#the way his hand is the same size as Maxie

[nicoscheer]

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Now and then 🥰

Love that we got both angles of this pic 🤣

His scarf and Maxie in the mirror

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John Lennon Decollage artwork with resin Layer. Now and Then sung by @mileskane

[cup1drul3z]

★ — That's MY girl | CH 2

5.5ᴋ ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ | ᴄᴇᴏ!ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

CW : Age gap if you squint, PLUS SIZED READER, power kink, cheating, modern au, new york, assistant reader, readers a little awkward but we love her anyway, sugar mommy, SMUT, fingering, cunninglings, strap, bondage, lingerie

A/N : guys im working on the stalker fic trust

The train ride home feels longer than it should.

You sit near the back, the car mostly empty, lights flickering overhead like they can’t decide whether to stay on or just give up. Your reflection stares back at you in the darkened window—smudged lipstick, swollen lips, collar slightly crooked, and that unmistakable shadow just below your jawline.

You touch it.

The spot Sevika’s mouth lingered.

Your stomach twists.

You shouldn’t have done it. You knew that the second you left the bar. But it doesn’t erase the memory of her hands on your body. The way your name sounded in her mouth. The way you wanted it. Craved it.

You close your eyes and grip the subway pole tighter. It doesn't help. The shame is thick and sour, crawling over your skin like something alive.

By the time you get to your stop, the guilt is louder than your footsteps.

Your apartment is dark when you unlock the door. One flickering lamp lights the living room, the faint buzz of the TV still running. Your boyfriend is half-asleep on the couch, blanket around his legs, a takeout box resting on the armrest beside him.

He stirs when the door clicks shut.

“Where the hell were you?” he mumbles, rubbing his face. “You said you were going for drinks. That was, like, four hours ago.”

Your heart skips. “Sorry. I lost track of time. First day stuff... they wanted to celebrate.”

He stares at you for a second too long, and your pulse races. You shift your hair slightly, trying to angle it over the mark Sevika left.

But he doesn’t notice.

Instead, he sits up, arms outstretched with a sleepy groan. “Come here.”

You hesitate.

Just for a second.

Then you cross the room and let him pull you into his arms, the warmth of his chest unfamiliar tonight. He presses a kiss to your cheek, then your lips. It’s slow. Familiar. Comfortable in a way that used to feel like love.

But now?

Now it just feels like lying.

“You smell good,” he mumbles into your hair. “Glad you had fun.”

You force a small laugh. “Yeah... me too.”

You close your eyes and let him hold you like nothing’s changed.

But everything has.

And deep down, you know it’s only a matter of time before this cracks wide open.

You woke up early.

Too early.

The kind of early where the light coming in through your blinds made everything look soft and blue, and the guilt still sat heavy in your chest like you'd swallowed a stone. But instead of spiraling, you did something else—rummaged through your closet.

You wanted to feel like you today.

So you slipped into a soft grey vest, something a little snug across the chest but not suffocating. The short-sleeved collared shirt underneath is crisp, clean. Paired with your flowy black maxi skirt, it moves with you—comfortable, confident, a little vintage librarian if you squint.

You check the mirror once, twice. It doesn’t scream “corporate,” but you don’t care.

For once, you feel good. Or at least better.

The train is less crowded this morning. You grab a seat near the back, setting your bag down beside you. You're flipping through your phone when someone plops down across from you with zero warning.

“Damn, girl. You look adorable.”

You glance up—Jinx.

Same wild blue braids, oversized bomber jacket, mismatched socks in loafers. She’s sipping an iced coffee the size of her head and looks like she hasn’t slept but somehow still radiates energy.

You smile. “Thanks. Closet panic. I didn’t want to pop a button again.”

Jinx snorts. “Honestly? Respect. You survived a boardroom and Sevika’s death stare. You deserve a little wardrobe crisis.”

You laugh, and she leans in like she’s about to let you in on a secret.

“Okay, so—there’s this cocktail thing in a few days. Fancy company event. Everyone’s invited, assistants too.”

You nod, eyebrows raised. “That sounds... terrifying.”

“Oh, it is.” she grins. “Dress code, open bar, people trying to pretend they’re more important than they are—it’s a blast. You coming?”

“I guess I have to now,” you say with a smile, then add, “Do we bring plus-ones?”

Jinx nods. “Yeah. They want it to feel ‘socially enriched’ or whatever PR bullshit they said in the email. You bringing your guy?”

Your stomach flips.

You hesitate just long enough for her to notice, but not long enough for her to comment.

“Yeah,” you say finally. “Probably.”

Jinx sips her coffee, watching you. “Cool. We’ll all be there, and a few other people aswell”

You nod slowly 

She leans back. “And Sevika usually shows up late. Quiet. Broody. Like Batman if Batman was hotter and more emotionally repressed.”

You choke on your breath a little, but cover it with a laugh.

Jinx just grins at you.

“See you in the office, cutie.”

She gets off at the next stop, waving as she goes. 

You sit back in your seat, suddenly very aware of what this cocktail party could mean.

And how complicated things are about to get.

You spend most of the morning pretending to work while actively avoiding eye contact with Sevika’s closed office door.

Every time you glance that way, your stomach flips. You’re sure she’s stewing in there—probably plotting your firing or worse, treating you like you’re invisible. That would almost be easier.

So when your desk phone buzzes with a message: “Come in.” —your blood turns to ice.

You stand, straighten your vest, and try to breathe like a normal human as you push open the door.

Sevika’s at her desk, sleeves rolled, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show that same stretch of ink. She’s leaning back in her chair, boots crossed at the ankle, like nothing in the world could touch her.

Except her eyes are locked on you the second you step inside.

You swallow. “You wanted to see me?”

She nods toward the door behind you. “Close it.”

Your hand hovers on the knob for a second too long, but you do it.

The soft click feels like a trap.

“I figured you’d be crawling out of your skin all day,” she says, tone casual, almost amused. “Relax. I’m not mad.”

You blink. “You’re not?”

A grin tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Why would I be mad? You practically came all over my hand last night.”

You flinch. “Sevika—”

“No one made you moan my name,” she continues, rising from her chair. “Don’t act like it wasn’t the best part of your week.”

She’s in front of you now, close again—too close. You take a step back, but she follows, always one breath away from pinning you to the wall.

“I told you I shouldn’t have,” you say, voice tight. “It was a mistake. I was drunk.”

“You were wet,” she counters, low and dangerous. “There’s a difference.”

Your mouth opens—no words. Just heat crawling up your throat.

“I can give you better,” she murmurs, eyes dark and slow-burning. “You don’t owe him loyalty just because you’re scared of being alone.”

You shake your head. “It’s not like that.”

Sevika scoffs. “You keep saying that. But you don’t look convinced.”

Then, before you can stop her, she drops to her knees.

Right there.

Her hands find your hips, grip firm and sure through the fabric of your skirt. She looks up at you, and something in your chest stutters.

“Tell me to stop,” she says, voice husky, lips inches from your waistband. “Mean it.”

You should. You really should.

But your hands stay at your sides, frozen.

You don’t push her away.

You don’t even move.

Then—

“Sevika, do you—”

The door opens.

Mel freezes in the doorway, one brow raised, her perfect blazer catching the light. Her eyes flick from Sevika on her knees to you, cheeks flushed, mouth parted.

Sevika doesn’t flinch.

Mel slowly, slowly shuts the door behind her without looking away.

The second Mel shuts the door, Sevika finally rises to her feet—slowly, deliberately, like she’s still not embarrassed. You’re the one left trembling.

But you don’t stay.

You don’t even think. You just move.

You throw open the office door and bolt into the hallway, nearly running over someone from accounting. Your skirt swishes around your ankles as you spot Mel turning the corner toward the elevators.

“Mel! Mel, wait—”

She doesn’t stop immediately, but you catch up, heels clicking against the tile in rapid panic.

“Please,” you gasp, breath catching as you reach her. “Please don’t tell anyone. It wasn’t—nothing even happened—”

Mel finally stops and turns, folding her arms across her chest. Her expression isn’t cold. It isn’t angry either. It’s… tired. Complicated.

“I won’t say anything,” she says, voice soft. “You have my word.”

You breathe out a shaky sigh, your shoulders sagging with relief.

“But,” she continues, “you should know... people already talk.”

Your blood chills. “What do you mean?”

Mel looks at you with something like pity. “This office? It's a glass box. Everyone sees everything. You think they didn’t notice Sevika acting different yesterday? You leaving early? That mark on your neck?”

Your hand instinctively rises to cover it.

“I didn’t mean for anything to happen—” you start, voice cracking.

“I know,” Mel cuts in gently. “But it doesn’t matter. In a place like this, rumors grow faster than promotions. All it takes is one glance. One smirk. One flushed face in the hallway.”

You look down, shame crawling up your spine.

Mel sighs and softens, placing a hand on your arm. “You’re not the first. And you’re not stupid. But Sevika… she’s not simple. Being close to her never is.”

You swallow hard. “So what do I do?”

Mel lets her hand fall back to her side.

“Be careful,” she says. “With her. With you. Because whether you meant to or not… you're in it now.”

Then the elevator dings, and she steps inside, leaving you standing in the hallway alone, the weight of your choices settling in your bones like concrete.

And for the first time, you’re not sure if you’re more afraid of losing your job—

—or losing yourself to Sevika again.

You wait outside her office for a long time.

Long enough that your nerves start to feel less like panic and more like a low, buzzing ache under your skin. The adrenaline is gone. All that’s left is the shame. The guilt. And the heat of her touch still ghosting your hips.

You finally knock, just once.

“Come in.”

Sevika’s voice is calm. Cool. Like nothing happened.

You step in slowly, shutting the door behind you. She’s at her desk, one arm resting lazily on the surface, the other tapping a pen against a manila folder. Her eyes flick up when you enter but don’t linger.

“I talked to Mel.”

“Obviously,” she mutters.

You take a few steps closer, but not too close.

“I’m serious this time,” you say, voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. “You have to stop. No more flirting. No more… whatever that was. I made a mistake, and I’m staying with my boyfriend. I’m not doing this again.”

Sevika raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t argue. She just leans back in her chair, gaze unreadable. “Fine.”

You blink. “...Seriously?”

“Yeah.” She shrugs. “You’re not the first girl to pretend it didn’t mean anything.”

Your stomach sinks. “That’s not what I—”

She cuts you off by opening a drawer and sliding a white envelope across the desk toward you.

You eye it like it might bite you.

“What’s that?”

“For the tights,” she says dryly. “You ripped them last night. And your blouse looked like it was about to quit during the meeting.”

You don’t move. “I don’t need pity money.”

Sevika sighs through her nose, annoyed. “It’s not pity, sweetheart. It’s compensation. You work for me. You’re supposed to look like you belong here.”

You hesitate. Then pick up the envelope and peek inside.

Cash.

Too much. Way too much.

This is not “replace your tights” money. This is “rent for two months” money. Or “disappear into another city and start over” money.

Your heart jumps into your throat. “This is insane.”

Sevika stands slowly, pushing her chair back as she walks around the desk—measured, controlled, still a storm beneath her skin.

