#sometimes i just think about how much i love them and i have to put it on a page

[sydwritess]

Insanely Hot

Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Summary: You were always known to have high anger issues, especially when it came to you or your loved ones. But nobody expected you to show them in public.

Second Person POV

Warning: swearing

Notes: requests are open!

Some people call you and Max the power couple. Max was always known as fierce, competitive, sometimes even mad.

You were somewhat the same, but you mostly kept your anger inside if you. Sometimes bottled up so much that you lash out at the wrong people.

You didn't want to, but when it came to your loved ones... there was no turning back honestly.

You were sitting in the Red Bull garage, watching the race from the computer screen. It had just started, and the drivers were a couple of laps in.

Max and Kimi were already fighting for the higher position. They went around one specific turn, and before you know it, they collide.

You hold your breath in, not even meaning to. Max immediately jumps out of the car, going over to Kimi. You thought he was going to lash out, but you were completely wrong.

From the zoomed in camera angle, you see Kimi repetitively apologize to Max. But Max told him it was okay. The nervous look on Kimi's face made the team snark at the computer screen's.

Poor Kimi was already tearing up by now. You walk out towards the edge of the garage. You see one of the safety cars drive around the track.

Max and Kimi walk along the pit lane, talking to each other as a medic follows behind them. They both see you standing there, leaning against the garage wall.

They finally reach you and stop before you.

"Are you okay?" You ask Max.

"I'm fine, don't worry." He says.

"I'm sorry again." Kimi said, looking between Max and the ground.

Max puts a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay, Kimi. I'm serious. Shit like that happens all the time. That's what we have mechanics for."

Kimi nods and then gets taken away by the medic.

"Ah Jesus." Max breaths out, sitting down in a chair in the garage.

"Are you sure your okay?" You ask, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm okay. The only person I'm not sure about it Kimi."

"I know. He seemed really upset."

"Upset? Try apologizing a thousand times in a minute." Max laughs out.

"Because he's scared. You know you are pretty scary sometimes." You say, smirking.

"Me, scary? No schatje, that's you." He smiles, wrapping a hand around your waist, pulling you to him more.

"Yes, you." You say, pointing a finger to his chest. "He's probably scared you would yell at him."

"I would never yell at Kimi." He said.

"What about Lando?"

"Nope."

"Yuki?"

"Nope."

"Lewis?"

"Nope."

"George?"

"Yes." He said. He answered that quicker than the others.

"Bottom of the totem pole." You tease.

"Exactly." He says, grabbing his water bottle.

"And.. where would I be on this pole?" You ask.

"At the very top." He smirks. "What about me?"

"You'd share a spot with George." You tease.

"Wow. That stung." He said, putting a fist to his chest.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding." You say, leaning into him more. You look up from Max to see Christian standing there with his arms crossed. Max sighs and stands up.

"This might take a minute." Max says.

"It's okay, I'll be here." You smile. He let's go of your hand and walks away with Christian.

You turn around, ready to walk out of the garage when you see Yuki standing behind you. "Hey Y/n, are you okay?". He asks, shifting his stance awkwardly.

"Oh yea, I'm fine. What's up?"

"I was going to see how Max was, but he walked away."

"Yeah I think he's about to get yelled at." You joke. "What are you doing here?"

"I spun out." He said.

"Oh I'm sorry. I assume your next in line with Christian?" You ask.

"Yeah..." He says, trailing off slowly.

"I know he can be harsh and all, but you can't forget that you are also new to. And... everyone makes mistakes." You say, pausing. "If he yells at you just come get me. I'll take care of it." You smirk.

"I will. I will see you around." He says, chuckling.

"Bye." You say.

You walk out of the garage, walking out through the paddock. There were select people walking around, most of the fans were sitting watching the race.

There were multiple photographers lined up against the paddock wall, capturing pictures of the race. You pass by a couple of small stands, most of them were apparel for different teams. You stop by one shop in particular.

"How can I help you today?" The women asks.

"Can I just get a water please?" You ask.

"Yep, that will be 1.50 please." She says, smiling. You hand her the money and in return she hands you the water.

You walk away further down the paddock and stop, sitting on a bench. You had a perfect view of the race. Sure it was lower than the fence but you could still see the cars going by.

"I know, I can't believe him. He's probably throwing a fit." Someone said, you look to the left of you, seeing three guys standing together, talking to each other.

"He always cry's when he doesn't win. I swear. If he's not in first place, that's it, everyone has to have a bad day." Another guys says.

"That should be a headline, 'Max Verstappen, not in first? The world is over." The third guys says. Max's name catches you.

"I don't even know what his girlfriend see's in him. He probably goes home and hits her at the end of a bad day." The first guy says.

"I know. I feel bad for her. He's angry, self centered, only cares about racing. She probably get's left behind like some side piece." The second guy says. That made you pissed.

You get up from the bench you were sitting on, and walk over to the three guys.

"Oh hey, aren't you Verstappen's girl?" The blond one asks.

"Yeah, I heard that shit you were talking over here." You say, looking at all of them.

"Relax honey. We were just talking." One of them says.

"Besides, if you were with one of us. We'd actually pay attention to you." The third one says.

"What?"

"What. Your boyfriend is a fucking robot. Always thinking about himself." The blonde on says.

You step closer to him, he just laughs. You swing your fist at him hard, making him fall to the ground. The guy to your right tries to attack you, but you swing your elbow into his face, making his nose bleed.

"What the fuck!" He yells. The guy to your left throws a punch at you, but you block it, twisting his arm around and kicking him in the back. There was a crowd of people surrounding you.

Security rushes over, putting your arms behind your back, detaining you. "That's enough!" He yells. The other security men pick all three guys up, detaining them to.

"Go." The guard says, releasing your arms. You look at him confused. "Now." He says firmly.

You rush off, going down to the end of the paddock where the Red Bull garage is.

"Are you okay?" Yuki asks, seeing you walk in.

"You have ice around here?" You ask, looking at your semi-bleeding knuckles.

"Uhh..." He pauses, looking around. He hen spots a freezer, walking over to it quickly and filling a small bag with ice. "Here." he quickly hands it to you.

You slightly smile at him. "Thanks." You go through the garage and inside to the paddock. There were few people in there. You sit down on a bench by the main entrance, having a small view of the track through the window.

You could still hear the loud cheers and talking of the crowd around the track, but no one was around you. You place the ice gently on your hand, wincing at the coolness.

You sat there for what felt like hours, slouched in the bench, head leaned back against it. You hear the soft padding of shoes to the left of you. You slowly turn your head to see max standing there.

"What happened?" He asked, rushing down to you.

"Got in a fight." You say tiredly.

"A fight? Why?"

"Some guys were talking shit about you." You turn your gaze towards him.

"You punched someone because they were talking about me?" He asked, looking up at you, grabbing your hand lightly.

"They said you fucking abuse me at home, Max! What did you want me to do!"

"Hey, It's okay. Don't get to worked up." He said calmly. "Both you and I know that is not true."

"But they think it is."

"Who cares what they think. I-" He pauses, looking away form you and then back in your eyes. "Have you ever shown up to a race with a bruise on your face?"

"No."

"Have you ever shown up, trying to hide your body because of a bruise or cut?"

"No."

"Have you ever shown up with makeup on your face?"

"I hate makeup."

"That's my point." He smiles. "I love that you were sticking up for me... but I also don't want to see you get banned from races for the rest of your life." He jokes.

You smile at him slightly. "They really pissed me off." You say through a smile.

"I can tell." He says, looking at your hands. "But you still took it into careful consideration." He says, jabbing a finger at the bag of ice.

"Made sure of it."

"You could have hurt yourself." He said quietly.

"I can fight."

"You used to do karate when you were a kid."

"I guess it stuck with me." You shrug.

"You stopped when you were twelve."

"And?"

"They could have hurt you."

"They hurt me long before they I punched them."

You both sit there for a moment. The muffled crowd cheering outside of the paddock. The drivers going around the track loudly.

"Come on." He pulls you up from the bench you were sitting on, and leads you inside the nearby bathroom.

"Your not supposed to me in here." You say as he follows you in the women's bathroom.

"I'm Max Verstappen. It's okay." He easily lifts you on to the counter, sitting you down on it.

"Is that your excuse?"

"No excuse."

You slightly laugh. He gently takes your hand, bringing it into the sink and washing the blood off. "Ow!"

"Sorry, sorry I was just trying to clean it." He removes his hand from yours.

"I guess the abusive traits are finally showing through." You joke, holding a hand to your chest. He looks up at you, sighing as he moves his head. His seriousness doesn't last long as a small smile cracks through.

"I'm just glad to know you would hit someone for me. It's... cute." He admits.

You hook your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. "Your cute."

"Even when I'm mad?"

"Even when your mad."

"Even when I work constantly?"

"Even when you work constantly."

"Even when I-"

"Your cute. Oher people don't think so. But that's because they're not you." You interrupt. You see a small blush creep across his face.

He wraps his arms around you waist. You rest your head on his shoulder.

"Your especially cute when... at the end of a race, you take your race shirt off. That's cute." You whisper. He let's out a small laugh, hugging you tighter.

"Maybe you could teach me karate these next few weeks so I could defend you."

You put away from him, putting a hand on his chest. "But I only did it when I was a kid." You say dramatically.

"But-"

"I can't do that now! I was only twelve!"

He laughs, not a fake laugh. A laugh that he's held in for a while. For what felt like his whole life.

©sydwritess

Hey loves! Hope you like this! Comment to be added to the Max Verstappen tag list! Requests are open!

[pichichuu]

Heya :3

I was wondering if I could request two things in one ask(one nsfw and one sfw)

So for the sfw I would like to ask for the saja boys (seperate) with a partner that's a menace to society as in always pulling pranks and teasing their boyfriend hehe >:3

And then the nsfw ask is like reader trying to tease the saja boys (again seperate :D) only for it to back fire and it ends up with them teasing and flustering the hell out of the reader (possibly leaving them hot and bothered for trying to tease;3)

Hopefully this isn't too long of a request (I just tried to explain my ideas to the best of my ability T3T)

ofc! the sfw answer is above the cut, so mdni under the cut please :)

this was a bit of a challenge, but i hope you enjoy!

Teasing the Saja Boys (gn!reader)

m.list

Jinu often doesn't know how to respond to your pranks. he gets scared easily, so his reflexive reactions always seem natural, but he's usually confused until someone around him realizes what's going on and starts laughing. usually this person is abby. it's really fun to make him flustered and jumpy. his reactions are always so cute. he rolls his eyes at you a lot as a joke, but still falls for your teasing every time.

Abby publicly plays pranks and teases you in response to your menace behavior. it's quite the spectacle for fans. you've even been able to organize a prank with his fans, blocking him on social media and getting your followers to pull the prank in secret. it's not like the toxic prank wars you see on youtube, but you two do mess with each other frequently. your pranks are always harmless. you guys joke more than anything though, and your inside jokes even make their way into interviews sometimes.

Baby encourages you to prank the other members of the saja boys. he's like the ultimate accomplice. he's so good at playing dumb and acting like he has no idea what's going on, even though he helped you plan the whole thing. he gets a little frustrated when you tease him, although he's usually just upset that he didn't predict your pranks.

Romance acts like a drama queen about it, which only makes you want to tease him more. he'll whine about things going wrong, but if he finds out you're the cause, he's quick to accept the situation. he usually responds to your antics with a loving gaze, much to your chagrin. he loves your pouty face when your pranks backfire, and always pulls you in for a hug when you tell him to have normal reactions, your balled fists drumming gently on his chest.

Mystery puts on an act like he's done with your antics, but his eyes are so joyful under his hair. he's a pretty quiet guy, but he loves how mischievous you can be, especially when it's just the two of you. if you're in public, he'll try to keep a composed appearance for the press and paparazzi, but if you're alone, he'll play along, poking fun at you when you stumble over your sentences or hide things from you when you're looking for them.

Jinu becomes a whiny mess when you tease him. you're his weakness, and you both realize it. you'll kiss the sensitive spot on his neck and press hickeys into his skin, hands working over his back, sides, and hips as he shivers under your touch. usually, you're able to just barely stop before he turns the tables on you, but sometimes, he snaps, pinning you under him and grinding his hips into yours, moans echoing in your mouth. you usually top him, but you love it when you break him. he takes what he wants, always taking care of his own needs first, but he always makes you finish too. he thinks not making you cum first is punishment enough.

Abby doesn't let you tease him for long before he takes control. he'll whisper the filthiest things you've ever heard, breath hot on the shell of your ear, while his fingers plunge in and out of you. he'll promise to make you cum, but he'll edge you the whole time, only letting you finish if you've been good. if you try to tease him in public, he has an especially dirty mouth, holding you in front of him to hide his raging boner. his dirty talk is relentless, even if you're in conversation with others; his goal is to make you noticeably flustered. he loves watching you try to cover your tracks when people ask if you're doing alright.

Baby is the meanest of the group. he'll play along with your teasing, acting like you have control over him, before retaliating, kissing and touching you in your most sensitive spots. he uses you to get off. he usually fucks your throat, degrading you throughout, but will refuse to help you finish, believing you've dug your own grave. if you decide to touch yourself, he'll watch, lazily stroking his half-hard dick. sometimes, he'll record you. it may not seem like it, but he loves when you tease him.

Romance is a sucker for your teasing, much like jinu. it takes a lot for him to break and take what he wants; he's always been fond of slow sex, no matter whether teasing is involved or not. but, without fail, you can make him snap if you set a teasing pace with your hips or tongue. nothing drives him crazier than being inside of you and moving at such a slow pace. if you aren't cockwarming him, he at least wants constant movement or a consistent pace. he'll grab onto your hips or the sides of your head, gently bucking into you. he'll beg for you to stop teasing and go faster even after he's taken control, mind too clouded with pleasure to realize it's pointless to ask now.

Mystery will keep his hands off of you as you tease him, hands and mouth roaming wherever you like, he'll get fed up if you get close to cumming by grinding on him, pushing you off right before you finish. he'll sit back, undoing his own belt and stroking himself instead, long fingers wrapped around his shaft and setting a brutal pace. he'll make you touch yourself too, so he can watch, but he doesn't really care whether you can make yourself finish or not, but he'll put up an act like he wants to help you. after he finishes, he'll lean down and plant a kiss right on your slit, giving you a kitten lick before leaving the room, leaving you hot and bothered.

m.list

Taglist: @lamogliedizayne

[zarla-s]

Hopefully not an odd question, but how did you come up with the “Ads” in Spamtons speech for your Defragmentation comic?

Like know where to put them and what they would be

A lot of the time it's just free association. Every time there's a word that CAN be replaced to obscure or muddy something, I consider it. Something to remember about his speech pattern is that his bracket words aren't all ads or slogans! He replaces normal words too, sometimes with the same word (presumably) or sometimes with a strange tangent. If a word in the sentence makes you think of something else (and can hide or confuse something), just follow that train of thought a few stops and see where it takes you.

For example, let's say he wanted to say something like "I SAW YOUR RUNNING AWAY." I made a typo while typing that and I usually keep those. "Running" jumps out at me - easy word to replace with something strange. What's another unusual word for running? "Skedaddle", no one uses that. What's a step further out from that? "Skip-to-my-loo my darling", they both have a "sk" sound and convey movement. Sentence turns into "I SAW YOUR [ Skip-to-my-loo] MY [prize3d CUstomer]!" That's my general approach, haha. Sometimes the words just have pleasing alliteration or a nice rhythm or just rhyme in a way I like. "[Prime-Time] [High-Time]" for example, or "[Blinkers Poppers Firestarters]". Anything that can be replaced with something vaguely threatening or scary is a good option too (Spamton screaming in agony about burning in acid or talking about death for example).

I made a way longer post about the details of his speech pattern (it's surprisingly fiddly) but here's some quick bulletpoints of things I don't see too often when people write for him.

Typos

Wrong punctuation/no punctuation

Punctuation inside words (LIGH;TN>er)

Too much punctuation (can never have enough !!!!s)

Numbers in words

Incorrect capitalizations in and out of brackets

Weird grammar and misspellings

Tense mix-ups, plural mix-ups

Complete sentences (he CAN do these! they're just rare)

Missing words, single words

Too many spaces, spaces in weird places

Repetition (usually panicky but he does get stuck sometimes in general)

Small short words ([guts], [eyes], [mouth])

Weird word choices (skedaddle up there for example)

Follow your train of thought wherever it goes. Song lyrics, movie titles, famous catchphrases, jingles, memes (not too many of these though), technical jargon, just whatever your brain grabs onto. You might want to check out old VHS recordings on archive.org that include commercials and see what they sound like. The 90s are a good year, Spamton loves 1997!

[linxnnalyn]

hellooo could i req for mira dating hcs pls

Dating Mira HCs

࣪𖤐.ᐟ note -> I'm down on my knees for her.

࣪𖤐.ᐟ warnings -> none.

࣪𖤐.ᐟ content includes -> fluff, civilian! reader, physical affection, emotional vulnerability, dates, gift-giving, kissing, cuddling.

۫ ꣑ৎ Mira is a very attentive and observant girlfriend. She knows all of your likes and dislikes like the back of her hand, she knows what makes you blush and what makes you flustered, she knows when you feel uncomfortable, she knows whenever you are sad and/or need comfort. Honestly you are starting to think that she might know you better than you know yourself.

