiastic as all the other times he and Oscar have interacted in the past. Oscar likes him, even though he can’t help but feel slightly intimidated by his attractiveness, but Charles has always been nice to him and when he goes out with them at the pub, he’s always asking Oscar about his day and appearing actually interested about it. 

Which doesn’t explain why he would be friends with such a douchebag like Carlos, but it’s not like it’s any of his business. 

“Hi Charles.” Oscar replies, unsurely taking a step forward. It doesn’t change the aspect of the situation, of course, what is supposed to be Carlos’ office chair is still as empty as the first time he laid eyes on it. “Am I in the wrong place?” 

“Were you looking for Carlos?” Charles asks with a strange lilt to his voice, one that is not just from his accent, Oscar can tell. 

“Uh, yes?” 

“Then yes you are in the right place.” Charles concludes. “But at the wrong time, he’s out for his lunch break.” 

Oscar checks his watch, then he checks it another time just to be sure. “But lunch break ended fift- twenty minutes ago.” 

“Yeah, but he has to do other things, so he asked for a later lunch break.” 

A later lunch break. 

What kind of immense prick asks for a different lunch break than all the other employees? Who does Carlos think he is? 

Oscar sincerely thinks he has never met someone as full of himself as Carlos in his life, not even that one guy at his high school that went around claiming to be able to get every single girl in his bed. 

Which Oscar knew for sure was a big load of bullshit because he had watched Lauren Smith reject him at their final year’s party, and Oscar had given him a drunken blowjob in a bathroom on the same night. 

And still, Carlos managed to top that off. 

“Alright.” Oscar says calmly. “Then I guess I can come back later.” He finishes, already turning around to get out of this office as soon as possible and go back to lament on Yuki. 

But Charles doesn’t seem to be of the same opinion, clearing his throat to get his attention back on him. “Uh, we will be in a meeting later.” He says sheepishly, and then adding, “I’m sorry I didn’t know you needed him so soon.” 

It’s not Charles’ fault that Carlos is a douchebag, really, and Oscar is not that immature to act like one. “Do not worry, I will come back tomorrow, then.” One deep breath, in and out. “Thanks Charles, I’ll see you around.” 

“Bye Oscar!” Charles waves at him, back to his enthusiastic self. 

Oscar can’t share even an ounce of that same giddiness, right now, so he just closes the door behind himself and curses the name tag on it, flipping the golden plate off. 

And then once again before getting inside the elevatore. 

It’s cathartic enough. 

__ 

To: carlos.sainz.vasq...  From: oscar.piastri@g...  Re: team project  Sub: adjustments 

Hi Sainz,  I was not able to find you and I would like to discuss the attachment of your last email.  As it is a team project, I think that we should work, in fact, as team, unless you might’ve missed Andrea’s directives, though I am pretty sure you were sitting next to me. I sincerely hope you do not need any clarification on that.  Good rest of the day. 

To: oscar.piastri@g...  From: carlos.sainz.vasq...  Re: adjustments  Sub: appointment 

Hi Piastri,  I guess I can concede you a talk face to face over the matter. You can meet me in my office tomorrow at half past ten.  Do not be late. 

To: carlos.sainz.vasq...  From: oscar.piastri@g...  Re: appointment 

I won’t. 

__ 

[hxlda-hxlda]

sunday morning snippet!! it's 12AM so it counts for sunday!!

“My mum would have a fit,” Sirius said sort out of nowhere. 

He was listening, he was. But then his mind had half-drifted off, thinking of conversations at dinner tables where he was forced to wear the dress robes with the too-tight collars and well, okay, maybe Sirius had lost track of all of the words a little while ago. 

Remus stopped reading aloud immediately, looking up. “What?” he asked, lacking his usual irritation when interrupted. 

Remus wore a rarely open expression. One that drove Sirius to continue, saying something he otherwise might not have. Maybe if the sun was in a different position or if it was a Wednesday instead of a Saturday, or maybe if it was James instead of Remus, or maybe if it was two o’clock in the afternoon instead of five o’clock. Maybe if any single thing had been different Sirius might not have continued the thought, which pressed at his ribs with a steady ache — a bruise begging to be pressed. 

“Queers, poofs, whatever.” Sirius waved a hand dismissively. “My mother would throw a fit knowing we’re reading a novel by one of them.” 