“I don’t give people what they deserve,” she says, voice low, “I give them what I want to give. And I want you dressed like someone who knows her worth.”

You meet her eyes, and for a split second, you almost say something.

But you just nod. “Thanks.”

She nods back, then gestures toward the door. “You should get back to your desk.”

You turn to leave—but her voice stops you just before you open the door.

“You looked good today,” she murmurs, softer this time. “Comfort suits you.”

You don’t look back.

You just walk out, envelope clutched in your hand like a secret you’re not sure what to do with.

It’s your day off.

For once, you’re not rushing to get dressed or worrying about whether your shirt will survive a full workday. You're in comfy leggings, a tank top and a black jacket, your hair is messy and you look like you just rolled out of bed even if you did try to brush it a little. No makeup, no heels, just you and a half-empty shopping cart that doesn’t squeak when you push it.

For the first time in a long time, grocery shopping feels... nice.

You grab the name-brand mac and cheese without flinching. The good almond milk. Even a little candle from the home aisle, because screw it—you deserve soft lighting and lavender.

You’re halfway through comparing peanut butter prices when you feel it.

That shift in the air. That weird, subtle gravity that tugs at you, makes the back of your neck prickle.

You glance up.

And there she is.

Sevika.

In Target.

Wearing a long, wool coat that probably costs more than everything in your cart. Her hair’s tied back again, sunglasses pushed up onto her head, dark slacks and a fitted top that absolutely do not belong between rows of laundry detergent and Pop-Tarts. She’s pushing a red basket like it personally offended her.

You blink. Once. Twice.

She spots you.

And smirks.

You panic and pretend to read the back of a Nutella jar. Real smooth.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” she drawls as she approaches, voice low and vaguely amused.

You force a smile, pushing your cart an inch forward. “I could say the same. You don’t really strike me as the ‘bullseye deals’ type.”

She glances into your cart. “Treating yourself?”

You shrug. “Using my pity money wisely.”

That earns a sharp laugh from her—short, real.

“Still mad?”

“No,” you admit. “Just trying to feel normal for a minute.”

Sevika’s eyes linger on you. The oversized hoodie. The way your hair’s all loose and soft and you. Not Corporate You. Just You.

“I like this version,” she says, voice softer now. “You’re real like this.”

You hesitate, cart between you like a shield. “You stalking me?”

“Coincidence,” she shrugs. “Or fate, if you're feeling dramatic.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s half a smile. “You here for snacks or a personality transplant?”

“Neither,” she says, grabbing a box of granola bars and tossing them into her basket like it’s a power move. “Just needed trash bags.”

You stare at her.

“You’re too rich to take out your own trash.”

“I didn’t say they were for me,” she says, already turning toward the next aisle. “See you Friday, sweetheart.”

She disappears between frozen pizzas and Lean Cuisines, and you’re left standing there, heart weirdly fast, fingers gripping the handle of your cart a little too tight.

You sigh.

Of course Sevika looks good at Target.

You drop your groceries off at the apartment, still feeling Sevika’s smirk lingering somewhere in your ribs. Your boyfriend’s out—left a note about going to a friend’s place. You don’t think twice about it. You text Caitlyn.

You still down for coffee? I need your face and your moral compass. Bad.

She texts back almost immediately.

On my way. My treat. You’re getting the giant muffin too.

The café is cozy, tucked between a laundromat and a bookstore that’s always closed for “inventory.” The barista already knows your order—large iced caramel something, extra whipped cream—and Caitlyn’s sipping black coffee like her soul depends on it.

You take the first sip and finally exhale like you haven’t all day.

“So,” Caitlyn says, crossing her legs. “What’s this about a moral crisis?”

You bite your straw, unsure how to even begin.

“I… did something stupid.”

Her brows lift just slightly. “Define ‘stupid.’ Like, crash-your-ex’s-wedding stupid, or get-back-with-your-ex stupid?”

You look down at your drink.

Then say it.

“I slept with my boss.”

Caitlyn blinks. Slowly. Then takes the most dramatic sip of coffee you’ve ever seen.

You brace for it. The judgment. The disappointment. Anything.

But all she says is, “Well. That’s very ‘HBO original series’ of you.”

You stare. “Caitlyn—”

“I mean, I knew your life was messy,” she adds, leaning back. “But this is next level. I’m impressed.”

“Caitlyn.”

She softens immediately, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand.

“Hey. I’m on your side, remember? Always.”

Your throat tightens. “Even if I’m a home-wrecking, morally compromised disaster?”

“Especially then,” she says, giving you that rare smile—the real one, not the sarcastic smirk she gives annoying people at parties. “You needed something. You got it. And now we figure out what you’re gonna do next.”

“I’m staying with him,” you say quietly. “My boyfriend. I told her it was a mistake.”

Caitlyn’s eyes flick down. She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t say what you already know she’s thinking.

Instead: “Do you want to stay with him?”

You don’t answer right away.

She doesn’t push.

She just leans back, sipping her coffee again, eyes soft.

“Whatever you decide,” she says, “I’ll be here. To support you.”

You laugh—sharp and real and just a little broken.

She clinks her coffee cup against your plastic lid. “You’re not alone in this.”

The boutique Caitlyn drags you to is one of those clean, Pinterest-board-looking places with neutral walls, racks spaced perfectly apart, and a woman at the front desk who gives you complimentary cucumber water just for walking in.

You’re overwhelmed within five seconds.

Caitlyn, of course, is thriving.

“Okay,” she says, already flipping through hangers like a pro. “We want business casual, but comfy. Professional, but still you. So no more button-downs that look like they’re losing a fight with your chest, got it?”

You laugh. “Okay, okay. Deal.”

She hands you a soft sage green blouse with fluttery sleeves and a pair of black wide-leg pants that feel like pajamas but somehow look expensive.

You try them on.

You twirl a little in the mirror.

You look… good.

“You look hot,” Caitlyn says from outside the changing room, leaning dramatically against the door. “Hot and employed.”

You snort. “High praise.”

You walk out and grab another outfit—a soft cream cardigan, a fitted tank underneath, and a midi skirt with a tiny floral pattern. Comfortable. Confident. Something you can actually breathe in.

“Perfect,” Caitlyn says, nodding like a fashion judge. “Now…”

She pulls a black dress from the rack like a magician revealing her final trick.

It’s sleek. Short. A body-con that hugs all the right places with subtle ruching at the waist and a square neckline that’s flirty but still tasteful.

“This,” she says, “is the dress. Cocktail party. Show up. Make Your mark on that place..i mean if you haven't already for disappearing into the bathroom with the ceo”

You take it from her carefully, the fabric silky between your fingers.

“Cait,” you say, holding it up. “It’s… tight.”

She smirks. “And you’ve got a body worth showing off. Let her choke on it.”

You laugh, pressing the dress to your chest. “Okay, fine. This is the one.”

You don’t tell her how your heart races imagining Sevika seeing you in it.

You don’t have to.

Caitlyn sees the look in your eyes and just nods.

“You’ve got this.”

The suit hangs on the back of the bedroom door, still in its garment bag, untouched.

You’d picked it out yesterday. A simple black two-piece, nothing too flashy. Just… clean. Respectable. It felt like the least you could do—if you were dragging him into this cocktail party, you might as well make sure he looked like he belonged.

He didn’t even say thank you.

Now it’s the morning before the event. You’re moving around the apartment, folding laundry, fixing your hair into a loose ponytail, pretending everything is fine.

He leans in the doorway, yawning. Shirtless. Watching you with that sleepy grin he used to wear back when things felt simple.

“You know,” he says, walking over and sliding his hands around your waist, “we’ve got a little time before you head out for that pre-party work stuff…”

His lips brush your neck, warm and familiar. One hand starts to slip beneath your shirt.

Your stomach drops.

The familiar twist of guilt and disinterest coils tight in your gut. His touch feels wrong now—not cruel, not mean… just wrong.

You grab his hand gently and pull it away. “Not right now. I’m—uh—cramping.”

He pauses, eyes narrowing for a second. Then he sighs and steps back, not pushing, but clearly annoyed.

“Figures,” he mutters. “You’ve been weird lately.”

You force a tight smile. “I’ve just been tired. Work's been a lot.”

He shrugs and grabs his phone off the nightstand. “Alright, whatever. Just don’t forget we’ve got that thing tonight.”

��I won’t,” you say, already turning back to fold the same T-shirt you’ve touched three times.

He leaves the room.

You exhale slowly, your hands trembling just slightly.

The suit still hangs untouched.

And the black dress waits folded in tissue paper inside a boutique bag.

The venue is stunning—soft golden lighting, live jazz humming in the background, servers floating past with sparkling flutes and tiny hors d'oeuvres that look like food for rich fairies.

You walk in on your boyfriend’s arm, your black body-con dress hugging you just right. You feel the eyes on you as you enter—and for once, you don’t shrink under them.

You own it.

Your boyfriend doesn’t comment on the way heads turn. Doesn’t even notice. He’s too busy adjusting his tie and checking his reflection in every polished surface like he invented being mediocre in a suit.

You’re halfway into your second awkward sip of chardonnay when you feel her.

Sevika.

She walks in like the floor was laid out for her—broad shoulders in a dark tailored suit, black dress shirt unbuttoned just low enough to border indecent, no tie. Her hair’s slicked back, jaw set, eyes already scanning the room.

And then they land on you.

Her gaze lingers, intense and unreadable, before sliding to your boyfriend.

You swear the temperature drops.

She stares at him like she’s already picked out the weakest spot to punch first. Her mouth presses into a line. Her jaw ticks.

Your boyfriend, completely oblivious, is in the middle of bragging to Ekko about how he hit diamond rank in some online shooter. Ekko’s politely nodding, clearly dying inside.

You’re barely hearing them. Your attention is locked on Sevika, and she’s watching you right back.

You quickly look away and take a bigger sip of wine than intended.

“Damn, babe, slow down,” your boyfriend says, laughing as he slings an arm around your waist.

You flinch, just slightly.

He doesn’t notice that, either.

You glance across the room again. Sevika’s talking to Mel now—but her eyes keep drifting back to you.

Watching.

Measuring.

Waiting.

You adjust the neckline of your dress, trying not to think about her hands. About her mouth. About the last time you were alone together.

You drain the rest of your chardonnay.

A few hours later and the music’s too loud. The lights are too warm. The voices blur together like you’re underwater.

You laugh when you’re supposed to, nod when your boyfriend talks, sip your wine just to keep your mouth busy—but your chest is tight, your throat’s dry, and your ears are ringing.

And then he says something.

You don’t even catch it, really—some offhand comment about calories or how much you’re drinking.

It hits the same nerve anyway.

You excuse yourself without thinking, barely muttering something about needing air.

The balcony is massive, lined with plants that have no business looking that elegant. The night air is cool, crisp against your skin, and the city glows below like a reflection of the stars. No one’s out here. Just silence, finally.

You dig into your purse and pull out the cigarette you swore you weren’t keeping anymore.

You light it with shaking hands.