۫ ꣑ৎ While she does love you and wants to show you off to the world, Mira knows that some of her fans would not be happy about the fact that she is in a relationship and knowing how fans can be, Mira doesn’t plan on putting you in any kind of danger. Mira is open about the fact that she is in a happy relationship, she just refuses to tell who you are or show you off for your own safety.

۫ ꣑ৎ Mira is very touch-starved because of how distant and cold her family was, so she always keeps an arm wrapped around you or is touching you in some way, scared that if she let go, you would disappear. It is a fear that she has shared with you a few times, but Mira never goes into much detail about it. She doesn’t want nor like to really talk about it.

۫ ꣑ৎ As you two get more serious about each other, Mira starts thinking about having you move into the HUNTR/X’s penthouse. Mira could get to see you every day and wouldn’t have to wear a disguise herself just to see you, and her friends and even her manager adore you! Of course Mira wouldn’t force you to move in with her especially if you are not ready but the option is always on the table.

۫ ꣑ৎ Mira’s love language is quality time and acts of service. She doesn’t always say “I love you” outright, but you can feel it in the way she makes time for you no matter how packed her schedule is as an idol, or how she insists on doing the little things for you even if you say you can do them yourself. Mira thinks love is something you show, not just something you say.

۫ ꣑ৎ Going on dates with her is an experience you never fully get used to—every time it feels like the first. Mira always plans everything down to the last detail. Sometimes it’s something simple like stargazing from the rooftop of the HUNTR/X building, other times it’s extravagant like a private dinner in a luxury suite. But even then, she always chooses dates that feel intimate and personal.

۫ ꣑ৎ Mira does not mind spending her money on you, after all she is insanely rich so money isn’t a problem for you. She would buy you anything you want AND anything she is certain that you would like. Mira makes sure that you know not to feel bad about her spending her money on you, because she enjoys seeing you get so happy after she buys you something you like. Plus she has a lot of money to spare.

۫ ꣑ৎ It took a while for Mira to be able to tell you about the truth behind her idol group and demons really existing. She wanted to wait until she was absolutely sure that you wouldn’t leave her or freak out when you found out, and she even got permission from Rumi and Zoey to tell you. Mira didn’t even bother asking Celine because she knew that she wouldn’t approve, and Mira didn’t want to keep any secrets from you. Thankfully you took it well.

۫ ꣑ৎ Mira loves spending lazy days with you. She just wants to stay in her bed, curled up with you and cuddling you for the rest of eternity. Mira just can’t help herself but kisses you whenever the two of you cuddle, she is just addicted to your kisses and she does not mind it one bit. Oftentimes Mira turns cuddling into a full blown make out session but never goes too far if you’re uncomfortable.

۫ ꣑ৎ She has a private photo album on her phone dedicated entirely to you. Some of the photos are candid shots she secretly took when you weren’t looking—laughing, sleeping, lost in thought—and others are selfies of the two of you that she scrolls through whenever she misses you. No one else has access to it, not even her closest friends; it’s something she cherishes just for herself.

[all-my-love-for-harry]

Strictly Professional

pairing; ceo!jake seresin x fem assistant!reader

summary; Jake Seresin was power wrapped in expensive suits and sharper edges, and you were the calm in his perfectly calculated storm. But one unexpected week away was all it took to turn the game into something dangerously real.

word count; 13.5k

warnings; power imbalance, an asshole to everyone but you trope, smut, overstimulation, one bed trope, oral (fem, sooo much pussy eating), dom!jake, lowkey bossy!reader, age gap, i have no idea about business talk so inaccurate references (i wacthed a video and prayed for the best), i think that's it

a/n; this was so fun to write. i'm actually loving writing smut HAHAAH i have soooo many smut fics planned it's crazy, can't wait for you to read them!!! also the smut in this is SO good, let me know what you think!

masterlist

The elevator doors slid open with a polished chime, and the day officially began with the low hum of fear and productivity that seemed to follow Jake Seresin wherever he went.

Outside, Manhattan was barely awake — sunlight bouncing off steel and glass, yellow cabs honking like it was a contact sport, steam rising from subway grates like the city itself was sighing. But up here, on the 49th floor of the Seresin International Building, the air was already thick with nerves.

You stepped into the marble-floored hallway with two coffees in hand and your phone pressed to your ear, rattling off a list of calendar edits to Jake’s London liaison without missing a beat.

“No, push the Barclays call to Wednesday. He’ll never make the 10:00 if that acquisition meeting runs long. And tell them not to call his personal line again — he blocked the last intern who did.”

Your voice was calm. Unbothered. Efficient. Unlike the junior staff who all glanced up with wide eyes the second they saw you approaching — not because they were scared of you, but because they knew he was close behind.

Jake Seresin: thirty-something billionaire, CEO of one of the most influential private investment firms in the country, and, as Forbes once lovingly put it, “a nightmare in Tom Ford.”

He was brutal in boardrooms. Sharp-tongued, sharp-jawed, a little too good-looking for everyone's comfort. Most people around here called him Mr. Seresin. You just called him Jake — mostly with a sigh, sometimes with a threat, and often through gritted teeth.

You passed by your own desk — a minimalist sanctuary of Post-its, color-coded files, and exactly three pens you would murder someone over if they were taken. You didn’t stop. You never did. Your stilettos echoed on the floor as you beelined straight for his office.

You didn’t knock.

“Someone’s already behind,” you said brightly, breezing in and placing the coffees on the polished walnut desk like it was your damn job — which it was, but only barely. “This was supposed to be our twenty minutes of silence. Instead, you scheduled yourself a breakfast call with someone who thinks you’re charming. You see the problem here, don’t you?”

Jake looked up from the sleek screen of his tablet, eyes narrowing like you were the most exhausting thing in the world.

He was wearing a black button-down — sleeves rolled to the elbows, top button undone — and a watch that probably cost more than your apartment.

“How generous of you to bring me coffee and insults before 8 a.m.,” he said, voice low, smooth, and laced with sarcasm.

You dropped into the chair across from him. “This one’s decaf. I figured you’d appreciate a gentle decline into madness today.”

Jake didn’t look amused. Which, to be fair, he rarely did — unless he was toying with someone. Like now, with that infuriating tilt of his mouth as he leaned back in his chair.

“You really should be nicer to your boss,” he said, sipping the coffee anyway.

“I would, if my boss wasn’t a corporate gremlin in Prada.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “I wear Tom Ford.”

You sipped your own drink, unimpressed. “Exactly.”

Their routine was practically scripted now — one whole of constant sparring, matching each other beat for beat. Everyone in the building knew better than to interrupt when the two of you got going. There had been rumors for a while. Whispers by the elevators. Speculation about whether it was all professional or if there was something more, something physical, simmering under the surface.

You’d deny it, of course. He was your boss. He was impossible. He was infuriating.

...And okay, yes, sometimes he made you want to throw your phone out the window just to get his attention. But still.

“You have ten minutes before your call,” you said, rising again. “Try not to insult anyone’s intelligence until after your second coffee.”

“I make no promises,” Jake said, watching you go like it was his favorite part of the day.

There was a reason no one lasted long as his assistant. Jake Seresin was demanding, short-tempered, impossible to impress. You, however, had never blinked.

You were always five steps ahead. The first one in, the last one out. The type of person who carried three chargers, memorized schedules like a Rolodex, and had the uncanny ability to keep your cool while your billionaire boss told the Wall Street Journal to go to hell — mid-interview.

And unlike everyone else, you didn’t fear Jake.

You handled him.

Which made him insufferably interested.

You hadn’t seen that look in his eyes lately — not since the night of the company gala, six months ago, when you’d worn that black velvet dress and he’d stared at you for so long, you’d excused yourself just to stop the tension from combusting.

Nothing had happened. You didn’t let it. But sometimes — when you passed each other in the hallway, when you handed him his notes in the middle of a meeting — you’d feel it again.

That spark. That ridiculous, inconvenient something.

But this was New York. This was work. You didn’t have time for a crush on your boss, especially not one who wore power like a cologne and treated meetings like cage matches.

So instead, you kept things exactly where they were.

Snarky. Functional. Professional.

By 6:42 p.m., the office had emptied. Jake was still in his office, sleeves still rolled, jaw tight from a day full of idiots.

You dropped a folder on his desk without looking up.

“Your itinerary for the quarter’s investor presentations,” you said. “You’ll find the files for each city tabbed and color-coded. Also, your mother called again.”

Jake groaned. “What did she want this time?”

“Apparently, to know if you’re ‘still incapable of forming an emotional connection.’ Her words, not mine.”

He shot you a look. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Oh, immensely.”

There was a beat of silence as he looked down at the folder, thumb resting on the corner of the cover. “Did you include the San Diego conference dates?”

You blinked. “Conference?”

“Next month. I’ll be presenting on private equity trends. They just confirmed I’m the keynote speaker.”

You rolled your eyes. “Because of course you are.”

Jake didn’t argue. Just smirked.

“We’ll need to book travel,” he added. “Hotels. Make sure they don’t stick me in one of those soulless penthouse suites again.”

You jotted it down. “Anything else, Your Highness?”

His smile widened. “Yeah. Don’t forget to book your ticket, too. You’re coming.”

You froze. “What?”

“You’re my assistant,” he said simply. “I need you there.”

You stared at him. “Fine. But I’m picking the hotel. If I’m stuck on a conference trip with you, I at least want decent lighting and room service that doesn’t come with attitude.”

Jake raised his brows, amused. “Sounds like someone’s already looking forward to it.”

You turned to leave. “Sounds like someone’s getting replaced by a tablet app next fiscal quarter.”

-

If there were sirens for a CEO meltdown, they’d be blaring by 9:13 a.m.

Jake Seresin strode into the office like he’d personally been wronged by God, Wall Street, and the concept of Mondays. He was a vision in black-on-black, suit jacket flaring behind him like a villain in a corporate thriller, hair perfectly in place despite the wind, jaw set like he was going into battle.

Everyone else? They ducked.

Phones were slammed onto receivers. Lattes were hidden like contraband. One poor intern accidentally closed her browser and had to restart her entire system.

You didn’t flinch. You barely looked up from your screen when he stormed past your desk with a barked, “Meeting in fifteen—move it.”

You calmly took a sip of your espresso. “Someone didn’t get their avocado toast this morning.”

Jake didn’t respond. He never did when he was in this kind of mood. That was fine. You’d learned to give him space — and then handle him like a bomb technician once the smoke cleared.

The shouting started ten minutes later. You didn’t get involved.

It was Madison this time — sweet, slightly shaky, probably one of the better interns. You heard her voice crack through the frosted glass wall, her attempt to explain a scheduling mishap met with Jake’s low, clipped tone slicing through her like ice. You didn’t go in. You didn’t even glance up.

Because that wasn’t your job — not right now.

You’d learned long ago that Jake didn’t respect people who tried to save him from himself in public. But when the doors closed and the boardroom was empty — that’s when he listened.

His office door clicked shut. You gave it exactly one minute before walking in.

Jake was seated at his desk, elbows on the edge, hands steepled in front of his mouth. His eyes were locked on the city outside, but you knew he wasn’t seeing any of it.

You walked in without knocking and set the correct file on his desk — Petter-sen, not Peterson — and then sat down across from him without a word.

He finally looked over. “She gave me the wrong file.”

“I noticed,” you said flatly.

Jake scowled, but you didn’t blink.

“You know,” you said calmly, “if you yell at every new hire, HR is going to make you do another empathy seminar.”

“They always get it wrong.”

“And maybe that’s a training issue, not a screaming issue.”

He looked at you like you’d just suggested building a treehouse in Times Square.

“Madison will recover,” you added, flipping open your tablet. “But maybe next time just raise an eyebrow. You have a very intimidating face. Use it.”

Jake leaned back in his chair, watching you. The heat in his expression was still there, but it simmered into something cooler — thoughtful, almost amused.

“You never take my side,” he muttered.

“I’m on your side,” you corrected. “Which is why I don’t let you self-destruct.”

Jake didn’t apologize. He never did. But he muttered something about getting Madison reassigned — not fired — and sent her a gift card for that overpriced pastry place on 3rd without saying who it was from.

You saw the email. You said nothing.

That was the arrangement.

He yelled. You didn’t flinch.

He stormed. You let the storm pass — then walked in with calm hands and sharp eyes and fixed it all.

You didn’t make a scene. You didn’t call him out in front of his team. You were his person, and you’d learned to wield that power precisely: never too loud, never too soft, always effective.

The rest of the day went smoother.

Jake signed documents. You handed him coffee and didn’t bring up the intern again. He glanced up only once — when you told him his 4:30 was pushed to 5:00 — and gave you the barest nod, but you caught it.

Thank you, it said.

You nodded back, and went on with your day.

The office was quiet in that eerie, after-hours way — lights dimmed to save energy, the city glowing like an electric dream outside the glass walls. Most of the building had emptied hours ago. The only sounds now were the hum of the air conditioner and the rhythmic clack of your keyboard.

Jake sat at his desk across the room, sleeves rolled up, tie long gone, and jaw clenched in concentration as he flipped through reports that had been marked URGENT for no good reason. His blazer was draped over the back of his chair, and he looked — unfairly — like the villain in a very expensive noir film. Rumpled. Rich. Slightly dangerous.

You, on the other hand, were perched on the low credenza by the window, balancing your dinner in one hand, your tablet in the other. A white takeout box sat on the floor beside you — a perfectly timed delivery from the hole-in-the-wall Thai place that knew your order by heart.

Jake glanced up without looking at you directly. “If this curry melts a hole in my stomach, I’m suing.”

You didn't even look up. “It’s medium heat. You’ll live.”

He poked at his noodles suspiciously, fork halfway to his mouth. “You said that last time.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re underpaid.”

That made you smirk. You took a sip of your drink, not bothering to argue. “Eat. You’re less of a tyrant when you’re fed.”

Jake’s lips twitched as he stabbed at his food again. “Do your boyfriends know you talk to your boss like this?”

You blinked.

It wasn’t a loaded question — not the way he said it — but it still managed to feel personal. Jake Seresin never asked about your life outside of work. Ever. You were his assistant. A well-oiled machine. You scheduled meetings, filtered emails, anticipated moods, and made sure he didn’t combust in a boardroom.

Small talk? Not your thing. Not his either.

Still, you didn’t let your surprise show.

You let out a laugh instead. “That’s assuming I have time for a boyfriend.”

Jake’s eyes flicked up at that.

You raised a brow. “Do you see how much of my time you take up?”

“Are you suggesting I’m needy?”

“I’m suggesting you’re high-maintenance.”

He snorted into his drink and leaned back in his chair. “So no boyfriend?”

You shook your head, returning your attention to your tablet. “No time, no patience, no desire to babysit someone who doesn’t know how to send a calendar invite. Next question?”

Jake just hummed like he was satisfied with the answer and went back to his food. You didn’t press it. You didn’t ask why he’d suddenly grown curious about your love life. And he didn’t offer anything back.

As always, you both stayed in your lanes.

By the time you were packing up, the city had fully slipped into night. The windows reflected the office like a ghostly double — you brushing crumbs from your skirt, Jake slipping his laptop into his leather case, rolling his shoulders with a quiet sigh.

You reached for your coat. “I’ll call a car.”

“No need,” Jake said, already grabbing his own.

You blinked. “What?”

“I’ll drive you.”

There was no question in his tone. Just a statement. Like the meeting’s moved to Thursday or I signed off on that memo. Neutral. Decisive.

You stared at him. “Since when do you drive me home?”

He held your gaze like it wasn’t even a little strange. “Since now.”

You gave him a look. “Is this because I insulted your spice tolerance?”

“Maybe.”

“You don’t even like Midtown traffic.”

“I like not letting my assistant get murdered by a freelance Uber driver more.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. You weren’t in the mood to hail a car anyway.

So you followed him down to the parking garage — your heels clicking against the concrete, the tension just a little different than before.

Not romantic. Not dramatic.

But new.

A shift.

And neither of you said a word about it.

The elevator pinged in the garage, echoing through the cold concrete structure like a cue from a spy movie. You followed Jake past the sea of sleek black SUVs and mid-tier sedans… until he stopped in front of an Aston Martin.

You blinked. “Are you serious?”

He didn’t look at you. Just hit the unlock button. The car chirped back, smug as hell.

“This is the most obnoxious thing I’ve ever seen,” you said, arms crossed. “You drive an Aston Martin to the office like you’re late for a martini and an assassination.”

Jake finally turned, smirk firmly in place. “Would it help if I told you I have a license to kill?”

You scoffed. “Only thing you’re qualified to murder is a quarterly report.”

He said nothing else. Just stepped around and opened your door for you like it was the most normal thing in the world. You stared at him for a beat before sinking into the butter-soft leather, equal parts impressed and annoyed.

The car purred to life like a predator. Quiet. Sleek. Very on-brand for the man who hated being questioned and made grown men sweat in boardrooms.

You gave him directions quietly, your voice the only thing cutting through the low hum of city traffic. He nodded once at each turn, no GPS needed — just a surgeon’s precision behind the wheel, the same control he exercised in every room he walked into.

Jake Seresin was not a man who did small talk. Not at work. Not in his car. And certainly not after 10 PM.