Remus’ face remained as blank as ever, if not for the slight crease in his forehead. 

“She thinks they’re about as bad as mudbloods,” said Sirius, getting to his point after a bit more time had passed. That was about all there was to his point, but it felt significant for some reason. His heart was thundering loudly in his ears. Sirius wondered vaguely if Remus could hear it with his freaky hearing, then realised he probably could. 

“What about you?” Remus asked quickly, watching Sirius intensely. 

Sirius found looking at Remus to worsen the state of his rapidly beating heart as nervousness, or something, worked its way up his throat. Sirius swallowed, finding Lupin’s gaze too intense. He preferred the sight of his already half-picked thumbnail. He scraped at his thumb a bit more, swallowing again. 

“Well, y’know, I don’t think mudbloods are all that bad. Evans is alright when she takes the quill out of her arse for three seconds, I guess.” 

Sirius heard a snort of laughter that helped him relax his shoulders some. He continued speaking to his torn thumbnail.

“So… how right could she be about the rest of it, y’know what I mean?” Sirius said it quickly, as though it was a secret he wasn’t supposed to tell. It felt like a secret, in some odd way. 

He was met with a silence that immediately made his heart lurch again. He forced himself to glance up, just enough to catch Remus’ eyes. Shockingly, Sirius found that they’d softened. They were far less intense, and even the crease between his eyebrows had disappeared. He was looking all, well, soft. It was a funny sort of look for Remus, Sirius thought. It suited him, yes, but not in the way his usual stoicism did. 

“What?” Sirius asked after a while, feeling sheepish under the prolonged eye contact. 

“Nothin’,” Remus replied immediately. 

“No, no, what?” Sirius shuffled closer on the couch cushions, so close their knees were centermetres from touching. “You have to tell me now. You know how I get when you keep all your little secrets.” 

Remus huffed. “Insufferable,” he said with a shake of his head. 

“Exactly! Insufferable.” 

“This is classic manipulation, you know, threatening poor behaviour like this?” 

Sirius shrugged, quirking a smile. “Yes, well, I did have to learn some things from my mother, didn’t I?” 

Remus shook his head again, pretending not to laugh in that way he did. “I was just thinking,” he said after a beat. 

“About?” 

“About how you’re brilliant.” 

Sirius’ throat immediately felt thick. “What?” 

“Dunno.” Remus somehow managed to avoid and catch Sirius’ eyes simultaneously. They were caramel in the afternoon sun, his favourite kind of sun for Remus’ eyes. “Just… dunno how someone so awful made you. And– and you’re so good.” 

Sirius blinked rapidly, swallowing once then twice then a third time to try and rid himself of the lump in his throat. His cheeks burned, his throat, his eyes. He ducked his head. 

“Oh,” he said stupidly. And then, “You’re not so bad yourself, Lupin,” he coughed out, having to first compose himself enough to do so. 

“Shove off.” 

“Go on,” Sirius said, wiping at his eyes as surreptitiously as he could manage. “Read more of the book written by the poof. Maybe I’ll write a report for good ol’ Walburga.”

tagged by my abosolute darling @fiddleleafedfig ! it's a bit longer than a snippet, but i was scrolling through my docs for something and stumbled upon it. it was too cute not to use.

[thought--bubble]

Six Sentence Sunday Monday Saturday?.🤣

Thank you for the tags: @anjelicawrites @venmondiese @aemonds-fire and @troublesomesnitch

Little Snippet from my Will (Salad Days) Scream AU Halloween One Shot:

“She's taking ages isn't she?” You turn around on the sofa looking toward the garage door. 

“Uhh… Yeah… I'll go see if she's alright. I'll be right back” Tom says quickly, jumping up from the sofa.

“Don't say that! Remember Matt's rule!” You chuckle remembering Matt's rules of how to survive a scary movie. 

Tom puts his hands up and wiggles his fingers, making a ghost type sound as he goes into the garage. 

You then hear a thump upstairs and feel relieved. That must be Leah. Went off to cry by herself, surely, or just get away from the overwhelming atmosphere. 

You slowly walk upstairs and peak your head around the banister once you reach the landing “Leah?” You whisper

“Nah, just me love” Will walks out of the shadowy hallway. “What are you sneaking around for?”