The first inhale hits hard. Not smooth, not pleasant—but grounding.

You breathe out slowly, leaning back in one of the sleek patio chairs, staring at the skyline like it might give you answers.

The door clicks behind you.

You don’t need to look.

You know it’s her.

Sevika steps out onto the balcony like she owns it—of course she does. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just walks over and nods toward your cigarette.

“Got another?”

You pause. Then reach into your bag and hand one over.

She lights it from yours, the flame flickering between you. Her fingers brush yours, just barely.

You don’t say anything.

She exhales, then glances over. “Didn’t think you smoked.”

“I don’t,” you say quietly. “Not really.”

She nods once. Like she gets it.

The silence hangs there, warm with shared breath, smoke curling between you.

“I didn’t hit him,” she says eventually.

You laugh—just a small, exhausted huff. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”

“He deserves worse,” she adds, taking another drag. “You looked miserable.”

You look at her. The city lights reflect in her eyes.

“I was.”

She turns to face you fully now, stepping closer, close enough that you can smell the smoke on her lips, the soft scent of whatever expensive cologne clings to her collar.

“I can’t stop thinking about that night,” she admits, voice low, dangerous with honesty.

You swallow. “I said it was a mistake.”

“Then why’d you light that cigarette like you were waiting for me?”

Your lips part, but no words come.

She reaches out, fingers brushing the side of your face, then trailing down your arm. Her hand rests gently on your waist, not demanding—just there. Her cigarette burns low between her fingers, forgotten.

You don’t pull away.

When she leans in, you meet her halfway.

The kiss is soft at first—surprisingly so. All breath and hesitation, like she’s asking for permission with her mouth. But then it deepens. Her hand grips your waist tighter. Your fingers curl in the lapel of her suit jacket.

The smoke, the night air, the tension—it all wraps around you, blurring out everything else.

Until—

“Are you serious?”

You both freeze.

Mel’s voice cuts through the quiet like a knife.

You turn your head slowly, lips still kiss-swollen, Sevika’s hand still on your waist.

Mel’s standing in the open balcony door, arms crossed, expression unreadable—but her eyebrow is doing the absolute most.

“Is this, like, a kink?” she says flatly. “You two only hook up when I’m about to walk in?”

You pull away from Sevika like you’ve just woken up mid-dream, breath still shaky, heart thudding in your ears. Her hand lingers on your waist for half a second before you step out of her reach completely.

You don’t meet her eyes.

You just walk.

Your heels click softly against the stone balcony floor as you move past the potted plants and melting ashtray, toward the glowing doorway where Mel’s still standing—expression unreadable, lips pursed, arms crossed like she’s both exhausted and waiting for a good reason not to slap someone.

You reach her side.

You pause.

Your lips part.

“Um—”

“I won’t tell anyone,” she says, eyes still on the skyline. Not unkind. Just resigned.

You nod. You don't say thank you. You don't have it in you.

You slip past her into the party, leaving the smell of smoke and regret behind you.

Back on the balcony, Sevika exhales hard through her nose, turning away from the city like she could punch the moon if she tried hard enough.

“You have the worst timing,” she mutters.

Mel doesn’t flinch. She finally steps out onto the balcony, letting the door close gently behind her.

“No,” she says. “You have the worst impulse control.”

Sevika shoots her a glare, sharp and tired. “Do you enjoy walking in every time I’m with her?”

“You’re not supposed to be ‘with her’ at all,” Mel snaps, lowering her voice. “She’s your employee. This is your job. You're not supposed to be sneaking off to make out with the assistant like you're in some—some corporate fanfiction!”

Sevika scoffs. “This isn’t just some fling.”

“Then it’s worse.”

Mel’s voice softens just slightly.

“She doesn’t know what she wants yet. And you're not helping.”

Sevika doesn’t respond at first. Her jaw flexes. She crushes the stub of her cigarette into the stone railing, the ember dying with a hiss.

“She was happy with me,” Sevika mutters. “For a second. She looked at me like—like I meant something.”

“And then she walked away,” Mel says gently. “Again.”

That one lands.

Mel sighs, placing a hand on the railing. “You can’t be the person she runs to and the reason she has to run from at the same time.”

Sevika doesn’t say anything.

Mel doesn’t press.

They just stand there—two tired women on a balcony full of secondhand smoke, watching the city sparkle like it’s mocking them.

The night hums quietly around them now, all the chaos and chatter muffled behind thick glass. The city blinks below like it’s listening in.

Mel doesn’t leave.

She just exhales slowly, watching Sevika’s clenched fists, the way her knuckles stay white even though the cigarette’s long dead.

“I thought you said you were fine,” Mel says, her voice not accusatory—just... tired. Familiar.

Sevika doesn’t answer right away. Just stares straight ahead, jaw tight.

Mel turns slightly, eyes narrowing. “Is this about her or is this about samantha?”

A beat.

Two.

Then Sevika scoffs, low and bitter. “Dont say her name like that.”

Mel sighs.  “You’ve been a wreck since she left.” she tried to say as gently as possible 

Sevika’s shoulders tense. “She didn’t leave. She traded up. Found someone who could give her the picture-perfect shit she wanted. I was just... temporary.”

Mel’s face softens.

“And then you met someone who looked at you like you were more than temporary,” she says, quietly. “And now you’re trying to make that mean something.”

Sevika doesn’t deny it.

She leans on the railing, both arms braced like she’s holding herself up.

“I didn’t even get time to be angry,” she mutters. “It was like—one minute we were fighting, and the next she was engaged. Just done. Like I was some phase.”

Mel tilts her head. “You weren’t.”

Sevika laughs bitterly. “Sure as hell felt like I was.”

She looks up at the sky—like maybe it’ll swallow the lump forming in her throat.

“I’m not used to being the one left behind.”

Mel watches her carefully. Then steps closer, just enough to be beside her, not in front of her.

“You don’t have to bury yourself in someone new to prove you still matter.”

“I’m not,” Sevika says automatically.

“You are,” Mel says gently. “And it’s not fair to either of you.”

Silence falls between them again—heavy, but not hostile. The kind of silence that only happens between people who’ve known each other too long, seen too much.

After a minute, Sevika mutters, “She makes it so fucking hard not to care.”

Mel nods slowly.

“I know.”

You’re standing near the hallway now, away from the main buzz of the party, one hand still loosely cradling your wine glass, the other clutching your little clutch bag like it’s going to keep you grounded.

But you never stopped watching the balcony doors.

And then, there they are.

Sevika and Mel walk in together, side by side.

They aren’t touching.

They aren’t even smiling.

But they’re… close. In that quiet, easy kind of way that doesn’t need words. The kind that says they’ve been through some things. That they know each other.

You notice the way Sevika looks at her. Not intense like how she looked at you on the balcony. But steady. Familiar. Like maybe she’s looked at Mel like that before. Like maybe she still does.

Mel leans in to say something low near Sevika’s ear, and Sevika gives her a tired smirk in return.

It guts you.

You feel ridiculous. And stupid. And young. Like this was never anything to her. Just a new game. A project. Maybe it was never about you at all.

Maybe you were just a stand-in.

Just the next girl who would look at her like she meant something.

Your throat tightens, the party sounds warping around you, distant and unimportant.

You set your wine glass on a table you pass and slip out the side entrance with your boyfriend without saying goodbye. Not to Caitlyn. Not to Ekko. Not to anyone.

You don’t look back.

And Sevika?

She doesn’t see you leave.

comment to be added to the taglist!

@gaptoothedlesbo @magnificentmilkshakearbiter @half-of-a-gay

[glamourscat]

౨ৎ "Tell me, Isagi-chan,what are you going to do about it?"౨ৎ

✮⋆˙ Author's Note: while writing this, i imaged someone who's chubby/plus size. but, i made no mention of weight in my writing :)

✮⋆˙ Synopsis: isagi has a fetish for thighs and you just happen to have some of the most plush, thick ones he has ever seen

PART 2 ────────────────────────

If there's one thing that Isagi loves it's thighs. Damn it if he isn't obsessed. He feels almost foolish in his desire. The way his throat closes up a bit, he starts to sweat when he sees those thick, full -did he already say thick?- thighs of yours. Alright, enough. He shouldn't be thinking like this.

He shouldn't-it's not right, is it? You are one of the managers of Blue Lock. Sure, you two are somewhat friends, but after all, you're friendly to most. But there's something bubbling in his tummy, and he can't really pinpoint what it is. But when you praise him; "Isagi-chan, that goal was superb! You're getting better and better as time passes. I'm so proud of you." 

Or when you laugh at his jokes, he can't help but be reduced to a blubbering, flustered mess. He is pretty sure he let out a pathetic whimper before at one of your praises. Whether you had noticed or not, he is not sure. He only knows he couldn't look you in the eye for the next week after that.

MORE UNDER THE CUT

Still, objectively speaking, he is attracted to you. From the way your hips move when you walk, to your kindness-which is undoubtedly the most beautiful part of you. Your smile, your laugh, and yes, your thighs.

Or maybe it’s also that little bit of egoistic side, because after all if you work at Blue Lock, you can't really be sane, can you? But that drive you have, the way he can see it in your eyes. The way your mind works, planning, scratching and rewriting the plot at your will as you manage to raise yourself to the top list of the best managers in the country in barely eight months...  That egoistical side that makes you push yourself to achieve what you want, costs what it costs. And he would be a fool to deny how fucking hot that is.

"Isagi-chan?" Your voice rings in his ear. Fuck, he spaced out. "Y-yes?" he says, pathetically trying not to blush as his eyes try to focus on yours. Your expression is confused, yet amused at the same time, as you look at him with one eyebrow raised.

"You were staring at my thighs." Your voice is… no-wait, why aren't you mad? You sound amused. Almost as if you had planned this. Almost as if wearing this maxi skirt —that was as long as it was tight, shaping the hint of that belly pouch, the thighs, the hips... oh good heavens— you had planned this, didn't you?

"Well?" you add, your head resting on your hand, and just now he realises how close you two are sitting on the couch. How little space there is left before your bodies will touch.

"I-" no words come out as he stutters once again, his throat feels suddenly dry as he looks at you. What is this feeling? Why does he feel his heart beating so fast, almost to the point of escaping his chest? Why is his face so red? But most importantly, did you just inch closer?

"For someone who acts so tough on the field-" your hand goes to his jaw, your fingers gently caressing his skin, "you surely don't have much to say now, do you?" you whisper teasingly, the smirk on your face making his stomach do backflips.

Isagi's mind races, searching for a response, but he can only manage a strained gulp. You lean in, your breath warm against his ear. "Tell me, Isagi-chan," you murmur, your voice dripping with a challenge, and Isagi loves a challenge, "what are you going to do about it?"

His pulse quickens, and he knows it’s now or never. A thrill of anticipation courses through him, the promise of something more lingering in the air. As your lips brush the corner of his mouth, a shiver runs down his spine.

And just like that, you pull away, leaving him breathless and wanting more. "Think about it," you say with a wink, standing up and leaving him with a view of those perfect thighs as you walk away.