So you didn’t bother. You let the silence stretch out between you like a silk ribbon. Strange, how comfortable it felt. How normal.

No posturing. No awkward filler. Just the city glowing around you, painting soft reflections onto his sharp profile.

He looked good behind the wheel. Of course he did. Hands loose on the leather, watch catching the occasional flicker of streetlight. Calm. Focused. Ridiculously attractive, in that completely infuriating way of his.

You crossed your legs and looked out the window.

Eventually, you pulled up in front of your building.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and reached for the door. “Thanks for the ride, Mr. Bond.”

Jake leaned back slightly, one arm draped casually over the steering wheel. “You’re welcome, Miss Moneypenny.”

That earned him a smirk from you. “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

You stepped out, heels clicking against the pavement again as you made your way toward the lobby doors. For a moment, you didn’t look back. You assumed he’d already peeled off into the night like the man on a movie poster he so clearly thought he was.

But something made you glance over your shoulder.

He was still there.

Engine running. Lights low. Waiting.

He didn’t drive off until you pushed the door open and disappeared inside.

You stood behind the glass a second longer than necessary.

And then, with a blink, he was gone.

-

The Aston glided through the city like a knife through silk, each green light bending to his will. The tires barely whispered over the pavement. Inside, the cabin was still, insulated — like him.

He tapped the pad by the garage and drove into the private elevator, where the lift recognized the car and started rising. No buttons. No human contact. Just convenience.

It should have felt like power.

Instead, it felt like procedure.

The elevator doors opened directly into his penthouse. All glass and steel, floor-to-ceiling views of the New York skyline twinkling like a billion-dollar constellation. Marble floors that echoed with every step. Furniture handpicked by a designer he couldn’t remember the name of. The whole place looked like a GQ cover — immaculate, minimalist, and cold.

Too big for one man.

He tossed the keys onto the tray near the entryway, walked past the abstract art on the wall that cost more than some people’s cars, and went straight to the bar. Crystal decanter, aged scotch. He didn’t bother with ice.

The amber liquid caught the light like gold as he poured. He swirled it once, then took a slow sip, letting it burn down his throat.

The silence was deafening.

He stared out the window at the city that never shut up. Sirens, traffic, laughter rising from the streets below — all of it just barely muffled by the triple-pane glass.

He could have stayed at the office. But he'd offered to drive you home. Didn’t even think twice. Just said it like a fact and expected you to get in the car.

And you had.

Jake leaned back against the bar, drink in hand, replaying the last few minutes in his head.

That damn smirk of yours when you called his car “obnoxious.”

The way you slouched in the passenger seat like you didn’t care he was your boss.

The quiet, easy rhythm of your voice as you gave directions.

The laugh when he mentioned a boyfriend.

I don’t have time for boyfriends.

Neither did he. That wasn’t news.

He took another sip and ran a hand through his hair.

You were sharp. Always on. You called him out when no one else dared, but never in public. You were smart enough to survive him and confident enough to annoy him, which somehow earned his respect and drove him insane in equal measure.

Most assistants were scared of him by week two. You weren't.

You were still here.

And now, against all logic, he was thinking about the way you looked in the reflection of the passenger-side window. Your silhouette illuminated by the soft dashboard lights. The way you disappeared into your building with that little half-wave.

Jake exhaled a quiet laugh under his breath.

“You’re losing it, Seresin,” he muttered, setting the glass down with a soft clink.

You were just his assistant.

Brilliant. Efficient. Unbothered by his moods.

And yet —

There you were, in the middle of his penthouse silence, sharper than the scotch on his tongue.

The offices were a study in quiet fear.

On the fortieth floor of a sleek Midtown skyscraper, the air was crisp with money and nerves. Polished concrete floors. Floor-to-ceiling glass. Art that cost as much as the employees' annual salaries. A minimalist color palette that made everyone feel like they had to speak in hushed tones or risk being escorted out.

Jake Seresin’s name wasn’t just on the letterhead — it bled into every corner of the building like gospel. The staff practically snapped to attention when the private elevator chimed. Conversations died. Keyboards stilled. Backs straightened.

You didn’t bother looking up from your computer.

He walked past reception in that deliberate, unhurried way that somehow made everyone more tense — Armani suit sharp enough to cut glass, jaw set, eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses despite the indoor setting. He barely acknowledged the hushed greetings from various VPs, just a flick of his hand here, a grunt there.

But when he passed your desk?

He paused.

You kept typing, only glancing up when you felt him stop beside you.

“You forwarded the call with Simpson to 11:00?”

You nodded, tapping a final key before turning in your chair to face him. “And moved your investment committee to 2:30. I already prepped the file for you.”

Jake pulled his sunglasses off. His eyes — always sharp, always scanning — softened slightly.

“You leave anything for me to do?”

A dry smile tugged at the edge of your mouth. “Just show up and look like you don’t want to kill someone.”

He exhaled a quiet huff — a laugh by his standards — and kept walking.

From across the room, eyes followed the interaction like hawks.

Behind you, one of the junior analysts whispered to another, “Did… he just smile? At someone?”

You pretended not to hear.

Later, in the boardroom, the air was tense enough to shatter. A mid-level manager was stumbling through a quarterly report, stuttering over projections and missing key numbers. Jake leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, expression unreadable. Everyone could feel it coming — that low, blistering scorn he delivered like a scalpel.

Until—

You cleared your throat. “I think what he meant to say is the forecast accounts for the foreign currency losses, which is why it’s skewed in Q3.”

Jake’s eyes cut to you. You met his gaze, cool as ever, as if daring him to contradict you.

Silence. Then—

“Fine,” Jake muttered. “Keep going.”

The manager looked like he’d just avoided the electric chair. The rest of the room stared at you like you’d just tamed a lion.

Jake, of course, didn’t say thank you — he never did. But the fact that he hadn’t shredded the poor guy into a cautionary tale was proof enough: your voice was the only one he listened to without question.

Later that day, a new hire accidentally spilled a triple-shot espresso over the edge of her desk and into the hallway — mere moments before Jake’s routine midday sweep of the floor.

Chaos erupted.

A blur of paper towels, mumbled apologies, and sheer panic rippled through the space. The poor girl was scrambling on her knees, trying to mop up the mess when Jake turned the corner.

He stopped.

The girl froze like a deer in headlights.

Jake’s brows lifted just slightly. “Are we redecorating?”

She squeaked.

You appeared behind him, holding a dry cleaning bag over one arm.

“She spilled coffee,” you said calmly, like you were talking about the weather. “But don’t worry. It’s not on the rug. And that stain over there was already there — you just never noticed.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but not at you. At the fear in the intern’s face.

Jake turned to the girl. “Clean it up. And get another one.”

Then he walked away.

You followed after him, casually tossing over your shoulder, “Maybe decaf this time.”

He shook his head, biting back a grin he didn’t want anyone else to see.

In private, in the safety of his glass-walled corner office, Jake watched you through the tinted glass. The way you moved through the chaos like it didn’t touch you. The way people instinctively leaned closer when you spoke. The way you never once bowed your head when he barked orders — and how he never barked at you.

He hated inefficiency. Hated incompetence. Hated noise.

But you?

You were calm. You were sharp. And he trusted you in a way that unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

Jake’s jet was waiting for them at Teterboro, gleaming beneath the late morning sun like it had rolled off the pages of Forbes. A sleek Gulfstream G800 — the kind of aircraft that screamed I could buy your entire existence and not blink.

You adjusted your sunglasses and tilted your head as you took in the sheer absurdity of it.

“Let me guess,” you said, rolling your suitcase behind you. “You named her ‘Ego.’”

Jake barely glanced at you as he handed his bag off to the pilot. “No. That’s the yacht.”

You snorted. “Of course it is.”

He gave you a smirk as he walked up the stairs, impossibly confident in his custom-tailored navy suit. You followed — slowly. More slowly than usual.

Jake noticed.

At the top, he turned to glance back, one brow raised. “Need a hand, sweetheart? Didn’t know heels and staircases were such mortal enemies.”

“It’s not the heels,” you muttered, taking another cautious step up. “It’s the whole... flying death machine thing.”

Jake’s mouth twitched. “You’re afraid of flying?”

You scowled. “I prefer being on the ground where the oxygen lives.”

That earned a low, amused laugh. “You work for a man who travels every other week and you’re scared of planes?”

“I suffer in silence. Like every underpaid woman in a capitalist society.”

He ushered you inside with a dramatic sweep of his arm. “You’re not underpaid.”

You paused just long enough to smirk back. “I am a woman in a capitalist society, though.”

Inside, the jet was a study in excess: leather seats like thrones, dark walnut trim, gold fixtures. A glass decanter of scotch sat ready beside a small fridge stocked with Evian and green juices — your green juices, you noted with a raised brow. Jake really did take notes when he wanted to.

You plopped into a seat across from him and immediately buckled in.

Tightly.

Jake settled across from you, stretching his legs out like he owned the sky. Which, technically, he did.

“Should I be worried?” he asked, his tone dry as he loosened his tie. “You’re looking at the safety card like it’s a will.”

You were, in fact, gripping the laminated sheet like a lifeline.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re pale.”

“I’m fine,” you said again, but it came out through clenched teeth.

Jake watched you for a beat longer, then leaned forward slightly, voice lower. “You trust me?”

That caught you off guard. Your hands faltered for a second on the armrest. You narrowed your eyes.

“You fly with me,” he added. “You work beside me. You’ve seen me fire five people in a single afternoon. You know what I’m capable of. Do you trust me?”

You stared at him, throat suddenly dry.

“…I do.”

Jake smiled, and it was softer than you were expecting.

“Then relax.”

The engines roared to life.

You flinched.

Jake tried not to laugh — and failed, just a little. “You know we haven’t even left the runway, right?”

You flipped him off.

He laughed again — full and rich this time — then unbuckled long enough to reach into a side drawer and toss you a small pillow.

“For your comfort, princess.”

You looked at the pillow. Then at him.

“I swear to God, Seresin—”

But then the wheels lifted.

And you gripped the armrest like it owed you money.

Jake’s smirk lingered as he watched you close your eyes, tense from head to toe. And yet, when you peeked one eye open, his gaze was already on you.

Not taunting this time.

Just watching.

Like he was trying to figure you out.

At cruising altitude, the tension in your shoulders eased slightly — mostly thanks to the glass of champagne Jake poured for you himself, with an arched brow and the sort of slow smirk that made you feel like the main character in a rom-com you hadn’t auditioned for.

“You know,” you muttered, sipping carefully, “this doesn’t feel like the same man who once threatened to fire an entire marketing team because someone used Comic Sans in a pitch deck.”

Jake, reclined in his leather seat with a glass of neat scotch balanced in one hand, didn’t even flinch. “That font is a war crime and you know it.”

You smirked into your drink, legs crossed, your laptop bag at your side like a shield. You were trying — very hard — to maintain normalcy. Which was hard considering your boss had not only poured you champagne, but now looked… interested in talking.

“So,” he said after a moment, eyes still on you, “do you have siblings?”

You blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Siblings. Brothers. Sisters. Weird cousins. You strike me as the oldest child.”

“I am the oldest child,” you said slowly. “How did you—?”

“Control freak energy. You read entire emails, and you reply in full sentences. That’s classic firstborn behavior.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Okay, what BuzzFeed quiz did you pull that from?”

Jake just smiled and sipped his scotch.

Your jaw clenched, brain short-circuiting slightly. “Why are you asking about my family?”

He shrugged. “Just trying to distract you.”

“I have champagne. I’m not distracted. I’m alarmed.”

Jake tilted his head, amused. “Do you ever turn it off?”

“Turn what off?”

“The smart-ass act.”

You gave him a faux-sweet smile. “Do you ever stop acting like Patrick Bateman with a Rolex?”

That made him laugh — really laugh — and you had to admit it was… nice. It lit up his face in a way that made you feel like you were seeing something you weren’t supposed to. Something human.

“I’m serious,” you said after a beat, still watching him warily. “What’s gotten into you? You’re being almost…”

“Charming?” he offered.

“I was going to say ‘suspiciously non-sociopathic,’ but sure, let’s go with that.”

Jake leaned his head back against the seat, one arm slung lazily across the armrest. “Maybe I just like messing with you.”

“That I believe.”

He tilted his head slightly to watch you. “You know, I never figured you for someone who was scared of anything.”

You swallowed, gaze drifting to the window for a moment, then back to him. “Everyone’s afraid of something.”

“And yours is… heights?”

“Crashing.” You corrected. “Falling. Not being in control. Take your pick.”

Jake was quiet for a second, eyes scanning your face. You wondered — uncomfortably — what he was thinking. And then—

A slight shudder through the cabin.

You stiffened instantly, grip tightening on the champagne glass.

Jake didn’t miss it.

“It’s normal,” he said calmly. “Just turbulence.”

“Yeah,” you said through gritted teeth. “Normal. Totally fine. Great.”

The jet bounced again, more aggressively this time.

You sucked in a sharp breath and set the champagne down on the tray table. Your hand was shaking, and you hated that he could see it.

Jake shifted.

Without asking, he unbuckled and moved to the seat next to you, settling beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your eyes widened. “What are you—?”

“Helping,” he said simply.

You stared at him as he reached across the seat and took your hand — not forcefully, not dramatically, just… gently. His palm was warm, steady.

You blinked down at your joined hands, then up at his face.

Jake Seresin, who once fired an intern over an incorrect lunch order, was now holding your hand mid-flight like this was something he did.

“What the hell is happening?” you whispered.

“Shhh,” he said, eyes on yours. “Just pretend I’m your emotional support billionaire.”

That startled a laugh out of you, even as the plane gave another gentle sway.

Jake kept his eyes on your face. “Better?”

You exhaled slowly. “A little.”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

You looked at him again, hard. “You don’t… seem like the kind of man who does hand-holding.”

Jake smirked faintly. “I’m full of surprises.”

And for once, he didn’t follow it up with a jab or a condescending remark. He just let the silence settle — and somehow, it wasn’t uncomfortable.

The turbulence passed. The cabin smoothed out. The fasten seatbelt sign dimmed.

But Jake didn’t move his hand.

And you… didn’t pull away.

Eventually, you relaxed back into your seat, fingers still laced with his. The leather was soft against your back. The champagne glass stayed untouched. And Jake — infuriating, complicated, impossible Jake — sat beside you quietly, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

It should’ve been weird.

But it wasn’t.

Not even a little.

The plane touched down with a gentle thud on the tarmac of San Diego’s private airport, and the moment the wheels kissed the runway, you could finally breathe.

Jake had let go of your hand somewhere over New Mexico — slow, almost reluctant — and gone quiet after that, returning to the cold, closed-off version of himself you were more familiar with. You didn’t mention it, but you felt it like a cold draft beneath a door. The shift. The boundary snapping back into place.

The ride from the airport to the hotel was sleek and silent, chauffeured in a black SUV with tinted windows and complimentary bottled water that probably cost more than your rent. Jake answered emails on his phone. You reviewed the presentation schedule on your iPad. The world settled back into its roles: you, the assistant; him, the untouchable boss.

But something still lingered — like phantom warmth on your palm where his hand had been.

You pushed the thought away as the SUV pulled up to the grand circular driveway of the hotel. It was the kind of place that looked like old money and smelled like eucalyptus and exclusivity. Bellboys in tailored uniforms moved quickly to grab luggage, the doorman nodded with practiced elegance, and the marble lobby gleamed under high chandeliers.

Jake strolled in behind you, casually tucking his sunglasses into his jacket pocket, leaving a trail of silent awe as hotel staff and guests alike registered the CEO of Seresin International in their lobby.

You, already in full assistant mode, approached the front desk with your confirmation emails at the ready.

“Hi,” you said to the impeccably dressed receptionist. “Reservation under Seresin International. It should be for two rooms — a suite and a standard.”

The woman at the desk smiled warmly and began typing. Her perfectly-manicured nails clacked softly on the keys.

“Welcome. Yes, I see it right here—one-bedroom suite, single king bed.”

You blinked.

“No—sorry. It should be two rooms. One suite, one standard.”

She frowned slightly and turned the screen to check again. “No, I have only one reservation. One room.”

Your spine stiffened. “That’s not possible. I booked two rooms. I have the confirmation right here—”

“I understand,” she said patiently. “But I only have one reservation under your company name. It’s the executive suite with a single king bed.”

You stared at her, mouth open slightly. “So not even two beds? Just one? That’s ridiculous. We don’t even need a suite—”

“Ma’am,” she said with a placid smile, “the reservation is nonrefundable.”

You were already pulling up the email confirmation, about to weaponize your most condescending lawyer-voice even though you were not a lawyer. “This is ridiculous. Someone in your booking department obviously screwed this up—”

“Problem?” came a drawling voice from just behind your shoulder.

You didn’t even turn. “Yes. Your hotel is apparently incapable of properly reading a reservation form.”

Jake stepped up beside you, arching a brow at the receptionist who, now clearly recognizing him, looked like she was about to offer him her social security number if he asked nicely.

Jake looked back at you, entirely unbothered. “So they only have one room?”

“One bed, Jake.”

He nodded slowly, then looked at the receptionist with that infuriating, charming smile of his. “Honest mistake. Just give us the key.”

You turned to him so fast your earrings nearly hit your face. “What?”