No pressure whatsoever tags: @sepherinaspoppies @schniiipsel @zaldritzosrose @adragonprinceswhore

[sweetcollywobbles]

MAMA'S GIVIN' Y'ALL A SNACK | yandere! leon kennedy x reader (snippet)

i feel so bad for not really posting any sort of content, so im giving y'all a bit of the smut i'm working on. please let me know what y'all think of this snippet, any sort of feedback would be really nice!

🔞 AGELESS BIOS & MINORS FUCK OFF! 🔞

the you/your pronouns are only temporary, they will be changed to she/her pronouns.

₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡. 𓂃

sometimes you hated your body. more specifically, the way your body reacted to situations. recently, your body has been making you feel a type away about waking up wrapped in leon's big arms. a type of way that left you daydreaming about your kidnapper in lewd situations.

sometimes it was about leon's pretty hands, how they would feel caressing and grabbing at your soft skin. or about how much prettier they would look playing with your wet heat. sometimes it was about them being wrapped tightly around your neck until you're begging for air. or about leon using his strong arms to hold you down to the bed as he fucked you from behind, ruthless and unforgiving.

god, you were needy. so undescribably needy. and today was no different.

it was saturday morning, which meant leon had the day off and was getting ready to head to the gym with someone named 'chris'. you sat on the bed and watched as he bumbled on and on about how this 'chris' guy was a "good buddy", but you couldn't really care. not when he was standing there in a black compression shirt and joggers that hugged him oh so right.

you feared you were no better than a man. completely objectifying your kidnapper in the lewdest scenarios your mind could come up with while he droned on about whatever. legs pinching together as a natural reaction to appease your growing heat with a bit of friction.

you sat there, blank stare going nowhere. wondering what would happen if you asked him to stay. to cancel his plans, stay here and fuck you senseless until it was-

"———, are you alright?"

the familiar voice snapping you back to reality. "what?"

"i asked if you were alright."

caught, red handed.

₊˚⊹ ᥫ᭡. 𓂃

again, i am no writer. this is all for shits and giggles.

xx

[starquestingfordrarry]

WIP Snip...Saturday?

Okay, I keep getting tagged so Ill DO IT ALRIGHT @greattemptation @ghostofnoir @annanother-thing @xalandrix @sortofshea. Here is a snippet from an impending creature fic

Draco really should have eaten something. The music pounds through him, throbbing in his fangs and his cock. He needs to feed or fuck, and if he doesn’t do it soon he’s not going to have a choice.  He’s weaving his way through the dance floor to the bar when he’s shoved from behind. He stumbles into dancing bodies that grab and grind against him, oblivious. Draco tears away, ready to turn his building need into rage only to find the man who shoved him snarling in the face of someone else.  “Keep your hands off him.”  The second man, shorter and stockier, smirks. “He seems to like my hands.” The first man grabs the collar of the second man’s shirt. People have stopped dancing to watch.  “Boys.” The voice is commanding. It cuts over the music and shouting and singing to leash both men.  It shivers over Draco’s skin, familiar.  He slips behind a couple as Harry Potter steps between the men. It’s been ages since Draco saw him up close. Ages and one monstrous transformation. Draco’s senses are heightened, but certainly that doesn’t account for how mouthwatering Potter looks now, tight white vest and jeans barely concealing the cut of him, his dark nipples. Or the way Draco is drowning in the smell of him, despite all the sweaty, boozy bodies.  His fangs pulse at the lights over Potter’s throat. 

IIIIII have no idea who has been tagged at this point so sorry if you've done this already: @drarrymyheart @littlewinnow @jtimu @eleadore @nv-md @epitomereally @arminaa8 AND YOU, READING THIS

[patolemus]

Wip Sunday

Got tagged a while ago by the wonderful @dontcallpanic @hedwig221b @gege-wondering-around and @endwersed (sorry this took me so long y'all it's been a tough week) so here you have another snippet from my time travel au

As he waits for class to start, Stiles takes out his phone. He’s got no new messages after the one from Vinny confirming Deucalion and his pack left town Saturday morning, and that Kali and Ennis were getting ready to do the same. Since no werewolves have started banging at his doorstep demanding he reveal what he’s doing in Beacon Hills, and hunters haven’t stuffed him full of arrows, Stiles considers the whole ordeal a success. A job well done, all in all.

There’s only one little thing that keeps nagging at Stiles, an ache in the back of the head.

