#thanks for the interest I do not think this is what you had in mind 😅

[monstersholygrail]

New City, New Life

5k celebration ‘Choose your own adventure’ story

Minotaur x fem!reader—fingering, exhibitionism, rough sex, marking, light spanking, light throat squeezing

Pt1 Pt2

You were stuck blindly walking around your new office building. Not realizing when you made the decision to look for your Minotaur Boss that you have no idea where his office is. Plus, it didn’t help that you could barely stand on your own two feet or that your head was still a big foggy and clouded over with undeniable lust.

The promise of your hot Wolf Hybrid neighbor ringing in your ears. He’d take you next time. And boy, you couldn’t wait for the day. Maybe he’d bring his friends again. The idea of trying out all those different cocks that had cum all over your body only minutes ago has you only growing dizzier. Fuck, who are these people you’ve been meeting? No one usually acts like this, do they?

As you walk into an open office area, you grow more and more confused. So many doors. So many places your boss’ office could be. You whirl around to ask for help, but end up tripping over your own feet in the process. A small helpless yelp leaves you as you go tumbling.

But just as quickly as you were about to accept your face and make a total ass of yourself in front of your new coworkers, a pair of strapping arms curl around your plush waist, stopping you from falling. Those same arms pull you in, snapping your hips against theirs. A weak moan falls past your lips and you pathetically melt into the stranger.

You couldn’t help it as their delicious scent washes over you. Oh, you could just burrow into it. It’s then you realize your eyes had closed from the impending fall. They flutter open and immediately look up to greet your savior. You wanted to thank him, but fuck, his sheer beauty just blew you away. You had never seen a more gorgeous Bunny Hybrid in your life and you were briefly distracted in your quest for your boss.

“Hey beautiful, no need to throw yourself at me. Could’ve just taken me right here,” the Bunny Hybrid Secretary said smoothly, his lips pulled into a panty-dropping smirk.

“Huh?”

“I’m the Minotaur Boss’ secretary and he prefers it if I do all my work here. He likes to watch,” the Bunny Hybrid purrs. He tugs you around, pinning your back against his desk.

A small squeak leaves you and your mind immediately falls into the dirtiest depths. His words conjuring so many naughty images in your head that you’re positive he didn’t mean to allude to. Yet your vision blurs with lust anyway. There must be something in the air of this city, you swear you’re not always like this.

Then the rest of his words begin to register and you try to blink the fog from your mind.

“T-the boss, that’s it! Do you know where his office is? I need him— need to see him immediately,” you say desperately, hands flying to the secretary’s hips. His smirk widens at your touch and he leans more into you.

“Oh, so you like it hard and rough, huh? You must be really needy if you’re willing to see him. You only go in there if you’ve been really bad… or really good. But I can take care of you, baby. That’s what I’m here for.”

“Please, I really need his help,” you beg shamelessly. His eyes flash with interest and for a moment you think he’s about to ignore your request all together and keep you pressed against him.

But then his bottom lips juts out into a pout and he releases you. Even going so far as to dramatically turn his back to you and cross his arms. Acting as if all his interest is suddenly gone. Though a quick glance down reveals otherwise.

“Fine, you don’t want me? Then have him! He’s right over there and he’s inside. Good luck,” he huffs and points just across from where the desk sits.

You glance back once more at the Bunny Hybrid Secretary. The urge to go back and show him just how badly you do want him tugs at your chest. But no, this is your job. This is your place of work and today is supposed to be your first day. Definitely not the time. You didn’t think it was anyway.

What you really needed was to find the headhunter who got you hired and finally get to work. In his previous emails he had always mentioned needing to see how well you performed for him. Whatever that meant. But getting in touch with your new boss had to be the best way to find him.

Just as you’re about to knock on his office door you hear a gruff ‘get in here!’ The sound has you jumping in your bones. But your body starts to tingle at the demanding tone of his voice. You brace yourself while opening the door and you know you made the right choice as you walk in. You silently curse under your breath. Why the hell is everyone so damn hot in this city?

Your Minotaur Boss sits behind his desk, his features drawn down into a stern expression. His imposing form appearing almost big as the desk and it has your panties flooding with arousal. His tight suit hugs his raging muscles so deliciously. But what really catches your eye is the silver ring hanging from his snort. A perfect combination of man and beast and it has you weak in the knees.

“Hello, sir, I’m—“

“I know who you are. You’re the new hire,” Minotaur boss says, slowly standing up in a way that has you ready to get down on your knees.

He walks around his desk, beginning to lightly pace as if surveying his prey. His hot amber eyes searing into yours.

“Only your first day and already causing such a disruption in my office.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just been such a hectic morning,” you try and excuse, not recognizing the shakiness or huskiness of your own voice. But Minotaur Boss sure does. He turns to face you, growing impossibly taller as he closes in.

The furious heat, the need, rises up within you once again and a whimper slips past your lips. The tension within the office is stifling and you swear you’re about ten seconds from either jumping his bones or dashing out the door. Given you’re sure you can’t do either, you opt for glancing down at your feet. But Minotaur Boss hooks a hoofed finger under your chin and forces you to meet his gaze.

“And you don’t think we’ve all had the same morning you did? Yet we come here and appear professional and put together.”

While you don’t think everyone in the office has had quite the same morning as you, you get his point. Kind of. You try and pay attention to what he’s saying but all you can focus on is the fact that his face is so close that his small huffs of breath fan your face. His lips so very close to your own. You start to revise the idea of jumping his bones.

“Yes, sir,” you reply slowly, your speech a bit slurred as you feel drunk off his vicinity. His sheer dominating presence washing over you and begging you to submit.

Minotaur Boss smirks as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. It’s like he’s almost doing it on purpose. But no, that can’t be. He couldn’t want you as much as you find yourself desperately wanting him. You two just met. That would be too soon for anyone else.

“Now I think you need to learn your lesson about what happens to naughty little whores like you when they act up here,” Minotaur Boss snaps, his rough voice tickling your senses and turning you on more than imaginable.

Your eyes widen at him but before you can even respond he’s flipping you around and pressing you into the glass wall of his office. You gasp as you’re immediately met with a view of the entire office. You can see them as much as they can see you right now.

Minotaur Boss yanks down your clothes, exposing your wet pussy to the cold air. You shiver against the glass. White hot shame bubbles up in your belly as you look out into the office. Some of the workers watch on, others give passing glances, and even Bunny Hybrid Secretary mouths ‘I told you so.’ But none of them look surprised. Like this is a normal occurrence for them. For some reason that only has your thighs growing more slick with arousal.

You jump as your boss’ thick hoofed fingers glide through your pussy, spreading you wide and catching every little bit of slick that’s gathered. He chuckles darkly and removes fingers, only to moan a second later. The clear sounds of slurping reach your ears and you know he’s tasting you on his fingers. You wanna see that so badly yet you’re frozen against the glass, not wanting to move without his permission.

He hums happily at your obedience and his fingers quickly return to your soaked cunt, rubbing your clit in tight circles. You feel his frame hover over yours and you immediately melt into his embrace. His free hand holds your hip, giving you silent permission to use his strength and get absolutely weak for him. As you sink against him his fingers sink right into your tight heat. A long mewl leaves you at the stretch from his fingers alone. He doesn’t hesitate to start pumping his fingers inside you, curling them at just the right moment to get your hips jerking and meeting his thrusts. A soft rumble moves through your bosses chest.

“I can tell your pussy’s been used well here, so willing to let me in. This city’s been treating you good, hunny.”

You moan weakly, eyes squeezing shut. The way he so bluntly calls you out has you clenching around his fingers. He growls under his breath and picks up his pace, hand snapping into your sopping cunt with brute force. Fingers curling and scissoring you open wide for him. You cry out, body writhing against him. How this man knows your every weak point is beyond you. He hits every sweet spot along your gummy walls he can find and your orgasm builds quickly.

Looking out into the office again you see more people stopping their work to watch you. You can’t help but hide away into the warm chest of your Minotaur Boss. A carful of people was one thing but an entire office felt a bit more daunting. But the way your boss didn’t even seem to care turned you on more than you realized. You quickly find yourself on the edge. Feeling your pussy spasm against his fingers, your boss quickly slips his fingers out.

Before you can let out a single complaint, your boss is stuffing his slick covered fingers deep in your open mouth, silencing you. You let out a noise of surprise but listen to him and focus on cleaning his fingers of you instead of talking. His hand on your hip leaves and you hear the soft clanging of a belt unbuckle. Sparks shoot down your spine and straight to your throbbing core.

When Minotaur Boss pushes his thick cock head through your wet folds you’re already pushing back. A playful shriek leaves you as his tip nudges at your entrance. Your boss’ hands both move to rest on your hips and he teases you, pushing his tip in little by little. You instinctively clench around him, trying to suck him in. He clicks his tongue at you

“What a naughty pussy you got here, hun. Think I’m gonna have to teach it some fucking manners,” he says and slams his entire length inside of you in one solid stroke.

Your back arches unnaturally, jaw dropping in a silent scream. But you don’t even get a second to process the sensations coursing through you as his hips snap back, starting at a brutal pace. Your hands shoot out to brace yourself against the glass but your boss instantly snatches your hands and holds them behind your back. He smushes you against the glass, your body wetly smacking against it with each brush.

“Ooooh— nngh— god! Oh god! Fuck,” you wail, eyes rolling back into your head as he sends your body buzzing.

Minotaur Boss laughs wickedly and you moan again, loving how he uses you. Ready to open your mouth and release more obscenities, your boss shuts that down with a firm smack on your ass and you merely help in response. He smacks your ass again.

“Louder! I wanna fucking hear you, hunny! Gotta welcome everyone in the building with your sweet sweet moans,” he growls, picking up pace, his cock slamming inside you.

Every deep snap of his hips nudges against your cervix and has your eyes crossing. You weakly try and move back against his thrusts but he keeps you pinned against the glass wall of his office. Forcing you to show off every inch of what he’s doing to you to the whole room. And you don’t dare wait a moment before listening to his demands. Your moans echoing off the walls and grating against your ears till you’re sure the whole building can hear you. Every smack of his hand on your ass has you growing even louder.

“H-how can this be so bad but so good? The boss fucking a subordinate. The entire office watching and touching themselves. How does no one get in trouble?” You shout in ecstasy, your eyes flickering to your coworkers who’ve started touching themselves. Some even moving to fuck each other too. Your boss nuzzles into your neck, lapping up your sweat.

“One of the benefits of living in a free use city, baby,” your boss says with another taunting laugh that has your toes curling. But you have no clue what he’s talking about. It’s hard to focus with his cock hammering itself inside your sopping cunt.

“A what?”

“Free use city. Means I can take you whenever and wherever I want. And you can do the same to me or anyone,” Minotaur Boss growls his weak explanation. But it’s hard for him too with your pussy clenching and fluttering around his girth.

Even with the brief explanation your mind spins. Not understanding what the hell is going on. You moved into a free use city? How was that not on any of the brochures the headhunter had given you. He just sent you into this place completely blind.

“But I didn’t…”

Minotaur Boss catches your expression. One of his hands curl around your throat and tilts you back. Your spine arches with it and you moan weakly as your boss slides into your cunt at a new angle, his cock brushing along your sweet spot with each jerk of his hips.

“You saying you didn’t know?”

All you can you is faintly shake your head, your eyes lost in a haze of confusion and lust. Your cunt once again spasms around his girth and he knows you’re getting close again. His own expression shifts, eyes twinkling with mischief as his hand squeezes around your throat.

“Well what a treat for you, eh? Now prove to me how much you belong here and cum all nice and pretty on my cock.”

As if your body was waiting for his command, your belly tightens and the cord snaps as you start coming on his cock. Your juices spraying all over the glass wall as your body thrashes in his hold. Minotaur Boss, as always, maintains a solid grip on you. Fucking up into you through your orgasm until he follows soon after and cums deep inside you, shooting buckets of his hot semen in your belly.

Minotaur Boss works with an efficiency fit for a boss as he slips out of you and gets to work cleaning you up. All you can do is pant heavily against the glass, your mind still whirling from the revelation. Everything that had happened to you since yesterday suddenly making a lot more sense.

But none of the information you had about this place mentioned it being a free use city. Should you have done your own research? You guess so. But the truth about this place shouldn’t have been hidden either. This was all because of your headhunter… and you were finally gonna get answers. You struggle to push off the glass and turn to your boss, once again fully clothed.

“Where— where can I find the headhunter who hired me? I need… to see— to talk to him immediately,” you stammer over your words, still trying to pick yourself back up again.

Minotaur boss settles back in his desk chair, leaning back and looking more than satisfied. But amusement quickly joins in as it dances in his eyes. Clearly finding your situation hilarious. He points down the room and you follow the line of it to a door marked ‘Conference room D.’

“In the conference room but, uh, he might be a little busy at the moment…”

With your destination in sight strength pours back into you. Your legs stop shaking and you stand up a little bit taller. Maybe it’s all the anger flowing through you but you let it propel you forward. Readying to give your headhunter a piece of your mind. And maybe a piece of something else too…

[kurooh]

★ 02. MORNING ROUTINE !

☆ after filming your first scene and talking it over with your agent, you’re off to your second . . in a maid costume!? once filming is over, you’re roped into an interesting conversation regarding a few other stars.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, everyone is over 21, oral (f receiving), cum eating, maids, awkwardness, creampie, unprotected sex. | 4.9K words

xoxo, juno. SHES BACKKKKK! comment & rb if you enjoyed! thank u to wolfy anon for proofreading ily ♡

SHOWTIME MLIST.

“hey, good morning,” shinsou rushes up to you at the doors, lightly grabbing onto your shoulder before you can walk into the studio. “how’d yesterday’s shoot go for you?”

“good morning!” you reply happily, lighting up as you turn to face your agent. “let’s get some coffee from the place across the street, and i can tell you while we walk?”

“sounds good,” he exhales, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck. “it’s definitely getting colder, god. i could seriously use some coffee.”

“ah, it is. anyway, filming wasn’t too bad. i had director iida, i believe? yeah, he was pretty alright.” you and shinsou walk side by side, stopping to hit the button and waiting for the lights to change.

shinsou gives a small smile, crossing the street with you. “how’d it go with your co-star? i figured he’d be a good introduction for you.”

“shōto was nice,” you say, warmth rising to your cheeks. the memory of being pressed against him and fucking is a little blurry, but just thinking about it has your pussy clenching around nothing. the faint feeling of his touch ghosts across your skin, and you clear your throat awkwardly. “um . . i think we ended up doing well together.”

shinsou’s not surprised. after all, he pulled the strings behind the scenes to get you with him.

“that’s good! i’ve been meaning to ask you about what you’re interested to do today,” shinsou holds the door of the coffee shop open for you and follows you inside. “i’ll get you up to speed after we order, alright? and don’t worry, i’ll just cover your drink.”

“oh,” you’re in the middle of unzipping your purse, “you really don’t have to, shinsou! i’ve got it.”

“i insist, it’s my treat.” he leaves no room for you to fight him any further, and you place the order together once it’s your turn.

“what were you saying about filming today?” you draw his attention back to the aforementioned topic as you sit down at a table together to wait for your drinks.

“oh, that’s right. you’ve been booked by a lot of different people, so you’ve gotta choose who you want to film with today. personally, i think you’ve got some decent options.”

“is that so?” you exhale, wondering if anyone else could possibly top your experience with shōto. but of course, you’re employed at a pornography studio, where dreams become reality and anything is possible.

shinsou’s voice drops to a low whisper, his words meant for your ears only. “well, there’s this . . maid thing, or some kind of bdsm shoot.”

“those are not good options,” you groan, closing your eyes briefly in disgust. “who’re the people booking? anyone important?”

“obviously, the maid film is from denki kaminari. the bdsm is—”

you’ve seen denki kaminari’s videos before. he seems to be energetic and also a little pervy, but he’s good looking and you’re not in the mood to be tied up in ropes or chains.

“i’ll go with the maid film. is he offering a lot?”

“kaminari’s a bit . . eccentric,” shinsou offers, waving his hand dismissively. “he doesn’t usually book with a set amount in mind like everyone else does. he prefers to shoot the film and then pay based off of what it makes.”

so, there are a few financial risks when it comes to choosing denki kaminari, but you sigh and bite the bullet. “that’s not ideal, but i’ll take it. when’s it scheduled?”

shinsou looks over at a mounted clock behind you, “if you’re going for this, you’re supposed to be over there in an hour.”

the barista calls out shinsou’s name, and you pick up the coffees while he sends a confirmation email to kaminari’s agent.

your arrival to shinsou’s office is met with an assistant of some kind dropping off a garment bag. through the fabric, you can see big frills and bows that most definitely will be itchy when you’re going around in it.

shinsou takes the bag with a sigh, and the assistant presses a yellow sticky note to the side of it before scurrying off quickly. you pick up the yellow paper and read the messy writing scrawled onto it.

hey! please change into this before arriving to set, director’s orders. we hope the dress is comfortable, even though it doesn’t look like it.

“i assume this is from kaminari?” you say flatly, tugging the sticky note off the bag.

“of course it is,” shinsou replies, holding the door open for you, “you can change in here before you head over. by the way, you’re heading to the fourth floor and turning to the left.”

“thanks, shinsou.”

unzipping the garment bag yields a frilly black and white dress decked out with bows and all kinds of lace. tucked in neatly beside the dress is a folded set of thigh high socks and a prop duster that looks as though it’s never been used. you pull off your clothes and change into the provided ones with little excitement. at the very least, you’ll get paid well and then end up filming something better, hopefully again with shōto.

shinsou nearly drops his phone when you step out of his office in that ridiculous dress—it looks so good on you, accentuating your chest and complimenting your figure beautifully. you fiddle with the bow necktie, fingers tangling in the black fabric. his mouth goes dry when you look up at him shyly, gesturing toward the necktie as best you can.

“could you help me tie this, shinsou?”

“of course,” he nods politely, snapping out of his daze. his nimble fingers undo the knots you’ve created and he ties it easily for you, pulling it into a snug bow. “you look great, by the way.” immediately after the words leave his mouth, he regrets having added that bit, but you smile at him and give him a spin, letting your skirt fan out.

“thanks. wish me luck?”

“good luck,” shinsou laughs dryly, turning away quickly before you can notice the redness blooming on his cheeks. “remember, fourth floor and to the left. there’ll be a sign or something on the door.”

you wave, thanking him again, and you both go your separate ways. the elevator comes quickly, and you go upwards silently, until the elevator stops a floor too early.

“there’s my pretty co-star!” an energetic voice exclaims, and the owner of it steps onto the elevator, practically buzzing with excitement. “come on, we can head up together!”

you recognize him easily; denki kaminari’s signature blond hair has a streak of black through it, and he’s got a winning smile playing on his lips, showcasing his nice teeth.

“it’s nice to meet you,” you say, offering a hand in his direction. his energy isn’t off putting, just a little . . much for the first film of the day. kaminari instead wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, giving you a warm hug as though you’re a long lost friend of his.

the elevator’s chugging upwards slowly, and kaminari’s still wrapped around you. well, okay. this is slightly weird; you’re going to be all over each other in less than twenty minutes and he’s already this friendly? something about him already has you on edge, necktie suddenly feeling like a noose.

you cough, pulling away and practically skittering into the corner of the elevator. he looks at you weirdly, confusion written all over his face, but you straighten and smooth out the ruffles on your dress.

“i’m sorry, it’s—we just met,” you utter, at a loss for words. maybe this is just how he is, but now you’re starting to worry if you’ve jeopardized your dynamic on set with him.

kaminari’s features soften with embarrassment, cheeks growing pink. then he very obviously panics internally, voice frantic and high as he tries to explain himself.

“oh my god! you’re right, i’m so sorry!” he stumbles over his words, and you wonder if the elevator is stuck with how long it’s taking. “i’m sorry, i really . . i’ve wanted to meet you for the longest time, and now you must think i’m a dumbass—ah, sorry!”

at last, the elevator finally comes to a halt. its doors open and you dash out, kaminari following with his head hanging. before you can open the door, he stops you with a sigh.

“wait, i—i want to redo our first meeting.”

you turn, gracing him with your attention and patience. “and how exactly do you plan to redo it?”

“with a proper introduction and handshake. no hugs, i promise.” he seems genuine, and your shoulders start to relax. kaminari extends his hand, a truce, and envelops yours once you reach out too.

“well, you already know me. just call me denki, though, okay? no kaminari or anything.”

“understood, denki.”

the door is thrown open and director yaoyorozu pops her head out, looking left and right.

“there you two are! goodness, i was about to send out a search party.”

“it’s nice to meet you,” you say, shaking her hand and stepping inside behind her. “in the email, you didn’t have any kind of script . . is this some kind of freestyle thing?”

“i am so glad you asked,” she sighs, pulling the sharpened pencil from behind her ear. “i’ve got a simple idea to go off of, but the rest of it is up to you.”

“up to us?” denki chokes out, sounding shocked.

“um, yes?” the director sniffs, confused. “remember, you came to me with all of this.”

“director yaomomo, i thought you’d come up with a script!” he whines lamely, and she only rolls her eyes.

“kaminari, please. next time you’re booking a set, director, and supplies last minute, make sure you’ve got something for them to work with besides a generic concept.”

“director, the pancakes are finished and the set is ready.” a member of the film crew flashes her a double thumbs up and a smile.

“great, thanks so much,” yaoyorozu gushes before turning back toward you and denki. “so, the theme here is maids, of course. in this film, she’ll be waiting on you and waking you up with breakfast while you’re fake sleeping. obviously, you’re aware of what takes place next.”

“so, minimal dialogue?” you ask, folding your arms as you listen closely.

“the scene may have as much dialogue as you want it to. i’ll let you two head off and prep before we get started, okay?”

director yaoyorozu’s dark ponytail swings behind her as she saunters off toward the set to make a few more adjustments. denki waves at you, then heads off toward the changing area while you sigh.

—

“is everyone entirely ready and in position?”

a few stage crew members adjust the lighting and some microphones before giving yaoyorozu confirmation through raised thumbs. she nods toward you, just as someone places a hefty tray into your hands. the silver platter carries a plate stacked high with blueberry pancakes, drizzled in syrup, and a tall glass of orange juice beside it. matching silverware sits neatly beside the plate, atop a folded napkin.

yaoyorozu crosses her legs in her director’s chair, while you try not to shake with the heavy breakfast platter in your hands. orange juice lurches from side to side in the glass, threatening to spill over if you don’t remain steady.