He didn’t even flinch. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine. We’re not—this isn’t—we’re not sharing a bed.”

Jake turned to you, calm and borderline amused. “It’s a king. I don’t snore. We’ll survive.”

“You don’t snore,” you repeated, scandalized. “You’re Mr. ‘I Demand Excellence’ and now you’re just—just letting this slide?”

“Would you rather argue about it for the next thirty minutes while they try to ‘look into it’ and tell us they’re fully booked anyway?” he asked dryly, signing the check-in paperwork. “Or would you rather go upstairs, shower off the recycled air, and have room service deliver a $50 salad?”

You opened your mouth to protest, to fight, to shout about principles and boundaries—

—and then the receptionist handed Jake the keycard, smiling like she’d just handed over her firstborn.

“Enjoy your stay, Mr. Seresin.”

Jake turned to you and extended the key.

“Shall we?”

You stared at him. “Who are you?”

Jake only smirked. “Just trying not to scare the staff.”

“Since when?”

He didn’t answer. Just gestured toward the elevators with a gentlemanly flourish.

You narrowed your eyes, snatched the key from his hand, and stalked toward the elevator with your carry-on rolling behind you. Jake followed, quiet but smug.

And as the elevator doors closed behind you, sealing you both in a mirrored box with plush carpeting and soft jazz, you found yourself wondering—not for the first time—if maybe Jake Seresin was full of surprises after all.

The elevator dinged softly as it reached the 21st floor, the penthouse level.

Jake stepped out first, rolling his sleek black luggage like he was gliding down a runway, while you followed with a mixture of dread, exhaustion, and righteous fury still bubbling under your skin.

When you reached the door at the very end of the hall — naturally, the nicest and most dramatic door on the floor, with an ornate brass handle and a discreet “Presidential Suite�� plaque beside it — Jake gestured gallantly for you to do the honors.

You ignored him and slid the keycard through the reader. The light flashed green with a soft click, and you pushed the door open.

The suite was… gorgeous.

High ceilings, sweeping city views, walls of floor-to-ceiling windows. A modern, chic living room with a gas fireplace, a dining nook with a marble table, and a full bar that looked like it belonged in a Bond villain’s lair. To your left was the sprawling bedroom, where a single, painfully luxurious king-size bed sat dead center, flanked by two nightstands and a soft Persian rug.

You stared at the bed.

It stared back.

Jake rolled his luggage inside like he had not just volunteered the two of you for a week-long game of platonic cohabitation Olympics. He dropped the handle and stretched lazily, spine cracking in at least three places.

You slowly turned toward the couch — low-backed, designer, obviously worth more than your yearly rent — and tilted your head, considering the probability of it being even remotely comfortable for sleeping. Not great.

“Don’t even think about it,” Jake said behind you.

You turned. “Think about what?”

“The couch.”

You crossed your arms. “I wasn’t thinking anything.”

“You absolutely were.” He dropped onto the bed, bouncing a little with the sheer cloud-like give of the mattress. “If you’re waiting for me to offer to sleep on the floor, I’m not doing it.”

You blinked. “You’re not serious.”

Jake toed off his shoes, then reclined like he owned the damn suite. (He probably did own the suite. Or the chain. Or the continent, who knew.)

“Your back will seize by midnight on that couch. I’ll be asleep, and then you’ll writhe around dramatically and blame me for it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I would not blame you for my bad back.”

“You would. And you’d whine about it for at least 72 hours.”

“I don’t whine.”

Jake gave you a look. “Sweetheart, you once complained about the espresso machine at the office like it had personally offended your ancestors.”

“That’s because it sucks, and if we’re being honest, it’s not espresso—it’s burnt sadness in liquid form.”

Jake smirked. “Exactly.”

You glared. “This is deflection.”

He shrugged, rolling onto his side. “Just share the bed. I won’t bite.”

He paused, then added with a devil-may-care grin: “Unless you want me to.”

You blinked. Once. Twice.

Your brain blue-screened for half a second before it caught up with your mouth. “Excuse me?”

Jake didn’t move. Didn’t even look at you. Just reached for the remote on the nightstand and turned the TV on like he hadn’t just casually lobbed a sexual innuendo into the air between you like a grenade.

You stared at him in disbelief. “Did you just—was that—was that a joke?”

“I don’t know,” he replied lazily, flipping through channels. “You tell me.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Your thoughts were screaming but none of them were coherent.

He was still not looking at you. Still pretending like this was the most casual, innocent exchange in the world, like he hadn’t just cracked the entire foundation of your professional tension with a single perfectly delivered line.

You turned toward the bathroom before your face could betray the tiny flicker of heat crawling up your neck.

“I’m taking the first shower,” you snapped, marching toward the door.

“Take your time,” Jake called after you, voice smooth. “I’ll just be here. Not biting.”

You slammed the bathroom door behind you with more force than necessary.

And inside the oversized, spa-like space, you stared at your reflection in the mirror — at your wide eyes, your flushed cheeks, the flustered energy vibrating in your chest — and muttered, “What the hell just happened?”

The bathroom door clicked shut behind Jake, and the sound of running water started a moment later.

You were already in bed, propped up against a mountain of pillows like a fort, your iPad balanced on your lap. Work was open, glowing quietly in the dark, a spreadsheet in desperate need of organization. But you were very aware that no amount of pivot tables would distract you from the fact that Jake Seresin was about to exit that bathroom… in what? A robe? A towel? Nothing?

You swallowed and focused hard on the screen.

He was taking forever. On purpose, you were sure.

And then, finally, the water stopped.

You refused to look when you heard the door open. Refused.

You could hear him padding softly across the room — barefoot — and that was fine. That was normal. You didn’t even blink when he dropped something onto the dresser with a casual thud. But then he walked into your peripheral vision, and all your self-restraint disintegrated like sugar in hot tea.

He was shirtless.

Of course he was.

Just a pair of black boxer briefs riding low on his hips, skin still damp from the shower, hair a little tousled and curling faintly at the ends. He smelled like his cologne — expensive and devastating — and something clean and citrusy from the hotel shampoo.

You looked once. Just once.

And regretted it immediately.

Because damn.

He was obnoxiously fit. Broad chest, defined abs, and a deep V that disappeared under the waistband of his underwear like an arrow pointing straight to hell. You could see the towel slung casually over one shoulder, the way he ran one hand through his wet hair, like he was starring in a shampoo commercial and knew it.

You focused on your screen. “You couldn’t wear a shirt?”

“I could,” Jake said, walking past the foot of the bed to plug in his phone, “but I just took a shower.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

He smirked, not looking at you. “Are you scandalized, sweetheart?”

“Mortified.”

“Don’t worry,” he said lightly, finally climbing into the other side of the bed. “I won’t bite.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that.”

“I’m very consistent.”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t look up. Not even when the mattress dipped as he settled beside you.

It wasn’t fair. He didn’t look like the kind of guy who should use a three-piece suit as armor for his personality. Out of the office, without the power tie and the thousand-dollar watch, he just looked like a man — a smug, annoyingly gorgeous man — with muscles for days and way too much confidence.

Jake leaned back against the headboard, stretching one arm behind it and casually brushing his fingers through his damp hair again. The whole room suddenly felt warmer.

He glanced over at your iPad. “You’re still working?”

“Yes,” you said, not looking at him. “Because one of us has to make sure the merger doesn’t implode.”

“You’re off the clock.”

“I’m never off the clock.”

Jake tilted his head slightly, watching the way your fingers flew across the screen. “You know, most people in bed this late are watching trash TV or texting their exes.”

“I don’t have an ex. Or time for trash TV.”

He hummed. “Tragic.”

You didn’t reply. Just kept typing, ignoring the fact that his thigh was maybe one inch away from yours under the comforter. Ignoring the slow, almost casual way he let out a low exhale, like he was perfectly at peace while you were dying inside.

The tension was thick. Almost painful.

Your iPad screen dimmed.

Jake was still watching you. Or maybe not watching, but aware. You could feel his presence like static electricity. Like if either of you moved too suddenly, something might snap.

You exhaled slowly and turned off the iPad, setting it on the nightstand.

Then, as if on cue, Jake shifted slightly, laying fully onto his side now, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other resting across his waist. You could feel his eyes on you again.

“What?” you asked quietly, staring up at the ceiling.

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m admiring.”

You turned your head toward him slowly, eyes narrowed. “That’s worse.”

Jake just smiled, low and lazy. “You look good when you’re annoyed. It’s cute.”

“Go to sleep, Seresin.”

“You first, boss.”

You rolled to your side, back facing him, cheeks burning, heart thudding like it was trying to escape.

And behind you, Jake shifted too — just enough that his knee brushed the back of yours.

He didn’t move it.

Neither did you.

The silence stretched. Comfortable and tense all at once.

And somewhere deep in your chest, where irritation usually lived when it came to Jake, something softer settled in its place — like a seed waiting to take root.

This trip was going to ruin you.

The next two days passed in a blur of hotel carpets, endless coffee, and conference rooms so aggressively beige they made your soul shrivel. Jake glided through it all like the cocky CEO he was — perfectly tailored suits, cool confidence, answering every question like he owned the building. Which, to be fair, wasn’t a stretch. He had sponsored half the event.

You were at his side every moment. Clipboard, tablet, schedule, presentations. Managing him like always — flawlessly — and for the most part, nothing changed.

Except it did.

It started small.

The first morning, he handed you your coffee with a smirk. “One sugar, no cream, just like your soul.”

You blinked at him, brows raising. “You remembered my order?”

“Of course.” He sipped his own. “I like my assistants caffeine-dependent and emotionally unavailable.”

You stared.

He walked away like nothing happened.

The second shift came that afternoon, during a panel. You leaned in to whisper something — a reminder about time — and Jake turned his head slightly toward you, close enough that your words brushed the shell of his ear. His eyes flicked to yours, unreadable.

And then he said, completely straight-faced, “If you whisper in my ear like that again, I can’t be held responsible for my behavior.”

You recoiled, flustered. “What the hell, Seresin?”

“I’m just giving you a heads-up,” he said, shrugging and refocusing on the speaker like he hadn’t just short-circuited your entire nervous system.

That night in the hotel room, he stripped off his shirt like usual, casually tossing it onto a chair. You didn’t flinch anymore. You’d trained your eyes to stay up.

Mostly.

He climbed into bed beside you, gave you one of those lazy, lopsided grins, and said, “Just so you know, you talk in your sleep.”

You froze mid-scroll on your tablet. “…I do not.”

“Last night you mumbled something about… spreadsheets and betrayal. It was dramatic. Very you.”

You shoved the comforter higher and glared at him. “If you ever repeat that, I swear I’ll poison your green juice.”

Jake just chuckled and turned onto his side, back facing you, his shoulders shaking slightly from silent laughter.

You did not stare at his back muscles.

Much.

The second day, it only got worse.

He held open every door, casually pressing his hand to your lower back each time.

He handed you pens like he was placing rings on your fingers.

At one point, when you were mid-conversation with a client, he stepped behind you and adjusted your blazer collar, fingers ghosting over your neck like it was nothing.

But it was not nothing and you nearly dropped your tablet.

Even now, walking beside him through the hotel’s long marble corridor after the evening keynote, you were still off-balance. Still trying to figure out what the hell was happening.

“You’re unusually quiet tonight,” Jake commented, his hands in his pockets, voice smooth.

You shot him a sidelong look. “Are you flirting with me?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Would it work if I were?”

You stopped walking. “I’m your assistant.”

Jake paused too, turning toward you, the dim hallway lights casting a soft glow over his face. “So?”

You blinked. “So, what’s gotten into you?”

He smiled slightly. Not smug — not this time. Just… amused. “Nothing. I just like messing with you.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Right. Of course. God forbid you go five minutes without being insufferable.”

Jake leaned in, close enough that your breath caught. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, boss.”

And with that, he turned and kept walking, leaving you frozen in place, rethinking your entire existence.

That night in the suite, you didn’t speak much. Jake showered first. Came out shirtless, as usual. Didn’t even acknowledge it. He scrolled on his phone, tossed you a bottle of water without looking.

But the tension was there.

Unspoken. Crackling. Pressed into every inch of the shared air between you.

You crawled under the covers, flicked the lamp off, and stared at the ceiling.

Jake lay next to you, one arm behind his head, gaze fixed on nothing.

After a moment, he said quietly, “We’re a good team, you know.”

You turned your head slightly, catching the outline of his profile in the dark.

“…Yeah,” you whispered. “We are.”

He glanced over at you, eyes searching yours in the low light. “Try not to dream about me too loudly tonight, boss.”

You groaned into your pillow. “You’re insufferable.”

And yet, your lips curled into a traitorous smile anyway.

The third day dawned with pale gold light bleeding through the suite’s sheer curtains. You were already awake when Jake emerged from the bathroom, towel slung low on his hips, steam following him like a cloud. His usual smirk was missing — replaced with a yawn and a scratch to his abs that you definitely didn’t notice.

Much.

You’d both fallen into the rhythm of the conference. Meetings, panels, coffee breaks, networking events. Coordinated in your chaos, like always.

Except now, something was different. Jake had been quieter that morning. Not cold, just… watchful. You caught him glancing at you more than once as you got ready — his gaze trailing from your heels to the neat twist in your hair. But every time you looked up, he was already pretending to check his watch or adjust his cufflinks.

By noon, the two of you were at a rooftop luncheon hosted by some fintech giant. The catered food was suspiciously pretty, the kind of salad that made you crave a burger just by looking at it. You and Jake had split up momentarily — he was across the space, talking to some board member in a navy suit, expression sharp and unreadable. You stood by a tall cocktail table, sipping something vaguely citrusy and waiting for him to finish.

And then he appeared.

You hadn’t even noticed the older man until he was suddenly beside you, all fake charm and far too much cologne.

“Well, hello,” he said, giving your figure a slow, pointed once-over before offering his hand. “Didn’t realize this event came with such… lovely scenery.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I’m Marcus Klein. Real estate investments. And you are?”

“…Just here for work.”

He grinned, undeterred. “Bet you make a hell of an assistant, huh? Do you come with the suit, or is that just part of the fantasy?”

Your spine went stiff. You took a step back, glancing subtly around for Jake.

“Let me buy you a drink,” the man continued, eyes still traveling places they had no right to be. “Maybe slip away from all this corporate crap, get a little more… comfortable.”

You opened your mouth — ready to tell him off — but before a single syllable could escape, a hand landed firmly on your waist.

“Is there a problem here?”

Jake.

The tone of his voice was low. Dangerous. Like the hum of a storm before it cracked open the sky.

Marcus turned, clearly unimpressed. “We’re just talking, buddy—”

“No,” Jake said, deadly calm, “you were talking. She wasn’t interested.”

Marcus chuckled nervously. “Didn’t realize she was spoken for.”

Jake stepped forward, blocking your body with his, hand still planted at your hip. “She’s not a piece of property. She doesn’t need to be spoken for. But you do need to fuck off before I forget where I am and put your ass through that railing.”

A stunned silence fell over your little corner of the rooftop. A few heads turned. Marcus went a shade paler.

“Alright,” the man muttered, backing up with hands raised. “Message received.”

He disappeared into the crowd.

You exhaled, only then realizing how tightly you’d been gripping your glass.

Jake turned to face you, jaw still clenched.

“You okay?” he asked, voice tight.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Thanks. He was just—”

“I saw.”

You glanced up at him. His expression was still stormy, eyes narrowed, chest rising and falling faster than normal.

You touched his wrist gently. “Jake.”

That broke the tension — a little. He looked down at your hand, then back at your face.

“He shouldn’t have talked to you like that,” he muttered. “I should’ve been—”

“It’s not your fault.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at you like the wind had been knocked out of him. Then his hand — the one at your waist — shifted, almost without him realizing it. His thumb brushed a light circle against your dress.

“We’re getting out of here,” he said quietly. “Come on.”

You didn’t argue. You just followed him, pulse still racing for reasons that had nothing to do with Marcus Klein.

You didn’t say much on the ride back to the hotel.

Jake was still worked up — you could feel it radiating off him like heat from asphalt. His jaw was tight. One hand on the steering wheel, the other flexing restlessly in his lap. You tried to thank him again for stepping in, but he only gave a clipped, “Forget it,” and turned up the AC.

So you rode in silence.

When you reached the hotel, he didn’t wait for the valet. Just tossed the keys and stormed inside, not looking back to check if you were following. You were.

The elevator ride up was thick with unspoken words. You stood at opposite ends of the cabin, your reflection fractured in the mirrored walls. Jake was breathing hard, like he’d just come off a sprint.

By the time you entered the suite, he still hadn’t cooled down.

Jake yanked off his suit jacket and threw it over a chair. His fingers tugged loose the first two buttons of his shirt, then he stalked to the minibar and poured himself a drink — straight scotch, of course. No ice. No words.

You stood by the window, arms crossed over your chest, watching him.

“What is wrong with you?” you finally asked, sharp but confused.

Jake didn’t answer. Just took a long swallow of scotch, then tossed the glass down a little too hard.

“Jake.”

He looked at you — really looked at you. Like he was seeing you for the first time. Like he couldn’t believe what he was about to say.

And still… he said it anyway.

“You’re mine.”

The words punched the air between you.

You blinked. “What?”

Jake didn’t flinch. Just took a step closer, eyes locked on yours.