But before he can get onto that little piece of information, the desk in front of him rattles with the sudden weight thrown on it. Stiles looks up instantly, lookingassessingmeasuring the personthingthreat. Maybe a harpy? A wendigo on the loose?

It’s Laura Hale. Stiles thinks he prefers the wendigo.

“Hey, Myca! How are you? You weren’t here last Friday, right? That was a bummer, I was going to invite you to hang out at the movies with a few friends, but I didn’t catch you all day,” she says, barely stopping to take a breath. Stiles wonders if this is what it feels like when he steamrolls over people with his words, and if so how is it that no one ever actually taped his mouth shut, because it’s kind of overwhelming.

Then again, maybe that’s the panic attack building up in the pit of his stomach. Who knows?

Why is it that no matter how much he tries to avoid the Hales, they end up finding him anyway? Stiles had never meant for them to even know his name, and now both of them have talked to him.

He misses Scott. Scott would know what to do, he’d be a gentle buffer between him and the Hales, would soak up the social interactions while Stiles panics in peace.

But Scott isn’t here. His Scott is dead, and in his place there’s an eight year old, and he’s not. Here.

Stiles still hasn’t learned to live without him. He dreads the day he finally does.

Laura is still looking at him, expectant. It takes Stiles a moment to realize she’s waiting for him to provide her with a real answer for her question.

Ah, shit. How is he supposed to not-explain that he was out in the distillery near the preserve watching a showdown between werewolves and hunters, threatening a few Alphas with murder and basically creeping on every supernaturally inclined individuals in town?

Yeah, Stiles thinks the fuck not.

“I had a few things to take care of. My dad—” he allows his throat to close up, remembering his dad and the awful fate that befell him. Stiles feels dirty for using the memory of his dead father to trick Laura, but it works out almost too well. Immediately, her face shifts from an invasively curious one to a sympathetic, pitying expression. Stiles has to hold back the urge to tell her to save her pity for herself, since she’s going to need it much more than he does if his plan doesn’t work. “Anyways, it was best if I didn’t come,” he finishes lamely.

Laura just stares at him for a moment, making Stiles want to fidget on his seat. While her gaze don’t inspire the same trepidation Derek’s did, it’s just as intense. Stiles remembers that was a trait both Derek and Cora shared, and now he’s guessing it’s a family thing. Her green eyes are nowhere near as pretty as Derek’s, but nonetheless Stiles fears they may be able to peer into his soul and find all of his secrets.

Stiles looks away before she does. It seems like the only thing he can do when it comes to the Hales.

“That’s alright, then,” there is a certain softness in Laura’s voice that makes Stiles want to scream. He says nothing. “Hey, do you want to go to the lacrosse game this Friday? It’s the last game before winter break, and everyone in school is going,” she swiftly changes the subject, and while the soft part of Stiles appreciates it, he can’t help but curse the particular topic she chose.

Seriously, what is it that the Hales find so interesting about him? Stiles never got this kind of attention from anyone in school before. In fact, people actively avoided him because he talked too much and couldn't stop moving and would go on about weird shit. Also because of his unfortunate stunt as a child delinquent who went about breaking people's noses when they pissed him off. And Stiles avoided them right back, since most people didn’t interest him enough. Without Scott, Stiles would be a loner by definition.

Yet here he is, with Laura Hale flashing her almost-too-toothy grin at him.

Laura is the best, I love her. Not a lot of sterek on this one but I thought I'd share a little of what Stiles gets up to when he's not too busy daydreaming about Derek hehe. No pressure tagging @hedwig221b @dontcallpanic @salty-fryingpan @novasillies @oldefashioned @fuji09 @endwersed @gege-wondering-around and @kittykatstiles sorry again that this took so long, uni is unsurprisingly kicking my ass

[wikiangela]

tease tidbit tuesday/wip wednesday

tagged by @theotherbuckley 💖

and tagged for tease tidbit tuesday by @nmcggg @daffi-990 @jesuisici33 @disasterbuckdiaz @exhuastedpigeon @rogerzsteven @honestlydarkprincess - tagging y'all back for wip wednesday 💖💖

it's barely 1am so let's count this still as tuesday as well lol haven't written much lately (or at all tbh) but here's a tiny bit of the coffee shop au I managed to finally make some progress a few days ago after months of not touching it lol

prev snippet | snippet from a wip game

___

Huh. An order for two people. So maybe he has someone. It’s an early morning on a Saturday, he’s probably going home to his person, and here Buck is with a crush on a man already in a relationship. He tries not to feel too disappointed, after all, they only talked a handful of times, it’s not like he’s that delusional, he knew it wouldn’t ever lead anywhere – he’s too chicken to make a move, anyway, which is unusual for him. There’s just something about Eddie. Clearly he’s not available, though.