Your head turns back just before you leave the door, to stare back at the flustered, shock, yet, definitely aroused guy. Your eyes meet, and as you flash him a teasing smile, Isagi watches you go, his heart pounding. Whatever this was, it had only just begun. ──────────────────────✮⋆˙ Author's Note: pt2? ;)

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[pucksandpower]

Ooh, for the grid kids series, how about the time when all the grid kids had to babysit Seb and y/n's daughter? I feel like it would be chaos all around.

Grid Kids: Baby-Sitters Club

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: the grid kids have tamed some of the fastest cars on the planet but can they tame their baby sister?

Series Masterlist

Max Verstappen: Good Taste in Music

“Alright, mate, remember, she likes the pacifier if she starts crying and always check if she’s hungry,” Sebastian instructs as he hands over the baby monitor to Max.

Max nods, trying to hide the nervousness on his face. “Got it. How hard can it be? I’ve tamed a Red Bull, after all.”

You chuckle, “It’s not the same, Max. She’s not going to pit in 2.4 seconds if she needs something.”

Handing over a small pink bag, you add, “There’s some milk in the bottle and a few toys. Oh, and if she starts crying and won’t stop, play her the Formula 1 theme. She strangely calms down to that.”

Max, cradling the baby carefully in his arms, smirks. “Like mother, like daughter.”

Sebastian laughs, “Alright, we’ll be back in a couple of hours. You got this.”

An hour into his babysitting gig and things are surprisingly smooth. Max and the little one are seated on the couch, with him talking to her about overtaking techniques and the importance of tire management.

Suddenly, a small wail interrupts his monologue. Max’s eyes widen in slight panic. He tries the pacifier. No luck. He checks the diaper. Still dry. The wailing grows louder.

Thinking quickly, he connects his phone to the speakers and starts playing the F1 theme song. Just as you said, the baby’s cries subside and she starts to doze off.

Max lets out a sigh of relief, whispering to the now sleeping baby, “You’re going to be a racer, aren’t you? Just remember, Maxie taught you the basics.”

A few hours later, you return to find Max fast asleep on the couch with a snoozing baby cuddled on his chest, the F1 theme playing softly in the background. You share a smile, knowing your little girl is in good hands with her grid brothers.

Charles Leclerc: Start Them Young

“Okay, she might be a bit tricky during her nap times. She’s been fighting sleep a lot lately,” you adjust the baby bag over Charles’ shoulder.

Charles gives a confident nod, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Don’t worry, I have a plan. Have you ever tried Ferrari engine sounds to help her fall asleep?”

Sebastian chuckles, “Not quite the lullaby most kids go for but anything is worth a shot.”

You smile, patting Charles on the back, “Good luck. We’ll be back soon.”

An hour into babysitting, the little one is becoming restless, rubbing her eyes, yet refusing to close them. Charles has an idea. Booting up his laptop, he finds a clip from one of the recent races, and soon, the familiar sound of a roaring Ferrari engine fills the room.

Amazingly, the baby’s eyes start to droop, and within minutes, she’s sound asleep. Charles grins triumphantly, feeling quite proud of his unconventional method.

Later, he decides to do a mini photoshoot, dressing her up in a tiny Ferrari onesie he secretly bought and posing her with a little Ferrari model car.

Upon returning, you and Sebastian are welcomed by a giggling Charles showing them the adorable pictures. “Look, she’s a natural Tifosa! We start them young.”

Sebastian laughs, “That’s one way to do it. Just remember, she’s got Red Bull and Aston Martin blood too.”

Charles winks, “We’ll see about that!"

You can’t help but laugh, “No matter the team, she’s got the best grid brothers around.”

Lance Stroll: Canadian by Proxy

“Alright, little miss, ready for some Canadian immersion?” Lance grins widely, holding up a tiny hockey stick and puck. “It’s never too early for your first hockey lesson.”

You raise an eyebrow, laughing, “I’m not sure she can even hold that stick yet, let alone play.”

Lance winks, adjusting the baby-sized Montreal Canadiens jersey he brought with him. “Trust me, by the time I’m done, she’ll be ready for the NHL.”

Sebastian smirks, “Just remember, no actual skating yet.”

With you and Sebastian heading out, Lance sets the scene for a cozy afternoon. He places the baby on a soft blanket, surrounding her with plush hockey toys, and turns on a recorded game. Soon, the room echoes with the sounds of cheering fans and commentary.

The baby gazes curiously at the screen, her little fingers reaching out to grasp the mini puck Lance places in front of her. Lance, laying beside her, narrates the game with exaggerated commentary, making her giggle with delight.

Halfway through their game, Lance feels adventurous. He gently places the baby in a laundry basket cushioned with a plush blanket, using the mini hockey stick to push her around, mimicking the action on the TV screen. Her laughter fills the room as they play their unique version of indoor hockey.

By the time you return, you find Lance, completely worn out, sprawled on the floor, with your daughter, dressed in her little hockey jersey, contentedly napping next to him, clutching the mini stick.

Sebastian laughs, “Looks like you had quite the game.”

Lance grins, slightly out of breath, “She’s got potential. Might just be the next German hockey prodigy.”

You chuckle, “Thanks, Lance. Just remember, before hockey comes racing.”

He winks, “We’ll see. Maybe She’ll bring the Stanley Cup back home to Montreal one day!”

George Russell: Pulling Pigtails

“George! Over here!” You wave, holding out the baby bag as George ambles over, hair in its usual perfect quiff.

“Well, hello there!” George greets, bending over to coo at the baby who instantly reaches out, tiny fingers eager to grab his thick hair.

“Looks like someone’s a fan of your hair,” Sebastian remarks with a chuckle, watching as his daughter gleefully tugs on George's hair.

George laughs, wincing just a tad. “It’s alright, who needs a hairdresser when you have such a cute little stylist?”

You hand over a bottle of milk, “She just had a nap and might be hungry soon. And, well, you might want to keep an eye on your hair.”

With baby in arms, George heads over to the living room. Laying out a blanket, he places her down, only to have her immediately try crawling towards him, reaching for his hair again. Grinning, he plays a little game, leaning in close and then pulling back, making her giggle each time.

As the afternoon progresses, George discovers that his hair is the ultimate distraction. Whether she’s fussy or just bored, having his hair within reach keeps her entertained. Even feeding her becomes easier as she remains captivated by his hair while sipping on her milk.

Feeling a tad mischievous, George decides to shoot a quick Instagram story, showing the world his new hairdresser in action. Fans immediately flood the comments, loving the adorable interaction between the racing star and the tiny tot.

When you and Sebastian return, you find George seated, baby in his lap, both engrossed in a video of funny hair fails. His hair now looks nothing like its usual pristine self, instead resembling a bird’s nest.

“Seems like you two had quite the day,” you remark with a laugh.

George, brushing a hand through his tousled hair, smiles, “Best hair appointment ever. And the most adorable tiny stylist to boot.”

Lando Norris: Stealing the Show

“Alright, munchkin, just you and me today. How hard can this be?” Lando chirps, picking up the little bundle and settling her onto the couch, surrounding her with cushions. The room is set up for his usual streaming session, his gaming chair at the ready and multiple screens glowing.

He’s barely into his first game when a small cry interrupts him. “Hungry already?” he asks, looking over to see her trying to grab the controller lying next to her. “Ah, you want in on the action?”

Quickly, Lando scoops her up and settles her on his lap, handing her a toy controller. “There you go, co-host,” he says with a grin, adjusting his headset and returning to his game.

He’s live-streaming and the chat exploded with comments about his adorable helper.

Who’s the kiddo?

That’s some fierce competition you got there!

Does she have her own Twitch channel yet?

But the peace doesn’t last long. In the middle of a particularly intense race, the baby suddenly decides to slam her toy controller on the keyboard. The game goes haywire, Lando’s car spinning out of control.

“Oh no! Sabotage!” Lando exclaims, laughing even as he tries to regain control.

The baby giggles, clearly pleased with the chaos she’s caused. Lando’s chat goes wild with laughter and teasing comments.

Dude, you just got schooled by a baby!

That’s what you get for multi-tasking

She’s clearly the superior gamer

Shaking his head in mock exasperation, Lando says, “Alright, alright, you win this round.” He lifts her up, peppering her face with playful kisses, making her squeal and show a gummy smile.

Throughout the stream, there are more interruptions — from spit-up incidents to sudden dance breaks every time she gets fussy. Lando quickly learns that streaming with a baby requires a whole new level of multitasking.

As the stream comes to an end, Lando addresses his viewers. “Thanks for joining in. Hope you enjoyed the special appearance by our youngest gamer here. Maybe we’ll make this a regular thing?”

The unanimous response? More baby streams!

Chuckling, Lando signs off, “Say bye-bye, little co-driver.”

She waves her tiny hand as the screen goes black.

Mick Schumacher: Baby Meets Fur Baby

“Hey there, Ang,” Mick says with a smile as he enters the room, the baby cradled in his arms. Angie, his Australian Shepherd, immediately perks up, her tail wagging enthusiastically.

The baby’s eyes widen as she takes in the large, furry creature approaching her. Mick chuckles, gently lowering her onto the floor as he kneels down beside her. “This is Angie,” he introduces, watching as the dog sniffs curiously at the baby.

Angie’s warm, wet nose tickles the baby’s palm and she lets out a squeal, her fingers curling in delight. “Looks like you’ve made a new friend,” Mick chuckles, patting Angie’s head.

As if sensing the baby’s fascination, Angie sits down and gently places her head in the baby’s lap. The baby giggles, her tiny fingers brushing against the soft fur. Mick watches the interaction with a fond smile, his heart melting at the sight of his dog and baby sister bonding.

Mick then picks up a toy from the nearby pile and hands it to the baby. “Here you go, little one. Angie’s sharing her toys with you.”

The baby takes the toy, inspecting it with wide eyes before promptly attempting to shove it into Angie’s mouth. Mick chuckles softly, taking the toy from her and showing her how to play with it.

“Hey, Angie, be gentle,” Mick instructs his dog, who seems just as excited as the baby about the playtime. As Angie retrieves her own toy and lays down beside the baby, Mick joins them on the floor, ensuring the little one doesn’t get overwhelmed.

Time flies as they play together, the baby’s giggles filling the room. Mick can’t help but smile at the simple joy on her face and he finds himself falling into a gentle rhythm with her.

After a while, the baby’s eyelids start to droop and her fingers loosen their grip on the toy. Mick smiles, knowing she’s getting tired. “Looks like someone’s ready for a nap,” he whispers, carefully picking her up and cradling her in his arms.

Angie follows them as they make their way to the nursery. Mick gently lays her down in the crib, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “Sleep tight, little one.”

As he turns to leave the room, Angie hesitates by the crib, looking back at the baby with a soft whimper. Mick chuckles, scratching behind her ears. “Don’t worry, Ang. You’ll be here when she wakes up.”

Runaway Baby

Max, face flushed, darts through the paddock, narrowly avoiding a mechanic pushing a cart of tires. “I swear I just saw her here!” he shouts, barely avoiding a collision.