“That guy—” He exhaled sharply, like just remembering it pissed him off all over again. “He looked at you like you were something to take. Like you were just decoration. And it made me want to rip his fucking head off.”

Your throat went dry.

“Jake…”

“I know you’re my assistant. I know I’m your boss. I know I’m the last person who should be saying this, but fuck it.” He ran a hand through his hair, the raw edge in his voice shaking something loose in your chest. “You’re mine. I feel it every time you roll your eyes at me. Every time you hand me a coffee and mutter some smart-ass comment under your breath. Every time I walk into a room and the only thing I’m looking for is you.”

You stood frozen.

“I don’t want anyone else touching you,” he said, softer now. “Talking to you like that. Hell, even looking at you like they’ve got a chance. Because they don’t. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Your mouth parted, but no words came out.

Jake took a step forward.

“I know it’s not part of the job description,” he said, voice lower now. “I know it’s complicated. But I had to say it.”

Another beat passed. Then two.

And finally, you spoke — voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re serious.”

Jake gave a bitter little smile. “Dead serious.”

You swallowed hard. The tension between you had always been there — unspoken, electric — but this… this was a spark to a powder keg.

Slowly, you stepped toward him. Each step measured, hesitant, until you were standing just a breath away.

“Say it again,” you said quietly. “Say it like you mean it.”

Jake stared at you — then reached out and touched your wrist, fingers light and tentative, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real.

“You’re mine,” he said, low and certain. “And I’m yours.”

His mouth was on yours before you could even fully process what he’d just said. One hand curled possessively around the back of your neck, the other flattening against your lower back, dragging you flush against him with no space left to think, to breathe, to do anything but feel.

Jake kissed like he did everything — with confidence, with precision, like he already knew exactly what you liked. He tilted your head, deepened it, exhaled into your mouth like he was finally getting a taste of something he’d been craving for too long.

You could barely keep up. His touch was firm, practiced, but there was an edge to him now. A hunger beneath all that control.

You stumbled back toward the bed, bumping into the edge as Jake’s hands slid down your hips. He paused just long enough to press his forehead to yours, his breath uneven.

“You sure?” he asked, voice low and rasped. “Because once I start—”

You didn’t let him finish. You surged forward and kissed him again, tugging him down with you as your knees hit the mattress. “Shut up, Seresin.”

A deep, throaty laugh vibrated against your lips. “Yes, boss.”

Clothes came off in rushed, frantic layers. Your blouse unbuttoned halfway before Jake got impatient and yanked it over your head. His shirt was already long gone, leaving his golden skin and sculpted chest on full display. You barely had a second to ogle him — all abs and muscle and smugness — before he lowered his head and dragged his mouth along your jaw.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he muttered, lips brushing down the column of your throat.

You arched toward him, heat curling in your belly. “Maybe I do.”

His hand slid up your thigh, coaxing it higher as he knelt between your knees, his body caging yours without fully pressing down yet.

“Always so mouthy,” Jake murmured, fingertips ghosting over the waistband of your underwear. “Bet you talk back in bed, too.”

“I give orders,” you shot back, breath catching.

Jake’s eyes flared, his smile devilish. “Then tell me what you want.”

That made you pause — blinking up at him. He wasn’t teasing. Not really. His voice was low, quiet. Like he meant it.

You swallowed. “Take your time.”

Jake raised a brow. “Not what I expected.”

You smirked. “I’ve waited this long. I want to feel everything.”

His pupils dilated. “Say less.”

And then he lowered himself, dragging his mouth over your stomach, down your thighs, spreading you open with careful, reverent hands. His fingers splayed against your skin like he couldn’t bear not to touch. And when his mouth met you — slow, deliberate, hungry — your hands flew to his hair, anchoring yourself to the only thing in the room not spinning.

Jake was good. Too good. Focused. Intent. Like the only thing he cared about in the entire world was the sound of your breathing catching and the way your thighs trembled. He didn’t rush. Not once. Just built you up and held you there, murmuring soft praise against your skin, coaxing every sound out of you until your voice was wrecked and your back arched clean off the bed.

You were still trying to remember how to breathe when he kissed his way back up your body — lips slick, eyes dark.

“That’s once,” he whispered, nipping your bottom lip.

You blinked up at him, dazed. “You’re counting?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “We’re not done yet.”

You gasped as his fingers slid between your legs again, teasing.

“Jake—”

“Say my name like that again,” he groaned. “Swear to God.”

You gripped his shoulders, dizzy. “I thought you were in control here.”

He leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “I am. And you’re gonna let me take care of you — over and over again.”

His words — low, possessive, tender — sent another jolt through you.

And he did. He made good on every promise, every smirk, every arrogant line he’d ever thrown your way. Until you were tangled in the sheets, pulse stuttering, nails dug into his back, your voice raw from saying his name too many times to count.

At some point, you ended up curled into his side, heart still racing. Jake reached for the comforter, pulling it over the both of you before pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Bossy little thing,” he murmured fondly.

You breathed out a laugh, cheek pressed to his chest. “Don’t get used to this.”

He grinned, trailing his fingers down your arm. “Too late.”

They didn’t go back to the conference.

In fact, they barely left the suite.

The only time the bed was made was when they peeled the sheets off just to toss them to the floor again. The minibar had been emptied, room service was left untouched, and the Do Not Disturb sign stayed firmly on the door — like a warning, like a promise.

Jake had a one-track mind and a laser focus, and unfortunately for your legs, it was entirely directed at you.

He’d wake you with slow kisses down your spine, hands gliding under the sheets, brushing between your thighs like he was just checking if you were still as soft and warm and wet as he remembered. (You were.)

And then he’d disappear under the blankets with a sinful little chuckle, like a man on a mission.

“Jake,” you groaned more than once, half-pleading, half-scolding.

“Mhm?” he’d reply lazily, nuzzling closer to your hipbone. “Still not done tasting you.”

Because that was the thing: Jake Seresin loved eating you out like it was the last meal he’d ever have. Like your body was a map he needed to memorize, one moan at a time. He’d pin your thighs open with those strong, broad hands of his, settling between them like he belonged there. And at this point, maybe he did.

He never rushed. Not once.

There was something about the way he watched you — sometimes with eyes half-lidded, sometimes sharp and focused like he was cataloguing every reaction. He’d lock eyes with you when you tried to squirm away, when your hands fisted in the sheets or in his hair, when you whimpered his name and gasped out how good it felt. And then he’d smirk, just a little, and go right back to driving you out of your mind.

“You always this bossy in bed?” he asked, voice low, teasing, right before dragging his tongue over you again.

“Only when you’re being too slow,” you shot back, breathless, trying to glare but failing miserably.

Jake laughed — a warm, gravelly sound against your skin — and doubled down, making it his mission to wring every reaction out of you.

There was one afternoon, the fifth day maybe, where he laid you back on the bed and kissed down your body with something close to reverence. He paused at your navel, then further, parting your thighs like he owned them.

You were already panting, fingers twitching against the comforter.

“I ever tell you how pretty you sound when you fall apart for me?” he asked softly, lips brushing over the inside of your thigh.

You tried to sass him, to throw out something snarky, but then he did something with his tongue and your brain just… fizzled.

And when he didn’t stop — when he kept going long after you thought he would, long after your voice had gone hoarse from calling his name — you felt tears prick the corners of your eyes.

It wasn’t just the overstimulation. It was the way he held you, touched you, the quiet hum of satisfaction in his throat every time your hips stuttered or your body trembled under him. Like he didn’t just want you unraveled — he wanted you adored.

At some point — some long, dizzy stretch of afternoon light — you finally begged him to come up and kiss you, tugging on his shoulders, your limbs boneless and trembling.

He did. Mouth slick, eyes gleaming, grinning like a man who’d just conquered a city.

You pressed your forehead to his and whispered, “You’re gonna kill me.”

Jake just smirked. “Not yet, sugar. I’ve got plans for after dinner.”

You rolled your eyes and tried to shove him off you.

He didn’t budge. He just wrapped his arms around your waist, dragging you on top of him like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he needed to feel your heartbeat against his to remind himself you were real.

And as the sun dipped outside, painting the curtains gold, you realized something that scared you more than all his teasing ever could:

You were starting to hope he didn’t stop.

The final night settled like a soft sigh over the city, the glow of the skyline bleeding in through the sheer hotel curtains, casting the room in dusky gold. It should’ve felt like the end of something — the last page of a chapter — but in that quiet space between dinner and packing, it just felt still.

Jake was behind you, his hands at your waist, thumbs stroking the bare skin above the waistband of your sleep shorts. You stood at the window like you’d done every night, pretending to admire the view when really, you were buying yourself a few more moments — moments before the spell broke, before you went back to being his assistant and he went back to being your boss and none of this could happen again.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” he murmured, voice low against your neck.

You didn’t answer right away. Because if you turned around now — if you looked at him — you weren’t sure you could keep pretending this was just a fling. Just an accident.

“Just tired,” you lied, soft.

Jake’s hands tightened slightly at your waist. “Liar.”

That one word sent a flicker through your belly.

You turned your head a little. “Excuse me?”

He moved closer, chest flush to your back now, and when he spoke again, his mouth brushed your ear.

“You’re not tired,” he said, voice dark, almost smug. “You’re overthinking.”

You hated that he was right. You hated that he knew he was right.

“Jake—”

“I get it,” he cut in gently, but firmly, arms sliding fully around your waist to pull you against him. “We go back tomorrow. It’s back to boardrooms and meetings and pretending we don’t look at each other like we want to rip each other’s clothes off in the elevator.”

Your breath hitched.

He turned you slowly in his arms, eyes scanning your face with quiet focus, his hands staying at your hips.

“But I’m not pretending anymore,” he said, the honesty in his voice knocking the wind from your lungs. “I don’t want to go back to pretending. Not after this.”

You blinked up at him, lips parted.

“I know you feel it too,” he added, voice rough now. “The way you melt for me. The way I can’t stop touching you because I’m scared I’ll forget what it feels like when we’re back in that damn office and you’re making snide comments about my suits again.”

A breathless laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Jake grinned.

And then — like gravity had its own rules around the two of you — you were kissing him again.

This time, it was slower. Less frantic than the other nights. More intentional.

Jake kissed like he had all the time in the world, like you weren’t leaving tomorrow, like he could memorize you piece by piece if he just took his time. His hands mapped your back, your waist, the curve of your hips — warm and sure and patient. When he pulled back, his gaze dropped to your mouth.

“Take your shirt off,” he murmured.

You raised an eyebrow. “So bossy.”

“Only matching your energy, sweetheart.” He grinned. “Besides, you know I like to watch.”

You did.

You also knew exactly what he meant.

You peeled the fabric over your head slowly, relishing the way his eyes tracked your every movement, how his tongue flicked across his lower lip when your bra followed.

He growled, low in his throat. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You smirked, stepping back toward the bed. “Then come die happy, Mr. CEO.”

He was on you before your back even hit the mattress — mouth on yours, one knee between your thighs, hands pinning your wrists above your head.

“You know, I had every intention of going slow tonight,” he whispered against your neck, dragging his lips along the skin there. “But then you had to go and get all bratty.”

You gasped as his teeth grazed your collarbone.

“I didn’t—”

“You did,” he interrupted, licking the sting away. “But that’s alright. I like you mouthy. Gives me more reason to shut you up.”

“Jake—”

His hand slipped between your thighs, dragging the waistband of your shorts down just enough to slide his fingers over you.

“God,” he groaned. “Still so fucking wet for me.”

You moaned, arching into him.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, lips brushing your ear.

“I want you to—”

“Uh-uh,” he cut in, teasing again. “Be specific. You’re the bossy one, remember?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Fine. I want your mouth. Now.”

He laughed — dark and thrilled — and then disappeared between your thighs with a reverence that made your skin shiver.

Jake worshipped you. That was the only word for it. His mouth moved over you with purpose, with precision, tongue teasing and flicking and curling until your thighs trembled and your hands clawed the sheets. He held your hips down, humming like your moans were his favorite song, eyes locked on you when you dared to look down at him.

When you came, he kept going — slow, lazy licks that made you writhe, that dragged the heat in your belly back to life.

“You can give me another,” he said, like a promise, like a challenge.

You whimpered, already overwhelmed.

“Don’t you want me to come back with you?” he teased, mouth still on you. “Then let me ruin you properly. Let me make sure no one else even tries.”

Another climax rolled through you with a cry.

He didn’t stop until you begged.

And then he finally moved back up, bracing himself above you, his lips red and slick, his pupils blown wide.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured, kissing you softly now, almost sweetly. “About not wanting this to end.”

You looked up at him, heart thudding painfully.

“I don’t either,” you whispered.

His forehead pressed to yours. “Then let’s not.”

And when he sank into you that final night, slow and deep and grounding, you both understood that whatever had started in a sleek corner office back in New York had evolved into something else entirely.

-

The hum of the jet engines filled the silence like a secret.

You sat across from Jake in the plush leather seat, your legs curled beneath you, the afterglow of the trip hanging in the quiet air between you. Below, the world stretched endlessly — clouds scattered like silk across the sky, cities tucked beneath them, unaware of the shift that had happened in the space between takeoff and landing.

Neither of you had said much since boarding. There hadn’t been a need.

Your body still hummed from the way he’d touched you last night. The way he’d looked at you. Like you weren’t just his assistant anymore. Like you were something else entirely — something sacred.

Jake sat across from you, a tumbler of water in his hand instead of scotch this time, the sleeves of his black button-down rolled up, throat bare where the first few buttons had been undone. His jaw flexed when he glanced at you. You were in one of his shirts — his favorite shirt, in fact — sleeves too long and hem brushing your bare thighs. You hadn't meant for it to feel intimate, but it did.

Everything about today felt intimate.

“You’re quiet,” you finally said, voice soft but steady.

Jake looked at you slowly, eyes darker than usual, thoughtful. “So are you.”

“Just… thinking.”

He nodded once. “Same.”

You tucked your chin into your palm, watching him. “About what?”

Jake let out a breath — not quite a sigh. “About how I’m supposed to go back to pretending you’re just my assistant again.”

That made your heart do something complicated in your chest.

“I don’t want to pretend either,” you said softly, honesty slipping through before you could edit it.

His eyes flicked up at you at that — something tightening in his jaw. “Then don’t.”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you rose slowly to your feet.

Jake followed your movements like you were gravity itself. His eyes never left you as you stepped over, climbed into his lap, and settled your knees on either side of his thighs.

It was quiet for a moment.

Just your breathing

Just his hands finding your waist, sliding beneath the hem of the shirt to touch skin he already knew by heart.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice low, rough.

You nodded. “I just want to feel you again.”

He leaned in, his forehead pressing gently to yours. “Then ride me, baby.”

The way he said it made your breath catch.

Slowly, you reached between your bodies, unbuttoning his slacks, your fingers careful but aching with need. He helped, lifting his hips just enough so you could free him, and then he sat back in the leather seat, watching you through half-lidded eyes like you were the only thing in the world worth seeing.

You slid your panties to the side and sank onto him slowly.

Jake’s head fell back, a quiet fuck escaping his lips.

He felt so good — thick and warm and grounding. You paused for a moment, adjusting, breathing. His hands were already on your thighs, thumbs stroking lazy, soothing circles.

“Take your time,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You moved slowly at first, rocking your hips in steady, rolling motions. Jake didn’t try to take control — not yet. He let you lead, but his hands never left your body. One traced up your spine, fingers curling around the nape of your neck. The other gripped your hip, steadying you, guiding you with soft pressure when you faltered.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “So fuckin’ pretty like this.”

Your hands were braced on his shoulders, your breath stuttering each time you sank down. His praise made your body clench around him — and he felt it.

“Oh,” he groaned, grip tightening. “Do that again.”

You did.

And again.

And again.

The rhythm grew messier, needier. You leaned forward slightly, your forehead resting against his. Jake brought a hand to your jaw, holding you there.

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “So warm. So perfect.”

His lips brushed yours, just barely. Not quite a kiss. Not yet.

You whimpered, the tension coiling tighter in your belly, your thighs starting to tremble with the effort of holding on.

“Jake—”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, sliding his hand between your bodies, finding the place he knew would undo you completely.

You gasped.

“Let go,” he whispered. “I wanna feel you fall apart on top of me.”

And you did.

The orgasm hit like a wave, stealing your breath and your balance. Jake held you through it, one arm around your waist now, cradling you to his chest as you shook. You collapsed against him, burying your face in his neck as he murmured praise into your hair.

“You’re okay,” he said, kissing your temple. “I’ve got you.”

You were still coming down when he shifted beneath you, lifting you gently as he thrust up once, twice, chasing his own release. His fingers dug into your hips as he groaned into your skin, spilling inside you with a shudder.

The cabin was silent except for your breathing.

You stayed like that — tangled together in the middle of a private jet, a mess of limbs and sighs and promises you hadn’t made out loud yet.

Jake finally leaned back to look at you.

“You know we’re not pretending anymore,” he said, like it wasn’t even a question.

You nodded.

And smiled.

“Good,” he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Because I don’t want to sleep another night without you.”

You kissed him softly, sweetly, like an answer.

And then you stayed in his lap the whole way home.