“Alright, coming right up.” he smiles, it feels a little tight. Eddie frowns a little, but then Buck turns around and gets started. 

“So, your sister is pretty cool.” Eddie remarks, breaking the silence between them. Buck instantly smiles, and turns his head towards Eddie.

___

no pressure tags: @elvensorceress @gaydiaz @diazass @thebravebitch @silentxxsoul @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @arthursdent @911onabc @housewifebuck @watchyourbuck @underwater-ninja-13 @eowon @loserdiaz @evanbegins @ladydorian05 @wildlife4life @diazpatcher @lover-of-mine @monsterrae1 @thewolvesof1998 @puppyboybuckley @weewootruck @buckaroosheart @spagheddiediaz @steadfastsaturnsrings @rainbow-nerdss @malewifediaz @giddyupbuck @jeeyuns @epicbuddieficrecs @pirrusstuff @hippolotamus @spotsandsocks @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @hoodie-buck @fortheloveofbuddie @diazsdimples

[vanmarkus]

If you’re taking asks for your wips, I’m curious about 4 and 10?? 👀

sure thing, nonnie ✨

no10 has been answered here: X

in no4: Chris gets into a squabble and whacks a kid with one of his crutches, but since the school can't reach Eddie and Carla's not in LA, they go for the next name on the list: Buck.

here's a kinda longish snippet for you:

"Chris? Christopher!" Eddie's frantic voice echoed through the empty parking lot as he rushed towards them. "Buck? I got your text, is he okay?" Not waiting for Buck's answer, he crouched down in front of Christopher, his hands roaming the kid's shoulders, as if checking for broken bones. "Are you okay?"

"Hey, dad."

"Hey, buddy. Is everything alright?" The wrinkle between his eyebrows deepened as his gaze scanned Chris' face.

"Toby pushed me." Chris said simply with a small shrug, like it was an everyday occurrence for him to get into physical fights.

"What?"

"The kid pushed him over, because apparently he was taking too long with the tidying." Buck took over when it became clear that Chris was less than keen on sharing the details of his little adventure. "Chris smacked his arm with his crutch."

At least now he didn't have to hold back his proud smile anymore, and the way Eddie's eyes brightened with a soft chuckle told Buck he wasn't alone in his delight.

"Yeah? You really did that?" Eddie asked as he smoothed a stray lock out of the kid's forehead.

"He deserved it." Chris grumbled with a small shrug.

"Chris—"

"—is right." Buck cut in. "The little shit had it coming."

"Buck." Eddie hissed and Buck couldn't quite decide if Eddie took issue with him agreeing or his choice of language.

"F-fine, alright." He held up his hands defensively. "The nurse checked both of them over; Toby's got a nasty bruise and uh Chris skinned his elbows a little, but they're gonna be fine."

"Good." Eddie finally straightened up, though he let his hand linger on Chris' shoulder just for a moment longer, as he fixed his gaze on Buck's face. "Hey, you two gonna be alright? I want to have a quick talk with the principal."

"Yeah, sure." Buck nodded easily.

"Great. Thanks Buck, I'll see you at home." Eddie leaned in to give a small kiss to Buck's cheek, before disappearing behind the glass doors and leaving him to stand there, awestruck.

After a moment, he shook his head, convinced that it was nothing more than some kind of momentary hallucination and put his hand on the back of Christopher's head, steering him gently towards the Jeep.

"Alright buddy, let's go home."

✨and in the spirit of getting back into working on my wips and since it's gotten kinda long, I'm gonna use this as my Inspiration Saturday 🩼 and I am totally no pressure tagging and tagging back the wonderful @sunshinediaz @spagheddiediaz @goforkinard @honestlydarkprincess @excuseme-greentea @exhuastedpigeon @nmcggg @disasterbuckdiaz @daffi-990 @diazsdimples @watchyourbuck @actualalligator mwuahh 💛

[palfriendpatine66]

Saturday Friday Night Snippet

Aka proof that I’m *trying* to write the next chapter of Can’t Buy Me Love

“You’ve never been at sea?”