“action!”

you smile when you step through the doorway, sweat beading along your forehead as you try to mask the nervousness. denki’s shirtless and on his stomach in the bed, a mess of sheets and blankets covering his lower half. trembling, you finally set the breakfast platter down on the bedside table, taking a seat on the bed.

denki’s getting hard just from feeling the shift of your weight on the mattress. the director might have to end filming early with the way his breath hitches at the touch of your palm to his back. slowly, you rub his skin in small circles, encouraging him to wake up. is it possible to be aroused from an almost entirely innocent gesture coming from someone you don’t know?

he stirs with a groan, turning over with a yawn. denki looks up at you through hooded eyes, his lower half still tangled in the bedsheets.

“good morning, sleepyhead,” you sigh, a lot less nervous now that you’re no longer holding onto that damn tray. “i made you breakfast and cleaned around the house. gently dusted your figure collection too.”

“t-thank you,” denki smiles, sitting up. “uh, what’s for breakfast?”

“blueberry pancakes and OJ,” you say automatically, cutting a piece off the sticky pastries with the fork. “i think you’ll love it.”

there’s something too intimate about the way you feed him the piece of the pancake, your eyes on his as he swallows it.

“well?” you breathe expectantly, lifting his chin and tilting it toward you when he shyly averts his eyes. the simple gesture startles him, sends his heart into quite the flurry, and denki finds himself fighting to get a grip. really, he’s never been this awkward on set in all his years as a pornstar—in fact, a film like this would be the easiest for him . . so why’s it so difficult?

a few sparks fly between you when denki grabs your chin in return, tugging you into a kiss. you gasp, startled, and he licks into your mouth, letting you taste the sweetness of the pancakes for yourself. seriously, whoever made them deserves head; they’re sweet and fruity, but maybe they just taste better on denki’s tongue.

he moans deeply against your lips, and you swallow the low sound with one of your own. beneath all the frills and lacy ruffles, sticky arousal begins to pool in your panties, soaking through the fabric far too easily. meanwhile, denki’s trepidation melts away fully; he grows more absorbed in the kiss, until he regretfully pulls away for breath.

you look at him through your lashes, nodding blissfully when he looks toward your skirt. denki slowly slips a hand beneath all the fabric and groans loudly, his fingers swiping at your damp panties before moving past the fabric to stroke your slick folds.

before you can move into another kiss, the director lets out a peeved sigh and shakes her head, “cut!”

denki pushes a finger inside of you, savoring the gasp you let out like a piece of specialty candy. “listen to yaomomo for both of us, ‘kay?”

“b-but they’re not rolling,” you protest in a whisper shout, although your hips jerk toward him when he sinks in all the way to his knuckle.

“no rules against it, baby.” the once anxious denki you met thirty minutes ago is gone, replaced with the confident pornstar you’ve come to know through years of watching UA’s videos.

yaoyorozu claps her hands together, facing you and denki but not noticing anything going on beneath the umbrella-like cover of your skirt.

“you’re both doing well so far, but when i said the amount of dialogue was up to you, i didn’t mean no talking at all.”

“do we have to reshoot what we’ve done so far?” you gasp out when denki curls his finger right against your g-spot, sending shockwaves of heat throughout your entire body.

nobody seems to notice the inflection in your voice, and the director offers a small smile.

“no, it’s alright, we’ll just edit everything together before it goes out. you’re both doing great, by the way!” her praise is reassuring, and she hops up onto her chair again, then gestures for the crew members to position the cameras.

“action.”

denki’s lips find yours in a bruising kiss, tongue swiping against your lower lip impatiently. he’s quick to pull you on top of him too, wet fingers tugging up your skirt to give the camera a full view of your soaked panties and ass.

“what about the pancakes?” you ask, remembering the director’s tip about the dialogue. if she were to call cut again, the interruption would surely drive you insane.

“what pancakes?”

“the ones i made for you,” you breathe against his lips, eyes flicking to the bedside table. “over there, with the—”

he takes your distraction as an opportunity to press his face into your neck, taking in the smell of your perfume and the softness of your skin. low and quiet, he whispers into your ear, “fuck, you’ve got no idea how long i’ve been waiting for this—for you.”

you whine as he kicks the bedsheets off his body, firmly placing you atop his hard cock. through your panties and his boxers, you can feel the ridges of his tip and the heat of his body.

“how do you want it?” denki purrs, hands settled on your hips. “from the back . . bent over?”

the options he gives you only ignite the arousal burning in your core further; you move off of him, settling on all fours. the wild look you toss him from over your shoulder makes him groan, and he yanks his underwear and pajama pants off as quickly as he can, hurling them into a corner of the set.

“fuckin’ soaked, baby,” he coos, flipping up your skirt and slipping a few fingers beneath the crotch of your panties. your cunt flutters around nothing as he pulls the underwear off, with enough force for the microphones to pick up the ripping sound that follows. “is this all for me?”

he flings the torn garment off the bed carelessly, and it silently lands somewhere on the carpet.

“o-only for you.”

denki chuckles, and guides his cock toward your entrance, but doesn’t push it in just yet. instead, he strokes the tip up and down, gathering your wetness to provide extra lubrication. the tease has your toes curling and your eyes rolling back; denki gifts your ass with a slap, letting out a low whistle.

“you’ll get what you want soon enough, baby. i just . . feel like something’s missing.”

you look over your shoulder when the bed creaks, your co star’s weight leaving the mattress. he grabs at the drawer of the bedside table, and the glass of orange juice rattles against the silver platter from the movement. even director yaoyorozu looks a little lost for words, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion.

the drawer slams shut and denki returns to the bed behind you in a flash, a miniature black and white vibrator between his fingers. yaoyorozu settles back into her chair with a contented expression, signaling for the cameraman to zoom in between your bodies.

the soft, rubbery head of the vibrator nudges against your clit and you gasp. denki slants his body over yours, pushing his cock inside of you shallowly.

“i—i don’t think i can t-take all of it,” you swallow nervously, inhaling sharply when he bucks his hips forward and plunges inside you, bottoming out easily.

“that’s fuckin’ nonsense,” he groans, pushing a hand through his blond hair to get it away from his eyes. then it wraps loosely around your throat before you can protest any further. “‘course my girl can take it.”

my girl?

denki startles even himself. but this is the magic of being a pornstar and filming around the clock. he’s built up a persona for himself that he always seems to slip into no matter how he’s feeling. he’s thankful for this; otherwise, he’d be a bumbling fool who’d accidentally fuck your thighs, too caught up with excitement to get it together.

his teeth sink into his lower lip hard, scraping against the skin rather roughly as the words burst from his lips uncontrollably.

“g-god, you’ve got no idea how damn long i’ve been waiting to fuck this pretty pussy,” the vibrator turns on and presses flush against your clit, already at the highest setting. “ngh, you’re so tight, baby—got me all worked up with the little maid dress, heh. you look beautiful in it, i swear.”

his babbling soon falls on deaf ears, and you unintentionally tune him out, unable to hear him clearly over your ragged moans and cries. denki’s hips set a somewhat even pace, skin smacking into skin while the vibrator seems to only get more intense.

“c’mon, babe, arch a lil more for me,” he huffs, his palm nudging against the middle of your back.

with a whine, you do as he instructs, burying your face in the sheets.

“aw, i still wanna hear you clearly.” denki clicks his tongue, his fingers leaving the sides of your throat and instead tugging on your necktie. he turns it backwards and pulls your head back so you’re not muffled any longer.

“f-fuck, you’re so deep,” you sob, his strokes growing faster and rougher. the bed creaks beneath you, shaking loudly, and despite his panting, denki’s determined to give you the best sex you’ll ever have at UA studios.

“yeah, babe? feel my cock right here in your tummy?” denki’s voice is strained, his free hand wandering to the plush skin above your pelvis. he presses down experimentally, and he swears you get tighter.

it’s only a little pressure, but it sends shockwaves of something intense throughout your body and knocks the breath from your lungs.

“ooh, you’re squeezin’ me real tight,” denki comments breathily, “i want you to cum for me, got that?”

“‘m so close,” you sob, tossing your ass back onto his cock. “wanna—wanna cum on your cock!”

this is it. this is the big moment where he makes you cum twice on camera and shows all his friends who can fuck you the best. his mouth feels dry and he’s unable to say much of anything to spur you on, talk you through it.

the noisy metal bedframe squeaks louder, the mattress sliding side to side from all the movement. denki doesn’t let up, biting down on his lip so hard he draws some blood while he fucks you through the exhaustion and pain in his sides.

at last, highly anticipated euphoria courses through your bodies at the same time, and his cock begins to twitch against your cervix. a whiny moan tears from his lips as he spills deep inside you, trembling hands grabbing at your waist for purchase. the vibrator maintains its high setting, not letting up even once—in the moment, it’s amazing to ride the waves as you cum, but as you’re coming down, you begin to shudder away from it.

“hah—ah, shit,” you cry, voice pitching. denki pulls out of you, eyes widening in delight as he looks over your sloppy cunt, drooling with a mixture of your cum and his own. glossy strings of white leak from your hole, sticking to your thighs every time you jerk away from the vibrator. “i-it’s too much.”

“oh, ‘m sorry babe,” the words roll off his tongue, each syllable oozing with faux sympathy. lucky for you, denki clicks the vibrator off and tosses it somewhere in the sheets. you don’t notice him moving to lay on his stomach, too busy trying to catch your breath. “she’s looking messy down there, hm?”

denki’s breath now fans over your wet pussy, his words low and sultry. you look over your shoulder in confusion, sweat shining on your forehead, bitten lips parting to ask a question, but he interrupts.

“i can clean her up for you.”

with that final statement, denki’s tongue presses flat against your slit and he moans, tasting the evidence of what seems to be his best porno yet. he slurps up the mess eagerly, holding you in place by your hips whenever you try to squirm away.

it’s bittersweet, slick pouring down his chin and making his skin shine while his own cum colors his lips white. you can’t do anything but whimper, looking back at him through hooded eyes that well with tears of overstimulation.

“i know, i know,” he mumbles into you when your body jolts, and you suck in a sharp breath. “i jus’ want to make sure you can’t move after this.”

a thorough pussy pounding and now this? there’s no way you’ll be able to stop shaking.

nimble fingers find your swollen clit and give it a light pinch, then gently stroke over it; he thinks the reaction it elicits from you is absolutely delicious—your expression crumbles and you rock your hips back against his face, dragging your cunt all over him.

he’s drunk on your scent and taste, taking as much of you in as he can. director yaoyorozu looks pleased as she whispers something to a member of the film crew, but you don’t even notice her through the sweltering haze of arousal. denki pushes the skirt further up your body, and the resounding sob that leaves your lips has him smiling against your cunt.

against your slit, his silky tongue paints peculiar patterns that your dizzy brain manages to register as the letters of his name. “fuck, ‘m gonna c-cum, ‘s coming—” your fingers tangle in his blonde hair, yanking him into your cunt as the high hits you, toes curling and teeth chattering together.

denki’s eyes roll back as you cum on his face, but then you’re trembling and moving away when the sensitivity finally sets in. your pussy is puffy and twitching, entirely spent for the day.

“woah,” he catches you with an arm when you drop flat on the bed, shuddering with the aftershocks of it all. “you good, baby?”

his lips press into your temple and you nod, huffing as you try to catch your breath. unconsciously, you start to cuddle into him, arms wrapping shakily around his torso.

it’s hard to remember where you are, stars swirling in your vision, but the sight of the microphone a few meters away snaps you back into professional mode. god, you haven’t been this dazed since your early days at shiketsu, where you’d been booking with some of the biggest men at the studio.

“i-i wish i didn’t have to, but,” you huff quietly, slowly raising from the bed to smooth out your dress and then look for your panties. you make a big show of bending over, giving the camera a great view of your quivering, dripping cunt. you swipe the underwear from the carpet with a relieved sigh, turning to face denki, who’s nibbling at his lower lip, already hard again. “i’m not finished cleaning the house yet. maybe i can make you some lunch later, when i’m done?”

the cheeky suggestion has an unintentional effect, denki’s cheeks darkening perfectly for the scene. he nods slowly, caught in a stupor. you blow a kiss toward him, stepping through the fake doorway and off the set.

after a beat of silence, director yaoyorozu calls for a cut. she hops off her tall chair and claps excitedly, while crew members rush to strip the bed and clean up the set. on jelly-like legs, you wobble over to her, standing beside denki with a small smile.

“excellent, the two of you,” she praises, ponytail swishing as she nods. “i’ll update both of your agents once we get this to the editors. hehe, my intuition tells me this’ll do very well.”

you thank her together, before parting your separate ways toward the dressing areas—at least you try to, but denki trails behind you quietly, cheeks still blazing pink.

“kaminari, is everything alright?” you step behind the shoji screen, the makeshift dressing room. without needing to be asked, his fingers find the zipper at your back and he loosens the maid dress for you.

“denki,” he corrects you with an embarrassed laugh, leaning his body against the shoji in an attempt to come across as relaxed. “i wanted to ask you about—”

the shoji screen topples over the moment his weight rests against it, smashing to the floor with a loud bang! you shriek, gathering the dress up around your chest as your co-star rushes to pick it up before anyone can look over. he is unsuccessful, much to your chagrin.

“oh my fucking—i’m so sorry, shit.”

“what is it you wanted to ask, denki?” you ask, embarrassed. it’s like you’re back to square one again, as if you weren’t just doing the nastiest things together less than ten minutes ago. he throws a hand behind his neck, awkwardly scratching the skin as he tries to calm his nerves.

“okay, look. me and a few friends of mine—UA stars—” he adds in that bit in case you need some extra convincing, “are hosting a little get together. i’m thinking maybe you can come and hang out for a little while? i can pick you up, if you—”

“that’s very nice of you.”

the interruption makes his heart drop straight into his ass, and he immediately looks down at his bare feet. but then you speak up, and he feels a spark of hope in his chest. after all, he did promise his friends that he’d introduce you to them.

“i live nearby, i moved apartments to be closer to the studio,” you admit, fingers loosening on the dress. “what time is it? i’d be willing to meet some other stars, get acquainted with everyone.”

denki looks at you, joy written all over his face. he flashes you a bright smile, nodding as he collects his thoughts. “everything starts at eight. i can just pick you up, ‘kay? here, i’ve gotta give you my number.”

you laugh, pushing him back. “i’ve gotta change first, the dress is really itchy. we’ll work it out when i’m done, sound good?”

he steps out from behind the shoji screen after nodding, gold eyes shining. before he can walk away toward his own makeshift dressing room, you stop him, smiling in a way that makes his heart flutter in his chest.

“hey, denki? by the way, i’m really looking forward to tonight.”

[akutasoda]

the fans are always right. right?

synopsis - mr reca seemed a bit more downbeat then your used too, maybe some rather interesting reviews would cheer him up

includes - reca

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, slight crack, wc - 1.6k

a/n: i uhh had an idea... lost it and tried to salvage what i remembered and this was the result- anyway all the reviews used were given to me by some lovely people ( @tragedy-of-commons, @singularity-sam, @vxnuslogy, @mikashisus, @/milksnake-tea, @/tetrachrxmacy and @theother-victoria) try and guess who's who :))

a huffed sigh escaped you, slouching down in your chair as the clock ticked rhythmically in the background. mr reca was supposed to meet you around fifteen minutes ago. he'd never been late before.

a reasonable explanation would be that he had something more important to tend to. and that would be understandable. but for now you were bored out of mind and leaving wasn't an option as reca could show up at any time - he probably wouldn't be as forgiving if you were to show up after him.

today you two were meant to develop a new script and start on the storyboard for his latest idea. in honesty, you're still not quite sure how you landed this job. you wanted to start getting into directing films of your own but couldn't quite place how to start and so you settled for finding a job as a co-director.

after helping co-direct a few pieces here and there, you got a message from the esteemed mr reca. you had to do a couple (maybe even hundreds…) of checks to make sure you weren't actually dreaming. mr reca didn't exactly strike you as the kind of person to need or even want a co-director.

and yet here you were. apparently he enjoyed the sense of style you breathed into the films you helped direct and thought it would pair nicely with a couple of his. even to this day you find it hard to believe that you still had this job.

but you put your all into it. a lot of trust and expectation was placed upon you and you would be sure to not let him down. even if that meant waiting for him to show up for your appointed meetings.

twenty minutes.

you looked around the room for anything to pass the time, all you could think of was your phone laid idly on the desk. then an idea crossed your mind. reca had recently released a film. perhaps you could read some reviews to pass the time.

you never really expected yourself to be mentioned in any of them. yes you got credits and the recognition for being reca's personally selected co-director but most people still only talked about him in their reviews, which wasn't exactly a problem.

it didn't take long to find a rather reputable review page and so you began scrolling.

you should've expected the first one being a five star review

@bebe_fanpage101 : ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

- "This film has changed my life. My whole outlook on everything that exists in this world, in fact even in the entire universe. I can never look at anything I know the same way ever again. This film represents emotions most humans could never comprehend. But I can. Thanks to this film I have been awakened to many things previously thought unimaginable. Thank you."

a rather extreme opinion in your eyes, reca did have some “over-the-top” fans. your became intrigued after stumbling across a one star review soon after

@frankenweeniehater4life : ⭐

- "what ?"

[review has been deleted]

maybe it wasn't an actual review, but you stifle a laugh at the next review being from the same person

⭐

- "wrong movie how do i delete a review" (Edited)

perhaps this could definitely entertain you until reca arrived. you idly scrolled through the reviews, only stopping when some peaked your interest or made you smile

@seas_ablaze : ⭐⭐⭐

- "A film that does a lot of monkey business and goes bananas with it."

or alternatively,

@frankenweeniehater4life : ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

- "i've seen about a million movies and dear god this has to be one of the worst. an absolute slog to get through. the pacing was awful, everything took years to happen. the soundtrack was grating. the actors either put no effort in or way too much- either put them back on the street or send them back to the musical theater. the cinematography was dull at best and straight up nauseating at worst- i had to pause multiple times so i didn't get physically ill. and don't get me STARTED on the stilted script and dull characterization. and the dog isn't even a weenie."

you reckon they might have gotten the wrong film again… but it definitely explained the username-

and at that moment reca finally showed up, he pushed open the doors grumbling something - obviously whatever kept him busy wasn't pleasant. he had walked in with a huff and his expression didn't exactly read that of happiness.

you brushed it off and greeted him like you usually would, something that was greeted with another grumble which you could only guess was a hello of sorts towards you.

watching, you noted how he slumped into the chair on the other side of the desk and it became clear that he wasn't in the mood to get any work done. the silence was starting to get uncomfortable and so you slid your phone over to him, reviews still open.

reca perked one eyebrow up and questioned you “what's this about? we have duties to complete not waste time”

you hummed in response before sliding your phone closer until he picked it up “it's reviews from your latest film, it's not like we'll be getting things done soon and maybe they could help guide our planning” a small pause “they're quite entertaining”

he scrolled for a bit before stopping on one and reading it out loud

@/blink!vxnus! : ⭐⭐⭐⭐

- "film was great and very informative. it made the story far more interesting compared to other documentaries tackling the same story. - 1 because mr reca wasn't in the actual film"

“it's not very helpful, just compliments” he sighed “and wishful fans being normal”

you smiled in response before reaching over as he turned the phone to you and scrolling back up again “this one's a personal favorite, especially the comments”

@/bebe_fanpage101 : ⭐⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

- "came for the reca shirtless scene, stayed for the storytelling. no regrets stan robin"

- @/ultimate_recakisser : "I mean I’d be the same as well I MEAN WHAT WHO SAID THAT Speakingofshirtlessrecaifoujdthisonefanartdoesanyonewantmetosendit?"

- @/bebe_fanpage101 : "me. dms. shhh."

- @/iwishsundaywasmywife : "id judge u both. but. im the same way abt bird man so i cant"

reca stared at the review, then the comments, before his face began morphing into something akin to the middle point of shock and disgust.

he sighed “there wasn't even a shirtless scene, these people are… enthusiastic, to be nice”

you hummed in response before suggesting that the lower rated reviews may help more and scrolled until you found some.

@/iwishsundaywasmywife : ⭐

- "Great movie. Plot flows well, characters are charismatic and overall a wonderful viewing experience. Just hate the director."

@/abardslyre : ⭐

- "my gf broke up with me for the director. mr reca count ur ******* days."

you had to hold back laughter at the sight of his face distorting into confusion and a slight grimace making the corner of his lips scowl

@/seas_ablaze : ⭐

- "This is awful, pretentious garbage. In all objective fact, he's an auteur wannabe who makes idiotic movies for the normie audiences who are too stupid to think for themselves. I didn't even watch more than five minutes of it, I just know it's bad from his name attached to it. I never made a movie before or have ever taken a film class, but even I could do better than this disgrace of an art form that only a few can ever hope to master. Hell, I would personally kill all subpar directors myself if I could, I'm just that smart. As Lord Scorsese says: Cinema is dead!"

mr reca sighed, deeply, “i can't decide if this helped or not, but im leaning no at the minute”

you definitely could say you enjoyed scrolling through the reviews more, but it wasn't hard to notice how his demeanor changed. how he wasn't so grumpy and you could've sworn that at one point you'd seen a smile on his face. your idea worked.

eventually you two managed to start discussing ideas - which was more him talking your ear off with his ideas and you listening and writing down anything he told you to. and then he paused.

before you even had the chance to question if anything was the matter, reca surprised you “maybe those reviews could help for the next film”

“what do you mean?” you couldn't believe what you were hearing, your spur of the moment idea to show him reviews to hopefully boost his mood so you could both actually talk about his next film properly worked. it actually gave him ideas.

reca prattled on about how some of the reviews gave him the idea for how to expand his latest idea that had hit a wall and now he could continue to elaborate the idea. it was sort of satisfying to see how passionate he had become despite his earlier attitude.

he then abruptly stopped before trailing off “maybe i should listen to some of those reviews and change genres”

you thought that was a rather drastic suggestion, arguing that his current genres worked perfectly fine and it was his speciality, his signature if you would. but then he started mumbling again

“maybe if we went that route… then you could…” he was trailing off, you could barely piece together his coherent sentence but you could pick up on “based on us”

“what? could you repeat that again mr reca?”

“what?”

mr reca was never easy to work with.

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn, @https-sourlimes

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

Do the twins ever get attached to stanfraud? Does bill get attached to them too? what is their relationship like? and what is their immediate reaction to finding out everything was a lie -- first impressions? GAAHH I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS i'm ur biggest fan bro

Thank you so much!! It really means a lot that people are enjoying my madness this much!

It’s funny because earlier I was actually doodling him and the twins!