[underskyesspell]

All About Your Soulmate

Pick a Card

1 → 3

Hi, loves! Please pick the pile you're most drawn to. I hope you enjoy and remember to keep what resonates and leave what doesn't.

Pile 1

Wheel of Fortune, The Empress, Seven of Wands, Justice, Six of Wands

Hi, honey. Let’s talk about your soulmate.

With the Wheel of Fortune, they’re someone who was destined to cross your path. Life keeps throwing surprises their way, but they always find a way to land on their feet. They’re spontaneous, lucky in love, and possibly someone you’ll meet during a big shift in your life.

The Empress tells me they’re nurturing, romantic, and deeply creative. They have a soft and sensual energy that makes people feel safe and adored. Definitely someone who would bring flowers just because, or cook your favorite meal after a long day. There’s a strong divine feminine energy here, no matter their gender.

The Seven of Wands shows they’re resilient. This person doesn’t back down easily. They may have gone through a lot to become the person they are now. They’re protective over their loved ones and will fight for what they believe in. A real ride-or-die type.

Now when it comes to looks:

The Justice card says they have a balanced, striking appearance. You might notice symmetry in their face or a very composed, elegant vibe. They might dress with intention, think clean, well-put-together, even a little formal or classic.

And with the Six of Wands, they definitely turn heads. This is someone who walks into a room and owns it. They could have a strong presence, radiant smile, or just a lot of natural charm. People notice them, and your soulmate probably doesn’t even realize how magnetic they are.

Overall, your soulmate is a gorgeous blend of warmth, strength, and soul-deep charm. They’re the type to fight for you and love you deeply. ✨

—————————————————————————

Pile 2

Two of Pentacles, Strength, The Lovers, Five of Pentacles, Ten of Wands.

Hi, sweetheart. Let’s get into the energy of your soulmate.

The Two of Pentacles tells me your soulmate is a busy bee. They juggle a lot, maybe work, family, or even emotional ups and downs, but they try their best to stay grounded. Life hasn’t always been easy for them, but they’re great at managing it with grace.

With the Strength card, this person is gentle but powerful. They have a calming energy and a big heart. You’ll notice they don’t force things, they understand people deeply and handle emotions with patience. This is someone who will love you even on your worst days.

The Lovers shows how seriously they take relationships. They don’t do things halfway, when they love, they really love. This is someone who believes in deep soul connections and values honesty, choice, and emotional intimacy.

Now let’s talk about their looks:

The Five of Pentacles tells me they’ve been through a lot. You may see it in their eyes, the kind of gaze that feels soulful or even a little sad sometimes. They might not care much about appearances, or they may have a cozy vibe, hoodies, soft fabrics, warm colors.

The Ten of Wands adds to this. Physically, they might carry themselves like they’ve been through tough times, maybe a little slouched posture or tired eyes, but there’s something resilient and beautiful in that. They wear their story with quiet pride.

Overall, your soulmate is sensitive, loyal, and full of quiet inner power. They may carry a lot on their shoulders, but with you, they’ll finally feel seen and safe. ✨

—————————————————————————

Pile 3

Three of Cups, Temperance, Wheel of Fortune, Page of Cups, Four of Wands.

Hi, love. Let’s dive into the energy of your soulmate.

The Three of Cups tells me your soulmate is the kind of person who brings people together. They’re friendly, sociable, and probably have a close-knit group of friends who love them dearly. This person is someone who values connection, laughter, and the little moments that make life sweet.

With Temperance, your soulmate is all about balance and peace. They’re likely calm, emotionally mature, and have a soothing presence. They know how to stay grounded even during chaos, and they’ll help ground you too. This is someone who listens, reflects, and supports.

The Wheel of Fortune shows that fate is at play here. This person may come into your life unexpectedly, like a twist of destiny. They’ve gone through a lot of changes and transformations. Your paths are aligning at the right time, for a reason.

Now let’s talk about their looks:

The Page of Cups tells me they have a youthful, sweet, and dreamy vibe. Maybe soft eyes, a gentle smile, or a soft-spoken voice. They might dress whimsically or have a soft aesthetic. There’s something innocent or poetic about their appearance, like they belong in a love story.

And with the Four of Wands, they radiate joy. Think of someone who glows during celebrations, someone you’d want to dance with at a wedding. Their smile feels like home. Their beauty isn’t just physical, it’s how they make you feel.

Overall, your soulmate is gentle, warm, and destined to cross your path in a way that feels magical. They’re your joy, your calm, your person. ✨

—————————————————————————

If you’d like to go more in depth or ask another question I’m offering affordable tarot readings on my ko-fi. Any and all support is highly appreciated <3

[cherryyserenade]

ur hee bf head canons were so cute 🫶 could u do a hoon version?

*ೃ༄ boyfriend enha headcannons ft. sunghoon

a/n: this ask was so sweet omg thank you :) i had so much fun writing this version so i hope you like how it turned out <3

pairing: 박성훈 x fem!reader ᨳw: mentions of jealousy, dry texting, teasing, simply just fluff

sunghoon is the type of boyfriend to...

01. …act like he’s annoyed when you cling to him in public, but never move away.

he’ll be like “ugh, why are you like this,” while literally adjusting his arm so it wraps around you better. his face is straight but his ears are bright pink. if anyone teases him about it, he’ll just say “she’s cold.” you’re not. he just likes having you close.

02. …refuses to share his stuff with the members but hands you his hoodie like it’s nothing.

jay once asked to borrow it and got a straight up “no.” you yawn once and he’s already taking the hoodie off the hanger. he’ll drape it over your shoulders all dramatic and then act like he didn’t just give you his favorite hoodie of all time. you’re the exception, always.

03. …makes fun of your music taste and then secretly adds all your favorite songs to his playlist.

he’ll say that it “doesn’t even match the vibe” while still letting it play. then two days later you catch your comfort song sitting in his “late night skate” playlist. don’t ask questions. just know he listens to it when he misses you.

04. …looks like he’s not listening when you talk, but remember every little thing.

you’ll mention craving strawberry milk one time, just randomly, and the next time you see him, he’s handing you one like it’s nothing. doesn’t even say a word. just gives it to you and keeps walking, because of course he remembered. and right before he turns away, he leans in and kisses your cheek like it’s just routine.

05. …let’s you put rings or hair clips or stickers on him and pretends he doesn’t care.

but the second you leave, he looks at them in awe for a weirdly long time. one time you stuck a pink bunny sticker on his phone case and he never took it off. when someone pointed it out, he said “oh i didn’t notice.” he definitely did.

06. …be brutally honest about everything except how much he loves you.

he’ll roast your outfit, your movie taste, even your sneeze — but the minute someone else teases you? oh this man turns into your personal defense lawyer. “shut up, she’s literally perfect.” and he says it so casually, like it’s just a fact.

07. …sees you across the room and tilts his head with that slow, lazy smile like he’s already yours.

he won’t wave. won’t call your name. just that look. that quiet smirk like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. like he’s not even surprised you caught him staring. he’s been staring.

08. …fake complains whenever you lie on top of him, but won’t let you move.

he’ll be like “can’t. breathe.” and act like you’re crushing him even though he literally pulled you into his lap in the first place. he’ll rest his chin on your head and scroll on his phone like it’s the most normal thing in the world. this is his happy place.

09. …sends dry, low effort texts like “ok” and “lol” but lights up the second he sees you.

he’s not the best at texting, just short replies, random memes, and the occasional “you up?”but in person? oh he’s all warmth. smiling before you even say hi, pulling you into a hug that lasts a little too long, like he’s been waiting all day. sometimes he brings you your favorite drink without saying a word. he’s just better at showing he cares when you’re standing right in front of him.

10. …secretly takes videos of you just doing random things because he thinks you look cute.

he literally has a camera roll full of you tying your shoes, yawning, even downing a energy drink like it’s a wildlife documentary. and he’ll never admit it. you’ll just find them by accident one day and he’ll get all flustered and go “don’t look at those.”

11. …gets jealous in the pettiest, quietest ways.

he won’t really say anything, but you’ll notice he gets real focused on his phone the second someone else makes you laugh. when you ask what’s up, he shrugs and says “nothing”, but then he’s suddenly sitting closer, casually reaching for your hand and resting his on your thigh like it’s no big deal. he’s not mad, just reminding you where your attention should be.

12. …does everything to keep up his cool guy idol image but completely melts when you call him pretty.

he’ll have his arms crossed, sunglasses on, trying to act all unbothered — but the second you say, “hoon you look so pretty today” with that smile on your face, he’s hiding his face behind his hand and trying not to smile. he’ll mumble something like “don’t say that” but you can literally see him glowing. he loves it. especially when it’s from you.

a/n: i LOVED writing this one actually. if there's a specific member you wanna see next, drop it in my inbox i am very easily influenced (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

[midbluecrescent]

Pick a Pile: How do people perceive you?

Pile 1

People see you as someone who shines. You bring a light, fun, and positive energy that makes others feel uplifted. There's something so vibrant about your presence, you’re often seen as witty, exciting, and full of life. Many find your sense of humor refreshing and your confidence inspiring. You say what you think, and you’re not afraid to be honest. People admire how sharp and articulate you are, especially when your humor carries intellectual undertones. At the same time, some people might not take you seriously at first. For some of you, your humor can make them assume you’re always lighthearted. But when you speak your truth, it hits hard. You have a gift for clarity and directness that can catch people off guard.

You’re quick to act, someone who doesn’t overthink forever. You evaluate things fast, decide, and move. Because of this, others might come to you when they want a quick and smart opinion. There’s also this vibe that you’re super online or always tuned into pop culture and random brain-rot humor, and people love that about you. But not everyone feels comfortable opening up to you emotionally. Some might feel like you wouldn’t understand their emotional depth, or worry you’ll be too blunt or analytical. It’s not that you’re cold, you just might come off as too rational or hard to reach in matters of the heart.

Thank you for reading! If this resonates with you, i can do a paid tarot reading for you with affordable prices! ^^

Pile 2

You have such a warm, soft, and inviting energy. People feel safe around you, like they can open up emotionally without fear of being judged. You give off gentle, caring energy that makes people feel like they’re talking to someone who truly gets them. You might have “boyfriend/girlfriend material” vibes, not just romantic, but nurturing, emotionally in tune, and comforting. There’s also something childlike or whimsical about you, not in a negative way, but in the sense that you find joy in small things. You might romanticize life, see beauty in the everyday, and carry a quiet optimism that draws people in.

From the outside, some people think you’re incredibly lucky, that you have supportive friendships, strong family bonds, or a “perfect” love life (even if that’s not how you feel inside). You’re admired, even if people don’t say it out loud. But at the same time, some may underestimate you. They might think you’re “just” sweet or pretty, or assume you’re not serious or capable in work or practical matters. Sometimes this comes from jealousy, sometimes from projection. But it doesn’t reflect who you actually are, just how others frame your softness.

Thank you for reading! If this resonates with you, i can do a paid tarot reading for you with affordable prices! ^^

Pile 3

People see you as strong, reserved, and incredibly reliable. You carry yourself with quiet power, like someone who works hard, holds their own, and doesn’t ask for help often. There’s a sense of stability and focus around you. You might seem intimidating or emotionally closed-off to others at first, but that’s because of your strong boundaries and composed energy. You give “hard to approach but highly respected” vibes. People don’t always know how to connect with you casually, they might hesitate or feel unsure of how to break through your guard. But they recognize your discipline, ambition, and how much effort you put into what matters to you. You’re the kind of person others count on.

Some people might assume you come from wealth or privilege, or feel envious of your financial status or stability, not realizing how hard you’ve worked for it. Your aura can feel “serious,” and your presence might shift the mood in a room, not in a bad way, but in a way that makes people straighten up a bit. Underneath that tough exterior, though, you’re softer than most people realize. You feel deeply, but you protect your inner world carefully. People may never know how loyal or thoughtful you truly are unless they earn a place close to you.

Thank you for reading! If this resonates with you, i can do a paid tarot reading for you with affordable prices! ^^

[rotagnus]

how can i glow up? [pick-a-pile!]

a pick-a-pile about the ways you can glow up. tips and tricks, as well as a general paragraph explaining the specifics about the pile you chose. as always, trust your intuition - if something seems off, i may not be the tarot reader for you. enjoy, angel love <3. . .p.s. i may go back to a more simplistic way of making readings because i dislike looking for the dividers...if it's a bigger reading i will add them! i am not a professional. take this with a grain of rice. if you know that one of these is bad for you, DO NOT DO IT just because a tarot reader said to. i am not all-knowing.

p1.

you guys definitely need to spend some time by yourself. i get that a lot of you do it already, but at the cost of something else, like staying up late sp you can have some solitude, however you don't get enough sleep. many of you are sleep-deprived. others cannot handle being alone by yourself without something else being there, so you constantly inhale content, in many different ways. f.e some of you will eat while watching a tv show, and while this isn't inherently bad, you do this so you don't have to think. you are a very beautiful individual and your desire to hide any parts of yourself away makes you believe otherwise. secondly, many of you could benefit from dancing, or doing an activity that makes you feel worthy, such as listening to affirmations or subliminals, or doing mirror work, or even a bath with candles in the dark, during a rainy night. physically, moisture would be helpful for you guys; humidifiers, a nice lotion (make sure that if you use cosmetic products you check the ingredients), as well as spending more time in water and meditating on whatever you're thinking about. your avoidance is the thing that is stopping you from glowing.

bullet list:

-invest in moisturizing products. make sure to look at the labels. if you know what ingredients to look for, dollar store ones work.

-spend time alone. learn comforting yoga poses and turn off the lights and music. just breathe in the silence.

-refine your playlists. take out songs that have innately bad meanings that you disagree with.

-dance. you don't need to be a good dancer. feel yourself move and let energy out.

-take a bath, or go to the nearby river/ocean. put the top of your palms into it, and breathe out.

-journal all the things you love about yourself, preferably things that can be applied to YOU specifically.

-each morning you wake up, say 'today will be a ___ (good, worthy, etc.) day.

p2.

oooou you guys have a lot of anger inside of you that you pretend isn't there. sometimes when a situation upsets you, you can feel all of the anger and frustration inside of you, like a physical feeling, and you don't exactly know what to do with it. a lot of you feel this much because you guys are individuals with a lot of depth - you are absolutely talented at everything you do. besides that, many of you have very unique features, too, maybe feline ones? sharp and elegant. a lot of you are also my bleeding hearts, and when you're in tune with your emotions, you create such a deep strength within yourself, however you believe that this strength = pain = evil, so you don't use it unless you need to use it for something negative. many carry a mysterious aura and may have a connection with a specific aspect of nature or a specific season that you know is inherently special to you. you guys stand out wherever you go, although you may have made futile attempts in order to 'blend in'. you guys are also very good at adapting to things, and there is nothing you can't do.

bullet list:

-try to use makeup (if you do) that enhances your natural features rather than hide them. practice looking at your bare face if that is an insecurity you have.

-whenever you feel a strong emotion, separate yourself from people, and just stand still and let the feeling ripple through you. you are not this feeling; it passes through you.

-when frustrated, go on walks. walk it out. run it out, if you want to. expel the energy.

-when you're feeling alone or unlovable, imagine that love is your favorite color, and it is surrounding you. it flows into your blood.

-do some practices involving intuition. strengthen it. it will make you feel more like yourself.

-stop letting other people disrespect you. you know damn well you're special, so don't let jealous people push you away from what you really want.

-protect your peace. i know that feelings can feel like too much, but the universe gives karma to people. you are a person with a good sense of justice, but it is not yours to deal out unless it is explicitly FELT by you.

p3.

stop hiding your personality. it is there for a reason. not many people will ever have the honor of meeting someone like you, so don't let that spark that you carry disappear just because people have given you negative reactions about it. stop hiding your physical looks, your individuality, just because some people can 'disapprove'. start to have more hope. your anxiety will wreck your life. you know that the future holds good things for you, you know it in your bones, and yet you doubt it. challenge the beliefs that tell you that you're ugly, that you're not prosperous. you are. you are making progress as we speak, as you read this. you are good at new beginnings, and that is where your greatness lies. you can do anything just because you carry this inner strength, which is seen by protectors, who want to keep that spark in you alive. don't hide your 'darker' side, don't hide your beliefs, just to be liked by a dumbf*ck who thinks that they're all that. you're better than someone who's an egomaniac. sorry, i feel as if this was just a rant, but i'll put the list below.

bullet list:

-many will benefit from sunlight. some of you may sit indoors a lot of the time, and the sun will give you energy.

-many of you are good at devoting yourself to things. find something that truly fulfills you and pour yourself into that, not a person (cough cough you know who you are).

-nurture that bond you have with spirit. she is your greatest helper and aide, and it is there for a reason. people can sense your spiritual strength.

-eat food that doesn't have too much processed things in it. grow your own plants, if possible. if not, try to eat food that fills your soul up, not your stomach (if that makes sense...eat homey food, when you cook, put your love into it).

-detach from the material world. is your problem gonna matter to you in 20 years, or is it something that's bothering you right now, yet you know you'll get over it?

-keep connecting with people. your love for humanity is your strength, yet you shouldn't trust people naively.