“At sea?” Anakin scoffed, “What are you, a pirate?” But the hard lines of derision softened as he reached out to brush his hand over the stubble that had begun to fill in since the night before. “Should I call you Red Beard?” He dropped his voice and his eyes twinkled mischievously but he was so amused in anticipation of his own joke he couldn’t get through it without dissolving into laughter. “When you - you - plunder my - my booty tonight?”

Obi-Wan made a displeased sort of sound that didn’t match the ghost of a smile that he couldn’t quite keep from tugging at the corners of his lips. “You haven’t been on a boat before?” he tried once more.

“No. Looks like we’ll both be having a first tonight.”

“Yes, yes, alright,” Obi-Wan pulled away and stepped forward to shake hands with the staff who approached, unwilling to admit that even the suggestion behind the terrible lines had him flustered.

[dio-icarticaae]

Work in Progress Wednesday!

Chapter 7: Kallus of familiar faces around me, laughter fills the air comes out this Saturday! This is a snippet of Chapter 8, the +1 in this 7+1 fic, and also the last snippet I'll be sharing of this fic since it's finished. Enjoy!

“Alright, Kanan has always done his best to take care of all of us, no matter what. We need to return that favor.” Hera looks out her gathered crew, as serious as she would be in a mission briefing. Ezra and Sabine are huddled in the middle of the bench, with Rex at the end. The projection from their game against Rex is still active. Zeb is sprawled in his chair, with Kallus sitting at the end of the Dejarik table closest to him. Kallus is, apparently, taking meeting notes.

"Kanan always cooks-" "Hey, I cook sometimes!" Zeb complains, but withers under Hera’s glare. “But I get your point.” "My point is, Kanan always cooks for us as a way of taking care of us. We should do that for him." "Hera, I’ve been told that cannot cook at all." Sabine says.

“I remember last time you tried to cook. We’re not repeating that.” Zeb growls.

Hera shudders, remembering the smell. “Yes, yes, fair point. I won’t be the one doing the majority of the work. Together we can pull this off. Between Zeb and Ezra’s expertise and the rest of our help, we can make something good for Kanan."

“Hera’s right. Kanan deserves something nice, and we can do that for him.” Zeb says.

[diazsdimples]

Inspiration Saturday!!

I did a bad thing and started a new fic, which will be known as the Musician AU. Basically, Eddie, Hen & Chim are all players in the L.A Philharmonic, Bobby is the conductor, and Buck joins them for one concert as a new hot shot cello soloist. Eddie immediately falls head over heels for the man and him and Buck fuck nasty in many many backstage rooms. This is gonna be a long snippet sorry, I'm scared it's too niche lmao

Tagged by @callmenewbie @wildlife4life @loserdiaz @thewolvesof1998, thank you guys!

Eddie gets to his chair and takes a moment to fully appreciate that it’s his. He’s not played first horn for a while, let alone while being the principal, and he’s pretty hyped. He takes a moment to unpack his horn, slotting the slides carefully into place and pressing the valves up and down to make sure they don’t need any grease. He’s so focused on it that he doesn’t hear Hen sneaking up to his side, clarinet in hand, and almost jumps out of his skin when she speaks.

“So, have you seen our new soloist yet?” she asks, leaning casually against his music stand and Eddie lets out a startled yelp.

“Not yet” he responds once his heart rate has gone back to normal.

Hen picks at something in her teeth. “Apparently, he’s very good, Tracy and Jeff can’t stop talking about him. It’s getting on my nerves”.

“Makes sense that he’s good, you don’t solo with the L.A Phil if you’re shit” Eddie jokes and Hen sends him a flat look.

“You know what I mean” she responds dryly. “Was the youngest in his class at Juilliard and did a stint playing in New Zealand with the NZSO before moving back to New York and playing with the New York Phil”.

Eddie can’t help but be impressed; the New York Philharmonic isn’t easy to get into and from what he’s heard, the NZSO are no slouches either. “He must be alright then”.

“You talking about Wonder-Boy Buckley? More than alright from what I hear”. Chimney is slouching towards them, weaving his way through the chairs and music stands from where he usually sits as principal trumpet. “Cathy says he’s hot. You’d better not let him distract you, Eddie”.