He absolutely gets attached and they get attached in return. While their initial introduction to him is very rocky, they come to enjoy his quirks and unusual interests, especially once Dipper puts together he was the author, and he regularly supervises them on adventures, mainly because Stan asked him too, but also because it’s strangely fun. He will repeatedly claim he hasn’t gone soft to Stan, but then Stan will find him fast asleep with the twins curled up against him, or he’ll catch him helping the twins in their respective Dipper and Mabel’s guide videos. He also likes Mabel Juice! Mabel won’t take his suggestion of adding eyeballs though. Alas.

His feelings towards them are made complicated by his own denial. He doesn’t like the idea that he’s changed much at all, and these new doubts he’s experiencing about his original plans are not thoughts he’s willing to entertain for long. He gets snappy when Stan tries to reassure him it’s okay that he cares, because he doesn’t care, he’s just… playing a role. That’s all. It’s all one big lie. He can do lies. But that doesn’t really explain the genuine panic he experiences when Dipper and Mabel are in danger, and how quickly he jumps in to protect them nor does it explain the fuzzy feeling in his chest when Mabel knits him a sweater.

He’s not the same as he was thirty years ago. That’s a fact. And thirty years was once just a blip for him, but this has felt like he’s lived a whole new life.

And on the flip side, Dipper and Mabel care a lot too. He’s off-putting and he’s strange and he says some things that imply he may have committed murder and gotten away with it, but they like being around him. It isn’t always perfect, same as it is with Stan, but the rougher patches don’t tend to last, and they reconcile by the end of the day (although, Bill is usually incapable of saying sorry verbally and shows his apology through actions instead).

Dipper for one hasn’t really had anyone he can just ramble about nerd stuff with. Bill can actually keep up with Dipper, and they both find themselves enjoying the debate they have about inter dimensional travel, or what sort of haunting would be the most annoying to deal with. Dipper does sometimes catch his uncle looking at him strangely though, almost as though he’s seeing right through Dipper and looking at someone else, but he blinks and the odd look is gone, so he must have imagined it.

Bill does sometimes push Dipper’s buttons, of course, and never gives him direct answers, usually making him look for the answer himself, or read between the lines, which Dipper comes to appreciate as it, so he claims, trains his mind for mysteries. They have a very fun back and forth, honestly. Dipper thinks Stanfraud is the coolest despite all the annoyances, and he really does try his best to impress him.

Mabel meanwhile is just her usual bundle of energy, and charms her great uncle by involving him in her unhinged hijinks, and showing him the art of glitter bombing. She meets him where he’s at! Even though he can sometimes be a little extreme, even for her, she pushes herself out of her comfort zone, mainly because of what Stan told her, about how Ford lost his mind while alone. Well, she can’t have that! She makes a real effort trying to understand him, and why he thinks the way he does.

He also weirdly gives her some good advice whenever Pacifica tries to bring her down, and Mabel is both comforted and inspired by how weird he is, even in his old age. He never lets anyone shame him out of it, and he encourages Mabel to just “Be weird! Your fleshbag life is short! Why waste it caring what lesser skin puppets think?”

Bill unknowingly allows both Dipper and Mabel to feel more comfortable in themselves because of how unapologetically ‘him’ he is.

Sorry if this is messy, by the way, I’m just writing my thoughts as I go along.

Anywho, I think all of this makes finding out everything was a lie very hard hitting for them. Mabel tries to rationalise it, that sure, maybe he wasn’t really their Grunkle, but he still loved them like he was, and they loved him like a Grunkle, meanwhile Dipper reacts very negatively, because he really thought he had found someone like him, someone he confided a lot in, and now he thinks he made the wrong choice, that he was an idiot.

And Stan lied too. He admits the biggest mistake he made was not telling them, but it’s too late for that now.

The one bright side, if you can call it that, is Stan and Bill do tell them before they get Ford back. They think they’ve finally found the way to do it, and Stan wants the kids to know before they try it, give them time to process.

Okay I’ll end there for now! Thank you so much again!

[gingerteawrites]

Autumn in love - Nanami Kento

A/N: Another comforting and self-indulgent fic but what is new? I wish it could be cold already. Can't believe that its still 80 degrees F in November😭.

Content: tooth-rotting fluff, husband! Nanami, female reader, barely proofread.

Fall was Kento's favorite season. Call it basic or boring, but to him, there was nothing better than the crunch of the reddened leaves when stepped on. The crisp aroma of fragrant air. The beauty of the world as it burst into shades of deep auburns and ambers. The mellowness of it all felt so enticing, much akin your husband's nature.

Taking the time to breath in the world on his way to and from work and sketching delicate figures during the evenings were among his favorite ways of enjoying this wonderful season. However, he was also much receptive to the ways you preferred to experience the autumnal weather. Your world was by extension, his own.

And with time, a beautiful fresco of collected memories painted your shared home. Trinkets that bore testament to your little adventures.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The beautiful branch mounted on your wall

"Oooooo, look at this one!" You crouched to pick up yet another branch from the orchard's soft soil. Nanami turns away from the apple tree, a pristine pink lady in hand.

He chuckles when you run to him with a small branch whose tendrils curled in the shape of outstretched fingers.

"That sure is something, love." a smile pulled at his soft lips. "Though I am not sure if branches are included in the apple-picking fee."

You clung to his arm, nuzzling close with a simper that matched his own. "Well, good thing I'm not asking them."

Ever your accomplice, Kento helps you 'sneak' the branch out of the farm and insists on coating it to preserve it for you.

"You don't have to indulge my stupid fixations, Kento. Really." You watch him carefully handle the piece of wood in your garage, feeling bad about how much effort he's putting into this.

"Stupid?" He asks, deep voice tinged with a hint of surprise. The thought had never even occurred to him. He walks to you, and rests a tender hand against your cheek. Eyes holding your entire world as they looked at you with so much tenderness. "There is absolutely nothing that you, my dear wife, could enjoy that I would think is stupid."

You melt against his touch, and even more at his words. "Plus, that is an outstanding stick. Think we can record a video and send it to that one stick nation page?" He asks, pulling a honest laughter out of you.

"Great minds think alike, I see."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The hand-made mug sat atop your night stand.

While on the way back from a quiet afternoon walk, you and Kento had stumbled upon a yard sale. The owner of the house, a little old lady beckoned you over the second she noticed how you had not so discreetly eyed her book collection.

Having spent what felt like a wonderful eternity browsing through the collection you believed to be way too big for one person to own in a lifetime, you realized you had lost sight of your husband. You hoisted your picks close to your chest and turned in search for Kento.

But as if sensing your quest for him, he practically materialized beside you.

"Let me help with that, darling." He coaxed most of the books from you before you could even think to refuse, holding them gently under one arm.

"Thank you, Ken" You smile, linking fingers with his other outstretched hand. "Did you find anything you liked?" You were hoping he was not bored.

"Uh-huh." He nods. "The owner's husband had an interesting tie collection. I left everything I liked at the entrance with her. Just wanted to come see how you were doing." His thumb rubbed gentle circles against your skin.

You reach the lady, with multiple items laid out on the big table that served as check-out station on top of which sat an old-fashioned cash register. She helps pack your purchases in a paper bag, while you absently look around the yard and admire the beautiful house behind you.

Unloading the purchases from the brown bag in your home, your eyes go round with curiosity when your fingers touch a delicate porcelain frame. You pull out a mug from the bag, its wide cream base decorated with small mushrooms and flowers. The handle curled like a vine, and you spent more than a few minutes admiring the glaze.

That means you did not notice Kento, who came leaning against the door frame, looking at you with a fond smile.

"Do you like it, love?" He asked, pulling your attention towards him.

"Do I like it??" You took a deep breath. "God, it's gorgeous. How did I not notice it?" You ask to yourself.

He pushes himself off the wall and walks to you, wrapping strong arms around your waist, your back pressed to his chest.

"It was in a pile of miscellaneous items. I knew you would enjoy it the second I saw it." He explained, his warmth seeping into you.

"You know me too well." You set the mug down and spin around in his arms so you're facing him. Eyes meet and before you know it, your lips follow in a tender embrace. "I need to get you something too." You whisper against his cheek.

"Having you here is more than enough." Kento replied earnestly.

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Just the sight of these small things warmed you through and through, reminders of Kento's love. Of his tender care, that made you want to open your heart even more than you already did. Hold him close for the colder months, and never let go even when the heat comes.

Hope you enjoyed it! Comments and reblogs are much appreciated (❁´◡`❁)

[weltraum-vaquero]

Swan song

Professor Viktor x TA Reader

[PART 1]｡ ﾟ��� ﾟ｡⋆[PART 2] ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[PART 3] (coming soon)

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[AO3 link] ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Summary: You’re a bright phD student who won’t shy away from a challenge. Getting the most notorious professor at the University of Piltover to hire you as his assistant is one of them.

Tags: Modern AU, SFW (for now…), DILF professor Viktor, romanticizing and eroticizing borsht, lab shenanigans, reader being filled with equal parts shame and lust

Word count: 7.8k

Notice: This fic is written with a transmasculine reader in mind, but that won’t come into play at all until the final third chapter of this mini-series.

Notes: A little something something while we await season two ;] The draft for this post deleted itself twice now. If the formatting looks wonky (especially in the texting section), NO, it doesn't. Shut up.

He didn’t lie. 

Which is all the more shocking, considering you attend his 8AM lecture on the very same day, and he seems more bright and alight than you’ve ever seen him.

When did he find the time?

Though there isn’t a daunting amount to your thesis just yet, you still want to believe you’ve written something quite substantial over the past months. 

You toss one glance around yourself before you follow him into his office after his lecture, and you find the stack of papers you’d left on his desk last night looking positively devoured, in the most… academic way possible. Scribbles and notes litter the margins, the edges of the papers are already somehow lightly worn. 

He must have read it multiple times.

“Coffee?” He offers.

“Yes, please.”

As he gropes the machine in search of its switch again, he cocks his brow at you. “And what was that for?”

You frown. “What was what for?”

“That… glance, before you followed me into my office.” The switch clicks, the light comes on. “Looking around like you were being followed.”

“Oh,” caught in the embarrassing act, you shrug. “I don’t know. Being cautious, I guess. Students have been looking at me a little funny, lately.”

“Much too late for caution, I’m afraid.” 

Uh oh. 

As he retrieves two paper cups, you’re left wondering what exactly that should mean.

“Why’s that?”

“I thought you were well aware of the fact that rumors would start, um… circulating the moment I made it public that I had hired an assistant.” Coffee trickles into the cups, a soothing little melody. Viktor leans against the wall beside the machine as he watches the cups fill.  “I’ve always been adamant about not needing one. It is natural for people to have questions — and to come up with, eh, answers — when I suddenly do.”

The notion of the answers students might have come up with swirls around in your brain. 

You wish they were right.

You’re glad they’re not.

You look at Viktor.

“Do you mind it?”

The coffee stops pouring. Viktor does that thing again, spreading long fingers apart to grasp both cups. And he’s quiet — for a beat longer than he should be.

“No. There are more important things to worry about than… gossip.” He sets the cups on the table, then takes his seat. He hesitates for a brief second, craning his neck before he fixates on you, motionless. Waiting. “Do you?”

“Trying not to.”

The answer makes him… deflate, somehow. It’s barely visible, for just a fraction of a second his chest sinks, before his tone is back to his composed cadence.

“You will get used to it,” he assures. “Now, onto more interesting matters — your work.”

Thank god. You don’t know how much more of the awkward tiptoeing you could have handled.

“Yes.” Your heart leaps into your throat. Acting normal has never been so difficult. “What did you think?”

“Very impressive.” He slides the stack of papers towards you. “I have made some… suggestions here and there, should you wish to take them into consideration. But, I think you struck gold with your hypothesis. Should you need a conversation partner, guidance, anything at all — I would gladly be at your service.”

“Thank you, Viktor. I really appreciate this.”

At the sound of his own name coming from you, something in him shifts. Shifts with an unfamiliar near bashfulness, he stifles a little smile into the rim of his paper cup, the corners of his eyes crinkle, he settles into his seat a little further.

“But you never held up your end of the bargain,” you point out. That snaps him out of it.

“Ah, yes. I did not.” He continues to hide behind his cup, before he finally seems to decide to take a metaphorical leap, as he sets it down and stares down at it. “I fear the unfortunate truth may be that when it comes to research, I either work better with a partner, or that… Cecil is right and I need to slow down. Though I’d guess the former is more likely.”

“You used to work with, uh…” you’re not sure how to approach the topic, “Talis, didn’t you?”

“The five basic principles of applied arcanism are commonly referred to as Talis’ princies, you do not have to feign uncertainty to appease me.”

So you drop the attempt to tiptoe around the subject, and ask, plainly:

“Why wasn’t your name added on?”

Viktor scoffs. “Talis-Sidorov-Sviboda has a terrible ring to it. Or so he’d said. And admittedly… I was more of a conduit than the co-author of his idea. He said we would name the next big thing we would discover after me, but… well, you know how it is. I dedicated myself to teaching, he retired to lead a quiet life in his gaudy mansion with his sports cars and his purebred German shepherds after he married some businesswoman.”

Though his story does line up, those aren’t necessarily the rumors you’d heard. There’d been talk of more than just a mild dispute of names, and… well, there had been… something between Talis and Viktor. But that’s about all you know.

Under your gaze, Viktor grows suddenly uncomfortable — both with the subject and the fact that he might be able to tell you know more. He’s quick to redirect the conversation.

“As for my research: I have been studying the laminal hexoin cascade in stabilized hexgems in various matrices. And though bold, I have been attempting to figure out the ideal matrix — something that will allow for close to a hundred percent energy renewal and render all other sources of energy obsolete.”

”That is bold,” you say. Your other thought, you keep to yourself: it also sounds impossible. You suppose stabilizing hexgems 20 years ago was also something thought impossible — and yet, Viktor hadn’t shied away. If anyone is apt for the job, it is him. “Any luck so far?”

“Partially. They have been yielding favorable results, but not enough to be viable energetic alternatives as of now.” He takes his cup again, bringing it to his lips in a rushed movement, drinking a mouthful, rather than a sip. Once Viktor sets it down, his hand remains on the table, fingers tapping on the shiny surface once, twice— “I could use a theorist to assist me with a few things.”

The implication dizzies you. Is he…?

But then he slides another one of his drawers open, and retrieves a stack of papers. Slanted handwriting, barely legible — you’re by now intimately familiar with it: his cursive. It litters the pages, in different inks and in pencil, diagrams, sketches… just looking at it makes you hungry to read it.

He smiles as if he’s read your mind, again.

“I was thinking it could be you.”

—

You’re invited to his office for lunch break the very next day too. And though he assures you there is no pressure in having to read through his notes by then, you disregard it.

It takes you a reread to be able to make sense of all his scribbles, but… it’s brilliant. He’s brilliant. 

It should stop surprising you by now — his ideas, his drive, his curiosity, his mind — but with every single time Vikror impresses you anew, he becomes something more distant.

As you’re marveling at his intricate weaving of concepts, it strikes you, unpleasantly, that this is the same man you’d wanted to devour just days ago. The man who’s made you coffee, the man whose sharp eyes fold at the corners when he smiles. 

You’d have deified him, had he been your teacher. You still do, especially now, after you’ve seen more of what his mind is made of. The mere notion of him becomes terribly out of reach, and you’re plagued with guilt for that night. Guilt for having tainted such a man with your thoughts. 

And yet, you still can’t help but think of his neck, the soft pink of his chapped lips, the hollow of his cheeks. You wonder what his mouth tastes like, and you want to slap yourself on the wrist for it. You should have, because minutes later, you wonder about worse things too. The scent of his skin, the coarseness of his body hair, how far up under his navel it might reach.

And when you finish reading his notes a second time and bring the paper to your nose to sniff it — hoping for a trace of him — you realize you have a problem. A serious one.

It torments you for the rest of the night, through the hours you spend writing up some suggestions and ideas, all the way to when you switch off the light, and hug whatever pillow’s within reach close.

When you get the urge to tilt your hips against it, you decide to get up and splash your face with water.

And you wish you could do the same thing the very next day on your lunch break, when you’re standing in the doorway of his office and he’s eating borscht. The sweet-tangy smell of vegetables, beef and beets makes your stomach growl, but your physical hunger is long lost on your otherwise preoccupied brain.

The beet red of the soup has pigmented his lips. They look kissed raw, puffy, ripe. A lavish speck of colour on his otherwise pale face, it draws your gaze and does not let it stay somewhere more respectful.

You want to taste them.

He does it for you, raspberry pink tip of his tongue darting over the plush of his lips before he swallows and finally greets you.

“Sorry,” you say, and it comes out tense, near horrified. You’ve caught him eating soup, for chrissakes, not being bent over his table. Oh, god. Why did you have to think about that? ”I’ll come back later.”

“No,” Viktor gestures to the empty seat across from him. He screws his thermos shut, and puts it away. “Please, I’ve been waiting for you. Sit.”

And you do, like the dog you feel like you are right now.

“Did you manage to find the time to read my notes?”

Oh, did you.

“I… followed your example and made some suggestions of my own. But on separate pages. Here.”

His reaction is more than what you’d hoped for. It’s more than the impressed raise of thick brows that had kept you fueled last night, it’s more than the smile you’d been hoping for. 

“You are unbelievable,” he grins, and takes what you offer, pushing his glasses up his nose before he starts reading. You selfishly use the distraction to stare at his lips again. He mutters to himself as he reads, pink mouth molding around whispered jargon, nodding. “Yes, this… this is exactly what I’d hoped for, when I’d asked for your assistance. Your fresh set of eyes is invaluable. I hadn’t thought of approaching the modification from that angle.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the page for even just a moment, flipping it surprisingly fast, and taking it with him as he leans back in his seat. 

And decides to torture you.

Viktor traces the pad of his own thumb over the curve of his bottom lip as he takes in your handwriting. The give of the flesh under his fingertip hypnotizes, the slight drag of rough skin on soft pink one, your mind is long gone.

You think of rough fingertips on his lips, on his chest, rough fingertips on the pasty white of his gaunt lower stomach, rough fingertips in coarse hair. Rough fingertips dipping between his milky thighs, rough fingertips on where he runs just as pink as he does on his lips, rough fingertips dipping, slipping on slick skin—

You need to stop.

And you most certainly need help.

“Is something the matter?”

It feels like you’ve swallowed your own brain whole when he speaks, because your skull rings hollow when you try to come up with a reply that isn’t incoherent babble.

“Wh— me? No. Why?”

And because embarrassment loves to stick around once it has made its presence known, the stars align for the next social disaster: your stomach growls. Loudly.

“Did you not have lunch?” Viktor asks.

“I… didn’t get around to it,” you admit.

“I won’t take up too much of your time, then,” he assures. If he knew just how much of your time he’s started taking up — and the fact that you wish you could give him what is left of it to him, too.  “I would like you to work alongside me on my research. But if you don’t feel like you can squeeze another project into your presumably busy schedule, I understand. I would be glad to have you merely as… a colleague to consult with, as well.”

Is that even a question? He’s offering you the opportunity of a lifetime. You would be an idiot not take it. 

And an even bigger idiot to turn down more time spent with him.

“You don’t even have to ask,” you joke. “Yes. I would be thrilled, Viktor.”

This is his first smile you witness when his pretty boyishness doesn’t shine through. It’s a gentle quirk of his lips, no teeth to be seen, just tenderness. It makes your heart leap to be the cause of it.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Thank you.”

Silence.

Just as you’re about to breach it — he does it first.

“Would you be free for lunch tomorrow as well?”

He watches you from below long, dark lashes as you give a breathless yes.

—

“I brought you something.”

It’s the last thing you expect as you step into his office at noon, upon exchanging hellos.

You’re alight. With curiosity, above all else. And with worry — why would he bring you something? What will you do to reciprocate? 

“Thank you,” you say, though you have no idea what for just yet. “What is it?”

“I saw you eyeing my borscht yesterday.” There’s a glint in his eye that suggests more, so much so you can’t decide between flirting or digging a hole for yourself in the hardwood floor of his office. 

The middle ground is standing in his office awkwardly as he unzips his backpack.

He retrieves two thermos bottles: the one you’re already familiar with, and another that looks older, more worn, and sorely lacks the sticker you’ve so come to love and fixate on and dream about. “I, eh, I made you some. In case you wouldn’t get the chance to eat before you came here.”

Your chest swells so much it hurts. 

He made you soup?

“You… Viktor, this is… thank you. You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to. Have a seat.”

You practically jump into the seat across the table from his — a seat you’ve come to associate as yours, in spite of being well aware of the oppisite.

As he screws the bottle open and pours some steaming soup out into a paper bowl — god, he’d brought paper bowls — his eyes flick to you.

“But if you don’t care for borscht, you don’t have to—“

“I do care.”

And that rings true not just for the borscht.

It rings true for the soup he brings you the next day too, it rings true for every word that passes his lips. And it rings true for the time you start to spend in the insane coffee shop queue to surprise him with his preferred order and a slice of cake (a different one each day, until you figure out his favorite: cinnamon coffee), it rings true for the dark blue roughed up thermos he lets you take home the day you don’t finish the soup he brings you because you’re just so busy talking.

It’s November before you know it.

As the days grow colder, it’s not rare to be finding warmth by lavishing in Viktor’s attention as you ramble on about ideas — either for his research, or your thesis. All while he intently follows your thoughts with a smile, stopping just to shave another mouth-half-full’s worth off his cake of the day with his plastic spoon.

And once he savors the last bite, Viktor almost always flips it hollow side down, sliding it down the swell of his tongue within his mouth, removing it from between puckered lips. His cheeks hollow, he holds eye contact all the same, and it’s a mental image that haunts you. A mental image you project in your mind, nestled between the apex of your thighs. The thick of his tongue. The cushiony seal of his lips, the suction of his cheeks. 

It never becomes any less distracting than the first time it happens. 

You startle when Viktor speaks as he sets down the plastic spoon into the now empty packaging. 

“I would like you to accompany me to the lab sometime soon. When would you be free?”

You’ve been before — but just a handful of times. Mainly for him to demonstrate or disprove certain guesses, or test conclusions you’d reached together. 

“I’m free right now,” you suggest.

Viktor shakes his head. “I have a lecture in an hour.”

Right. 

“I mean… I think we could make it in an hour.”

“I prefer to take my time.” Viktor leans back in his seat, stares thoughtfully at the clock on his wall for a moment. “Would seven PM work for you?”

“Uh…” you mentally go through your schedule for the day, “yes. It should. I might be a little late, though. How about… seven fifteen-ish?”

“Good.” The flow of the word is syrupy, yet his next sentence comes out surprisingly peppy with excitement: “See you then.”

—

Though you’re well into the final week of November, it never stops bothering you just how quickly the sun sets. By the time you get to the lab, the air’s gone cold, dry, and the darkness is heavy and thick.