Lando, holding a stuffed bear, pants as he catches up, “I turned around for a second and she was gone! How does someone so small move so fast?”

Charles is on the phone, trying to speak over the noise, “We’ve got everything under control, just ... some tiny mishaps. Nothing to worry about!”

“Tiny mishaps? Charles, that’s an understatement!” George interrupts, waving a baby bottle in his hand.

Lance, coming out of the Aston Martin garage, looks worried, “Checked the garages, no sign of her. We need a strategy guys, like an actual race strategy but without Ferrari messing it up this time.”

George chimes in, “How did we lose her? There were six of us and one of her!”

Mick looks pale, “I was showing her my dad’s old helmet and turned around for one second to put it down. Then she just toddled away while I wasn’t looking!"

Suddenly, from a distance, there’s a familiar baby giggle. They turn to see a reporter, microphone in hand, crouched down in front of a camera. Their sister sits beside him, happily babbling away, reaching out for the fuzzy microphone cover.

The reporter, clearly amused, asks, “And who do you think is going to win the race today?” The baby, enthralled with the microphone, tries to chew on it.

Lando sighs in relief, “Well, she’s got a future in media, that’s for sure.”

Charles approaches the duo, scooping up the baby and thanking the reporter. “Thanks for babysitting. You might have a new pundit here.”

The grid kids gather around, all breathing sighs of relief. Max ruffles his sister’s hair, “You gave us quite the scare, snoepje.”

“She definitely knows how to steal the spotlight,” Mick says with a chuckle.

You and Sebastian, having witnessed the chaos from afar, approach with raised eyebrows. You smirk, “You guys thought babysitting in the paddock would be easy?”

Lando grins sheepishly, “Definitely more challenging than a race, that’s for sure.”

[lsunstreakerl]

@decidedly33 this has somehow become an inspiration circle... rb can max has come home to roost!

"...All that to say, corporate wants us to promote the seasonal flavors."

Max has his chin propped on his hand, half awake in the meeting room as their marketing lead clicks through a slideshow.

He's not sure why he needed to be here at Milton Keynes, at seven in the morning, just to be told he's going to be holding a different colored Red Bull can.

His eyes are drifting back shut when the next slide clicks over, and then they're suddenly wide open.

Liam makes a strangled laugh next to him, and Christian looks like he's trying very hard to keep a straight face.

"Are you fucking serious?"

Max doesn't mean to blurt it out- it just. Happens.

The slide has different mockups of their racing suits, in vibrant colors.

Liam finds his voice.

"Mate- no way. Are we actually wearing those? We're not actually wearing those."

He's looking at Christian for the last bit, voice wavering.

Christian presses his lips together, eyes sparking.

"You're wearing them."

Max blinks. He's staring at the screen, hoping that if he keeps looking at it, it will magically change to anything else. It doesn't. He's still looking directly at a racesuit mockup with his name on it, eye searingly orange. The APRICOT pasted across the right side, wrapping around mock-Max's ribs- it's mocking him.

He looks their marketing rep directly in the eyes.

"This is worse than the lederhosen."

Liam snorts as Christian winces.

"Max, don't say that-"

"No, it definitely is-"

------

GP ruffles Max's hair as he's hunched over his breakfast plate, and Max groans, because he knows where this is going.

"You excited to be orange today?"

Max is not excited to be orange. He misses the navy suits already.

Now he's an apricot.

"This is cruel, GP. I do not know what I did to deserve it."

GP snorts as he sits next to Max, setting his own plate gently on the table, followed by-

"Mate."

"I'm representing the brand, Max."

Max glares at the stupid orange can. He's going to see that shade everywhere. The whole team has been drinking them, as part of the push to showcase their "seasonal flavors".

Apparently, Max thinking of the original can as an extension of his own hand for over ten years hasn't been enough.

He groans, dropping his head against the table as GP pats his back.

"Cheer up Maxy, at least you've got some variety in your fireproofs now."

What.

------

They're maroon. The sponsors stand out on the sleeves, but he's still got a giant bull charging down his right tit, white against the maroon of the fireproofs. Marketing has left no stone unturned.

Max glares at them, willing himself to develop laser eyes and burn them to ashes.

Nothing happens, and the offending pile sits there on his bench.

Mocking him.

------

Liam looks hilariously terrible, which makes Max feel slightly better. The orange- or rather, apricot- color isn't doing his blonde any favors.

Max tugs at a sleeve as he stands inside hospitality, sulking. Liam is also sulking. The marketing department had thought it best to make the fireproof a surprise, so there's not been any kind of press announcement beyond a teasing "apricot in Zandvoort, anybody?" on the teams social media accounts.

He sighs, looking down at the suit. It's going to stand out weird next to the McLaren boys, but at the same time- it's hard to mistake a human sized Red Bull can.

"Hey Max?"

Max turns to look at Liam, whose young eyes are filled with pain and despair.

"Yes?"

"If you could go back in time, knowing you'd have to wear... this. Would you still pick Red Bull?"

Max looks back down at his feet. Even his racing boots are white and maroon.

He thinks of Mercedes, and of Ferrari. George and Kimi have looked defeated since day one of the season, and Charles and Lewis... They've all heard the radio messages.

Still. None of them are bright orange billboards.

"Nope."

Liam nods sadly.

"I'm bloodsworn. Why did I do that."

Max makes a face. He'd be more sympathetic- but he's also bloodsworn, so. Moot point.

------

Charles is staring at him on the truck as they get ready for the drivers parade. Max has been pretending not to notice for the last five minutes, but he can feel his gaze like ants on his skin, finally turning his head to meet his eyes, snapping.

"What?"

Charles holds up his hands in surrender, cheeks pink. Maybe the Ferrari suits are hot this year, or he hasn't had enough water.

"Nothing! Nothing. I uh- I like the new suit. Very... orange."

"It's apricot."

His eyes widen the same time Charles' do, and there's a disgusting feeling crawling up his spine as the words come out of his mouth. Charles is grinning.

"So, you will be respectful when the boys remind everyone that theirs is papaya, yes? Because it is clearly not all just 'orange'."

"Leclerc."

Charles snorts, clapping a hand over his mouth, and Max gives up, sighing.

"Yeah, whatever. Papaya, apricot... it's all fucking orange, mate."

------

In Max's defense, he's not thinking about the stupid suit when he jumps with the trophy- he's amazed that his pile of scrap metal survived to the last lap, absolutely baffled that he's standing in first place- he doesn't often get excited for wins anymore but this one is special, here at home.

So maybe he's excited. Maybe he jumps in the air, running to his mechanics.

It doesn't mean he deserves to be turned into a meme.

The fans feel otherwise. Max has three posts sent to him from Victoria by the time he can check his phone, and 18 messages from Danny, along with a six minute long voice message from Lando he's absolutely not listening to. There's also a single laughing emoji from Checo, which is really just salt in the wound, at this point. Max is going to make them send him one to wear anyways.

The most recent message from Dan just reads-

They're calling you starfishstappen, by the way. Max Verstarfish.

Max takes a deep breath. Shuts his phone off.

Dramatically drops onto the bed, screaming into the pillow, arms flopped wide on either side of him, legs dangling off the end.

Like a fucking starfi-

[kit-williams]

So as the resident astartes guru I'm hoping you can help me. They're pants crapingly terrifying really intimidating in a way that most people don't seem to be able parse. On the other hand they've been kicking around for the last century and they haven't taken over the world. Which if they wanted to they could probbably manage with like less than ten of those guys. I guess what I'm trying to say is they're a fact of life. Though if the whole being from the 30-41k Anno Domine rumor I saw on the internet is true? I'm worried about the far future of our species if we need that kinda firepower.

Sorry went on a bit of a squirrel hunt there. I inherited a cabin and a decent parcel in the back country, bordering on park land about 5 years back. I actually helped my uncle with some of the construction when I was in high-school. It's way off grid but I've got a safe well, a working septic tank, and enough solar cells on the roof to live prety comfortably unbothered by humans or space marines unless I make a trek into town in my pickup. Just a woman, her hunting guns, and her pack of four big dogs. (Two newfie cacusian shepard crosses, the black and tan hound my uncle brough home right before he passed, and a 100% mut whos great grandaddy was rumored to be a wolf or a traveling salesman.)

Well my unbotherd days I suspect are going to be coming to an end right quick. I was marking the inner parameter of my property with the dogs to deter predators. I don't disturb water sources or game trails but well... me, my dogs, and a gallon or so of Iced tea to, ah, scentmark territory close to the house to keep wolves and bears from wandering too close. There I am, free balling in a maxi dress and hiking boots, geting ready to squat when the dogs start barking and growling. And some uneartkly howling meets them. I look over to see bout a hundred yards off a space marine, I can only assume was a Space Wolf seeing as how he had a pack of about 3 Space Marines sized wolves. Swear to Christ and little baby Jesus he was doing the same thing I was. I my called dog stay which they did ready to defend and he certainly had control of his pack cause they stayed with him and settled down a bit. Don't know if it was a mistake or not but i just nodded politely squated at my tree and went on down my route with my dogs. He did the same and that was that.

Of course now I'm scouring the internet in the local diner, over thinking, and praying I didn't offend the space viking. Any advice on how to be good neighbors when you're not looking to bond or atract an astartes?

(Side note: thanks for the heads up in the other post about space wolves liking stills. I noticed driving into town that there was steam rising from about where my grandpa and uncles had their still. I was debating checking it out but after reading through your advice, I'll leave it to him. Specially since I never learned to use it. Dandelion wine on the otherhand? That's a specialty of mine.)

Offgrid Anon

SO you might actually be part of a small amount of people who don't feel a warm fuzzy feeling when interacting with Astartes and actually do feel dread and actually notice things about them. You've probably told people about your worries and nearly everyone has looked at you confused... took a hard look at them before its like they get reset before you pointed out something. I'm also not fully affected I don't feel the dread but I can see things that other people dont.

Yeah given where you live I honestly would be surprised how often you probably wont see them around, probably on some trail cams if you set them up. You might catch a chaos warband or two migrating around your property and/or some loyalist warbands. Not all of them like being around people ~Just as long as there's no reports of human killers in your area you should be fine by yourself.~

Uhhhh you should be fine you could always leave out rations packs or some minor supplies at like an edge of your property maybe even liking a lean too to allow them to sit.

[deke-rivers-1957]

Kung Fu Elvis Part 6

If you're new to this series, the point of this is to find out which Elvis character is the best fighter given an uninterrupted, hand to hand combat styled fight. The goal is to rank each individual Elvis character and then within each tier determine who would win against who.

How I plan on determining this will be by finding each character's age, size and general background. How well a character does in on screen fights will also be considered but analyzed on a case by case basis. Sometimes an Elvis character loses a fight simply because it's a comedy, or due to the low quality stage fighting wins because his opponents are laughably weak.

At the end of the day this is all headcanon as these are all fictional characters. If you disagree with how I rank a character I would love to hear your thoughts on where you would put them.