Eddie rolls his eyes playfully at Chimney as he sets his music out on the stand. “I have excellent impulse control, thank you. Haven’t had a random hookup in almost a year, even though Joel’s been repeatedly trying to jump my bones”.

“He does that with everyone, don’t feel special” Chimney replies, and he pats Eddie on the back.

“Why do they call him Wonder-Boy Buckley by the way?” Eddie asks. “Buckley’s a weird name, isn’t it?”

“Buckley is his surname; his first name is Evan” Hen explains while Chimney blows into his trumpet to warm it up. “And he’s Wonder-Boy because he’s so young and hot”

Eddie scoffs at this. Wonder-Boy Buckley sounds like a bit of a prick, honestly.

“Ready for your big moment? First movement of the concerto has a pretty big horn solo, and Bobby is expecting big things from you”. Chimney is looking at him with big eyes and if Eddie didn’t know him better, he’d think the guy was actually concerned.

Eddie won’t lie, he is pretty nervous about it. The cello solo and the horn have a few moments in the piece where it’s just them playing and it’s damn high and fucking difficult. Eddie’s done it in concert before, but that was with a much more minor orchestra and not in front of an audience of 2000+ people. However, Chimney and Hen under no circumstances are allowed to know he’s nervous so he shrugs nonchalantly and says, “yeah, I’ve been practicing it loads and think I’ve got it all sorted. Unless the soloist is truly as hot as you say, I’m pretty sure nothing will throw me”.

It seems the gods are listening to Eddie and laughing at him, because at that very moment, an extremely attractive young man walks into the auditorium with a cello strapped to his back and all Eddie can think is fuck, he’s really fucking hot.

“Oh look, there he is” Chimney says, perking up and Hen’s eyes flit across the auditorium, coming to rest on the man and her jaw drops.

“Holy shit, he’s hot. And I like girls”

“How’s our resident dick-expert doing” Chimney nudges Eddie teasingly and Eddie’s currently making a conscious effort not to drool.

“Yeah he’s – uh – he’s not bad”.

Not bad? Eddie is convinced this is the hottest man he’s ever seen in his life. His muscles bulge as he swings the cello case off his back and sets it on the ground and he flicks his head up to talk to Bobby, his blond curls flouncing delightfully as he does so. Even from here, Eddie can see how his eyes are a piercing blue and he can’t help but notice the way they crinkle as he smiles at Bobby, flashing a set of perfect, white teeth. He’s got some sort of mark around his eyebrow, maybe a piercing? Eddie can’t quite tell from this distance but man, it’s got him feeling things he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Hen and Chimney are sharing a knowing look and Eddie firmly ignores them, instead picking up his horn and beginning to blow some warm air into it. Terry, Amy, Sophie and Grant, his fellow horn players, have all turned up and are setting up, striking up idle conversation with one another as they wait for Bobby to give the order to tune up and start practicing. Hen pats Eddie on the back before returning to her chair and Chimney wiggles his eyebrows as he retreats, flicking his tongue around his mouthpiece suggestively.

(No pressure) tagging @theotherbuckley @eddiebabygirldiaz @wikiangela @fionaswhvre @smilingbuckley @fortheloveofbuddie @fruitandbubbles @watchyourbuck @incorrect9-1-1 @knightlywonders @housewifebuck @monsterrae1 @evanbegins @cal-daisies-and-briars @thosetwofirefighters @disasterbuckdiaz @spagheddiediaz @malewifediaz @shitouttabuck @jeeyuns

[storyshark2005]

snippet of the next chapter of ur carraville fic pleak 🥺👉👈

(ask and you shall receive 💕 Excerpt below: Saturday morning! Teh lads are in the car (what beats car talk!Carraville???) on the way to Scholes Gym. Bonus: SHAKIRA!🎶 )

“Shit—” Gary suddenly slips the clutch and the car lurches unhappily. “Sorry—” 

“You forget how to drive or something?!” Jamie jokes, shaking his head clear. 

“Just got distracted.” Gary coughs weakly, nodding in the direction of his phone. “Why don’t you put some music on.”

Music is good. Less chance of Jamie saying something nonsensical or stupid. 

“Okay right, what d’you fancy?” 

“I don’t care, whatever’s fine.” 