Viktor waits for you just outside the university lab, under the halo of the street light — perhaps just a hint overdressed for the cold, in your opinion. It’s certainly trench coat season, though his is surprisingly long, reaching somewhere along the middle of his shins. The hand he hasn’t tucked in his pocket holds his cane and is clad in a leather glove. Around his lengthy neck, a red knitted scarf lays in chunky, impenetrable layers, reaching almost all the way to the swell of his top lip and his ears. You can hardly see his smile from underneath when he spots you — but his eyes give him away. 

“Right on time,” Viktor’s tone has just as much pep to it as a few hours ago, perhaps even moreso. He rolls his shoulders, before he subtly nuzzles further down into his scarf, shying away from the biting cold. “Let’s get inside.”

He leads the way into the building, its warmth embracing you the moment you step in. The tip of your nose and your fingertips feel like they’re beginning to thaw, tingling just a hint. As you go to take off your coat, you notice Viktor isn’t in a rush. He rests his cane against the wall before he unwraps the thick, wide scarf from around his neck, folding it. He sets it on a nearby table, shucking off his trench coat, slender shoulders under a wool sweater. You watch closely as he then takes his scarf and stuffs it into the sleeve of his coat before he hangs it up. 

There’s something stiff, painful, about how he moves. You wonder if it’s the cold.

“What?” He watches you with appeased amusement.

Caught red-handed, you jump, still halfway clad in your coat.

“Nothing,” you reply, scraping for a way to deflect from your obvious staring. “Not a big fan of the cold?”

“Never.” He says it like it’s a very serious matter. “I still don’t know how I made it through my first eighteen winters in St. Petersburg.”

“You grew up in Russia?”

He laughs through his nose like you’ve told him a half good joke. “What gave it away? The accent? The surname?”

“No, I just thought… Svoboda is a Czech surname.”

With how his smile turns knowing, self-satisfied, you’re suddenly back in his office again, uncertain and nervous and asking for a job as his assistant. He could taunt you with the knowledge that you’ve looked up his last name, embarrass you a little, play with you.

But he isn’t that man anymore — not to you. This time, he feeds your curiosity, albeit just with crumbs.

“My mother’s,” he clarifies. “Sidorov is Russian — my father’s.”

Oh.

“It’s nice that they used both their names. I’m assuming that wasn’t… common, back then, and back there.”

“It wasn’t, and they did not.” Viktor waits for you to hang up your coat, watchful gaze making your every movement feel loaded with static that’s about to snap. “I added hers when I changed my name.”

Changed his name?

The image of the sticker on his thermos turns up fresh in your mind, and you can’t help but wonder…

“Well? I was hoping we could discuss more in the lab, but if you prefer the coat hanger…”

Goddamn it. Focus. You need to focus.

“Sorry.”

You catch up, then slowly follow Viktor down the hallway, into the small lab he has been assigned. It’s one of the less grand ones, but it has all it needs — from a pretty new hexion accelerator to a humble whiteboard. It smells sanitized, sterile, ozonic.

You assume your usual seat by the whiteboard while he sets up. It still doesn’t feel… right to let him do all of that by himself, but he insists upon it, so, you stay out of his way. Viktor tidies up the space just a little, finding his goggles among the mess. He slips them onto his head, elastic pulling back his soft hair into a fluffy grey and brown mess. His cane thumps against the linoleum with every hurried step — though he doesn’t seem to be hurrying on account of you being there as much as excitement to show you.

Once he’s done, he sits in front of the accelerator, slipping his goggles on, and nods for you to come. Which you do — you’d be at his beck and call beyond just the academic context. For a moment, you pluck the inviting tilt of his head and the quirk of his lips out of their context, and you plant it atop your own bed, him in just a loose shirt, underwear, lax with freshly received pleasure. More comfortable than he’s ever been, all because of you. Beckoning for you. Come here. Smiling at you when your knee dips into the mattress, tucking his index under your chin as you crawl to him, reeling you in for a kiss.

“Come closer.”

God help you.

You comply with a wildly beating heart, stepping forward until you’re close behind his sitting form, watching the accelerator over his shoulder. 

He smells nice. Like an indistinct, aromatic cologne, covering up the natural, gentle musk of his skin. You have to resist the urge to dip your head down and trace the tip of your nose along his spine, from where the bones of his neck show to where the scruff at the back of his head goes thicker, fuller. You wonder if he’d shiver as you let the scent of him imbue you… you wonder if he’d lean into it, if he’d tilt his head for you, let you dip your face into the slope of his shoulder, where his scent’s more potent.

The mere thought of him, vivid in your nostrils and clinging to your palate and the floor of your brain, rattles you with a shiver.

“I thought I’d rather show you than tell you,” he explains, wrapping both pale, bony hands around the handles of the accelerator. Steam hisses from the exhaust, flooding the room with more ozone, and gently, but certainly, the gem starts to spin behind the glass panel, beginning to levitate out of its socket, illuminating the room. 

God, you should have put on goggles too, it’s making your eyes hurt. It’s a welcome reminder as to why you chose to spend most your days staring down a blackboard rather than the thing itself. The screen right above it is more of a familiar sight to you: numbers, reading the rotations per minute, as well as energetic output, steadily increasing. 

It whirrs, magic static whirling up around the blue orb, electricity crackles. 

You can see the appeal of this over a blackboard. But you’d still take the chalk. Especially considering the deafening noise. 

Nevermind the damn goggles. You need to remember to bring some ear plugs.

“Watch the panel.” Viktor raises his voice over the hum of the machine, and turns to you, watching you from behind foggy lenses with a smile. You wish you could see the way his crow’s feet deepen. It rumbles harder, so much so Viktor almost has to shout the next thing he says, which is a shame, because his usually playful lilt is lost in the noise of it. “Not to… spoil the outcome of this experiment for you, but I implemented the conclusions we came to last week, and, it is safe to say…”

With a well-timed click and tug on a lever, the machine disengages, and the gem drops back into its socket under the influence of gravity. Its violating light returns to a faint, blue glow, like an artificially lit aquarium; fluctuating and undulating gently in its intensity. The potential energy indicator’s numbers climb back up, steadily, but faster than what you’ve seen before. 

Much faster.

You can’t help but grin with excitement. “It’s regenerating fast.”

Viktor smirks at you over his shoulder like you’re sharing a sacred, intimate inside joke. 

“It is.“

You await the verdict with a bated breath.

“How much?”

Viktor’s smile only grows, like he’s about to give you a present. And, all things considered, this is going to be one, in months’ or maybe even years’ time.

“A thirty-seven percent recovery after usage within an hour.” Viktor spins in the lab stool to face you with the theatrical self-satisfaction of a magician who just sawed his assistant in half and is waiting for the applause. You nearly forget to step back to give him the space for it, so much so your knees knock together. But there is no chance for you to apologize, Viktor is unbothered, sliding the goggles up his forehead enthusiastically, his show of complacency ditched in favor of pure excitement. “That is more than I’ve ever achieved thus far. Thanks to y—” 

His voice sticks in his throat, turning into a pained hiss.

His hair’s tangled in his goggles.

“Oh, wonderful,” he grits out sarcastically. 

A frustrated half-sigh half-groan rumbles in his chest as he pulls again and only makes things worse.

“Could you get me a pair of scissors? I should have some in the third drawer over there.”

“Wait. At least let me try first,” you insist. Reluctantly, you step closer, and after a moment’s hesitation, Viktor lowers his head for better access like a feral animal letting itself be pet for the first time. He sits still, the sound of both your breaths suddenly loud in the tall, quiet room as you’re forced to step even closer. “Could you…”

You nudge his ankles apart with the tip of your shoe.

He listens.

After a stuttering, fragile exhale, Viktor spreads his thighs. 

You take the space offered. And you try not to think about kneeling, about making a home for yourself between his thighs.

“Do you think you can do it?”

You wish he’d asked you that about any number of things, except for the goggles tangled in his feathery, soft hair.

But yes. You think you do.

It would have been a terrible shame to cut it — though some shorter, bluntly cut hairs that sit a little further back near the top of his head tell you his suggestion was not the product of a new idea. Carefully, you pull whatever hairs are looser from between the lens and the bridge of the goggles, though a strand remains stubborn. 

You try to ignore the warmth of his breath on your shirt, the intoxicating, soapy, yet distinctively human smell of his scalp, and the mesmerizing ratio of grey to dark brown, the subtle heat on the sides of your palms and wrists, resting on his head for stability.

As you separate another few hairs from the stuck strand and accidentally tug at them, Viktor has no reaction. Beyond swallowing thickly, and sitting through it dutifully. 

You wonder if he’d act just the same, had you bunched his hair into the spaces between your fingers and tugged — simply biting his tongue and chewing through the pain — or if he’s leaned into the force, moaning with it, and god, you’ve hurt him, and you haven’t even apologized.

“Sorry.” You sound twice as genuine — mainly because you apologize for much worse than the inflicted pain. “Almost done.”

“The scissors would have been faster,” he half-jokes.

His voice sounds different. A hint more… strained. He shifts in the seat, wipes his hands on his slacks.

“Would have been a shame, though. You have pretty hair.” The last part of the sentence positively escapes you, and once you hear it, you freeze. Your brain scrambles itself trying to add something that will fix the inherent following awkwardness, the horrifying realization you just called your boss pretty, the fact that it’s true, the fact that—

Viktor flinches with another accidental tug of his hair, and so do his thighs — jumping with the surprise, clenching together until they squeeze around yours. But they’re gone just as fast, flinching away with horrified urgency. Before you get to savor the supple flesh pressing into your own in another new perverted way, before you get to imagine his ankles locking behind you, tilting and rubbing your hips into the hug of his thighs.

You need. To get. A grip.

“Sorry.”

You continue on in silence, and thank everything above he at the very least can’t see the way your hands shake, because he’s staring at the floor like he could drill a hole into it with just his eyes. 

You should have gotten the damn scissors. As if through divine intervention, the rest of his hair comes loose not soon after.

“Okay. All done.” You smooth the slightly crinkled, but now free strand back down into the rest of his soft hair. 

Viktor’s dainty features come into view from below his face framing pieces as he tilts his chin up. His lips quirk into a gentle smile, his eyes sparkle in the faint blue glow, soft shadows under the hollow of his cheeks and the swell of his lip and the tip of his nose and the bone of his brow. You wish you could immortalize him in whatever way he’d let you — a sculpture, a painting, a poem. He looks ripe for kissing, eyes half-lidded and twice as dreamy as he peers at you.

You’re going to see him like this in your mind’s eye later tonight.

Nestled between your thighs, or kissing down your stomach, molten gold under long, dark lashes, sitting atop carved marbled bone.

“Thank you.” He says it quietly — like it would break the sudden holiness of the moment to say it any other way.

He’s so warm. 

You could kiss him. See what the ozone of the room tastes like in the slick of his mouth. You wonder if he’d let you, if he’d suckle your tongue into his mouth in a show of submission, or if he’d bite your lip, licking your teeth, pressing, pushing, make you earn the privilege to taste him. 

You wonder if he’d hold you, or if his curious hands would roam, tracing the front of your stomach, or your spine, or press to the middle of your breastbone like he wants to see where you’d split open for him down the middle like a ripe peach. You wonder if he’d let you dip a hand down the front of his slacks, you wonder if he’d tilt his hips into it like he’d been aching for it, aching for you. Scorching your hand with want, materialized in slick or straining hardness. You wonder which it’d be.

From where you’re standing, the distance between the apex of his chin and the space where his slacks stretch between his thighs is small — and your gaze takes the leap, searching. But the material dips and curves in such a way that you’re left none the wiser, and with nothing but a disgusting realization.

You’re staring at your boss’ crotch.

You step back from the heat between his thighs, painfully awake, aware. It squeezes and wriggles in your chest like you have a parasite lodged in the chambers of your heart. 

You’re disgusting.

You need to put an end to this.

“You’re welcome, professor.”

With that, you’re practically bolting from between his thighs, to stash the scissors away again.

You’re neglecting your job, you’re putting it in jeopardy. Putting yourself in jeopardy, risking all the rumors circulating becoming a shameful truth, you’re risking the first man who ever kept up with you, followed you where you wanted to go and took you further — you’re risking it all because he makes you unbelievably fucking horny. 

And it’s absurd. Embarrassing. You need to get a hold of yourself. 

“I was… thinking, actually,” you begin, and want to punch yourself over how Viktor perks back up from where you’d left him. “About some things regarding my thesis that I’d like your thoughts on.”

“Oh. Of course.” You have got to be imagining the subtle disappointment in his tone. The second you let yourself believe it’s more than just a figment of your make-believe, is the second you will be doomed. 

Viktor, with all his years and experience, would and does know better than to fall for his assistant. You know he does.

“What’s on your mind?” He prompts after your prolonged silence.

If he knew the half of it.

—

You’re late.

And it’s a direct, shameful consequence of last night’s lusting, the time you’d spent frustratedly tossing and turning and thinking of his mouth and his eyes and his scent, before you’d given in past midnight, and humped your hand into completion.

Thinking about him under you, about pressing your face into his neck, about pressing him into the mattress and rutting into him until he gushes and his tired body sings for you and his voice cracks. Until he breaks for you, until pleasure itself oils and unscrews all the biological cogs of his body and he comes out unstrung, reborn.

Viktor’s in a wheelchair. 

And he looks worse for wear than you’ve ever encountered him before, slumping in the chair and massaging his eyelids with his thumb and index, seemingly gathering his thoughts. He’s dressed even warmer than usual, in a loose but thick, dark red sweater. There’s a colorful knitted blanket folded and set over the tops of his thighs. 

Viktor doesn’t acknowledge you when you come in and sit near the whiteboard, simply resumes his lecture as he regains his mental footing. And he goes on for a while, not sparing you a single glance, as he goes through powerpoint slides today, instead of his usual writing and hand drawn diagrams. 

He’s at it for a while, not as fast as his usual pace, but undeniably concise, certain. Until…

“The energy output increases proportionately to the spin, and, with powerful enough matrices, some hexgems can create force fields of their own. This is a particularly common phenomenon in unstabilized gems as well, though with the activation of their force field, those tend to also create… eh…”

Viktor stops, sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. He frowns, mumbling something in another language, which, judging by the heavy consonants and squeezed vowel, you’d assume it’s Russian. The word must be slipping his mind, so you decide to help out.

“A shock wave.”

Viktor’s gaze cuts. He’s looked at you with disinterest before, sure, but this… 

He doesn’t even turn his head to look at you, just eyes you from the corner of his vision like something unworthy of acknowledgment. You wish you could swallow your words back up.

“Yes,” he says. “Thank you. A shock wave.”

You don’t say anything again for the rest of the lecture. 

Once the door falls shut behind the last few students who have left the room, Viktor turns to you. You wish you could shrink; and it feels like you do, when he finally speaks.

“I appreciate your intention to help — but do not interrupt me again. I know what I’m trying to say.” He sounds utterly unlike himself, both spent and angry. “I don’t need help. Especially not in the middle of a lecture.”

“Sorry.”

That alone softens him up a hint. He looks away, rubbing his thumbs against the wheels of his chair, before he speaks again. Calmer. 

“Just… do not let it happen again.”

As he slumps in his seat, massaging at his temples, you understand that his anger… might not have been as directed at you as you’d initially thought. He’d been snippy when his back hurt — having switched to a wheelchair must mean he’s in a lot more pain now.

And you understand his frustration. He’d just gotten himself an assistant a few months back, and started a new project — looking like he requires help in front of his students is certainly not doing his reputation right now any favors. 

“But if there’s other things I can do to make your day a little easier, I’d like to do them.”

“No, thank you.” He shakes his head, before he grabs both wheels and advances to where he’d left his bag. As he starts packing his things, he stops again, quietly groaning somewhere in the back of his throat. “Where did I put my pen…”

Viktor eventually finds it right behind his water bottle on the table, tossing the both of them into his bag, shutting it tightly. You expect him to wheel himself over to the ramp that leads to the exit, but he just hangs his head, massaging at his temples again, before he looks at you.

“Actually, I’d like it if you went to my office and got me a silver tin box in the… fourth drawer on the left side of my desk. Do you have the key with you, or should I give you mine?”

“I have it. I’ll be quick.”

“Thank you.”

And you deliver on your promise. You don’t run, but you power walk there, and you’re back with (hopefully the right) tin box in the same lecture hall before his break ends.

Viktor takes it from you gladly, popping it open. It contains two foils of painkillers, one already half empty, a small ziploc bag of… gummies, and at the very bottom, some dark chocolate. 

You must have pulled a bit of a face at the contents — particularly the gummies — because Viktor cocks a brow at you, before he faintly chuckles under his breath and pops three painkillers in one go.

After depositing the foil back in the box, he fishes out the dark chocolate bar. It looks to be the expensive kind, something Belgian — Viktor breaks off a piece, putting it in his mouth, before he holds it out to you.

“Peace offering,” he clarifies when you hesitate. 

You’d be a fool to turn him down. You take some — it’s rich, buttery, and melts on your tongue. It coats your mouth with its taste, dark and aromatic and unfortunately not as sweet as you thought Viktor preferred. He’d always favored the almost disgustingly sugary cakes.

“Didn’t think you’d like something so bitter,” you say.

“I do not. It sometimes helps with my migraines,” he tells you. “Sugar makes them worse. A very… devastating discovery to make, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

You wonder if right now is the right time to be curious — and you decide it might be.

“Do the migraines also affect your leg? Or the other way around?” 

“No.” Viktor shakes his head, popping off another piece of dark chocolate. “This,” he gestures at himself, the wheelchair, “was just a very unfortunate… overlapping.”

“Oh.” You grimace in sympathy. “Fun.”

“A punishment for it, more like.” 

What’s that supposed to mean?

“Let’s hope my migraine eases up on me throughout this lecture.” He smiles at you — and for the first time you’ve known him, he looks old doing it. Exhausted. The face of a man who’s seen enough hardship for a lifetime, but has yet to cave under it. 

You wish you could hold him. You wish you could melt it away, kiss it better, love it better. Whatever he’d let you.

You surprise both him and yourself when you lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and let your thumb rub a small circle over the wool. 

Though he flinches at the first contact, once something in his brilliant mind unfurls and settles, so does he. Through the cracks, tenderness shines under the fatigue. Viktor can be soft — in spite of everything im his body and his past that protests against it. “Thank you.”

You take your hand away sooner than you’d like — but at the ideal time to keep it from being anything more than a friendly touch.

“I’m glad I could help,” you say.

—

Viktor isn’t there at all next week. 

You come in on Monday to find his office empty during lunch break, and when you attend his lecture, it’s another professor from his department teaching it. The students don’t seem all too excited about the change either — and you leave before it even starts.

Heimerdinger is none the wiser about Viktor’s situation when you talk to him — in spite of their shared history. He simply tells you he’d taken the week off and had arranged for substitutes.

You consider messaging him… and ultimately end up doing so, after some internal debate. You simply text him to get well soon and that you hope he’s getting some well-deserved rest. He replies with just a plain thank you.

Tuesday is quiet. You receive a stack of midterms you need to get through from the substitute, and you do, by Thursday morning. Which is when Heimerdinger messages you.

Dr. Prof. Cecil B Heimerdinger

Good morning! I’m well aware this is on very short notice — but the substitute professor has unfortunately suffered a minor car accident. Not to worry; they only sustained small njury. However, I am finding myself forced to task you with Viktor’s lectures today. Do you think you could take care of that? Thank you.

-Cecil B. Heimerdinger

9:32

Just the thing you needed — teaching two full lectures, entirely unprepared.

Alright. You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You just need to find out what’s even on the agenda for today. You could text Viktor, right? If he answers on time, that is… he’s sick, he might as well be asleep right now. You could call, but… he said only to do that in the case of an emergency when he gave you his phone number. 

Would this count as an emergency?

Your phone beeps.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

There should be a black flash drive in the third drawer on the left in my desk. It has all my lectures.

9:34

Today’s topic is LHC segments naturally occurring in unstabilized gems. Feel free to use my work laptop to familiarize yourself with the presentation before the lecture.

9:35

Me

Thank you so much! 

9:35

His answer comes a few minutes later, just as you fish the flash drive out of his drawer, and plug it into his laptop.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

Good luck 👍 

9:42

It would be a lot easier to get caught up in the desire to snoop around on his laptop if you didn’t have less than 20 minutes left until the lecture. His background is disappointingly the default image, but some of his folders look undeniably tempting — not just the scientific ones, which take up most of the space. There’s some photo albums titled with the year and location: Germany 2011, Czech Republic 2009, among many others. There’s also a photo album titled Persichka. 

Who is that? 

You almost click it. But then you check your watch again and realize you only have 15 more minutes until the lecture, and decide against it.

—

For how utterly unprepared you are, it goes surprisingly well. You stumble, once or twice, but you’re glad to see that even by the end of the lecture, you still have most students’ attention.

After you dismiss the class, you don’t expect questions. But a good handful of them, a little under ten, approach your desk, whispering among themselves, before a hastily appointed representative emerges. 

“We were just wondering,” she awkwardly begins, “if professor Sidorov-Svoboda is alright. And when he’s coming back.”

“Oh.” You hope they’re asking because they understandably prefer him, and not because you did a particularly shabby job. “He texted me just today — he’s doing alright. But I can’t give you an exact estimate for when he’s coming back just yet.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

With that, all of them turn to go. After the last student has left the room, you reach for your phone, and pray you don’t see any other day-altering messages today. 

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I did not mean for you to have to do this. 

10:11

You unlock your phone and jump straight into the chat.

Me

Don’t worry, it’s alright. I handled it :)

12:02

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I knew you could.

12:02

Thank you.

12:02

Me

Focus on resting up and getting well soon! 

12:03

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I have been. I actually feel well enough for company now. Coincidentally, I’ve gotten some ideas for your thesis and I would like it if we discussed them sometime. Would you be free this weekend?

12:05 

He wants to meet? Outside of the university? Undoubtedly for academic purposes still, but your heart squeezes and bounces and pops with the implications. 

No. You shouldn’t let yourself hope for more than just a few formal, at best friendly hours spent together.

Viktor doesn’t want you. He would never want you — he knows better. You know better.

Me

I’d like that! Saturday works for me. Where would you like to meet?

12:05

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

If you’d prefer somewhere on academy grounds like my office or the coffee shop, either would be fine.

12:06

My apartment is also an option.

12:06

The choice is obvious.

[factual-fantasy]

27 Asks! Thank you! :}} 🤡

I'm on the fence about it..

While I've poured a lot of effort into my redesigns and would love to show them off.. at the same time I don't want a repeat of Octonauts were everyone just disrespects my boundaries and copies my designs line for line. And sometimes worse, copies them and claims that they made the designs themselves.