So to expand on what I was thinking in Danny's tidbit, the beginning clearly shows that black people live in this neighborhood. Yet the scene where Danny goes to school has not a single black student. Granted it could be chalked up as an oversight since the school really only appears once, but it does reflect what New Orleans was like. While segregated schools were deemed illegal in 1954, enforcing that took time. New Orleans wouldn't have desegregated public schools until 1960 (2 years after King Creole was released). Even though black people don't really get a lot of attention, we do see black musicians in Maxie's club. Since we don't see Maxie mistreat them similar to how he mistreats Ronnie or bosses Shark around, we can assume that at the very least Maxie maintains a professional relationship reflect the shift in attitude towards enforcing desegregation. That's why I'm sticking with this taking place in the mid to late 1950s.

The Wikipedia page for this movie says Danny is 19. Like I said, if he was only repeating his senior year the first time that would make him 18 going on 19. He doesn't drink any alcohol nor does he serve alcohol. His original job is a busboy which you can be as young as about 16. For simplicity's sake, Danny will be 19 since he likely would've turned 19 over the course of the movie.

I didn't give Steve a rank but it's still fun to discuss history. For instance, the strongest clue that we are in the mid to late 1960s involve using real life racers in the opening credits. Stock car racing has been super popular in the south since the 1940s, but the real life Charlotte Motor Speedway wouldn't be opened until 1960. If we assume that Richard Petty in the movie is the exact same as the real life person, then his racing career started in 1958 with his best season being in 1967. Buddy Baker while he raced since 1959 wouldn't get his first win until 1967. If Steve Grayson is a very successful racer while these real life racers are participating, then this movie would actually need to be before 1967. And not just for one season but multiple seasons since Steve owes $150k in back taxes. Prize purses wouldn't be that big for Steve to owe that much in one tax year. While the cars used in the movie do include 1967 models, you can still assume that we start in 1964 and then after the montage it's now 1967.

There are many NASCAR series with the youngest racer ever varying, but the typical age limit is 18. Steve doesn't have a canon age, but the real life racers do. Going back to the assumption that everything happens the same way, Richard Petty would 30 and Buddy Baker would be 26 in 1967. For Steve to have his best seasons before 1967, he likely would be older than both of them. Therefore I would put Steve at about 31-32 years old.

This movie is so hard to pinpoint regarding time period with anachronistic it is. You have Blackie talk about a guy having Confederate money which only makes sense if this was 1865 immediately after the Civil War ended. Confederate money essentially became worthless once the Confederacy surrendered so there would be no reason to try using it to buy anything let alone gamble. At the same time you have Johnny singing about dating Lillian Russell who wouldn't even be born until 1860 and wouldn't be famous until at least the 1880s. Knowing that Mardi Gras wouldn't be a state holiday until 1875 doesn't help because we have the characters already know how a masquerade party operates and the Madam Pompadour costume references a woman from the 1700s. The Nellie Bly reference doesn't work either because the real Nellie Bly was born in 1864 and was never a stage performer as she is most well known for her trip around the world in 1889. There's also the issue that radios nor phones seem to exist, yet Johnny is singing black spirituals that wouldn't have known recordings until the 1920s. I just can't break it down any further than late 1860s-early 1920s based on everything we were given being true at the same time.

We know almost nothing about Johnny. He doesn't even have a last name. The legal gambling age doesn't help since the riverboat Johnny is on operates to specifically skirt around state laws and neither would the legal drinking age for the same reason. With cars not existing in plain sight and drivers licenses not even existing until the early 1900s, we can't go off of that either. Judging by his appearance let's just say Johnny is about 30.

I talked in great length about the US-UK relations so I'll focus on how the US-Belgium relations history. The people in Belgium treat Guy favorably meaning the people as a whole didn't see Americans as an enemy. Favorable relations existed since at least the 1800s and still exist today which isn't all that helpful. Belgium doesn't speak English at the same rates as their neighbors so we can't look at a specific date where it became an official language. Therefore we have to look even closer at the cities in Belgium that are featured/mentioned: Brussels and Antwerp. Brussels is big enough that uncle Gerald wants to send Jill to a boarding school there with the economy as a whole experiencing a large growth from foreign investment in the 1960s. As for Antwerp, there was a decade plan from 1956-1965 to modernize their ports. We don't get to see much of it, but Guy and Jill going to the S.S Damocles out of desperation shows some of it. The ship itself is so rusted up, that it looks out of place in an otherwise clean port. Therefore I stand by my opinion that this takes place around 1966.

I already talked about Guy's age in my tidbit and I don't really have anything else to add. I still stand by having him be about 31.

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

Danny gets into multiple altercations and even fights Maxie while he has a gun. Since Danny survived that fight without getting shot, that boosts his case. His fight against Shark involved a knife and while they should both be disqualifying factors, Danny didn't need to rely on a weapon to win. Shark dying from getting stabbed was an unintended consequence. Danny won because he overpowered Shark which still requires both skill and strength.

Danny does look scrawny. However, he isn't starving. Mr. LeGrand I imagine would allow him to have a cheap meal in between shows. With how successful his shows are after Maxie dies and the city as a whole experiencing economic growth, Danny can live quite comfortably. With his act being very physical, Danny's stamina at his age can only get better. Easily A tier.

Steve punched a man out. And that's it. One punch isn't a fight by my rules so it's disqualified from counting towards a rank.

Racers while not bound to a specific weight do prefer light drivers. As much as Steve has over $100k in debt, he won't starve. His skill as a racer hasn't declined, so he would still be able to live somewhat comfortably. Outside of that, Steve would be mostly sedentary and could only stay fit on his own time. While he would probably still be in B tier he does not rank there's nothing in canon that shows his skill level.

Johnny fought a drunk Braden that ended with Braden getting hit by Mitzi with a champagne bottle. That's outside interference which disqualifies the fight from counting towards a rank.

Johnny is in constant gambling debt on a riverboat. He works there and wouldn't go hungry if he's part of the entertainment group. With how successful his latest act is, the need to gamble is gone. He would be able to live comfortably and unless absolutely necessary, wouldn't need to fight. I would put him C tier as he would just be average, but his only altercation doesn't count so he doesn't rank either.

He only has one fight but it's against a trained hitman. But he won. Without a weapon or outside help. That automatically makes him above average.

Similar to Danny and Johnny, Guy would have a comfortable lifestyle. He even admits to such as he gets a decent amount of money doing international shows. Assuming Jill gets her full inheritance eventually, Guy being married to her means he likely won't have perform to live anymore. He stays in B tier since he does still have skill past 30 but I think Danny could beat him.

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

To summarize this part:

Danny is in A.

Guy is in B.

Steve and Johnny DNA and will not get a rank.

Tagging: @callieselvisobsessed, @vintagepresley, @somethingaboutelvis, @tupelomiss, @eapep,

@freudianslumber, @makethemorning, @southcarolinawoman, @thelonelyheart, @ssinnerplazahotel,

@squaggleson, @hooked-on-elvis, @smokeymountainboy, @swingdownsweetchariot, @suraemoon,

@be-my-ally, @thatbanditqueen, @pledgingmylovee, @arrolyn1114, @foreverlovingelvis,

@presleyslilbaby and @seredelgi.

[r0-boat]

I'm not sure if you write these two, but...

Imagine Hucow Archie and Maxie. Just imagine what they'd be like, what shenanigans* they'd get up to around the farm.

*includes them fighting

Holy shit could you fucking imagine?! I already have so many things in my head.

BullFarm au! Maxie & Archie shenanigans & headcannons

Fighting? These two are always fighting so much so that slowly but surely, your boss just stopped caring about stopping them. It was futile. Even when he would separate them somehow, they would always find a way to round it. These two bowls are constantly fighting with their fists, their horns hell, even biting(archie) every time there's just muffled commotion; your boss just size Takes a cigarette out and starts smoking and begs for you to deal with it while trying to nurse a migraine he could already feel coming.

Archie starts most of the fights, but Maxie is the one that provokes Archie making him angrier. However around you they seem calm and willing to be in the same 5 ft apart from each other. They know that you hate when they fight so every time you walk around the corner they just sit there quietly glaring at each other while you're doing your work perhaps take this time to bother you instead of focusing on each other.

Before they had become residents on your farm Archie was a hybrid fighter, when people would put hybrids up against each other to fight though he was rescued he didn't seem too bad about it in fact he would eagerly tell you about his fights and accomplishments despite the horrors you have heard from the conditions hybrids would be put in.

Maxie, before he found his way to the farm was a test subject in a lab however not in the same way Colress and Volo where. Colress was genetically created and modified ; Volo was revived from one; Maxie practically grew up there where you would do all sorts of intelligence measuring and training tests perhaps as he got older the scientists retired him to a nice farm to live on. He seems to have learned a thing or two from being there.

Archie has been in so many sparring matches he has scratches and scars on his horns and all over his body which he's very eager to tell you, stories about each and every one. Well he doesn't do full on fights anymore you can happily see him sparring with the stronger Bulls and lifting heavy things trying to keep his form.

Archie is a mighty Bull but would never pick fights with anyone weaker than himself physically, even Maxie, though that quickly changes when Maxie throws insults at him. Maxie, even though he doesn't like fighting, wants to make Archie very angry. He is swift to dodge his attacks, always trying to counter them. Archie thinks he would have been an ok hybrid fighter. Maxie doesn't even want to entertain the idea.

Maxie is not much of a talker unless it's to tell random trivia about plants, ecology, and animals. Maxie is a bit of a bookworm. Most Bulls are not usually interested in human writings, but Maxie is not one of them. In fact, every time you come back to the farm from the town, he would eagerly ask you if you bought anything to read.

Maxie is obsessed with the land and the beautiful natural wonders of this world. Perhaps he had seen something in his youth that made him truly appreciate the land's Beauty. Maxie, after you gave him a new book to read, would always sit either under the shade or out in the sun, looking out into the vast field and Forest of the farm with a book in hand, taking in the fresh air.

Archie is fascinated with the ocean deaths. Something new and unexplored is filled with weird creatures, some strong, some weak. He thinks he is the most muscular Bull on the land, which makes sense since he is fascinated with sharks being the ocean's apex predators. Archie is just a bull that loves the water he seems to always know when the sprinklers come on in the fields and sneaks out there just to get a nice refreshing spray. yeah he's the reason your boss has you stand out there sometimes to watch the sprinklers go

You would think Maxie would also like the ocean because of his natural curiosity and since the sea is mostly unexplored, right? Nope he is terrified of it and he hates it so many weird bizarre and unknown creatures and places he likes the land nice and familiar he thinks most biomes in the ocean are just rocks in the sand.

Archie thinks the land is boring since humans had already explored every nook and cranny; meanwhile, the ocean has not been fully explored.

Archie loves to show off his strength by lifting farm equipment, sparing other bulls while your watching, picking you up to help you reach any thing high. He would happily lift anything for you.

Maxie reads books to you. On your breaks, you lay next to him on the soft grass as he reads you a new book you got him.