-style yourself the way you want to, follow your gut. stop relying on external validation for people to make you feel firm in who you are. you are pretty without people having to tell you that.

i hope you guys enjoyed!!! mwahmwah

[centaurianthropology]

Why I Think the Throuple is Important (or, Redefining Sex, Love, and Intimacy with Preservation Alliance)

I have noticed that one of the most-complained about additions to the show is the Throuple.  I’ve seen it called ‘cringe’ or ‘tacked on’ or ‘unnecessary’, but I actually think that it was a key part of show-don’t-tell storytelling to show us the different culture of Preservation Alliance, and how they relate to sex/love/intimacy in a different way to how the Western monocuture currently relates to those topics.

This has been something I’ve been thinking about for a bit, but it was also very much inspired by this post by @todaysgenderismurderbot which puts it really well and way more succinctly than I’m about to put it (because I do love to waffle on!).

We are introduced to the Throuple via MB’s narration, laying out that Arada wants Ratthi, Ratthi wants Pin-Lee, and Pin-Lee is sort of along for the ride.  But we do need to remember that MB’s perspective and narration is limited, and it is very bad with emotions.  So we’re supposed to read deeper into that relationship than just what it says.  There is a lot more going on with them than those lines—suggesting an awkward love-triange in classic sitcom fashion—would suggest.  The show uses the Throuple to deconstruct how the audience might look at such a thing, and by utilizing that particular term, the audience is set up with an expectation that can then be taken apart as we are gradually introduced to a different culture with a different perspective on love, sex, and intimacy.

We see the start of the relationship come in the form of the contract.  I saw people not happy about this because this isn’t how polyamory is ‘supposed’ to go.  The fandom has had a bit of an issue with assuming the worst-faith takes when it comes to the showrunners and the production, and I really saw it at play with this relationship.  From the off, some people were convinced that by portraying PresAux as open and loving the show was ‘mocking’ them, when I perceived the show as loving them.  MB is clearly wrong about them (as they are often wrong about it), but it slowly embraces them throughout the course of the show as they chip away at its cynicism simply by being themselves (and thus also chipping away at the cynicism of the audience too, because boy howdy are a lot of the audience deeply cynical).  It doesn’t get all the way there by the end of the season.  It still needs to find itself, but the love they instilled in it is growing. 

So the audience has to learn about how love works on Preservation, don’t they?  Since love in all its forms lies at the heart of their relationship to MB, the audience needs to see some of those forms.  Preservation is a society where polyamory is completely normalized.  We see this in Mensah’s casual mention of her marital partners, but we needed an onscreen example of how this could go, which also works as character-building for everyone involved.  Thus, the throuple.  Which, much like all of PresAux, is lovingly portrayed as flawed, emotionally open but still sometimes missing the point, loving beyond what many audience members are comfortable with, and so, SO human.  They are all Cringe, and they are all free, and I want to be more like them.

Through them and how this throuple plays out, we learn more about Preservation, and honestly?  It feels like such a healthier approach to sex, love, and intimacy than our own.

Let’s start by talking about the contract.  It clearly delineates what is expected in the relationship, but is not a requisite for such relationships on Preservation (we are told this by Pin-Lee, as they think that their last addition didn’t work out because there was no contract).  The contract is a bit of character-building for Pin-Lee, as we learn that they want it, and it makes them feel more comfortable existing within a well-defined legal framework.  The society gives them the tools to build the relationship—contracts are non-necessary but sometimes useful part of relationships—but they need to implement them for their own comfort.  Pin-Lee wants a contract, and the other two accept that.  Arada is much more free-wheeling, I think, and wouldn’t necessarily want that framework on her own, but it makes her spouse happy, and so that’s fine.

But what Pin-Lee struggles with is that, even within a contractual framework, people are still people, and they are going to bring unpredictable elements.  Ratthi brings a completely different dynamic into their relationship simply by being himself.  That’s what Arada wants, and Pin-Lee accepts with their own stipulations.  This is a couple trying to work through their individual needs, but, as we see throughout the course of the throuple, still needing to get better at open and honest communication.

We are told later in the season that the contract has a clear time delineation.  This is not a marriage.  Ratthi is likely being brought into their relationship for the duration of the survey, and that’s it.  This is supposed to be a fun engagement with one another, bringing a new dimension to already-established relationships.  And that, for me, totally reshaped how I was looking at sex, love, and Preservation.

The Western monoculture very much gears people toward seeing sex and love through an extremely narrow lens.  You should be In Love when you have sex (casual sex Wrong and Immoral), and sex should be Deep and Meaningful only.  And Love is for the long-term.  For a single pair of heterosexual people to procreate through. 

And through the throuple we see how effortlessly Preservation explodes all those limiting notions of what sex and love can be.  Sex can be engaged in between colleagues on a long, boring survey for fun, because sex is fun and casual if you want it to be.  With futuristic birth control readily accessible, one assumes, and without the power dynamics inherent in our own current work culture, why wouldn’t colleagues get to engage in casual sex?  Why wouldn’t you pull in a friend into a sexual relationship if they’re into it?  What is the boundary between the platonic and the romantic?  Is there a need for a boundary?  This will vary person to person, but the society creates a framework through which labels and boxes can be exploded. 

Love is ever-present, but its form is changeable for the situation and the people involved.  And that is partially why the throuple works as a way to explore the personalities, quirks, flaws, and natures of the three people involved in it.

Ratthi has a very refreshing, different relationship to sex and love than we usually see on television.  He takes his relationships in all their myriad forms very seriously; they seem like the most important parts of his life and personality.  He is defined by his relationships with others, and perceives himself best through them.  He falls in love easily, but also lets those relationships go very easily.  I honestly think there is no particular delineation for him between friendship, romance, sex, and casual intimacy.  He loves his friends, he’s in love with his friends, he would happily have sex with any of his friends who would want him, and when a sexual or romantic component to a friendship no longer works out he lets that go without complaint.  He moves along the continuum of platonic-romantic and sexual-sexless with incredible ease, because it’s all love to him.  He is overbearing in his love because he feels it so intensely for everyone around him.  Learning to regulate his expressions of that love is going to be a long-term character arc for him, I think, but the fact that he feels it so strongly and openly is so refreshing.  The fact that he was raised in a culture where there was no shame around sex or love, so long as everyone is consenting and having a good time, shows how different and healthier someone can be about sex and love when given the space for it.

But the show doesn’t limit how someone can exist in a culture so open about sex and love, because Pin-Lee and Arada both have very different expressions of what they want and need from sex and love, while still existing within this clearly-established cultural framework.  Arada and Ratthi share an unintentional, non-malicious sort of self-centeredness.  They both assume that everyone around them feels and wants in similar manners to themselves.  They are both incredibly generous, loving people.  They give gifts and acts of physical affection easily and naturally, but both of them struggle a bit to read the room, which can make others uncomfortable. 

Arada is a really interesting example of this, because she is a gift-giver.  She repairs Bharadwaj’s clothes for her after the attack; she gives SecUnit an outfit.  In a BTS comment it’s said that Arada embroidered everyone’s socks for them.  I think that she embraces Pin-Lee’s offer of the Throuple out of that same spirit of earnest and open gift-giving.  All of Arada’s gifts are given without reservation or ulterior motive, so she assumes the same about Pin-Lee.  She doesn’t read Pin-Lee’s slight discomfort with bringing Ratthi in because she’s not looking for that.  Pin-Lee is a people-pleaser far more than Arada properly understands.  Arada is delightfully open about her desires and her needs, but it means that she sometimes steps all over her spouse’s wants and needs without meaning to.  And Pin-Lee chronically doesn’t speak up about it.  They’re so loud and abrasive as a lawyer that their wife doesn’t notice what they aren’t saying, how much they don’t speak up in their marriage.  It’s an interesting dynamic to bring in for Pin-Lee because it goes against the shark-lawyer stereotype and gives them added dimension.  There is lawer!Pin-Lee and spouse!Pin-Lee and those are very different people. 

Everyone is given communication tools.  They have Sweet-Bitter; they have We Can Talk About This.  But being given the tools and actually using the tools are two very different things that all three of these people need to work on.

Their miscommunication is so lightly-done and refreshing, because it never explodes into genuine hurt feelings or resentment or possessiveness or all the other things you might expect to see in a throuple storyline on a television show.  They try on intimacy, and have the cultural framework for a lovely casual relationship, but as much as they should Talk About This, it’s clear they don’t, or if they do they haven’t embraced the sort of honesty that would be necessary for it to really work.  So it’s off from the beginning, each of them wanting something different out of it: Pin-Lee puts up and shuts up, Arada assumes everyone is on her same page, and Ratthi keeps butting in when he’s not wanted.  Ratthi eventually realizes that he didn’t go in with the right headspace, wanting Pin-Lee more than Arada, and realizes it’s unfair on all of them, so he breaks it off.  But they all wanted it done, having each come to the realization that it’s not bringing out the best in any of them.  That’s where that culture of healthy relationships to sex and love and intimacy really pays off for them.  It doesn’t mean their relationships always work out, but it does mean they’re given a framework to recognize what any relationship should do: bring out the best in everyone involved.  And when it doesn’t, their culture gives them the framework to end that relationship in a clean, healthy way, because there are no hang-ups about a relationship having to be only one way to be valid, no shame or preciousness about sex that would make returning to a sexless relationship somehow ‘lesser’.

And hopefully, even when the relationship itself didn’t bring out the best in them, it still let them learn things about themselves that they can continue to explore next season.  This casual, limited-time relationship may not have worked, but that doesn’t make it meaningless.  Failure is not shameful.  Failure is natural, and can be a tool for learning even more potent than success.  And Preservation as a society also gives grace to failure, because it completely de-emphasizes competition.  If there is no particular cultural glory attached to winning, people can fail and still be happy. 

Sex and love and friendship are continuums through with the people of Preservation can move.  They may still be limited by personality, by foibles and hangups, because existing in a better society doesn’t actually make people perfect.  People are still people, and they carry their baggage with them.  These three didn’t work out even on the short-term because they didn’t unpack that baggage, even having been given the tools to do so by their society.  This is never an indictment of polyamory as a whole by the show (again, Mensah and her partners are RIGHT THERE), but rather an exploration of three people’s characters and their relationship with their society through the lens of a relationship.  It is both character-building and world-building, which in a show with a limited runtime, does what everything in this show has to do: serves multiple purposes.

We learn that Preservation doesn’t share our hangups about casual sex through them.  We learn that people are still people, even on a better world, and even with better tools for dealing with interpersonal conflict and miscommunication, they can still fail at it.  But we also learn that failure is okay.  Failure teaches you things and allows you to move into a better place.  We learn that love on Preservation isn’t limited by the boxes that we might ascribe it, and that moving along all the myriad spectrums of love is precisely as difficult or easy as each individual personality makes it.  Love can be platonic, can be romantic, can be both at the same time, can be neither and exist as something else without labels.  There can be as many consenting people involved in that love as you want.  It’s all good.  It’s all cool, so long as it’s fulfilling and brings out the best in those involved. 

And if it’s not fulfilling, if it’s not bringing out the best in you?  Reconfigure it.  Fashion it into something new and better suited to you the same as you refashion your clothing.  Upcycle your relationships!  Being culturally part of Preservation means that can be done without shame or recrimination.  Just a movement to someplace better along the spectrum of love.

[museeeuuuum]

Content Warning: mention of residential schools

I want to tell you about my job.

In an attempt to maintain some privacy with my online presence, I have kept quiet about my day job. However, due to the very public nature of some of the work I've been doing, it's very easy to find out where I spend most of my days. So, I thought it was time to share a bit about what I do.

I am a Digital Access Specialist at the British Columbia Archives. I work exclusively with residential school materials from the Sisters of St. Ann and the Oblates of Mary Immaculate, who ran many (if not most) of the residential schools in British Columbia.

What is a residential school you ask? Wikipedia describes them as: "...a network of boarding schools for Indigenous peoples.The network was funded by the Canadian government's Department of Indian Affairs and administered by various Christian churches. The school system was created to isolate Indigenous children from the influence of their own culture and religion in order to assimilate them into the dominant Euro-Canadian culture."

The OMI and SSA have archives of records, which have come into our purview. It's my job to digitize them. The records range in their scope: newsletters, photograph albums filled with priests and indigenous children, personnel files, student lists, etc. Some records are over 150 years old. Others are from the 1990s. Some of these records are scant in detail. Others are not.

Every day, I deal with the records of an attempted genocide.

I like my work. I find it easy (at least on the day to day bit), fulfilling, and truly rewarding. I see my position as being in service of indigenous folks and the researchers who comb through the materials I digitize. I feel like I am helping to move the needle towards truth and reconciliation, even if microscopically in the grand scheme of things. My work has helped people find answers to horrible questions. I like my job.

I scan materials, I do some work with the metadata, and far too many spreadsheets before I put the digital record where it's supposed to be and return the original record to its box on the shelf.

But sometimes... the work is very, very difficult. I look at photos that will stay with me for a long time. I have sat with survivors and heard their stories.

A part of cultural heritage work that I didn't see discussed until just a month or two ago is the weight. The work we are doing is amazing and will help people. But it can be traumatic. It has been traumatic. The last few months, I've been working almost entirely on photos. And to be honest, they're not so bad: smiling children and priests. Why would they capture the bad parts of residential schools? Beatings are hardly a Kodak moment.

This degree of separation helps. But a few months ago, I learned the story of one of those photos: a picture of a smiling nun and two young indigenous girls. I listened to the story about the photograph, told by the daughter of one of the pictured girls. She told us what that nun had done to her mother and her aunt, and I could not stop sobbing.

The work is incredibly hard. But every time my scans are sent to communities searching for answers, it feels like a win.

This is the work I do. I can only talk so much about it due to the restricted nature of the records. But I would love to bring attention to the idea of "trauma informed practice". I'm honestly still trying to figure out what that is and how it works. But I think it's important.

[maxybabyy]

inspired by pictures of max on his yacht | maxiel | 900 words.

He doesn’t know why he sends it now. 

The text has been in his drafts for days, typed out for a laugh back when the news had dropped; nothing more than a quick thought. Only he hadn’t been able to delete it. Even now as he sends it, thumb pressed down until the whoosh sound rings in his ears, he wants to take it back. Erase it and retype it, rework it until it’s better, until he’s sure. 

It’s a joke, obviously, and Max would know that too. 

Daniel doesn’t know if it’s laugh worthy, but for sure Max’s face would do that adorable shit where his eyes crinkle and you somehow forget that he’s a 4-times world champion who kinda, maybe stole that from you. 

It would be a good opener, is what he’s saying. Something to get them going again. 

They haven’t seen each other in a bit: a padel match here, a drink with mutual friends there. But the season has been tough, and Max’s focus has been somewhere else. On shit more important than old friends who find themselves retired at 36. 

Life can be weird like that. 

One day, they’ll introduce you to a guy who has only ever known racing and maybe even still is a little too intense about it, and then someday you’ll find yourself spreading him out in your bed, making love to him like you’ve never done before. Because maybe you kinda like it when he’s that intense about you too.

Sometimes you give it all up because watching him win isn’t enough. You want that for yourself, you need it – almost as much as you need him too. It’s not an either/or – that’s what he tells you – but it kinda is. If you want to be the greatest, it is, and that’s still what you’re supposed to be, right? Only it’s still him holding you together when it all falls apart, when the guy you were brought in to replace somehow finds a way to replace you too. So what the fuck are you supposed to do now? 

hooking up w toto behind russell georges back? such a bad boy maxy

He swipes to the side of the screen, desperate for something to do with himself that isn’t throwing his phone against the wall. He’s halfway through a game of chicken with flight mode when it goes from being delivered to read with barely any change to the timestamp.

Daniel hasn’t had receipts on his texts since he figured out how to turn them off, but he’s always been bad at that, at replying right away. 

Max never was, and the dots appear just the same, mocking him, teasing until his heart has made a home nice and cosy in his throat. 

It’s a better joke now, he reckons. 

Pictures of Max just chilling on his boat and not actually having clandestine contract negotiations with Toto fucking Wolf just a dinghy away. Max in silly little yellow bathing shorts that make his pale thighs look thick and delicious. Daniel remembers how they would look after pressing his mouth against the delicate skin. The bluish marks that would bloom on the inside, barely visible to anyone who wasn’t them. How Max would moan when he rubbed his thumb over it, hips jerking against the bed, “Daniel, please –” 

always you have to go for the gap 

He squints at the screen, at the text he had sent that in no way warranted a Senna quote, when another text from Max ticks in. 

the age gap 😜

It’s such an awful pun – all puns are really. But Max’s crinkled face is back in his mind, wide eyes staring up at him for a response, and Daniel is too weak not to, chuckling to himself as the knot in his chest starts to loosen. 

less than a decade no longer doing it for u?

And then: 

 i hope youre having fun

He’s not a triple-texter, but his fingers twitch over the screen, ready to put in the work now that he’s committed to the bit. 

i like how u say this: less than a decade 

always in my head it is 8 years 

but i think this is very nice also daniel 

Daniel feels heart-sick at the thought of Max thinking about them too. Often, always – like he isn’t the only one kept up at night thinking about what could have been if he hadn’t been selfish. Still he doesn't know what to say, stuck in the same rut of apologies that won’t make anything right, promises that will mean little to Max now, when suddenly: 

always you were the one who did not think it was lovely 

He thinks of Max at 20, kissing him like he wasn’t afraid to touch a boy like that. He thinks of Max at 23, flying across the world to tell him that he loved him. At 25, screaming it in his face like it would make them not break up. He thinks of Heidi and the life he couldn’t give her. 