TADC is pretty popular right now so I just think posting full ref sheets is not a good idea 💀

@beryl-shade @chickenheadguy

Yeah for a while there I didn't know anything about the game and only had OCs. Buuuuut I wanted to make proper grounded lore for my cookies, aaaand I loved the canon cookies designs so much that I just bit the bullet and dowloaded OvenBreak, Kingdom and Tower of Adventures.

I didn't like the gameplay for OvenBreak and abandoned that game pretty quick. I became OBSESSED with Kingdom and I still haven't tried Tower of adventures-

I have a very bad perception of time.. but my guess is I've been playing CookieRun: Kingdom for at least 2-3 weeks or so.. ? Its been a blast so far :)))

@wolfie-777

I've been drawing for as long as I can remember.. so I cant pin point exactly what my first OC was.. but in this OC challenge here, you can see one of the oldest that I can remember! :0 (There's no way he was ACTUALLY my very first one <XDD )

I've been to many different doctors in attempt to find the problem. <:( They believe they've found it. So now its just a matter of trying to treat it. 😔

@sergioho45

Only if they come with syrup and butter 👁️👁️

Thank you <:')) I've been doing my best to take it easy and stay away from Tumblr for a bit.. I'm hoping I get my confidence back soon and can return with some more TADC stuff <:}}}

@pewpewae (Referencing this post)

Thank you.. that means a lot to me 🥹💞💞

@caprico54

THEY WHAT

@milmaxtor

THANK YOU!! :DD AND AWWWW I WANT TO KISS THE KITTY ON THE FOREHEADDDD

@captain-skyler1987

YOU ARE THE COW??

@spookycolorooooo

Awe! Thank you! :}} AND AWW THEY'RE SO CUTEEE 😭😭😭

(Referencing this post)

There's also evidence to suggest that he wasn't dubbing my comic "for fun" or just as a "gift". It looks more like he was using it to expand his portfolio. Pretty scummy.

Also thankfully I haven't had any of his supporters flood my ask box, But I'd been on the look out for them.

@youlikwjazz004

I've watched a few of the movies but I don't really remember them <:/ my only opinion is "WOW that thing is very weirdly shaped" XDD

@lostlornghost

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with this information <XD

@misscherrypie

<:'}} Thank you so much! Your guys's support means the world to me😭😭

@knifecatss

The first thing that came to mind is that she loves to eat! XDD

@zboigames

While I'm glad you likes my Mario stuff, the ask button and my pinned post says I don't take requests!

@milmaxtor

AWWW I LOVE HER SHES SO SILLYY!!!

Realllll 😭😭for me I'd want the cautious and swift dark cacao warriors to be playable considering their role in beast yeast..

@ardent-38

Thank you! :DD Also I have not seen that movie <:((

(Also you thought of me? Awe,,🥹🥹)

So am I <XD I present to you!,

A crunch bar! :))

:Dd Thank you! I hope your Halloween/Friday was good too! :))

🥺...... Dark Cacoaaaaaa.....

(Link in asks)

Oh no... the lore is getting complicated...

Wait, don't you mean OvenBreak? They don't look like that in CookieRun: Kingdom..

Yeah so I've seen, but I'm not interested in Golden Cheese 😅 I like Dark Cacoa :)))

GAH! I BEEN BOOPED!

[bitethedevil]

So what is up with Korilla? Is she a voluntary servant of Raphael's or involuntary [due to him having her sister]? If you catch Korilla spying on you & manage to speak to her, she sounds brainwashed. What is it R wants from the two sisters?

Hope and Korrilla

I'm so glad you asked! Because I now have a little theory on it. I've started reading Brimstone Angels by Erin M. Evans (who is also a former editor for Wizards of the Coast) because it was recommended to me by @hellish-kiss (thank you <3). I'm only on the first book. I like it so far and there is a bunch of devil and cambion stuff in there.

In her books, cambions and devils have a tendency to collect 'sets' of warlocks. It's focused a lot on bloodlines, so a devil would collect warlocks of interesting bloodlines or siblings, and it's this huge thing in the books.

It made me wonder if that could be the thing with Hope and Korrilla. They could be the descendants of someone interesting, or it could just be that Raphael wants to have both of them because they are siblings.

Raphael is obviously more obsessed with Hope, but I think he might have hoped (ha-ha) from the start to get both of them. In a way it makes perfect sense. It's easier to control people when one of their family members might be in trouble too if you rebel against them.

Also...

Hope is a life domain cleric. The obvious deity would be Moradin, who is a lawful good god of dwaves, but we aren't really told. Keep that in mind for now.

Korrilla says that she had an "old dwarven master" who "beat her and fed her scraps" and then follows that up with "better to feast in the Hells than go begging to the Heavens".

Interestingly, it's said that Moradin's clerics are drawn from family lines, which mean that both Korrilla and Hope might have been Moradin clerics before. He is also described as such:

"He was gruff, stern and virtually incapable of compromise, tirelessly and unflinchingly defending his people, their values, and his principles of good and law. While a good heart was necessary for his acceptance, only quality results earned his approval."

What if Moradin is who Korrilla refers to as her old master? He does sound like someone who really demands a lot from his clerics, and Korrilla might've never been enough for him, which would make one bitter and start looking elsewhere. It would also further make her unable to understand why her sister won't give in, because she sees it as hopeless because Moradin doesn't do shit for them (and can't do shit when they are both in the Hells), but Raphael does.

I think Korrilla really does like working for Raphael, and from Raphael's point of view, they are both the perfect targets. Because clerics of Moradin is a bloodline thing, Korrilla and Hope might have been groomed from the start of their lives to follow a someone who is hard to please and gives little in return, and people like that make excellent employees. Not to mention the irony of Hope's name and the fact that he gets to corrupt two clerics. Win-win-win.

Korrilla might sound brainwashed, but if you have gone your entire life and "begged for scraps in the Heavens", the alternative that Raphael has given them is a hundred times better, because he does actually give her something. Even Raphael says somewhere in one of his books that he has barely ever been forced to punish Korrilla because she is just a model warlock and good at listening.

(Thank you for the ask <3 And good timing. I actually wanted to make a post about this eventually.)

[toxic3mmy]

prompt: you wake up in a girl’s body and fuck your best friend

okay soooo, i got this idea from an ao3 one shot i read the other day and well, this came outta it

it may not be everyones cup of tea but i always loved gay fics where one guy magically turned into a woman??

IDK

ALSO IM REALLY DEPRESSED SO I LIED ABT GETTING TO UR REQUESTS DONT HATE MEEEE MY BOOBIES <3

warnings: SMUTTTT, mentions of witchcraft and body switching

you and quackity were best friends from a very young age. you and him were inseparable, as if you were one person.

the two of you went through school together. everything changed when his youtube career took off and he changed his focus to that which of course you didn’t mind. you thought it was so awesome the way he was passionate about this.

the two of you were so close that living together through college eventually turned into living together as adults. now, you were working at a law firm as an intern while alex pursued his online career.

truthfully, you were in love with your best friend. you had been from a very young age, it was only natural for you to fall so hard for him.

on a drunken night, you decided to come clean. you told him how much he meant to you. you confessed that you were in love with him.

he smiled sadly and hugged you close

“i wish you were a girl”

those were his drunken words and the two of you never spoke about it again

but within your friend group, everyone liked to tease the two of you as if you were gay together. of course you would enjoy every single interaction like this, hell you two were even dared to kiss once!

it was too easy to fall for your best friend

—

you had gone to visit your family in mexico for a few days and finally you were home. you walked into your shared home as quickly and quietly as possible so that you didn’t wake alex up.

your trip was great. you got to catch up with family and spend some quality time together.

while there, you confessed to your favorite and closest cousin about your feelings for alexis. she was very accepting of your sexuality and even encouraged you to go for it.

you filled her in on what happened when you did confess to alex and her eyes lit up with a devious look. she had an idea and although you were a bit skeptical, you agreed.

you knew she was learning the traditions of brujeria in your family and you were really interested in it. but what she wanted to do was crazy. she wanted to try something new and of course you agreed, not expecting anything to come of it because of how impossible it seemed.

so the two of you spent the last day of your trip together so that she could work on it. and well, you went home that same night.

the next day, you woke up like any normal day. you sluggishly walked to the bathroom and relieved yourself. you felt a warmth trickling down your legs and you were speeachless

“aw shit” you murmured to yourself as you knelt down to clean the floor of your piss

you couldn’t believe it worked

you looked at yourself in the mirror and loved what you saw. your face was a bit more round, your hair reached your ass now, and you had a great rack. you were ecstatic, practically gawking over yourself

and then the fear set in when alex knocked on your door saying that breakfast was ready

“uh… im not feeling well! go ahead and eat without me, thanks” you said, trying your hardest to deepen your voice

“are you sure? whats wrong? your voice sounds weird, are you sick?” he asked worriedly

“i think it’s a virus or something, don’t worry”

“i wanted to have a little day with you since you’re back from mexico… i guess we could postpone it until you feel better”

“thanks” you said quickly, hoping he would go already

“are you… going to stay in there all day? i mean, at least let me in so i can take care of you” he sighed, resting his head against the door

“n-no! im fine, really!”

“c’mon y/n, let me in so i can at least make sure you don’t die in there” he laughed

there was absolutely no way to hide this

“okay but… please don’t freak out” you said as you quickly started to look for a t shirt to put on

all you had on were loose boxers but they felt weird. you didn’t have any bras, obviously, and so you had no choice but to wear a tight fitting white wife beater

“i wont” alexis said softly

“close your eyes”

he obliged and you carefully unlocked the door, leading him into the bedroom

“before you open your eyes, i think i need to—“

he opened his eyes and his mouth dropped

“um… what…?”

“please let me explain!”

“okay, who are you… i get it if you wanted an autograph or a picture but what the hell?? why are you in my house right now?”

“what?… alexis! i’m not some crazed fan that broke in! it’s me.. it’s y/n..” you exclaimed

“no you’re not, what the fuck are you talking about! look, i don’t believe in hitting women but if you don’t leave my goddamn house in three seconds, you’re toast buddy!” he yelped and picked up the nearest weapon like thing which just so happened to be a lamp

you blinked at his attempt at being tough and burst out laughing uncontrollably

“lady! i am so serious! what the hell is wrong with you? oh my god… you escaped a mental hospital and you’re using my house as a hideout aren’t you?!”

you couldn’t stop laughing at him, this was just way too hilarious!

“okay i am dialing 911–“

“wait! please… just listen to me okay? i didn’t expect for this to happen… but it’s me. it’s y/n”

“you really are a nut, aren’t you?”

“i can prove it! look… it’s the matching tattoo we got when we were 18” you pulled your t shirt down to show the tattoo littered on your collarbone

he put down the lamp and sat on your bed. he didn’t know what to think. he nervously ran his hand through his hair

“oh god… how did this—?”

“i—i” you stuttered, trying to figure out if you should tell him the truth

“i swear you didn’t have tits the last time i saw you… and your face looks so… different” he softly held your chin in his hand, studying your newly feminine features

“brujeria” you blurted out, cheeks flushed with his touch on your face igniting a fire inside your chest

“w-what?”

“i… my family does brujeria and i tried this new thing and i swear i didn’t expect it to work! ive heard of it working but ive never seen it for myself and well…”

“so… you did this to yourself?”

you nodded, almost feeling shame

“but why?”

“i had a talk with my cousin in mexico and well… you told me you wished that i were a girl…. and i thought maybe things could be easier this way, better, even. i really didn’t think it would happen…”

“so…” alexis cleared his throat, “you’re um, fully a female now?” his face turned red in an instant and you couldn’t help but laugh

“yeah, i mean, i went to use the bathroom and that’s when i noticed…”

“no way…”

“yeah..”

“and so… why are you practically naked?” he laughed nervously, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants

“dude! look at these fucking tits! i don’t own any bras and god they’re already giving me back pain.. i need to get dressed so i can go back and see my cousin or see a doctor! i can’t stay like this—”

he stayed quiet for a while before saying breathlessly,

“i don’t want you to go”

“i… i have to go… i have to fix this” you said quietly as you began to rummage through your drawers to find suitable underwear since you obviously didn’t own any panties. you changed into boxer briefs and shrugged. it would have to do

alex quietly stood from where he was sitting and he stood behind you, looking down at you with a look on his face that you’ve never seen before

“god.. you’re so tall” you whispered as you stopped what you were doing and looked up at him

“you’re so fucking short, it��s really cute” he smiled before grabbing you and throwing you over his shoulder

“hey! what the hell! put me down!” you squirmed in his arms and that earned a harsh smack to your boxer clad ass

he took you to his bedroom and practically tossed you onto his bed. he stared at you with the same look as before, his eyes filled with lust, as he threw his beanie to the ground and took off his t shirt. he threw his shirt somewhere behind him before slowly making his way to you.

you were sat up with your knees to your chest against the wall

“u-uhm.. why um.. why are we here? i told you i have to go!! i have to fix this shit” you rambled nervously, warning a deep chuckle from alexis

“shh, just let me admire you..” he was now next to you on the bed as he carefully tucked your hair behind your ear

“what are we doing alex?” your whisper dissipated into the thick tense air surrounding the two of you

alexis didn’t respond, instead he gently grabbed the hem of your t shirt and pulled it off of your body. your new set pf tits were now on display, your nipples perking up instantly as your best friend trailed his fingertips along your chest. you hiss at the sensation of his cold hands and you feel something beginning to build up inside, just beneath your bellybutton

“o-okay…i get it, it get it. this is about that stupid thing we talked about! look, it was funny back then but right now it’s not okay, i need to see my cousin or a fucking doctor!”

“you mean that thing about how if one of us woke up as a chick then we’d fuck?” he laughed, now trailing his fingers underneath your chin

“y-yeah but it was hypothetical! i didn’t think we’d ever actually be in this situation i mean, it’s just not normal!”

“so, do you want me to stop?” he murmured against your neck, leaving tiny butterfly kisses there

“i-i don’t know okay? but it doesn’t help when you’re touching me and you have your lips on me and god damn i forgot how sexy you looked without a shirt on…”

“you think this is easy for me? feel what you do to me, baby girl” he guided your hand to his clothed dick and your eyes went wide with how hard he was

“oh my god… stop it! fucking shit dude! you can’t just have me touching your dick! a-and now im fucking leaking or something, i don’t know! it’s all warm and wet down here! i don’t know what to do!” you complained, almost whining, not realizing that what you needed was him inside of you

“yeah? i bet your tight little cunt is soaked, isn’t it?” he asked, almost hovering above you

you couldn’t respond, you were too overwhelmed with so many emotions at once

alexis began to lean into you more and more and god it was getting harder to resist him as his strong cologne infiltrated your little brain

finally, his lips were on yours. he kissed you so gently, as if at any moment you could break. you pulled him closer to you and wrapped your arms around his toned back, melting into him

one of his hands balanced him above you while his other hand began to play with your perky tits. you were grinding into him as he rolled your sensitive nipple in between his thumb and forefinger

“o-oh my god! that feels amazing..” you bucked into him more, rubbing your cunt against his leg. you were so frustrated and begging silently for any kind of friction

“slow down princesa, there’s no rush. i promise ill take care of you, okay?” he said in a sweet voice that only turned you on even more

you nodded and your eyebrows furrowed together as his mouth was now attached to one of your boobs, the other was pinching at your already sensitive nipple. you let out soft whimpers as he pawed at your chest delightfully

“g-god… this feels so wrong but so fucking good” you said breathlessly, earning a little laugh from the boy above you

his lips kissed and sucked a trail lower and lower until he reached your boxers. he licked his lips and hooked his fingers under the waistband, sliding them down your legs. you were trembling as he kissed down the front of your pussy. finally, he ran his tongue flat against what you now knew was your clit. your hands instantly buried themselves in his soft hair, pulling it in the process

“you okay?” he asked, pausing for a second. you nodded furiously and he got back to work instantly

his tongue ran circles around the bundle of nerves that were now throbbing. you bucked your hips further into his face without even noticing

suddenly, you felt a finger at your entrance. it stung ever so slightly and immediately turned into pleasure as he curved it upwards. he pumped his finger into you and continued lapping at your swollen bud. the second he added another finger, tears were rolling down your face

“just like that! oh fuck..” you cursed, back arching as you reached up and clung onto his bedsheets

alex was basically making out with your clit now. his two long fingers were curved perfectly inside of you. you were bouncing on his fingers at this point. it all felt so so good

“you taste so good y/n” alex said as he came up for air momentarily

your hands came down and were now shoving his face in between your trembling thighs. his tongue moved even faster now, syncing with his fingers that were plunging into you.

you were restless, squirming and writhing as the sound of your moans and your wetness filled the room. you felt yourself chasing your climax. your thighs clamped shut, forcing alex to stay right there and not move an inch.

as your walls clenched around your best friend’s fingers, alex was being completely engulfed in your sweet pussy. his fingers curved up one more time inside of you and your body paused completely.

you saw stars and felt yourself leaking cum out onto his fingers. you caught your breath and closed your eyes. after a few moments, alex broke the silence

“so… was i any good?” alex asked, wiping your juices from his chin, a shit eating grin on his lips

“shut your mouth and take off your pants” you rolled your eyes

alexis laughed loudly and obliged, gaking off the remaining clothes he had on. you instantly sat up on your knees, your attention completely on him

you took over, pushing his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. his erection sprang free, and you stared at it with a mix of fascination and hunger. He watched your gaze, feeling a surge of pride and desire that made him ache even more

“holy shit! dude, your dick is huge!” you said in awe, almost drooling

“open up princess” he smiled and pumped himself gently

you opened your mouth gingerly. as he lay his tip on your tongue, your hand wrapped around the base of his cock. your other hand cupped his balls, grabbing at them

“you… you sure you haven’t sucked a dick before? you’re doing this so well” he grunted

“believe it or not, your dick is the first to ever touch these lips” you laughed and took him into your mouth almost entirely

alexis whimpered, one of his hands pushing the back of your head onto him further

of course you choked but alex was still enjoying this and you were definitely taking in every little whiny sound he made

you sucked his tip gently, and looked up at him through your doe eyes with your pupils blown completely, your lips wet and swollen, hair a mess, and alex almost came at the sight

“lay down” he said gently but firmly

you did as he told you and alex propped your legs up as if he were going to eat your pussy a second time. instead, he slipped himself in between your legs and hovered over you

carefully, he entered you, savoring the tightness that surrounded him. you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut as you adjusted to the sensation of his thickness stretching you. he waited, giving you a moment to breathe, before he began to move.

alex was in pure bliss, loving how warm and tight your cunt was. he completely forgot that this was your first time doing this, involuntarily speeding up before immediately stopping as you made a sound of pain

“okay look i respect you, you have game dude but jesus christ you need to fucking chill ! i’ve never done this shit before… at least not with a pussy” you tried to laugh off the sting

“i am so sorry y/n, you just feel so fucking good around me. i didn’t mean to hurt you, princesa” he spoke with a worried expression on his face

“sit back, okay?” you said suddenly and alex laid down, watching you crawl into his lap. a smirk made its way onto his face as he realized what you were doing

you straddled him, slowly taking him into you as you sat all the way down on his lap. you still felt some pain but it wasn’t as bad. you slowly lifted yourself up and slid back down again, your hand on his belly as he watched you intently

you gasped as his fingers pressed against your clit, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. your hips picked up the pace, seeking more, and he eagerly gave it, his movements growing more deliberate with every moan that escaped your lips.

“take it like a good girl… “ alexis groaned as his head fell back in pleasure

you continued to move, his cock hitting you at the perfect angle inside and the pressure of his digits on your clit motivating you to go faster

“that’s it, princess” alexis praised as he watched you bounce up and down

his free hand found your breasts, kneading them as you rode him, your breaths growing more ragged with every thrust

“oh god, you’re so fucking deep! a-alex!” you moaned as you rode his cock

your pace was slowing down as you were growing tired. alex sat up and held you close. your arms rested around his neck and you kissed him passionately as he thrusted into you while you sat on his lap

“say my name again baby, say it” he kissed you on the mouth roughly as his hands held your hips in place and he fucked into you faster now

“alex! fuck… i’ve wanted your cock inside of me for so fucking long, i need more, please!” you pleaded

your eyes locked onto his, teeth biting down on your lower lip as you felt another orgasm building. your walls tightened around him, and you could see the effect it was having on him, his jaw clenching and his eyes darkening with lust. you leaned forward, your breasts brushing against his chest, and whispered into his ear, "I'm going to cum on your big fucking cock”

your movements grew erratic as alex pushed you back slightly, giving you a new angle for him to fuck you senselessly in. the two of you made a sort of ‘v’ shape in this new position as you leaned away from one another and your sex met his in perfect rhythm

your nails dug into his hands that were on your hips, leaving half-moons that would surely bruise. he didn't care, the pain only added to his pleasure, heightening every sensation

the sight was too much for him. your fucked out expression begging for more, your supple tits bouncing as your hips crashed together. he lost control, his orgasm ripping through him like a storm. he filled you with his warmth, his hips jerking as he emptied himself into you.

you came immediately after he did, loving the way you felt his thick cock twitch inside of you

you stopped moving and collapsed onto his chest, your breathing ragged and your heart pounding like a drum in her ears. alexis wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as your breathing gradually returned to normal

“you okay?” he asked, he felt your body trembling again

“yeah, just hold me okay?” you nuzzled into his chest

“okay” he said, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple

[stellar-solar-flare]

If I’m not too late… Bucky Barnes + vacation?

Sorry about the delay. It has been A Week (TM). This is part of Stella's Halloween Shenanigans, for which I'm no longer taking new prompts. Thank you everyone who sent a prompt, all requests will be fulfilled!

Reboot - Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

“Oh, what does the gossip magazine say?” Bucky said as he stalked closer and lifted his sunglasses, revealing his dark eyes.

Fluff, romance, established relationship, heavily implied sexual content. | Mature | CW: Maybe very very light dom/sub dynamics if you squint? | 500 words.

Reader is female, no description of appearance. She has a PhD from an unspecified area of study.

Alternate Universe: The Avengers Initiative (AI) continued SHIELD's work after its collapse to corruption, with Steve as the Head Strategist and Tony as the Director. The Avengers are living together in the Tower - Bucky has healed, and Civil War never happened because Tony and Steve worked through their differences like adults.

I do not own anything Marvel related. This is an unofficial fan work. No copyright infringement intended. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

As soon as he stepped out onto the terrace where you lounged in a pool chair, Bucky’s eyes locked onto the StarkPad you held in your hands. The giant parasol offered just enough shade for you to comfortably read, as well as protecting you from the sun that poured from the sky. All around you, a beautiful Mediterranean landscape bathed in the light. The private villa that Tony had lent to you was close enough to the sea that you could only not see but hear it – and yet enjoy perfect privacy at your own pool.