[madameaug]

Turkey Turkey Day

Pairing: Jungkook x Jennette

Context: New parents Jungkook and Jennette getting food prepared with their little Peanut. Peanut is 3 months <3

Jennette listened attentively to the baby monitor to watch out for when Peanut woke up. Peanut was sleeping on her back with her hands resting above her temple. Her feet occasionally rubbed against each other, so she would be waking up soon. Jennette would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night just to watch Peanut breathe. It didn't matter if she was exhausted or just put the toddler down from feeding. She would get up again and make sure she was okay.

Lucky for the new parents, they just had to host Thanksgiving. Their parents were bringing all of the dishes that they would be eating. They weren't heartless. No way could three months postpartum could Jennete prepare a proper Thanksgiving dinner.

"Jungkook, do you wanna go wake up Peanut. It's getting close to her feeding time." Jungkook in the middle of brushing his teeth nodded. He rolled his neck to the side. He was dressed up semi-formally. A brown collared shirt, with khaki pants. A gold watch on his wrist and he was rocking his shorter hairdo. Jungkook cleaned up nicely.

"You look beautiful Jeanie."

Jennette was putting on more than a graphic t-shirt and maternity pants for the first time since Peanut was born. She still had a bump but was slowly returning to her pre-pregnancy weight. She wasn't too worried about losing the baby weight. It made her nostalgic. She grew a tiny human in this deflating belly. The same tiny human that had captured her heart since she came into the world a few months ago.

Nevertheless, soaking in the tub and getting gussied up still felt good. Going along with the brown theme, Jennette was in a puffy-sleeved maxi dress. Around her hips was a gold belt, that gave her that hourglass shape. The baby weight that she had was distributing itself nicely. Her breast went up a cup size, and she butt was more pronounced. She was a walking definition of a milf. An inside joke with Nala.

"Damn I look good."

Jennette shamelessly took pictures of herself. Her face card was valid with matte look. Her Coi Leray braids were freshly done two nights ago and her confidence was high. Now it was time to go see her baby.

She didn't expect to see her three-month-old newborn in a miniature. turkey outfit. Peanut was awake, bubbles coming out of her mouth. Jungkook was playing with her feet. Giving them rapid kisses.

"Why is my baby a turkey?"

"I saw it on Amazon and thought it was too cute not to buy." Jungkook gently lifted Peanut out of her crib. He supported her head as she laid her cheek on his shoulder. Peanut’s fat feet were sticking out of the turkey onesie. The hood was decorated to look like feathers, with a small peak on the top. Jennette wanted to coo, seeing how small Peanut looked compared to her father. She was a little bit bigger than his pecs.

"She does look adorable." Jennette snapped another picture. She would definitely send this picture to her family group chat.

"Come on let's feed her, before she everyone shows up.”

<3. <3. <3.

Peanut in all her turkey glory was the center of attention at the dinner table. Her travel crib was pulled up beside Jennette and Jungkook. This was the first time that the grandparents could touch their grand baby.

Jungkook and Jennette wanted a couple of weeks to themselves with Peanut. They didn’t want to be suffocate under the new baby attention. And now that Peanut had a couple of vaccines in her system, they were slowly introducing her to other adults.

Jungkook’s mother currently held Peanut in her arms, bouncing her softly. Peanut was staring at her grandmother, leaning forward to leave wet “kisses” on her cheek. In any other context the sight would be gross, and very unsanitary. But it was melting the hearts of the older adults.

Jennette ate the Korean-Soul food dishes. She had her favorites from each couzine. Mac n cheese, collard greens, honey butter cornbread, and her mother in law kimchi. She was eating good, and baby duty was being happily taken care of by her parents/ in laws.

Jennette was truly grateful and thankful for her family.

[onboardsorasora]

Needed a break from all my WIPs and wrote this little holiday bit. It's set in what I'm now going to call the 'Relaxed & Happy Verse' and this AU is going to be only happy fluffy established relationship drabbles. slices of life if you will. This is the same verse as the Love Letters fluff prompt.

Here are the previous fics in this verse.

Christmas Shopping.

Max leaned back into Daniel’s chest, staring proudly over at the Christmas tree the other had insisted on. This was their first Christmas here at home in Monaco. The first one where they weren’t jetting off to be with the other’s family. It wasn’t planned, it kinda just happened that way and Max couldn’t find it in himself to be mad.

This meant that they actually had to put effort into celebrating. The first step was agreeing to decorate the apartment. They argued about the tree– what size, what shape, even the colour. Then they argued about the coloured theme to decorate the tree. It was then they both realized how truly out of the loop they were when it came to actually making a home Christmassy.

So they went to a store and just picked things up that caught their eye. There was no rhyme or reason, no theme or plan. In the end their tree looked beautiful in Max’s opinion. They had unconsciously agreed to not go over the top, so there was still a lot of ‘tree’ to be seen. It was very them but in a simple way.

They didn’t decorate the rest of the apartment, not really. They got a wreath for the front door and Daniel saw some cute tea towels with Christmas puns on them. But outside of that, the tree was the focal point.

Daniel tilted his neck so that his cheek rested Max’s head. He kissed the crown of his head and pulled him closer.

“I have an idea for presents.” Daniel began ominously. Max peeked up at him curiously. “Ok hear me out.”

“Go on.”

“So– well firstly. Are we gonna do that thing where we agree not to buy each other a gift but then buy multiple gifts and like just hand them to each other and not wait til actual Christmas day? Or do you wanna like have everything be a surprise on one day? Because if you do…..”

Max snorted as Daniel’s speech got faster the more he got excited. It was a good thing he was an expert at translating Daniel’s brain trains. 

“Do you want us to wait until Christmas morning to open presents?” Max asked instead.

“Uh, yeah. I think it’ll be fun.”

“Then we’ll do that.” Max said it like it was simple. Because it was.

“Ace! Okay! Then that means we have officially entered an embargo on buying things for ourselves. Lock the doors! Blare the sirens! The embargo has begun!” Daniel cupped his hands around his mouth for his voice to echo around the room. Max laughed heartily at his antics. 

This would be their second ever shopping embargo. The first one happened when Victoria gave birth to Lio and Michelle to Isabella and they both had just been sending gifts without even thinking about it. Grace had to call to put a stop to it. They embargoed for four whole months. It was a dark time.

“Ok, now what?” Max leaned onto the arm of the couch so he could see Daniel properly while he laid out the plan. He lifted his feet to rest in Daniel’s lap and Daniel immediately dropped his palm to circle Max’s ankle.

“Right! So.” Daniel grinned. “Now, we figure out whatever gifts we wanna get and we buy them. BUT like, they have to be a secret. Like we have to promise to not like search for them or go poking at them when they're under the tree. Deal?” He held out his pinky and Max eyed him seriously for a minute before hooking his own pinky around Daniel’s.

“Deal. Of course we’ll both be here the whole time, Daniel.” He said it clearly like Daniel hadn’t considered that fact. Daniel grinned a wolfish grin.

“Oh Maxy Max. That's the best part!” He rubbed his palms together deviously. “So like, literally use everything to your advantage. If you need to lock me out onto the patio and close the blinds while you wrap, just like give me some water and my phone charger yeah?”

Max gave a confused eyebrow lift and Daniel continued.

“Yeah like for this to work, we actually have to play along- suspend our disbelief, pretend we’re in a play and there's a backstage or whatever. We’re both gonna be here almost the whole time so there's not many opportunities to sneak shit. So yeah, if you ask me to lock myself in the bedroom so you can go pick up whatever and take your time to put it under the tree. I’ll be in the bedroom, headphones on– music on loud. Until you let me out.” He shrugged. 

“Ok. I think I got it. Deal.” Max affirmed and Daniel’s answering smile was as blinding as it was mischievous. What had he gotten himself into?

– - –

Max had gotten lucky within a week of their deal. Daniel needed to fly to the Factory for some last minute set up testing before everyone closed down for the holiday. He’d been able to take his time and picked out a gift he knew Daniel would find hilarious and fall in love with.

Max wrapped the box with Sassy’s management and hid it in one of his suitcases in the storage closet. He then ended up buying two more things, deciding they would make perfect dummy gifts and set them for delivery.

Daniel had come back with a flourish, announcing that he had bought Max’s gift and it was on its way. Max had shaken his head fondly. Daniel was enjoying this thoroughly– Max was too, but Daniel was seemingly brimming with excitement about the whole process.

That excitement reached a peak one afternoon. Max was on stream with the Redline boys, playing one of the geography games where Gianni kept lessening the amount of time every round, when Daniel came barrelling into the sim room.

He dipped into the frame and waved to the camera before plucking the headset off of Max’s head. Max’s complaints were heard in the background even while Enzo and Crane both dissolved into giggled and Gianni tried to calm the chat from asking Daniel a barrage of questions. They knew he was only here to cause chaos and leave.

“Hey boys! Can you do me a favour real quick? I need you guys to keep Max distracted for like 30 minutes.”

“Daniel! You can’t just–” Max was laughing in the background, his glee broadcasting for everyone.

“The rules are that I can use whatever is at my disposal!” Daniel argued. “Thanks guys! Hey chat!” Daniel waved and deposited the headset back on Max’s head and left the room. Leaving Max to deal with the fall out while Daniel wrapped whatever gift he’d bought.

“Mate the chat is going crazy, you’re gonna need to give us something here.” Bennett couldn’t keep his grin off of his face. Max sighed in the most fake, put-upon way. They all knew he was extremely private with his relationship– for obvious reasons. It wasn’t as if they weren’t out or open, but they were both very private people. 

“Ok ok! I’ll answer three questions. Make them good Crane.”

“Why give Crane the power?” Gianni complained.

“Because he’s gonna choose shit questions.” Max grinned mischievously into the camera.

“Ok got it. First question Maxy Taxi.” Crane steepled his fingers and raised an eyebrow in a poor evil villain imitation.

“Oh boy.” Bennett couldn’t hold back his giggles.

“First question. What the fuck was all that about?” The group laughed loudly and Max covered his face in his hands.

“I think my Christmas gift just came and of course he wants to make sure I don’t see it.”

“That’s a bit over the top mate.” Gianni pointed out.

“Daniel’s a bit over the top, mate.” Crane shrugged as if it all made sense to him.

“I mean– we are under embargo. Shocking, right?” Max announced to the surprise of the group who nodded sagely, remembering him complaining about the last embargo. 

“OG chat knows.” Enzo piped up.

“That counts as a second answer by the way. So one more!” Max cackled when everyone started arguing loudly into their mics.

“Ok ok ok! Fine, last question. What did you get him?” Crane asked.

“Of course I’m not telling you! Then it’ll end up all over the internet and spoil the surprise.” Max snorted, thoroughly enjoying how everyone started ganging up on Crane for the silly question. He didn’t even realize the door to the sim room finally opened until after all the games were done.

“Am I allowed to come out?” He called out into the hallway tentatively. Sassy rubbed her body around his shins.

“Yup! You’re free to go!” Daniel called from what seemed like the kitchen. Max walked into the living room and snorted a laugh. Daniel cackled from the kitchen at his response. 

The tree was dwarfed by a large wrapped box leaned up on the wall beside it. It was comical.