Martijn will come tomorrow so we will take out the jetskies maybe 

you should come stay a few days also 

He thinks of Max at 28. Sweet, incredible Max who has never asked for anything more than to be loved, and he reckons maybe 8 is kinda lovely after all. 

yeah maxy, i would love that ❤

[kaivenom]

General is fine, anything of your work is fine.

And you're right, the whole Sparda family is hot

Sparda Family dating HCS

Characters: Dante, Vergil, Nero

Warnings: there is a separated NSFW part, feel free to skip it.

A/N: and I am more than happy to start writing for them, I really put myself on this.

Masterlist

Dante Sparda

This men is very passional but also really disorganized.

You need to have a lot of patience for him to open up and have a more or less normal domestic life with him.

He facades everything with humour, which sometimes makes you really frustated.

At some point you have to aproach him about his relationships with Lady and Trish. Of course he reassured you that he doesn't have anything with them, but you have to make him see that his way of treating them sometimes makes you self-concious.

However, Lady and Trish become your best friends and sometimes Dante is the jelaous one, cause you girls have parties and things and he feels like soaked puppy under the rain waiting for you.

He really appreciates that you make him see the things with other perspective and also make him slow down, cause he really needs that sometimes.

Lazy date nights happens everyweek, he orders tons of pizza and you both binge watch a movie or a show on your appartment.

You are trying also to make him taste new take out food like chinese or sushi (it's funny to see him use the chopsticks).

He is a big on physical touch, everytime and everywhere. He always have to hug you and kiss you, and if he can't be on your body he needs to at least have on finger interconected with yours.

NSFW

Drunk sex happens a lot, cause you both go out and drink together.

You both tend to make out everywhere. Especially on missions when he needs a break, he just pulls you both aside and do a quickie or eat you out.

Other to what people may think, he doesn't let you get down on him really often, he prefers to be a giver than a reciever, it's his way to show his love for you.

You both are near the vouyerism line, not because you like it but because you both are really impatient when one of you gets horny.

Lazy sex and specially riding him on his office, just think about that.

Vergil Sparda

Getting this men to look at your direction was difficult, and having casual conversation was impossible, so dating is almost a miracle.

You still don't know how you managed to make him fall for you, but here you are and you are almost certainly sure that he is not going to let you go.

Not in a yandere way (he kinda is but it's not the point) but because he is so rare for him to form bonds that it may not happen again after you, and if he loves he does it hard.

Even if he loves hard, he doesn't know how to date at first, especially like a human.

He courts you like god, making you flustered like hell but then you accept dating him and have to give him a dating 101 class.

Even though he is not very affectionate, he loves making you gifts, sometimes a little flamboyant (a fire heard on the street made your neighbors call the firemen) and then he learned to be more subtle -> a bunch of flowers to your house.

He loves going out for dates, restaurants, cafés, museums, or even just a walk thru the park.

He tends to get jelaous if someone gets to close to you but he just stares on the distance, which tends to be enough to scare people.

He says he doesn't want anyone to know you both are dating cause it would be dangerous for you, but then he has a photo of you on his pocket and he looks at it everytime he is away from you, even on battle.

NSFW

He doesn't care about sex much at first, he doesn't want also to make you think that he is only with you for that.

But once you proclaim that you want him ( you have to tell him directly and look him in the eyes, very formal), he decides that he is ready to use you everytime he is horny, and you are allowed to do the same with him.

He refuses to jerk off from the moment he is with you, he just believes you are going to be around everytime he is needy.

He just gets a phone to talk to you when he is on missions, and that resulted on phone sex, cause he didn't want to get off alone.

He is very private with it, so you both keep things on the bedroom, but he would whisper dirty and very explicit things on your ears on the street just to make you worked up, so when you both get home you will be as needy as him.

Nero Sparda

He is really clumsy and idiot around you, before and while dating.

He just gets that dreamy smile and can't help but look at you, which makes him trip and fall, hit things, etc.

On missions you have to be on another team cause he has been hit by enemies more than once cause he was looking at you or yelling "(Y/N), look at this..." and boom, he was hited against a wall.

He is a really big SIMP, everything you do is perfect at his eyes and he is your number 1 supporter.

He tries to look up for ideas and dating prompts (he is looking at tumblr just to get the better ideas) so he can be the best boyfiend for you.

He is doing the door frame thing and saying hey like a fuck boy, you can't help but laugh at his attempts but you always kiss him for trying.

Sometimes he gets it right and you are blushing like an idiot, wihch gains you a heated make up season.

He tries to make hand crafted gifts for you and he is also a big one on physical touch, like a leech.

Tries a lot to have good comunication with you and really loves that you can understand him and you both can get crazy.

Cause you both overstimulate the other, jumping, running and screaming around while laughing about an inside joke... which usually makes the others annoyed.

NSFW

Like I said, he is like a leech, which sometimes makes you feel his boner, even though he tries to not make you umcorfotable with his hornyness, you sometimes just see it.

And so does everyone else, so he has some moments really awkard with the team, cause he has his hands on his pants trying to hide his boner and looks at you begging for help.

It takes him some time to learn how to eat you out properly but he put so much effort on it that he mastered it.

When you go down on him he becomes a moaning mess, I have no doubt about it.

He is sometimes a little self concious about it cause he grew up on a religious cult and you have to reassure him that you both are not just having sex, you are making love.

When he has the enery for it, you both try new positions.

I firmly believe that Nico built him a vibrator arm, all the pack: multiple speeds and modes. Nero died of embarrasment but deep inside he knew he was going to use it.

[idontknowmanijustlikereading]

Unique!AU continuation: Zoey

Okay, Zoey's turn to be unhumanified

Unlike Mira, who's abilities are primarily physical, Zoey's are primarily magical.

The physical aspects extend to speed and not much else. She's a bit more durable than a human, but not Mira level of durable.

Speed and endurance? She is a fucking demon. I'm talking can cross a room in a fraction of a second, not quite teleporting, but to the human eye it would look like it. The only reason Mira and Rumi keep up is because of their own inhuman genetics. The one time Celine caught Zoey speedblitzing she thought she blacked out for a moment and just didn't realize (we excuse so much shit on our own, and Zoey, a social butterfly, knows this, so she didn't bother making an excuse. She did nearly have an anxious breakdown about it when she was alone tho).

Can see in the dark, but doesn't get the animal shine to her eyes.

Unnaturally flexible, but suffers no joint issues/pain from it (apparently dokkaebi are enthusiastic wrestlers? Idk how flexible you have to be for wrestling, but I say you have to be flexible for it, so.). She liked to freak out Rumi and Mira by pulling her fingers flat against the back of her palm in the beginning, but then they got used to it. It was a party trick she used because she knew she could just excuse it as being double jointed or something similar.

Because of the wrestling aspect she also has strangely good balance. I'm talking cat like balance. Usually she plays up her clumsiness because of this, just to throw people off.

Despite all this she herself doesn't have a particularly big interest in wrestling (disappointing all of her dokkaebi ancestors smh (jk))

When it comes to the magical aspect there are a lot more things.

Has natural resistance to most magics and curses. That includes being able to tell if someone's been cursed or if someone is attempting to curse her.

Is extremely sensitive to magic. This allows her to also sense other magical beings, such as dragons and demons amongst other things...

This sensitivity also helped her a lot during demon hunter training. Because it was so familiar to her, she connected to the Honmoon very easily. Rumi was thrilled and Celine was honestly slightly suspicious.

She can fly -like properly fly- which aids her a lot in her speedblitzing. When she's alone she likes to just hover in the air and spin around like she's in a microwave, says it helps her think. When she needs to be stealthy she sometimes hovers imperceptibly above the ground so that her "footsteps" are completely silent.

Does have genuine magic. She can create fully-fledged illusions that feel like they have mass, can make sound etc. Can curse people if she wants to(never wants to). These are the strongest parts of her magic, but she can also do small things, like conjuring up a trip-worthy pebble, misting up Mira's glasses etc (Mostly things that creates a slight bit of chaos/mischief since Cham dokkaebis are known for playing pranks on humans, and even if Zoey isn't one, it's still in her DNA)

Since I went with her being part Go dokkaebi, she is naturally very good with most weapons, but her one true love is her Shin-kals. Go dokkaebis are supposed to be exceptional with arrows, but I just changed it to any projectiles.

And her magic extends to her weapons, allowing her control over them while they're in mid-air. We already see a little of this when she's fighting in the movie, since she kind of uses her blades like a bladed fan? Im just extending it a bit, allowing her to change the trajectory of them in mid-air. Think Yondu's arrow that he uses in the gotg movies. If she is focused enough she can also change the trajecotry of other people's projectiles. This is very difficult and draining for her tho.

When it comes to physical features one of the big things to keep in mind is that Zoey is the definition of uncanny valley. Mostly because of the illusion she puts up to hide herself, you can just kind of sense that she isn't quite human, quite normal.

But we're talking about what she actually looks like, so first and foremost: Her sclera(white part of the eye), gums, and tongue are pitch black. (learned to smile without teeth very quickly, unless she had had her illusion in place. Rumi and Mira are absolutely obsessed tho)

Speaking of teeth; her upper canines curl out slightly form her mouth, like tusks, similar to Mystery before his transformation. They aren't nearly as large though, they just barely peek out from beyond her lips (Mira and Rumi think they're adorable)

Has markings like Rumi, but hers look closer to tattoos, being black. They're also not sharp like the tiger-stripes demons tend to have, hers are far more angular and line-like. They kind of follow her bone structure, following the lines of her collarbones, the hollows of her cheeks etc. They are very slightly sunken into her skin, like scars. (is immensely jealous(not really) of Rumi's markings since hers glow fun colours while Zoey's do not)

Her ears are pointy, not long like an elf's, but still pointy. Like a goblin. (given that dokkaebis are kind of known as Korean goblins as far as i could tell lmao)

Her nails also grow into sharp points. They don't have any extra durability or anything, they just naturally grow into a triangle shape.

Kay, that's it. Imma get into the habits and urges of these guys next.

[apollonia4]

Hiii!! If you’re willing, could u maybe do mc (preferably fem but gn is okay too!) with a very strong southern accent? Like how would the brothers + side characters react to it?

Thank you in advance I love your writing pookie 😽🫶🏻

Hellooo, thank you! I appreciate your compliment and the request. I also apologize for taking so long but I had a hard time and just didn't feel like writing. ALSO thank youuu SOOO much for 100 follows guys♡♡

[} MC with a southern accent {]

How would the brothers and the side characters act around a MC who has a very strong southern accent?

Genre: fluff, headcanons, the MC can be read as fem but I put no pronouns in other than 'you'.

Lucifer:

• He likes your accent very much, he think it makes you all the more unique. While he himself doesn't have much expirience with this kind of accent, he will learn and ask if he is curious about anything. Also, he won't tolerate anyone making fun of it so anyone who wishes to make you uncomfortable will have to go through him first.

Mammon:

• Mamms is the type of guy to laugh at it at first, like the tsundere he is he won't admit he likes it. You woke up a thing for accents he didn't know he had. Sometimes when he's on his own, you'll catch him try to (poorly) recreate your way of talking, earning him a laugh from you while he blushes and says not to judge him.

Leviathan:

• Levi is curious, many characters in his games or shows have various accents so he's interested to get to know yours. He could hear you talk for hours. He swears you're talking exactly like they do in *unrepeatable anime name*! He's a fan and he will definitely ask you shyly to teach him the accent aswell. He WILL struggle a lot but he gets ahold of it... eventually.

Satan:

• He has seen and heard people with a southern accent before but yours is particulary strong. He's also interested in hearing more of it. The longer you guys know eachother the more used to it he will become and he will want to know about the place you come from and your traditions. Also, he 100% will ask you to read to him often just so he can hear you speak.

Asmodeus:

• Asmo believes that uniqueness is beauty and when he hears you for the first time ever, he can't help but just be smitten with the way you carry yourself. You might find him annoying with the way how much he's on you asking you to say a bunch of stuff for him. What can he do? You sound so good!

Beelzebub:

• Beel cannot explain it but the way you talk and the way you carry yourself gives him a strange sense of comfort. He would never mock you or anything, he wouldn't dream of it. You care for him and he cares for you and that also means taking care of anyone who laughs at you. That just won't do. As long as he's watching you, people are only allowed to laugh with you.

Belphegor:

• Heh you're talking weird. He will definitely giggle to himself a little for some time before you lecture him that it's rude and that you don't appreciate him making fun of the way you've been speaking your whole life and you could swear you saw his eyes shine a bit more that moment. Truth is, he just wants your attention, he doesn't really think it's funny or ugly, just different.

Diavolo:

• He is fascinated. Ever since he was young he was eager and curious to discover all sorts of new things and your accent is one of them. He cannot say he knows the human world well, he spent half of his life (if not more) behind castle walls so it's natural he's very pleased with seeing or hearing something new. He thinks your way of talking is very kind to the ear and he enjoys himself when you talk a lot during your tea sessions.

Barbatos:

• Naturally he's heard this kind of accent before. This man knows everything, you swear. During the millenia he was alive he got to know many accents and he can say yours is his favorite. He thinks it's cute and attractive. Surprisingly, he likes it when you rant to him, it just amazes him how you talk so smoothly.

Simeon:

• Simeon is positively surprised when he hears you. How about that! He didn't really think about the possibility of the human exchange student having a strong accent since everyone he interracts with has rather little to none. So, if you see a character with the same accent as yours in his new book, no you didn't. He can't help it, you inspire him! You might be surprised at how accurately written it is (he don't play).

Solomon:

• As the only human in the exchange program aside from you, he is of course well acquainted with the southern accent. He himself still, to this day has some remainings of an arabic accent in his speech so you two bond on that. He shares his accent and you share yours and that way you teach eachother how to talk like the other person. Then the rest is surprised why all of a sudden Solomon starts talking like MC..

Note: sorry that these are shorter than usual but I didn't have many ideas on how I could approach this topic though I hope I did the request justice. And as always feel welcome to request more things! ♡♡

[whoa-axel-chill]

Random lil Dead Poets headcanons

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☆ Todd and Neil would be total girl dads. They would have 3 girls who were all as spoiled as they could be on their parents' salaries.

☆ I'm not entirely sure with the time frame here, but Todd and Neil's kids would probably be born sometime after 1970, so they would be raised on Marlo Thomas's Free To Be You And Me album (which I adore).

☆ Modern Meeks had an emo phase, I will not be taking questions at this time.

☆ I think Ginny is a lesbian, so I don't ship charginny, but I do heavily believe in them being best friends, having met through Neil ofc.

☆ I've seen so many hcs on what kind of European Todd is, and I love all of them, but I am partial to French Todd due to the fact I speak basic French.

☆ Sort of similar to that, I saw someone who said Meeks was French-Canadian, and I am inclined to agree.

☆ Contrary to what Allelon decided to just casually drop in an interview one time to crush all of us, Meeks did NOT go to Vietnam, him and Pitts got an apartment together and they have many plants and Meeks grows strawberries.

☆ Although, if Meeks DID go to Vietnam, either Pitts went too and they died together or Pitts died right after Meeks did of some sort of freak accident or heart attack or something. Like said on the Dead Poets Society Society podcast, they are one of those couples who die within hours of each other.

☆ Knox is both the token straight (questioning??) friend AND the token traumaless friend. All the boys are constantly complaining about familial issues and he's just also there.

☆ SPEAKING OF FAMILIAL ISSUESSS here's a quick rundown:

-Neil's should be...obvious. Not much to add here.

-Todd's parents just put an intense amount of pressure on him. Like, being perfect is the expectation. I think Jeffrey is actually a good older brother, he would take in Todd if he was to ever get kicked out.

-Charlie's parents are snooty (it's mentioned that his family is richer than Neil's, and Neil's looks pretty well-off as it is) and actually always wanted a girl. They don't pay much mind to Charlie and mostly focus on his younger sister, Victoria, who adores Charlie, much to their dismay.

- Cameron's parents are dead. His uncle houses him in the Summer. He's not abusive, he's actually pretty chill, but he doesn't really know how to interact with Cam so he usually just doesn't.

- Pittsie's parents both work all the time and he usually doesn't see them for months at a time. In the Summer, he stays with his grandparents + aunt and uncle and cousins on their farm. He loves it there, and he loves his family, he just wishes his parents had more time for him.

- Meeks' dad basically wants Steven to be him and also all he couldn't be, partially why he's a Jr. He is a carbon copy of his mother, which upsets his father. His father is obsessed with trying to mold him and 'fix' him, even though Meeks excels in pretty much everything he touches.

☆ Stolen from a fic by @drpeppercreamsodaa (I think), Neil and Todd have a cat named Walt Whitman.

☆ Modern Charlie definitely uses the label genderfluid. In the time the movie is set, after he leaves Welton (whether by graduation, expulsion, or dropping out) he grows his hair out a little and experiments with makeup because he thinks it's silly and fun.

☆ Most of the group is acespec. Cameron is aroace, Meeks is asexual, and Pitts and Todd are demisexual.

☆ Everyone is autistic and Neil has ADHD. Well, everyone except Knox, he is also the token neurotypical one.

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