“What are you reading, honey?” Bucky asked with a dangerously innocent voice.

Oh, shit.

“A gossip magazine,” you smiled.

“Oh, what does the gossip magazine say?” Bucky said as he stalked closer and lifted his sunglasses, revealing his dark eyes.

“Outrageous things,” you still tried as he stopped right next to you, and you took a moment to appreciate his form in khaki shorts and a loose white shirt that was partially opened. “You wouldn’t be interested.”

“I bet,” he said, and without further warning, he snatched the StarkPad from your hands.

“HEY,” you tried, grabbing for the device in vain as he scrutinized the contents of the screen. “Ever heard of privacy, jerk?”

Not dignifying your complaint with a response, he turned his gaze to you, raising his brow.

“It seems that the gossip rags have gotten quite a lot more highbrow lately, to contain scientific articles about quantum matter,” he said dryly before lowering the pad to your table. “I recall something about a mutually agreed ‘no work during the vacation’ policy, no, doll?”

You bit your lip; he obviously wasn’t truly mad at you, simply teasing, and you rolled your eyes in response.

“You were taking forever at the gym. I thought there was no harm done if I looked at a little something,” you grumbled. “But leave it to the man from the early 1900s to call out his fiancée for using her brain.”

He chuckled, but you didn’t miss the glow of pride on him as your new title had reminded him of the purpose of this vacation. He leaned over you, his hands coming to rest on both sides of you at the edges of the chair. His arms were effectively caging you in, and you swallowed as you saw the muscles grow taunt.

“Quite the contrary, doll,” he smiled. “I love your brain. Which is why I’m trying to get you to take a break every now and then.”

He leaned down, and you could feel the slightest hint of stubble on his jaw brushing against your cheek as he whispered directly into your ear.

“There is only one occasion when I want your brain empty, my love,” he rasped as his vibranium hand slid down your body, which was covered only by your bikini and a gauzy beach wrap. “And I do think that it’s high time we give that beautiful mind of yours a break.”

[midnight1nk]

So, this week's episode...

[Spoilers below cut]

save me SMG4 episode save me

(the following is my live reaction:)

moo-stache moo-stache moo-stache

why do I feel like Pedro's going to be here?

"bruh Pedro was just a one-time thing." they literally killed off Mickey, ANYTHING can happen

KAIZO YOU'RE BACK HI

OMG please tell me someone from the Team saw this fan animation and put it in the episode as a nod to the animator, that would be awesome!!!

btw great fan animation, go check it out if you haven't [link]

YAYYYY, c'mon Mario you gotta spend time with your brother :)

also I need to find a playthrough of this game while I work

whoops my hand slipped [*makes 4 say "I should've chosen the USB over you, 3"*] :)

Hey Shroomy :D ....oh *western spaghetti flashbacks*

like seriously, I can't hear that audio the same way again

helicopter helicopter (copter)

oh hey swag *he fades away* NOOOOOO

well, digging did (mostly, sorta) help the last episode

OMG HI HI HI MY SILLIES

Three, why are you here if you think it's stupid? unless... 🫵 🏳️‍🌈⁉️

it's giving "I'm only here to support my boyfriend's interests", like I'm starting to believe that they truly are dating behind the scenes

they're on a date, your honor 💙💜

and there they go bickering again smh /affectionate

I'd like to think that ever since Four drives a forklift, that's just his method of transportation. screw the car, we're taking this baby out for a spin :)

Mario, you need to be ✨forklift certified✨

sorry, just Three's gayass poses give me life

actually yeah why is the line not moving?

the boys :)

also that walk animation tho

HOW LONG IS THIS LINE?!

also c'mon Three, show us your dance moves :D

oooooh that editing i love that

THAT'S WHAT I'M SAYING

now that they've mentioned it, why are there so many conventions happening at the same time? hmmmmm *game theory theme starts playing*

SMG3: "Maybe they're lining up to go to your mom's house. That line's usually pretty long." DAYUM THREE

"the line doesn't end" ayo wtf????

shroomy, you've eaten mushrooms before and you had no problem with that

....it really is the end of the world huh

ONE WEEK LATER?!?!?!?

"there is no end" "the end will come" me, sitting in the corner: hmmmmmmmmm

whelp, it's confirmed, I kin Four now

Three's not going coo co crazy, he's just vibin' :)

THIS IS WARRRRRR

this whole fighting scene omg it's SO good!

....WOTFI? ok no :P

AWWW THAT WAS ACTUALLY SWEET DUDE

CAN WE PLEASE GET A HUG? FOR ME SPECIFICALLY?

.... yeah uh Boopkins, you're going to have to explain what the hell you mean by that

not that it's surprising, we've been through a lot. just another Tuesday (or Saturday in this case)

MY HEART CAN'T TAKE ALL THIS FLUFF

HUG HUG HUG

THAT'S MY BOYS

RAVE PARTY [*dances*]

....sonic, is that you? sorry, my mind is still in the sonadow generations phase so I can't unsee them

:O wait, Boopkins, what did you mean by that?

MARTY?!?!? WTF

SMG4: "Don't worry, Mario. There's one way we can fix this." Beat the shit out of him...? YEAH I KNEW IT HAHA

*explodes*

and congrats to samgagmincho for your art featured at the end credits 🎉

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

This was a fun episode, I loved it!! Seeing my boys is always a plus and I appreciate the return of some side characters. With how the world is right now, I really needed this episode. So, thanks Team, for keeping my spirits up.

I just enjoyed watching my silly little guys doing silly little adventures. Traffic is a nightmare so I don't blame Mario in the slightest. Anyway, 3 and 4, how was your date? /silly

Can we just talk about the animation? It was so good!!! You really see the quality they put in, especially in that fighting scene. I didn't expect MARTY of all people to be the cause of all this. I honestly thought it was going to be a gag of something harmless just being in the middle of the road for no reason (like a turtle or smth) and the Crew being like "ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!" but NOPE, Marty was here and apparently A SORCERER?! I really shouldn't be surprised, what am I talking about here. And ofc the OG duo immediately beating the shit out of him is so fucking funny to me. He didn't die (I know that), but he's definitely going to be more relevant in the future.

...puzzlevision 2? ok I'm sorry

SMG4 show and jokes aside, I hope you all are ok. No matter what happens, we'll stick together. Don't give them the satisfaction that they want. You aren't alone, and we'll keep on fighting.

Going to be a Sonic fan here, Sonic 06 is famously known to be... augh. But there is a good moment with Shadow that I think is relevant now:

Mephiles (the villain of the game): "It's futile. The world will betray you. Why fight at all? Why risk your life for those who will persecute you later?" Shadow: "If the world chooses to become my enemy, I will fight like I always have."

Take care, my dear fellows, and I'll see you all in my next post!! Hmmm, there is "no end" [*game theory intro plays*]

[cumikering]

John Price x reader

2.5k | tw implied sui ideation, angst, comfort Thank you for being here today

John smiled to himself as he watched from the end of the bar. A few feet away, a group of three women chatted. The pub was packed, but it didn’t escape his notice that one in particular laughed so bright. The life of the party.

It was the same woman who ordered for the group, round after round. In fact, for other groups too. She’d sent rounds to random tables the past hour.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, but what caught his eye was how his battery was at 4%. A stupid idea to be out on such little juice, but the outing wasn’t planned – it was no more than an escape.

His thoughts were interrupted when the barman placed a pint next to the bourbon he’d been nursing. He opened his mouth to clarify-

“Courtesy of the lady,” he gestured to the very same woman.

John nodded at her, the corners of his eyes crinkled. She raised her own pint in acknowledgment. He finished the last of his bourbon and made his way over with the gift.

“Noticed you’ve been buying people drinks. What’s the occasion?”

“It’s Saturday night. No one should be drinking alone.” She sipped her beer.

The corners of his lips tugged into a smile. “But aren’t we all fundamentally alone?”

“Correct, but not here-“ She shrugged, teasing. “If you can help it.”

“Honest, is it your birthday?”

“Nah. Just happy.”

“Wanna be like you when I grow up.”

Her laughter was crisp yet warm. It caressed his ears despite the rumble of the establishment.

“Cheers, love.” He clinked his glass against hers and took a swig.

“Enjoy.” She followed suit before turning back to her friends.

He lingered, leaning against the bar as his gaze wandered across the room. Framed photos of vintage rugby and football stills crammed the wooden walls as they glinted under the deep yellow glow. The pub had seen better days, but from the size and chatter of the crowd, it didn’t seem like anyone cared.

He didn’t either. He didn’t pick pubs for its looks.

Behind his glass, he smiled again at the way the woman laughed so easily. She reminded him of a certain someone, a blue-eyed Scot who never stopped soaring despite his clipped wings. The one with the sun roaring in his boundless heart.

The one to do things because he was happy.

She downed her beer, and gave each of her girls a tight hug. She was leaving, but not for a short time it seemed. She turned to the barman to tap her phone on the receiver before handing him a thick wad of bills. The grin cracked his face in half as he thanked her profusely.

John took a step towards her. “Leaving already?” he asked, a little louder this time due to the swelling noise.

“It’s almost 12.”

“Are you Cinderella?”

She laughed. “Wish I was.”

“You can be. I’ll just have to make sure to find you again.”

“No, don’t think so. It’s my last night here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m moving away.”

That explained the lengthy hugs. “Oh, where to?”

“Middle of nowhere. You wouldn’t know.”

John knew a thing or two about faraway places. He spent the entirety of that day in one.

“You’re really Cinderella,” he concluded and downed the rest of his pint. “Have you got a pumpkin chariot waiting outside?”

“It’s nothing that interesting.” She grinned. “Want to enjoy my walk before it’s terribly late.”

“I can walk with you, if you’d let me. You did say no one should be alone Saturday night.“

He was nosy, clingy – not himself. But after managing to crawl out of the hellhole he called his mind, this was his first conversation of the day and he wasn’t ready to wallow in his flat again just yet.

She shrugged. “Alright, why not.”

Once more, she hugged her friends, rubbing their backs. They were teary eyed, but she wasn’t - her smile as lively as ever. He tucked a few notes under his glass before following her out.

On the pavement, she took a lungful of fresh air in, chin tipped up towards the sky. He supposed the weather was decent. At least it wasn’t raining.

His boots thudded as he walked next to her. With her hands tucked in the pockets of her light jacket, she strolled with a little bounce to her step as she looked up at the stars. They were easy to miss, but they were present, and it was enough to bring a curve to her lips.

“I’m sorry, I just have to ask,” he said in amusement. “Why are you so happy?”

“Don’t have a reason not to be.”

Could you really be happy for no reason?

He chuckled. “You make me want to dance, and I don’t even dance.”

She glanced at him teasingly. “You should. Dancing is fun.”

“You know how to?”

“No, but you don’t need to know how.”

“Want to show me?”

She turned to him with a laugh. “What, now?”

He shrugged. Her joy was contagious.

“Well, first of all, you need music.”

“Lucky you, I got the whole world in my pocket.” He pulled out his phone and clicked the power button. Once, twice. It wouldn’t light up. “I take that back,” he said with a sheepish chuckle. “Your phone then.”

“If we find a busker.”

He barked out a laugh. “What are the chances at this hour!”

“Slim to none, but you’re probably luckier than me.”

John thought of the close calls he’d had: the gunshots to the shoulders or the bullets ricocheting off his helmet that sent his ears ringing, or the desperate jumps he’d executed from cold-blooded heights. But despite everything, the gift of life was still his. Still beating and fluttering in his rough hand, stained with blood that hadn’t washed off.

He hummed. “I like to think I’m pretty lucky.”

With wonder in her bright eyes, she continued to admire the sky.

Was the secret etched onto its darkness, behind the fading clouds and dying stars? Perhaps he could find out if he squinted, even that he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to look at.

Midnight London was nothing close to the desert skies he’d witnessed; the marbled ones with a handful of diamond shards splattered and swirled across them, the ones that made him feel like he was nothing but a speck of stardust waiting for its inevitable dissolve.

But perhaps the answer wasn’t in the beauty, but rather in what you made of what you had.

John glanced at her again because, well, a smile was a smile. If the unassuming sky could inflict something so beautiful, maybe it would work on him too. Even if just a tiny bit. If he’d just give it a chance.

As they entered her neighbourhood, she pointed out the establishments. This flower shop, the owner stopped her one day to give her a stalk of red orchid. That one cafe around the corner had amazing coffee and croissant, but she couldn’t bear waiting over an hour for them ever again. The chippy across it used to be her favourite kebab shop.

She chuckled. “I came in every week for years. It’s been three years and I still miss them.”

“You reckon they know how much their kebabs are loved?”

“Probably not. People never love enough until it’s gone.”

He considered.

“What does it matter anyway? The world runs on the width and height of love, not its depth.”

He shrugged. “True.”

He’d never taken the time to sightsee. It wasn’t really his thing, but a little tour of the city - the city she was leaving - made him feel nostalgic, like he too was leaving. Was he?

It didn’t feel like it took any time at all before she stopped at a building.

She turned to him with a wince. “Sorry, I’m not inviting you in.”

“I know. That’s fine.” John smiled, like the weight had been lifted off his chest, even if temporarily. “Today wasn’t the best for me, but you’ve made it better. So I wanted to thank you.”

She let her gaze drop, and for a second she looked… distraught, before recovering. “Well, you can come in for a bit.”

“Oh, don’t- I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad,” he quickly said, but she’d headed towards the stairs. He didn’t stop her.

She pushed open the door to a studio apartment, tiny even when it was nearly empty.

“Tea?” she offered, making her way to the kitchen.

Her bed was in the far corner, a small table with two chairs by its foot. Across it, stood a dresser with a guitar leaning against it. The walls and surfaces were bare. There was no clutter apart from an empty carboard box on the floor.

“Sure.”

He didn’t judge. He too barely had enough to fill out a box, but that was his room on base, not his flat.

“You’ve got everything packed, it looks like.”

She hummed, filling the kettle up.

“Can I use your charger for a bit so I can order a ride later?”

“Of course. It’s on the nightstand.”

John made his way over, but the charger wasn’t there, nor on the floor. Nor was it in the ajar drawer. It was empty, safe for one thing. He whipped to her, chills running down his spine.

“Actually, why don’t you keep it. I don’t need it anymore,” she said lightly, flicking the kettle on.

“S’not there,” he muttered.

She scanned the room. “Oh, sorry. Then it must be by the table,” she pointed.

Wordlessly, he strode over and plugged his phone in with shaky hands. He swallowed, his throat going dry as his heart drained. He stared at the back of her head as she opened the overhead cabinet, only to chuckle to herself.

“I’ve only got a mug left. A bowl would have to do.” She set them on the counter and opened two tea bags.

He was going to be sick. He blinked rapidly, searching for something to distract himself with. His eyes fell to her guitar. He swallowed once more before he croaked, “T- That’s a gorgeous one.”

She looked over her shoulder and smiled fondly at what he was pointing at. “It is. But one of the pegs broke and I never picked it back up.”

“Can I play?”

She frowned. “You can’t. It’s broken.”

“I’ll make do.”

“But it’s useless. I was going to give it away, but no one even wants it.”

“It’s still a guitar. And it’s not broken forever. Nothing is ever broken beyond repair.”

She paused before turning back to the counter. “Feel free then,” she said quietly.

He sat crossed legged on the floor, back against her bed. He strummed and tuned the dusty instrument as best he could. As expected, it didn’t sound right because of the jammed string.

His heart continued to beat out of his chest as she poured the hot water into the mug and bowl. She set them on the table before settling next to him.

The lump in his throat only swelled, but he turned towards her. His fingers trembled as he picked the strings. The first chord. A beat. A bar and two.

He let out a long, steady exhale. On any other day, he couldn’t have endured the disharmony, but today the ringing in his ears were far louder as he inhaled.

“Love of mine, someday you will die, but I’ll be close behind. I’ll follow you into the dark.”

John’s blue eyes stayed on hers as a smile blossomed on her lips. The sight pained him. His gaze cut to the fretboard.

“No blinding lights or tunnels to gates of white. Just our hands clasped so tight waiting for the hint of a spark.”

The metal strings buried themselves further in his fingertips. He drew a sharp breath, eyes shut, wishing the tears wouldn’t spill. Not now.

“If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied. Illuminate the ‘no’s on their vacancy signs. If there’s no one beside you when your soul embarks,” he heaved, trying his best to calm his voice, but a tear finally slipped. “I’ll follow you into the dark,” he rasped.

When he looked up at her, she had turned away, wiping at her tears.

He set the guitar aside and inched closer to her. “I saw…” he started, even when he wasn’t sure what to say. “In the drawer.”

But he couldn’t help himself when he wrapped his arms around her. She clung onto him, face pressing against his shoulder.

“It hurts,” she choked between sobs, her tears seeping into his shirt. “I keep telling myself to hold on for another day… But it’s been too long, and it hasn’t stopped hurting.”

“I know. Thank you for choosing to be here, no matter how hard. Thank you for trying. Thank you for giving it a chance, every day. Thank you for letting the world love you, because it will never be the same without you.”

“I don’t know how much longer,” she mumbled into his shirt, shaking in his arms.

He rubbed her back as he let out a breath. Another tear ran down his cheek. “It might not be now. Might not be tomorrow or next week or next month, but I swear it will be okay in the end. Always. Even if the worst has happened.”

John didn’t know how long, but in the silence, he held her until her tears and its tremors dissipated. Her grip on him loosened.

“If you… Tonight…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it. “Would you?”

She nodded. It was tiny, but it was all he needed.

He wiped his own tears with a shaky sigh. “Come on then. It’s your birthday. We can do whatever we want.”

“What?” She pulled away with a chuckle, her voice still hoarse.

“Let’s go out.”

“Where to?”

“Anywhere you want. Are you hungry? There’s waffles. Or chippy, pizza or kebab. The birthday girl can have everything.”

“What about the tea? It’s not even hot anymore.”

“Lucky me. Never been a fan of hot tea.”

She laughed through her drying tears as he chugged it down.

John Price considered himself pretty lucky, but he wasn’t lucky enough to find a busker in 2 a.m. London.

But he was lucky enough to spend hours on his tired legs walking across the city with her. They bought food - whatever that still looked appealing enough at the hour, until they decided to rest at a park. At the top of the stairs as they looked upon the rousing city, they basked in the remainder of its slumber.

At the break of dawn, in the distance, the blush of gold crept over the horizon.

She turned to him. It might not have been as wide or bright, but that smile carried something else. An empty field with the faintest sprout, stained with a tinge of hope.

“I’ll get my guitar fixed.”

It looked good on her.

Thank you for being here today. I’m so happy to have you here. Please stay safe and take care

Masterlist Ex bf Price Formula One Price

[sarahreesbrennan]

Three important questions.

One: Are Alice's memories of the series she read erased and replaced with the one Rae was in, or does she reread it and get confused as to how it changed.

Two: what perspective was the book that Alice and Rae read in? Was it alternating? Was it Key? or Lia? what was the Time of Iron POV actually?

and Three: In Long Live Evil, who jumps for the Chicken, and who jumps for the Beef?

One: … you’ll see. :)

Two: I appreciate the differentiation between the book Alice and Rae read, and the other versions, because I think they all had different (though overlapping) POVs. All were multiple-POV narratives.

There are excerpts of ‘Time of Iron’ in the book, so you can see some POVs - Lia’s. Also omniscient. Also Emer’s.

Octavian and Marius and Vasilisa and Key among others (some of whom we haven’t met yet, some who we have) all had POVs, too, in my mind. Like many an epic fantasy book, I was thinking about a lot of head-hopping to expand the world - and adding many POVs as we go. (And yes we will be adding points of view…)

But, for instance, we saw more of Marius’s POV in the version before the one Rae and Alice read than in the version Rae and Alice did read, because the changes to the narrative shifted Marius’s place in the story. How does one become a villain, a hero, a love interest, a side character, a victim, a murderer with a shadowy motivation…

Three: I had to look this up and I am still confused by it (I do not and will never get video games, ask me how bewildering I found much of isekai conventions when I went on my post-first-draft-of-LLE isekai reading spree) so I shan’t answer on the grounds it will make me look silly. :) but I am always glad to see awareness that life and class are a rigged game.

Thank you for lovely and thoughtful questions! I know I played it coy for one and three, but I hope two was satisfactory.

[emmawithtwoms]

The history of magic classroom

@wolfstarmicrofic day 9, 988 words

The history of magic classroom has always been, in Sirius’ eyes (and all of Hogwarts’ really), the best place to take undisturbed naps. Professor Binn’s voice always acted as white noise for the tired students, and the extremely boring class was always taught in the early mornings, lulling all of the pupils, who still hadn’t managed to rub the sleep out of their eyes, back into the dream’s realms. 

Well, all of the students, except for one. 

Remus Lupin was, quite possibly, the only boy in all of Hogwarts to not only manage to stay awake during Binn’s lessons, but to actually enjoy them, taking notes and gladly sharing them with the rest of the class, also helping younger students revising and giving many free (and actually interesting) lessons for whoever was in need. Not even Lily Evans, classified swot, could bring herself to enjoy that class, but to Remus, it was one of the most interesting lesson in Hogwarts, managing to stay top of his class every year. 

That’s why that particular Tuesday morning was exceptionally grimm for poor Remus. You see, not only January’s full moon came on a Saturday night, not only it came the night of his anniversary with his incredible, stunning and fabulous boyfriend (his words, although Remus totally agreed), making him too weak to properly celebrate (with a date and very through snogging session, in his mind), but the moon was also a bad one, leaving him bedridden for the following couple of days, impeding him from participating to his favourite classroom. 

Therefore, the pout on his lips and his grumbling while alone in the infirmary were totally understandable, even if not shared by his friends. And that’s how Sirius found him at the end of the school day: reading a (very boring, in Sirius’ opinion) book about the goblin revolution that they were studying in class, with a very prominent crease on his eyebrows given by his frown (Sirius believed that the frown hadn’t left his brows sinvìce that morning, when mrs. Pomfrey forbid him to leave the infirmary). 

“Moonyyy, you know you shouldn’t frown, it will give you wrinkles.”

Sirius proceeded to smooth the wrinkles on his forehead with his thumb, followed by his lips. He clearly saw all of Remus’s tension leave his body, making him melt against his boyfriend’s affections. 

“Hey pads, how was the school day?”

Sirius took his hand and started playing with his fingers, as he often did when talking to him. 