“Shakira?” Jamie jokes, and then searches for ‘Waka waka.’  The little tribal-y horns sound off, and the WA-KA! WA-KA chant. He sets Gary’s phone down in the cupholder and bobs his head in time. 

Gary snorts but Jamie can already see his fingers tapping the steering wheel in time with the bass drum. By the time the chorus comes around, they’re both laughing and singing the ‘waka, waka, eh! eh!’ bit out loud. The bits they can pronounce, anyways.

“What’s she saying?!” Gary asks. “The part right before she says, ‘This time for Africa’?”

“Not a clue, I make something up every time!” 

They crack up laughing, and Jamie gets a hand on Gary’s knee, which Gary can’t really do anything about on account he’s gotta have a hand on the wheel and one on the stick.

“Behave,” Gary murmurs, as if he disapproves. 

Jamie gives his knee a squeeze, right at the swell of his quad, and lets go. Whatever weirdness he’d felt earlier was quickly evaporating. Something to do, maybe, with the deft movement of Gary’s hand on the gear shift. Or the high morning sunlight filtering down through the tinted windows, casting him in a kind of overexposed splash of pink and sepia. Or the little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The stupid sunglasses, too. He looked good in those.

The music changes, nudged via algorithm back to Gary’s usual mix of U2, James, Oasis, and Springsteen. Jamie looks out the window for a while, and lets his mind drift. Thinking again of last night, of the deep part of the night when Gary had let him in close. 

It’s strange, probably, to be excited about something like this with Gary, after the week he’s had. There’s probably something wrong with him. Twenty-five years with Nicola ended overnight, and he doesn’t even feel that bad about it. A couple of nights out on the ale with Micah, a little cry, and what was left to do? Call a lawyer? Was that really it? 

“Is this really the first Salford game I’ve brought you to?” Gary asks suddenly, pulling Jamie from his thoughts.

Jamie thinks. “Yeah, except for that Class of ‘92 friendly youse put on a few years back.”

Gary laughs, “You had an absolute howler that game.” 

“Yeah,” Jamie admits. “It was the keeper’s fault, though!” 

It wasn’t, really.

Gary makes one of those high-pitched, amused little hums in the back of his throat. “I hope you bought him a beer afterwards. He deserved it, after such a shambolic performance from his defender.”

Jamie groans at the memory. “Even Phil was laughing at me!”

“Thank God those days are over, eh?” Gary sighs. “Honestly. If I don’t kick a ball again the rest of my life, I’ll be alright with it.” 

“You sure?” Jamie asks, on impulse, like a knee jerk. “Thought you might try and score tonight.”

The car slows to stop at a red light. Gary doesn’t answer, and Jamie thinks maybe he’s pushed too far again. 

It’s terrifying. Thrilling. Overnight the whole of their dynamic has shifted. It’s still the same basic material, still Gary and Jamie; but it’s a bit like someone had pulled the carpet up, given it a big shake, and laid it down again, this time with new wrinkles, a slightly different shape to it. 

The light turns green, and Gary shifts smoothly into drive, engine rumbling with a rough, sporty little growl to it. He looks unfairly cool in his stupid sunglasses, driving his luxury car. 

They turn off the main road. Gary slows the car, and suddenly they’re pulling into a compact, shady little carpark in front of the gym. It’s not nearly as big or grand as Jamie had expected. There’s a bus stop out front, and an uninterested teenager wearing earbuds slouching against the clear plastic shelter. 

Gary pulls around to the back, parks up against the building next to a slick black Mercedes SUV, and cuts the engine.  His arms sag. He throws his sunglasses up on the dash and runs his hands down his face. 

“Fuck,” he says. “You know, my whole fuckin' life, I’ve—” 

He stops, cutting himself off, staring through the windshield like the barrel of a gun.

Jamie doesn’t say anything. He thinks he could ruin it with the wrong words. 

He wants to tell him to forget the gym, to find a hotel. He wants to climb over the console and tolerate the dig of the steering wheel in his lower back. He wants his full weight settled on Gary’s lap, and most of all he wants to rip the sunglasses away and have all of Gary’s attention, every little micrometre of those big brown eyes focused solely on Jamie. Gary’s attention is a rare, flighty thing; constantly being torn at, pulled in every direction, and at any given moment, usually only a fraction of it is on Jamie. 

Suddenly, desperately, Jamie wants all of it. Now.