“It was fine, I managed to charm Snivellus’ chair so that he got stuck to it during Charms, and Mulciber got detention for causing an explosion during potions, it was brilliant”

“And I guess you had nothing to with the sudden blowing of his cauldron”

“Actually, my dearest Moony, I did not, even if I wished it was my doing. No, I think this time it was Evans and the girls, getting revenge after hearing that prick bad mouthing some muggleborns. You know, those girl can actually be pretty scary, when they put their minds into it”

“Oh yeah, tell me about it, we just gotta be thankful that they decided to be our friends, otherwise we would be screwed.”

“And all thanks to you, my Moonage daydream, you charmed our way into their hearts, opening the door for us to sweep through and settle into their lives”

“Huh, seems like I’m quite the charmer then, is that what I did with you? ”

“Don’t be ridiculous, my bright Natural Satellite. Nope, you stole my heart right away and never gave it back, you little thief.”

“Well, lucky me, now I have the most precious treasure in the world in my hands, and I don’t really plan of giving it back”

At that he squeezed Sirius’ hand, looking at him and blushing, like the romantic sap he is. 

“Oh Moony, my Moony, all those books really taught how to enchant me with your words, did they?” 

Remus couldn’t answer, because he was swept in a kiss by Sirius, and well, let’s just say that when Sirius Black kisses and holds you like you’re the most important thing in the world, there is not much else that your brain can concentrate on, for Remus, it was just SirusSiriusSiriusSiriusSirius. 

But then Sirius suddenly broke the kiss, (quite rudely, if you ask Remus). 

“Oh, I almost forgot, I’m meant to give you something!”

And he started rustling in his bag, looking for said something 

“There!”

Sirius handed Remus a little pile of parchment, that was neatly stored in his bag

“What is this, love?”

And he started scanning them, ignoring the puddle that Sirius became hearing the pet name. 

“It’s just today’s note, I wouldn’t want my favourite swot to lose his precious class time”

And there, in Remus’ hand, neatly written with a perfect posh cursive, were the notes for the whole day, not only of the subjects that Sirius actually enjoyed, like Charms, but also of...

“You didn’t!!! You actually stayed awake during History of Magic to take notes for me???” 

The notes were neatly written, clearly taken with the only purpose to be gifted to Remus, seeing the amount of messages, hearts, “I love you”s, and doodles that Sirius left in the margins for him. 

Now, this might not seem like a big deal for many, but to Remus, the fact that Sirius not only stayed awake during a class that he hated, but actually put in the effort taking notes just to gift them to Remus, without even using them for himself, was the most heartwarming gift he could have gotten post moon. 

“Oh, you beautiful, beautiful man, how did I manage to deserve something so special like you?”

“It’s quite simple, my stunning Night Howler: you were trapped by my insanely good looks, my charm, my flashing grin, my amazing personality,  my ass…” 

“Sirius”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and kiss me”

And kiss him he did. 

[theitgirlnetwork]

What Are You Willing To Do?

Ch. 1 : Self-Restraint (Rafe has none)

Milan's Party Outfit

Note: Okay this took forever to come out and I'm sorry. Please let me know what you think. Also something to note, I have an OC who is the main love interest in my JJ story. She is present in this story, but the two stories don't intertwine. Just something for those of you who will read both. I hope you enjoy and I love interacting. I will accept (constructive) criticism. And feedback. Another note, Milan is a little more of a bimbo character than my other ones, she won't be fully lost and I refuse to make her childlike. She just likes to be in the wind and chose a man who handles stuff for her. Also she doesn't have a permanent face claim yet, so if you have any ideas for that, please message them to me! :) Thank you for giving my story a chance, and if you're reading any of my other stories, I hope to be posting more to have some reprieve from the state of the world. Thanks so much!

Warnings: Mentions of sexual conduct, strong language, drug use

“Let’s go, I don’t know why I have to wait for you, we’ve got things to handle today, you’re makin’ me late-”

“Yeah, Dad-” Rafe huffs, jogging his way down the steps, grabbing his jacket off of the coat rack in the foyer. “Well, Sara has been in my shit again so, maybe you could talk to her about that-”

“I don’t touch your shit, no one wants your shit, Rafe.”

“I can tell, you probably brought your bum ass pogue boyfriend in here too, he shouldn’t be in the damn house-”

“Rafe!” Ward’s voice booms, making Rafe’s eyes snap to his father’s obediently, mouth snapping shut. “Do you really think that it's productive for you to waste time arguing with your little sister when I just told you we need to get a move on?”

“Uh,” the younger man breathes heavily through his nose, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides as he glares at his sister over his father’s shoulder. “No, sir.” 

“Alright then.” Ward rolls his eyes, nodding his head for his son to grab the bag on the ground and grab the car keys before turning to address his eldest daughter. “Need you to be home for dinner tonight. There’s a new family moving in a couple blocks over and we wanna make a good impression. That means no fighting,” the older man raises his eyebrows at his children, placing his bluetooth in his ear, “no boyfriends, Sarah,” Ward finishes with a rough pat on his son’s back, “no drugs. Get it? This could be big, Gregory Cabot is big in the oil industry and they might want to…settle here. If they do, we should be their first friends, understand?”

Rafe nods quietly, attentively hanging onto his father’s every word. Taking them in with an intensity that would satisfy any other dad. But not Ward Cameron. “Sarah, they’ve got twins about your age. Make sure you and Wheezie are cleaned up nicely. Rafe,” the 21 year old is met with his father’s rough hand smacking his cheek once, twice, under the guise of an affectionate pat. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“It’s like he uh, doesn’t get it, right? Like I do fuckin’ everything he asks, and I’m uh…I’m the fuck up.” Rafe stammers irritably before sending a powerful swing into the golf ball in front of him, watching it sail off into the distance. 

Topper and Kelce exchange looks as their friend grinds his teeth, grabbing a beer from their cart and taking a deep swig. He’d been ranting about this morning since they’d started on the course an hour ago. Apparently, his father’s comment had carried in Rafe’s mind all of the way through the brief errand down at the docks he’d accompanied him on, followed him to the country club and was going to last the entirety of their hang out. 

“Yeah man, I mean,” Topper begins, “I get it right? My mom’s always on some shit too. Like I screw up everything I do.”

“You do, Top.” Kelce chuckles, lining up for his swing.

Rafe nods along, taking another swig. “For real, like realistically, I do everything I’m supposed to, like I really step up and it’s fuckin’ bullshit that I’m still supposed to act like I’m his little bitch boy. I’m fully a man. I’m focused and shit. Because for real, Top, I feel like if Sarah asked you to come over right now you’d go runnin’ right?”

“Fuck you man.”

“Motherfucker knows I’m right.”

“Kelce?”

“I mean, Top, let’s be real.”

Topper rolls his tongue in his cheek irritably, turning red at his friend’s taunting, “Well, y’all are the ones who lost a girl to Maybank. Angel is glued to his broke ass.”

Rafe scoffs, picking his club back up and practicing his swing. “Yeah, fuck that, that was Kelce’s thing. Angel’s bad, but she’s more like the sister I wish Sarah’s annoying ass was.” 

“Sarah’s just like, young minded, she doesn’t know what she wants.”

Kelce laughs again as Rafe rolls his eyes, the two men switching spots as Rafe goes up for his turn again. “She knows, it’s just not you, man. Maybe that pogue just has better dick than you, Top…or did she ever let you fuck her?” Kelce laughs, turning his head to look up the hill at the juice bar at the edge of the course, squinting at something in the distance.

“Fuckin’ disgustin’.” Rafe huffs, swinging again, smirking as the ball goes directly into the hole, resting the club on his broad shoulder. “If you bitches weren’t so worried about chasing ass, maybe your game would be better.” The dirty blond brags, turning to see both of his friends now staring off into the distance. His jaw ticks in annoyance as he realizes that his friends had missed his impressive swing and ignored his bragging to stare at… “what the hell are you idiots looking at?”

When they don’t answer, Rafe decides to look for himself. The sight he sees is simultaneously exactly what he’s expecting and something he couldn’t have seen coming. 

Standing at the juice bar was possibly the sexiest little thing he’s seen in his 21 years of living. Sure, he’d expected to see a pretty girl. That’s just about the only thing that can get both Topper and Kelce to shut the fuck up for more than two seconds. Their eyes wide and mouths slightly agape, the two men didn’t hide their attraction at all. 

But Rafe, he was experiencing something else entirely. He’d thought she was fucking hot like they did, obviously. But this was a different kind of fine. She had to be new. There was no way that she would have evaded him by now. His cheek dimples slightly as he absently bites his lip a bit, watching the girl lean over the counter, her feet lifting slightly off of the ground, her tiny white skirt giving him a shot of the smooth skin that he couldn’t wait to get his hands on. Rafe’s eyes follow her every movement, like a predator stalking its prey. Intense blue drinking in the dark, shiny, barely shoulder length hair falls out from her hat as she lifts it from her head, smoothing her hand over it before placing her hat back on.

Come on, baby, turn around for me. Lemme see the rest of that body. Lemme see that face.

It’s as if she could hear him. Like she decided to move, position herself, just for his enjoyment, because she turns. She turns and pulls herself up onto one of the barstools with a hop, pulling her shades from her face and tucking them onto the front of her shirt. She’s far, but even with the distance, Rafe finds himself puffing out a breath of disbelief, drinking in her gorgeous features. Full, glossy lips, tinged red, big eyes and a sweet, absent expression.

Next thing Rafe knows he’s making his way up the grassy hill, ignoring the calls of his friends for him to wait up. 

“But, my parents are signing up for membership today.” 

“I’m sorry ma’am, but until you’re in the system you’ll have to pay with cash or card.”

Milan pouts and furrows her brows. She just wanted to have a quick refresher before she met up with her mother at the new house so she’d ridden over to the club with her father. She didn’t really think she’d need money. She never carries cash because she’s likely to lose it and she’d left her card in her red purse, but it didn’t match her outfit so she’d sent it ahead to the house. She could go ask her father for money, but he was in the club owner’s office talking shop and had instructed her to explore while he finished up. “But it’s hot out here.” she whines. 

Milan turns to her right and starts scanning the outdoor bar area, looking for someone who looked friendly enough to spot her until her dad came down and paid them back. She drums her manicured nails on the wood of the countertop, ignorant to the bartender rolling her eyes at the girl. 

Finally, her eye lands on a table with three guys that look fresh off of the golf course. They’re all dressed similarly and just like every other guy at the club. Polo shirt and khaki pants. Two of them wore hats. They looked like her friends from back home. But the third one, he’s the one who gives her pause. As soon as her eyes land on him his shoot over, locking on hers. She straightens her posture a bit under his gaze, offering a polite smile before doing what most normal people do when accidentally making eye contact with someone, looking away. Her bob length hair brushes her shoulder as she turns her head away, but she can’t help but feel someone was still watching her. She decides to turn her head back slowly, trying to be inconspicuous, only to find she’s right. The guy is still watching.

He wets his lip as he tilts his head. His eyes still trained on her as he uncrossed his muscular arms. A small, what seems to be a smile, rests on his lips as he drums his hands on the arms of the chair he’s sitting in, pushing out of the seat and making his way over. One of his friends making a comment about something being ‘fuckin’ unfair’.

Milan fully straightens, tucking her hands under her butt and whirling around to face the bar again as if she hadn’t just been staring back at him. She kicks her feet until she feels a presence behind her? Beside her?

She turns her head and looks up to find the same guy, caging her in, standing slightly behind her with one hand resting on the bar at her side, the other grabbing the bottom of her stool and turning her to face him fully. 

Seeing him up close she can see how cute he is. Pretty blue eyes, clear skin and pink lips. His jawline is sharp, his seemingly blond hair is buzzed short to his head, and a dimple is revealed in his cheek with his smug grin. He’s big too. Tall and muscular, his presence is all imposing, crowding her against the bar and giving her no choice but to accommodate him in her bubble. “Hey.” he says softly, his voice still a deep rumble. 

Milan finds herself mimicking his position, tilting her head to match his, placing her elbows behind her to rest on the bar leaning the same way he was. Missing his eyes dropping briefly to wear the fabric of her shirt strained against her breasts. “Hi.”

“So, you uh, you want a drink or somethin’?” he asks lowly.

“Um..” she shrugs sheepishly, lifting her shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. “I dunno.”

She does. That’s what she’s been trying to do for the last few minutes, but that was before the cute guy was towering over her, taking up her space. He furrows his brow for a second, a smile still on his face as he pushes up a little, whistling into the air, nodding his head for the bartender to come over.

The woman sees the man and immediately sweeps her hand over her hair, smoothing it out and prancing over. “Yeah, yes, hi Mr. Cameron.” She twirls the end of her ponytail, offering him a wide grin. “What can I get for you?”

“Yeah, Erica, get me and the boys some beers and, uh,” the man raises his eyebrows at Milan.

“Oh, Milan.” she smiles up at him prettily before looking back at a very annoyed Erica. “Can I have a peach refresher? Please?”

“She doesn’t have a membership account yet-” Erica starts only to pause when she realizes that the blond hadn’t glanced in her direction since calling her over.

“Then put her shit on mine. Want anything else, sweetheart?” he asks, a heavy hand resting on Milan’s lower back.

“No, I think I’m okay.” she hums, lifting her chin as the bartender rolls her eyes and strolls away. “Thank you, by the way, for covering me. My father will pay you back when he’s done with his meeting.”

The mention of her father has the man recoiling a little, retreating his hand from her with his smile dropping slightly. “Don’t uh, worry about it, aight? So, Milan, how, uh, how old are you anyway?”

Milan works an even wider eyed look on her face, perching herself on the edge of the stool and swinging her legs. “15, how old are you, Mr. Cameron?”

His eyes widen and he takes a large step back, smoothing his and over his jaw, looking away briefly before looking back at her. “No shit? I uh…I’m-”

“Cute.” Milan giggles, hitting his arm lightly, pulling back when she feels the muscles that are barely concealed by the stereotypical polo that he’s wearing. “‘M 20, Mr. Cameron.”

“Rafe.” he says firmly. Milan straightens again when she feels his imposing presence once again, the heavy hand back at her back, spreading warmth up her spine. 

“Rafe.” she repeats.

“Good.” Rafe praises. Milan shifts in her seat at his approval, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion at the feeling she gets from the praise. “You, uh, new around here, or…”

“Yeah, I’m new, just settling in.”

“Right, yeah, and uh…your family just left you all alone, that doesn’t seem fair.” He offers her a small pout that Milan fails to recognize as patronizing. “Wanna join me and the boys?”

“Sur-”

The sound of a glass slamming down on the bartop startles the girl, the splashing of her drink leading her to scoot back, bumping into Rafe’s hard chest. “Three beers and a refresher.” Erica sneers. Milan checks her outfit for juice stains while Rafe tosses a tip onto the bar, an unimpressed look on his face.

“That shit’s not cute.”

Both girls whip their heads to look up at him, a hard look of disapproval has Erica huffing and storming away after snatching the tip from the counter. As quickly as it appeared, the look is gone when Rafe refocuses his attention on the girl directly in front of him.

Milan finds herself smiling again as the man mumbles a short, ‘you’re good’ under his breath as he scans her clothes for any evidence of a spill. Just as she’s going to agree to join them she receives a text from her father. Time to go. “I’d love to, but my father is ready to leave, it’s been a long day for him, I don’t wanna keep him waiting.”

“Nah, we wouldn’t want that.” Rafe offers Milan a hand, helping her hop down from the stool and passing her the drink. “Go on, sweetheart. I’ll see you around.”

As Milan walks away perkily all she can think about is the cute guy she met at the country club. Turning back once to wave her fingers at him and being met with a crooked smile and a nod of the head she flounces off to find her dad. 

And sharp blue eyes follow her skirt the whole way.

The muscle working in Rafe’s jaw is doing overtime as he cocks his head to the side, staring blankly at the wall trying to temper the rage boiling in his stomach as Ward carries on screaming in his face. 

Apparently if he didn’t have anything better to be doing, he should have been shadowing his father today instead of golfing.

Apparently he was a dickhead for even thinking he’d be sitting at one of the seats at the end of the table because that’s where the head of the house sits and he doesn’t run shit but his mouth. 

Apparently he was a poor excuse of a man for not knowing why Sarah was late and Wheezie’s dress wasn’t perfectly ironed, because how the women in the house look and act is a reflection of him and more importantly, Ward. 

So Rafe stood there. And he ate that shit. Nodded quietly, eyes squinted, internalizing every slight, every insult, and making note.

He counted every book on the bookshelf in his father’s office until he felt his jaw being gripped and forced over to face Ward. Then, he started counting the wrinkles on his face. 

The verbal lashing didn’t end until Sarah came barreling in, her straps to her dress barely on and her hair combed for fucking once since getting with that fuckin’ bum. But Ward softens. He redirects his attention to tell his daughter she’s beautiful and thank her for coming. And then he points a warning finger in Rafe’s face before storming out of the room.

“Where the hell were you?” he asks his sister through gritted teeth. 

Sarah rolls her eyes, pushing past him. “Don’t have to answer to you, Rafe.”

It takes everything in him not to put his fist through a wall.

So, yeah, one could say he’s a little on edge. Sitting on his father’s right because the guest of honor, Mr. Cabot deserves the seat on the left, that’s where food gets served first. Rose sat on the opposite end, where the second host sits which will also place her closest to where Mrs. Cabot will likely be. Ward is at the head because where the fuck else would he be? And Rafe is in the seat on the right. The seat where the food will get served last. The seat where the youngest in the family is supposed to fuckin’ sit which anyone who has any kind of knowledge of etiquette would know. Which Rafe knows because he’s proactive and he fuckin’ learned it. Because he knows every aspect of running a household, not that Ward would acknowledge it. 

He needs a fuckin’ bump. 

Or a blunt. 

What the fuck ever the wine ain’t cuttin’ it. 

But Ward is watching him like a hawk and clearly won’t tolerate him disappearing to find some peace no matter how brief and slick he is about it. 

So instead, Rafe’s leg jumps under the table. And his fingers drum on top of it. And he works his jaw irritably.

“You need a nicotine patch or something?” Wheezie asks, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“C-could you actually shut the fuck up for one second?” 

“You’re such a jerk, Rafe, she’s a kid, Jesus.” Sarah huffs. “When’s this family supposed to be coming anyway?” 

“Asking that repetitively is not going to make them get here faster.” Rose groans, rubbing her temples. “Honey-”

“They’re here,” Ward calls, retreating from the door, snapping his fingers and pointing toward the sitting room for Rafe to get four scotches ready, and sitting in the seat in the corner of the room. “Ladies?”

“We’re going.” Wheezie whines, following behind Rose into the kitchen and carrying in the dinner that they were pretending Rose and Sarah made as Sarah goes to the foyer to wait for the bell to ring. “But this little routine we have is really sexist.”

“Don’t screw this up.” Ward sneers under his breath, as he takes his glass from Rafe.

“Dad-”

The ring of the doorbell has everyone falling into their roles. It all starts without a hitch. Sarah pulls the door open with a bright smile and sickeningly sweet greeting. Rafe tries to tune in to the fake conversation his father started with him when they heard the footsteps in their home multiply. 

“Oh! I’m a mess, nice to meet you, I’m Rose, please come in. Sweetheart, why don’t you go with Sarah and Louisa while I show your father to the sitting room. Then us girls can really get to know each other.” Rose plays her part easily, her heels clacking against the floor, the sound getting closer as she chatters away to what should only be the couple and their son now that she’s dumped the girl off with Sarah. “Your daughter is just beautiful, really, you’re going to have to watch her on this island.”

She says that to everyone. 9/10 it's a lie. 

“Your daughters are gorgeous too. You must have your hands full.”

Sounds like Mrs. Cabot knows the game too, usually people don’t get a word in while Rose is running her lines.

“We keep our eyes peeled, but our girls just aren’t doing the dating scene yet.” No, Sarah’s too busy laying on her back for dirty pogues to date someone worth mentioning. A little money doesn’t change status. “Ward, darling, our guests are here.”

And that’s our cue. 

Like they’ve done many times before the two men stand, Rafe watches his father’s movements carefully, making sure to always stand tall, and one step behind him. Ward takes 2 steps, Rafe takes 1. 

The man entering the room behind Rose was tall. Only a little shorter than Rafe. Broad and appearing stern. He guides his wife in by her waist and Rafe quickly looks away from the older woman. She’s attractive, and if it was him, the last thing Rafe would want is his potential business partner’s son eyeing down his wife. The man holds out his large hand to Ward first, the two of them shaking firmly. “Gregory Cabot.” 

“Ward Cameron, good to meet you.” Ward gestures behind him for Rafe to enter stage left. “And this is my son…”

“Rafe, uh Rafe Cameron, nice to meet you, sir. Ma’am.” he says, shaking Gregory’s hand and squeezing the appropriate amount. A craft he’d perfected during the early days of doing these. 

“Good shake son.”

The comment has Rafe standing at his full height, biting back an accomplished smirk as his dad glances back at him with a look of approval. 

“Handsome young man, too.” the older woman hums. 

“Thank you, ma’am.” Rafe offers her a polite smile to appease his father. 

It’s all a part of the game. This little back and forth. It breaks the ice, and Rafe is the sacrificial lamb for it everytime. Gregory would say:

“Don’t be tryin’ to seal my wife there, boy.”

Pause for laughter. 

Then Rafe would say something like, “if I was a couple years older I might give you some competition, sir.”

To which everyone would laugh and Ward would swat him with strength that varies depending on how the interaction goes. 

Rafe has this little dance down to a science. 

It was going well. Really, it was exactly how it should be, and going quickly too. Rafe was desperate to get this part over with so they could handle business, make some money, and he could celebrate by going to a party he’d heard about earlier. 

But then she came in. And suddenly this was something entirely new.

“Dad, I’m gonna go to a party with Sarah after dinner. Can I have some money?” 

There she is. Her shapely body draped in a silky green dress with pretty pink roses, her manicured fingers already outstretched toward her father. Glossed, rose petal lips pursed as she waits for the bills to be placed in her hand. 

Milan. Rafe forces his eyes away from her, feeling two warring feelings flood his body as he wills himself to keep his eyes on her father instead.

“Without Milo?” Gregory asks. 

Milan rolls her eyes to the ceiling, huffing and crossing her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts upward and causing Rafe to work his jaw lightly. “‘M grown, Dad.”

Ward would never tolerate that tone…neither would I.

“We’re in a new place, your brother’s away on business-” Rafe can immediately feel his father’s eyes burning holes into the side of his head. 

Milan’s eyes slide shut as she takes a deep breath, retracting fully and turning to leave the room. She was so caught up she didn’t even notice Rafe. It aggravated him. Spoiled. She’s spoiled. 

I can fix that. 

Eventually they get dinner started and it’s like the interaction hadn’t happened. Milan sat through the dinner and acted her role accordingly. She introduced herself to his father, which clearly had impressed Ward. She made her obligatory conversation points, but mostly chatted with the other women at the table. When Rafe pulled out her chair, she smiled at him prettily but aside from that, gave him no indication that she recognized him from earlier. 

Rafe tries to focus on talking shop with his dad and Gregory, but his eyes keep wandering back to Milan’s mouth on her spoon and the little hums that leave her mouth. 

The damn ice cream ain’t that fuckin’ good.

“Uh, yeah, I’ve been trackin’ the macro model for crude oil and uh, I, I’d wanna know more.”

“That’s great son, yeah, it takes time, but it seems like you're on track, maybe I could put you in contact with one of my buddies that does the numbers for me, then you can run them with your dad and I.” 

Rafe’s on fuckin’ fire. He’s killin’ this shit, and he’ll be deep in those Cabot pockets in no time. But all he could think about is the man’s pretty little princess perched on her chair a couple seats down, pouting as Sarah raves about how fun this party is going to be to Milan and Wheezie.

None of my fuckin’ business. 

“Sounds really cool, Sarah.” the girl smiles behind the metal spoon, sighing wistfully. 

Don’t do this shit man, Ward’s gonna kill you.

Her final sigh and last scoop of vanilla ice cream being spooned into her mouth through plump glossy lips is what does it.

Fuckin’ weak, Cameron. Over some pussy?

“Uh, Gregory, I’m goin’ to this party too. I’m takin’ Sarah, there’s no reason why I can’t keep an eye out for Milan too.” 

If looks could fuckin’ kill. 

Ward is staring Rafe down with a look that would have a weaker man retracting his offer immediately, but the bright smile that plastered across Milan’s face made Rafe stand his ground. 

Gregory is simply pensive. His eyes flick between his daughter and the Cameron siblings. “How old did you say you were again?”

“21, sir.” 

Gregory’s brows furrow as he looks Rafe over again, before turning to Ward. “Reminds me of my boy. Protective over his sister and her friends. Good stuff, Cameron.” He turns back to Rafe with a menacing look on his face. “Back like I sent her, Rafe.” 

“Of course, Gregory.” 

The older man couldn’t have known what he just allowed.

“Fuck, Sarah, how long does it take?”

“I didn’t even want to ride with you, Rafe, John B. could’ve picked up me and Milan-”

“Yeah, well, her dad put me in charge of her safety, Sarah, and actually, Dad put me in charge of yours, so-”

“Oh my God, don’t act like…like you’re doing some noble thing, okay? I know why you offered to take us, cause you leave me all the time-” 

“You don’t know shit, alright, Sarah?” Rafe groans, backing out of his spot and turning out of their street.

“I know plenty, and I know you’re tryin’ to fuck Milan.”

“So what?”

“So what?” Sarah tosses her hair angrily, shifting in the passenger seat. “So, you’re fucking nuts, and she’s actually a nice girl. So, Dad’s doing business with her dad, that’s so what, Rafe.”

“I like, genuinely don’t need you telling me shit about shit Sarah, like for real.” 

“I really hope her brother is fucking huge, so he can kick your ass.”

Rafe snorts, slowing the car down a little and turning down the music as he pulls into the Cabot’s neighborhood. “Yeah, maybe right? Cause God knows your little pogue bitches have tried and failed.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, love you too, sis.” Rafe looks at the large house found at the address that Gregory had given him and unbuckles his seatbelt. “Get in the back seat.”

“Are you serious-”

“Back seat, Sarah, Jesus!” He huffs, slamming the car door and making his way up the walkway, stopping on the freshly laid cobblestone when the heavy, double wooden doors swing open. 

“Bye, Dad, I’ll see you later!” 

If Rafe had thought the dress Milan had on earlier was something, this skimpy number she trots out in would test any man. The girl absently twirls in her outfit. It’s a white two piece set consisting of a long, see-through skirt, barely hiding her white bikini bottoms and matching cropped top. His eyes trail along the dips in her waist, catching on the dimples on her back before finding the matching ones on her cheeks. All he could think is how perfectly his thumbs would fit in both sets of dimples. “Hi, Rafe.” 

He tilts his head back, openly staring down at her appreciatively. “Don’t you look cute.” 

With the shy smile that overtakes her face he all but expects the girl to melt under his gaze. Rafe is pleasantly surprised when she lifts her shoulder before brushing past him to make her way toward the car. “Thank you, I know.”

He chuckles to himself as the heels of her sandals clack on the cobblestone and stop just before the passenger door. Milan purses her lips without even considering touching the handle, rocking on her feet and swinging her purse absently as she waits patiently for him to come open it, just smiling when Sarah calls from inside the vehicle, ‘it’s unlocked.’

Rafe doesn’t know what moves him. Normally, he left girls to hoist themselves into his car as he hopped in himself on the driver’s side. But he could tell, this girl didn’t even conceive that she should be the one to open the door. No, she expected him to help. To care of it. And used her pretty little grin as his payment once he gets the picture and pulls the door open and offers her his hand to settle her into the seat. “You uh, you comfortable?”

She’d already pulled down the mirror and was reapplying the lipgloss Rafe was determined to taste, humming absently to herself. “Hm? Oh, yeah.” 

Not a thought behind those pretty eyes, huh?

I like that.

Milan watches out of the window as they pass by trees and grassy nooks. String lights twinkling as they ride by, people selling produce on the side of the road. The salty smell of water in the air through the open window. She could see Sarah in the backseat, smiling to herself as she texted on her phone. Milan’s own phone lights up as she receives the girl’s message. The two of them had really gotten along when they met at dinner earlier. She wasn’t expecting the blonde girl to be so kind and welcoming. The entire family had been really kind. Wheezie was a cute kid and Rose seemed like every other tired housewife in their world. A little fake, but ultimately harmless. Ward seemed strict like her dad. He seemed to grit his teeth angrily at almost everything his family said, only to offer a wide smile when her own dad seemed pleased, or at the least unbothered. 

And Rafe. Rafe was…cute. Hot, he’s hot. He’s handsome and tall, and can talk to her dad about all that business shit she didn’t give a shit to try and understand. And he’s attracted to her. Milan can tell. His eyes were shooting between their fathers and her the whole dinner. She felt the intensity of them even as she reapplied her lip gloss, as she chatted with his sister, when she’d taken a selfie as she leaned against the headrest, posing both for the camera and him. 

But for some reason he’s wound so tight. As hot as it is, it can’t be healthy how frequently that muscle in his jaw jumps, keeping in rhythm with the bounce of his leg and the drumming on his fingers. Milan’s eyes flick across his movements and her lips part as she considers asking him if he was okay. Her voice catches in her throat when sharp, blue lands on deep brown and his brows raise as if he were asking a sarcastic ‘yes?’ When she shrugs lightly, smiling in return, he sends her a smirk before turning his gaze back to the road, peeling off at the light and turning up the music playing on the speaker to drown out his sister’s chatting. 

Milan blinks at the heat she feels on her face and refocuses on her phone, opening her messages from Sarah. 

Sorry about my brother. He’s a dick. When we get to the party you can hang with me. :)

The party was apparently at some house on the beach. Young adults were filling the walls of the building, spilling out onto the sand and grass. The music booms in the night air, and the smells of salt and weed fills their lungs.

Sarah pulls Milan along, their arms looped together as she guides her away from Rafe as quickly as possible. The man is clearly disinterested in following, offering Milan a brush on the shoulder before stalking off toward the back of the house, calls of his name in greeting following his arrival. 

“Oh okay, yeah, my friends are in the kitchen, c’mon.” Sarah tugs her the rest of the way, leading Milan to the dark kitchen over to a crowd of people. She recognizes one of the guys as the guy on Sarah’s phone. John B. she said his name was. Apparently, normally, Sarah stays with him at his house but Ward had asked her to come around today to meet with Milan’s family, and she did it because they were trying to ‘rebuild their family’. “Hi.”

John B. turns to her immediately, a grin spreading on his face as he pulls Sarah to him, effectively separating her and Milan. “Hi, baby.”

His loud blond friend with his arms draped around a pretty girl with brown skin peaks his head out from behind them, pausing mid story, and drunkenly causing his girl to stumble with him. The girl follows his gaze and offers her a kind smile, pushing the blond by his face, laughing at whatever he’s mumbling in her ear. “Hi,” she calls over the music. “I’m Angel. This drunk dumbass is JJ.” She huffs, as he gives Milan a wide grin and nod before guiding Angel’s face back to his.

The tall guy next to him is flanked by a shorter light skinned girl and a girl pouring shots, laughing with Sarah, calling her a lightweight with a thick accent. “Cleo. You want one?”

“Yeah, I’ll take a shot.” Milan shrugs. Her eyes squeeze shut as the liquid slides down her throat, burning it and her mouth. She shakes her head, before letting the warm feeling spread in her belly. A hand on her elbow grabs her attention and has her looking over her shoulder. 

“Come dance with me.” 

It’s some random guy, already tugging her toward the crowd of moving bodies, not waiting for her reply. “Oh, no thanks.” Milan plants her feet, stumbling a little against his pulling. 

“C’mon, you don’t like to dance?”

“No, I just don’t want to dance with you.” Milan chirps, glancing down at her nails to make sure he hadn’t made her accidentally knock a gem off. She watches as the guy’s face shifts from shock to a deep frown. He roughly releases her arm and storms off. She takes a couple steps back to where Sarah and her group are standing, seeing all of the couples wrapped into each other. The light skinned girl reaches her hand across the island counter to get her attention.

“You good? I was about to make my way over. The guys on this island are entitled assholes.” 

“Yeah, that’s guys everywhere. It’s never the cute ones that come to you, huh?”

“Nah, it’s generally the creeps and losers who feel bold.” The girl laughs. “I’m Kie, Kiara.” 

“Milan. Do you feel like dancing?” 

Kiara shrugs, mumbling a ‘why not’ glancing back at her own friends before taking Milan’s hand and leading her toward the sea of people dancing. Milan twirls Kie as they step onto the makeshift dance floor smiling as they begin dancing together. The two girls take turns spinning each other, holding each other’s hips and guiding their dance. Milan can feel several pairs of eyes on them as they rock against each other, the base of the drum in her ears and chest. But her eyes only searched for one set in particular. She allows Kiara to turn her and flips her hair out of her face. And then they are. Steely blue. 

Rafe blows smoke from his nose before licking his thumb, flicking through the stack of cash Kelce had just shoved into his hand. “Aight.” He nods, reaching his jacket pocket and producing a small bag of coke. He’d been giving Sarah and Milan space. For one, because he genuinely does not give a fuck what his hoe ass sister does. If she doesn’t give a fuck about the Cameron name then she could take that dirty pogue’s. On Milan’s end, Rafe was exercising self-restraint. He knows that now that they’re away from their families it wouldn’t take long for him to crack. She’d looked fucking gorgeous earlier that day, and even more so at dinner. Now that they were at a party, and he could take a fuckin’ second to breathe outside of Ward’s scrutiny…he’d break eventually. He was relying Sarah to keep her busy and away from him so he didn’t end up fucking her and fucking up the deal their fathers were trying to work out. 

“What the fuck? That’s it?”

Rafe’s brows furrow as he looks at his friend. “Yeah, you fuckin’ druggy, told you I needed to go see my supplier. Your fiend ass didn’t wanna fuckin’ wait, so take it.” 

“Shit.” Kelce scratches his head, scooping out some of the white powder and leaning forward on the couch to line it up on the coffee table. “Hey, that’s the girl from before right? At the club?”

Rafe looks up to find Milan across from him in the other room. He watches as she twirls and rolls her hips against Kiara’s. Her shiny dark hair bouncing from shoulder to shoulder and her pretty lips mouth along to the song that’s blasting throughout the house. He runs his thumb over his bottom lip as he watches her movements, completely unaware of the group of girls trying to flirt with him and offer him a bump on the couch next to him.

When they lock eyes her smile grows even brighter and his own becomes wolfish. Her movements become even more daring, she dips low, arching her back before coming back up quickly, flipping her hair and rolling her full body. Her hands cover Kiara’s on her hips as she puts on a show for him.  

Rafe chuckles darkly under his breath as he drinks her in, sitting back against the couch comfortably as if he’d paid for this little performance.

It all ends too quickly.

The song changes and Kiara leans into Milan’s ear, murmuring something and making a smoke motion before heading toward the sliding door in the kitchen. The girl is gone for like a few fucking seconds before the fuckin’ loser bastards that had been lurking around them pounce on Milan. Crowding her, trying to usher her into a dance. 

She pushes up onto her tiptoes, looking over some guy’s shoulder to regain eye contact with Rafe, an offer in her eyes as she motions him over with her finger. 

Shaking his head and smirking, Rafe pats his knee, challenging her. He cocks his head slightly to the side when she gently shakes her own head, and gestures for him to come to her with a single finger.

“Rafeeee, you got anymore?” A whiny voice calls to him. 

Right. He was supposed to be moving weight. Damn girl is distracting him. “Uh, yeah, I’m low right now, so I’ve only got baggies, aight?” 

“That’s fine,” the girl says flirtily. He rolls his eyes as he feels her hand on his knee. “You have discounts for pretty girls?”

His eyes drag back over to Milan and his jaw immediately clenches. She’s still facing him, but this time she had someone decidedly less acceptable in Rafe’s eyes clutching her. He watches as some prick who he used to play league basketball with when they were fuckhead teenagers basically nutting on Milan’s back. Rafe’s lip curls as he watches the girl dance for this guy. He couldn’t even think of his fucking name. Milan catches his eyes again, looking at him through her pretty lashes, shrugging absently. Seemingly completely unbothered by the goddamn loser basically humping her like a dog. Rafe feels his head swim dangerously and his stomach turn as he watches weak hands trail along her perfect body. Her brow quirks at him once before she turns in the guys arms, turning her back on Rafe. 

“Rafe?” The girl to his side looks at him questioningly, briefly trying to follow his gaze with her drug-addled brain, giving up and leaning on him again. 

“Uh, right, I’ll give it up for $200.” 

The girl’s eyes widen as she looks back at her friends who gesture for her to try again. She smiles at Rafe and tilts her head toward him. “Um, how much if we can hang out a little upstairs after?” 

“Oh shit.” Kelce chuckles, sniffing and wiping his nose. 

Rafe rolls his eyes. He’s so used to girls offering to sleep with him or suck his dick for drugs. Usually they at least ask him to give it to them for free, this girl was gonna fuck him for a discount. He rarely takes advantage of it, on doing it if he was trying to hit anyway. Really, he doesn’t have to exchange free drugs for getting his dick wet. Fuckin’ look at him.  

Right now, he wasn’t really in the mood for random pussy. Not when he literally can’t fucking see Milan in his line of sight anymore. And that fucking idiot that was grinding his dick on her was fucking gone too. He needed to look for her ASAP. “You got the $200 or what?”

The girl huffs and digs in her purse, dropping the money in his extended hand and snatching the bag off the table, grumbling ‘asshole’ under her breath as she and her friends stumble outside. 

As soon as Rafe pockets money he goes to shoot off of the couch to hunt Milan down, only to be stopped before he can fully stand. 

“Is that cocaine?” 

Milan’s sweet voice puts him on red alert. Rafe settles back into his seat and looks at her. She’s staring down at the table worriedly, wrapping her arms around herself as she stands in the doorway. “Was that guy a friend of yours?”

“You didn’t wanna dance.” she pouts.

“Okay?”

“And I wanted to dance.”

Brat. “So you, uh, just dance with some random dick instead?” He asks, giving her a disappointed look and relishing in the way she shifts under his gaze. 

Interestingly enough, even with his glare, she doesn’t back down, pursing her own lips and sitting on the arm of the couch. “Jeez, you’re strict, I feel bad for Sarah. Is that cocaine?”

“Yeah, I just provide a little party favor for my friends here and there. What, you want a bump?” He starts to test her limits, resting a large, warm hand on her thigh, feeling her through the thin fabric of her skirt. Careful not to move and startle her. 

“I don’t do coke. D’you?” 

It’s her wide-eyed look. The dimpled frown as she glances back down to the white substance on the table. She gives herself away to him easily. Milan is a good girl. She’s just a good girl who knows she’s pretty. That’s what the whole dance was about. She was being cute. That’s what she does. But she’s not really about shit. Daddy’s girl with a protective older brother. Two dragons guarding their little princess. Never had anyone tell her no and mean it. If Rafe used the logic in his brain, he would know, he’s too much. What he expects of the girls he hooks up with. God forbid dates. He’d turn this pretty little thing out. He should be nice, and leave her alone. 

But Rafe isn’t a nice guy. Not really.

“‘Course not, can’t get high on my own supply.” He smoothes a thumb over her knee. “Don’t worry, Princess, it can’t jump off the table and get you.”

Kelce snorts and Milan’s brows furrow. Rafe whips his head around to his friend, nudging him sharply and sending him a silent message. “Oh, uh, I’m gonna get another drink. I’ll be back.” Rafe sends him another look. “Or I won’t.”

As soon as Kelce gets up, Rafe scoots over on the couch, holding one of Milan’s hands and guiding her onto it with him. “That was one of your friends from earlier right? At the country club?” 

“Yeah, Kelce, he’s a fuckin’ idiot.” He says absently, reaching over and grabbing the blunt he’d abandoned when he’d started dealing, re-lighting it. “You don’t smoke weed either, huh?”

Milan shrugs, scooting closer. “I just don’t know how to do it by myself.”��

God she’s just fuckin’ perfect isn’t she? Rafe hangs his head, letting out an exasperated laugh. It’s like she was sent as a test. She’s already bad as shit, she’s just sitting here, damn near in his lap with her big fuck-me eyes and wide-open personality. She knows she’s sexy and that’s just about it. But her dad let her go because he was supposed to be responsible. That’s big money on the table, and Ward would fuckin’ kill him if he was distracted by the opportunity to hit on the literal oil baron’s daughter. “Figures, pretty thing like you can’t do anything by herself. What, you need me to light it for you?”

“I’ve only ever had someone shotgun it for me.” She says.

Rafe’s hand is at the back of her head, fist in her hair before he can even realize what he’s doing. He pulls her close, tugging her against him and halting right before she hits his lips. He brings the blunt to his own lips, inhaling the smoke before leaning even closer, drunk on the way she’s looking at him. “Yeah?”

When she gasps out a breath, offering him a little nod, already puckering her plump, lips for him.

Fuck it. Rafe thinks. 

He could be a responsible man for his dad tomorrow.

[johnslittlespoon]

So, I've reread TAS about 6 times, maybe. With every read through, the story somehow gets better. Anyway, I gotta know: when Gale chooses the horror movie before their first kiss, did he do it with the intention of scaring John into his arms? I remember that cliché from media growing up. The guy choosing the scary movie so that he can wrap his arms around the pretty girl.

You write Gale really well, and he's doing the whole "we're taking this at your pace" thing. So I want to know if the scary movie was a calculated decision.

Also, thank you SO MUCH for writing this story; it is my current obsession.

okay gonna get into some TAS gale pov asks bc i have a few >:) but SIX TIMES???? i will literally never ever be able to wrap my head around anyone rereading my stuff, it’s so mind boggling and it makes me a little (a lot) teary wtf :’)) <33 that’s actually insane LMAO thank u this is so so sweet 😭💗 ok buckle in bc i had a lot to say oops

tbh i definitely had that cliche in mind while writing it, like as soon as i decided they’d be watching a horror movie, i knew they’d have the cliche ‘hold me i’m scared’ moment, because it would be a good way to ease into the first kiss. however i don’t think it was fully intentional on gale’s end, because really, i think gale would’ve been happy to sit through like a three hour documentary if that’s what john had wanted lol.

so i don’t think he was swaying john one way or another, but he definitely had zero complaints about having an excuse to hold john when he got scared ;) and obv at that point, gale’s not dumb (and john is not subtle lmfao), so gale was probably 99.9% certain john had feelings for him, and he was giving john every opportunity to do something about that, since gale was so stubborn about giving john space to figure things out for himself and make the first move. :)

another rereader i cryyyy <333 thank you, would also run thru a brick wall for u 😭💖 YES gale’s pov very much interests me, i’ve got a whole section for it in what i call my TAS masterdoc lmfaoo. i have a stupid amount of oneshot ideas now in his/other character’s povs that i’d love to get to at some point!

but also hey ouch thanks for hurting my heart <3 😭 i do feel like there were probably a few “oh no” moments for gale after meeting john, like the classic ‘i’m fucked’ realizations, and i think seeing him smile properly for the first time would be one of those. john’s so caught up in his own head half the time that he probably didn’t notice the way gale stopped breathing the first time he was on the receiving end of his sunshine smile :’)

i genuinely think gale’s internal monologue during that moment would just be ‘fuckfuckfuckfuck’ because really, what else can he do but fall head over heels? i’m sooo excited to dig into gale’s pov eventually, to get into how much he wrestled with himself and how he’d told himself never again after losing johnny, and then in walks this gangly, sweet, loud–mouthed college kid, and gale’s never been so happy to have his life turned upside down.

(john and gale actually do have a little bit of a conversation about this in ch11 because i couldn’t resist, but until that’s up, i leave you with the assurance that gale was smitten from day one and just trying to repress it for a multitude of reasons, but then the incident happened where gale saved him from the blind date, and it was all over from that moment on. the urge to protect john and to keep a smile on his face hasn’t left gale since that moment <3)

LOLL. definitely an admonishing “gaaaaale” moment. 

i’ve had so many questions in AO3 comments asking if i’ll write gale’s pov of the conversation he has with marge, and i 100% want to, it’s the first gale pov oneshot (aside from the smut i posted lol) i’m planning on writing for this fic. i’ll try to answer some of those other questions here just to keep them in one place:

i think marge definitely had her suspicions about gale’s feelings for john — she knows gale too well to not know when something’s up, but she also knows that gale comes to her about things on his own time, that she just has to be patient, it’s how he’s always been since they were kids. but there’s no way she wasn’t squinting at gale when she found out john had spent the weekend (multiple times) at his house.

the first time is one thing, because when gale explains that john had gotten wayyy too drunk and seemingly had some situation he didn’t want to go home to, she’d understand gale letting him crash at his. she sees how gale is with john at the beach after that, and it probably gets the wheels turning in her head, but she also knows gale to have a big heart and to be prone to taking strays in, so it could just be written off.

when she finds out that john’s been staying at gale’s every weekend after the incident with his mom, at the very least she had to have asked him who takes the couch just to watch gale squirm, which then confirmed her suspicions lol. after that it’s only a matter of time before gale spills it all to her, and her reaction will eventually be detailed in one of those gale pov oneshots :-)