“It's just a small gift you know? Something tiny that I saw and thought of you.” Daniel’s grin was so wide it was almost manic. It was clear how proud of himself he was. Max couldn’t help but grin back, hopeless against Daniel’s joy.

“Daniel, you told me it was ‘ornament sized’!” Max laughed breathlessly as he looked at the tree.

“Max, it's so tiny! Look at it getting lost by the tree, you’ll never know it was there if I didn’t point it out to you.”

They laughed for a bit before Daniel’s grin got smug. “Well it seems like I’m in the lead Maxy Max. My gift for you is already here. I’m what you call prepared with a capital P.”  Daniel folded his arms and nodded his head. All cocky and self-satisfied.

Max rolled his eyes and looked down at Sassy who seemed to be sharing his reaction to Daniel. He’d had a plan, to present the dummy gifts (that actually were small) before bringing the original gift out with a flourish. But Max was nothing if not a competitive asshole who loved to win. So he smirked at Daniel before turning and walking back down the hallway.

“Max?” Daniel called curiously, hearing the sound of a door opening and shuffling. His eyes widened comically when Max re-entered the room with a large box and placed it gently under the tree. 

“Actually Daniel. Your gift, of course, has been here.” Max’s lips quirked upwards as Daniel rewarded him with a breathless laugh, complete with a clap and little hop.

“That's the spirit Maxy!” Daniel walked across the room and pulled Max into his arms. Max was curious as to the nature of Daniel’s gift, but he truly didn’t care. Because this was already one of the best Christmases they’d ever shared.

“I love you, Daniel.” Max murmured, feeling warm all over.

“I love you too, Maxy Max.” Daniel planted a wet kiss on his cheek that had Max dipping his head into Daniel’s shoulder, blushing wildly. Even after all this time.

[ju-draws-worms]

Shower thought: I have a break so can we talk. About Max. For a minute. [TLDR: MAJOR spoilers ahead]

I've seen a lot of book reviews saying Max is the obligatory "normal one", and I guess the general consensus is that takes on sort of a protagonist role who does not really have much to offer as a character. I could not disagree with that more, though, especially upon my later reads. From the way I see it, Max is maybe the most integral character (besides our antagonist) to this book.

Max is the sheepdog. We establish that right off the bat. He is a watcher, a quiet protector and observer. He is gentle and contemplative-- you don't hear him speak up as much as the other characters or show out, but you see those very characters from his perspective, and you come to love them through him. He is, of course, the initial holder of the walkie talkie and the surgeon's assistant--it's through these things and more that we come to realize that Max is the true shepherd of the group, despite Kent's size and Eef's charisma. He's silent until he's needed, and he shows his capability and wisdom as a leader when others are in trouble (i.e Kent during the storm, the Sparkplugs/Newt in the boat, need I go on)

Of course, a huge chunk of that portends to his friendship with Ephraim. He's his wrangler (ha) yes, but they balance each other out-- Ephraim feels a lot of fearful rage, and Max is the only one that can comfort him and bring him a sense of calm. Likewise, I think Ephraim is a very righteous and emotional character driven to action when he feels like things aren't fair (I'll get back to this later.)

On the other hand, Max is the defuser of conflict, even though he himself ends up taking a backseat most of the time.

Most pertinent I think is his love for living things-- I see him as a sort of yang to Shelley's yin, the guardian and preserver of life whereas Shelley is a destroyer, picking life apart with no regard to its significance. We see this clear as day in several places, notably with the 'death of the puffins' flashback, and especially with the death of the turtle. Even for survival, we tearfully acknowledge with Max that there is mourning to be had over the suffering, the uselessness, and the melancholy of death. Life is precious. Living things have meaning and sentimentality to them, and deserve to be loved and taken care of.

All that preservation of life vs. death stuff hits a massive crescendo when Max finds Eef dead. We watch this benevolent, calm character witness the culmination of that destruction, and to the person he (arguably) loved the most, no less. That balance gets thrown off. We watch him get angry for the first time, driven to action just like Eef, and righteously so. At least from my perspective, watching him confront Shelley for that and everything else he's done (especially for the first time read) was awe-inspiring. Watching Max have that same righteous anger was like watching the two of them finally join hands, in a weird sad way.

All this really reinforced (upon my later rereads) that it makes sense to me why Max is the "final girl." He's the cornerstone, and he's all that's left when everything else is stripped away.

Anyways something something Maxi Pad for president

[carolmunson]

coolio voice at the beginning of the kenan and kel intro: awwwwwww. here it goes.

The loud clink of metal to glass echoes in the empty bar, as he flips his bottle opener between his fingers like muscle memory stuffing it in his back pocket.

i need him to fuck me your honor.

“I can hear it now.” He changes the pitch of his voice so it sounds like a bad version of yours before he continues with an exaggerated batting of his lashes, “Oh Eddie, Steve is just so dreamy. Do you think he thinks I’m cute? Will you talk to him? Come on Eddie!”

i'm not kidding, i want to bear his children.

Finally feeling ready enough to leave, you adjust the black velvet choker around your neck with lavender painted nails. They highlight the lime green tube top that wraps around your chest as you pull at your black maxi skirt that sits above your hips hugging your curves just right.

this gave me flashbacks of scenes in 90s movies where girls get ready for a date and how i couldn't wait to grow up to look like them. i wanna grow up to be here! also the apartment description? baby carol's dream. my sister had the mudd version of these slides when we were kids and i was always SO jealous.

Bent over, you watch him collect what looks like an orange Tamagotchi, stuffing it quickly in his back pocket before brushing the dust off his dark denim clad thighs. The way he fills his jeans has your mouth dry up and his muscles flex under the black cotton shirt that wraps tight around his torso, the seams barely containing what’s underneath. Turning around he runs a big hand through his honey colored locks that stop just below his ears, pushing the fly aways from his face while the shine of the street lamp highlights his cheekbones and sharp jaw.

i'm experiencing female ejaculate, your honor

“I sure hope so.” Pulling a toothpick out of his back pocket, he slides it between his lips. Jaw clenching when he bites down on the wood while his eyes roam your curves again before offering you another grin.

i'm due in february.

He inches just a little closer to teeter on the edge of what’s appropriate before responding, “Oh yeah? Did you like what you heard baby?”

good fucking god.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He winks like an expert before making a big show of bringing your ID close to his face like it might be a fake.

i will never be the same after this exchange.

“You’re free to go in. You know where to come when you wanna talk about all those things you liked hearing about me.”

my loins.

...Eddie mocking him behind his back, mouthing ‘DORK’ with a shit eating grin before finally attending to the girl with smeared makeup that had been desperately trying to get his attention from the other end of the bar.

god i love my mean husband boyfriend.

The bouncer looks pointedly at the man beside you, sizing him up, smile stretching wider when he assesses his threat. Leaning against the wall, he crosses his arms across his chest so the sleeves of his shirt look like they are being pushed to their limits as the muscles in his biceps flex. Hips pushed out in a way that’s daring you to look below his waist, he throws you a wink with a snap of his gum.

daddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddydaddy

“You’ve got this honey, tell him to fuck off and go home with Lisa if that’s what he wants so bad,” Steve champions, patting her on the back, a new layer to Maryanne’s story being revealed.

feminist king, he's for the girls.

“Listen, my best friend got it for me. I thought it was incredibly stupid, and I definitely told her it was too.” The hand on your waist leaves to dig his Tamagotchi out of his front pocket. “But now I’m attached to the little guy.” 

and a present father, we stan.

Eddie’s knowing chuckle is the last thing you want to hear but that’s just how the night is going now.

he's so me.

“I’m really going to need you to watch your mouth champ. No need to call girls names. You’re a big boy.” Steve’s tone is condescending as he squares up, making sure you’re behind him.

STEVE SAYING CHAMP. STEVE SAYING CHAMP. MY PUSSY WEEPS AT THIS PRAYER.

“There, go play nurse with lover boy and get out of my hair tonight. I’m like this close,” he pinches two fingers together to show “to scoring and you both have been fucking it up every chance you can get. I swear to god.” 

stop COCKBLOCKING HIM steve! also, him intervening in the fight? immediately smash.

“But nurse, I don’t know. I think I should stay, I got hit in the face too. Concussions you know? I really shouldn’t be alone tonight.” He lays it on thick, eating up the way he sees you loving it spreading across your face when you ring out the soapy rag.

i can't wait to fuck him.

“I need to hear you say it.” He keeps rubbing circles, applying just enough pressure for you to forget how to speak, “Come on, be a good girl for me.”

“Give it to me,” he demands, coming up for air. Fingertips relentless against the spot that has you squelching loudly.

GIVE IT TO ME????!?!?!? ARE YOU INSANE?!?!?!

“I’m gonna ask again, are you gonna cum for me?” He keeps his voice even, but he knows he’s not gonna last much longer, especially not when your cheek hits the mattress and you meet his eyes looking like that.

“Our babies need daddy, honey,” he groans, slowly lifting himself up on his elbows.

leighanne you need to go to FEDERAL PRISON.

“Child support? No, we're raising these kids together. So I’m gonna need you to care a little bit about keeping her alive. It's not just you here honey.” He tosses you the toy before jumping back on the bed pulling your body into his chest with ease, “I’m afraid you’re never getting rid of me.”

WHAT DID I SAY EARLIER?! A PRESENT FATHER! A PRESENT GRANDFATHER!

anyway, this is me now, i won't be recovering. i hope eddie and reader could hear me getting plowed from the window when they were outside:

bouncer!steve x fem!reader steve’s night.

🎵 I finally found someone that can make me laugh, hahaha you so crazy, I think I wanna have your baby.🎵

summary: You’ve got a crush on the new bouncer at The Foxy Lounge. Turns out he’s not very good at his job.

word count: 13.6k

warnings: 18 + 90’s AU// Steve is in his early 30’s, Your date gets drunk and says some night nice things, some mild violence (bar fights), possessive steve, fingering, smut (p in v) cream pie, ass eating (f! receiving), oral (f! receiving), dirty talk.

authors note: It’s finally here! Part two of Whatta man! Steve’s night. You don’t have to read Eddie’s Night to read this one, I just think it’s more fun if you do 😉 There’s LOTS of bartender!eddie in this fic if you miss him though. (he’s your bff) This part has been a long time coming (since march lol) and I’m so happy to finally share this with you. Thank you to all of my friends who have had to listen to me talk about this for months and all of you guys who have sent me asks about our favorite boys at the foxy lounge! I wouldn’t of been able to do this with out your endless support, and excitement for this little world. Thank you, ily forever 💗

The perks of moving into the apartment that presides above The Foxy Lounge were vast for a single girl like yourself, but the perks of becoming friends with the bartender that worked there seemed to make them endless. 

Memorized orders and free drinks when he was feeling nice (which he almost always was), he wore the crown of wingman of the century with pride, Eddie always made sure you had a good time. It was days like today that were your favorite though, heading home from a shitty morning shift at work, you weren’t surprised when you tugged on the front door an hour before open and it wasn’t locked. The annoyed look on his face told you he wasn’t either. An irritated groan leaves his chest at the carelessness of the owner and your landlord before popping the caps off two beers with ease. The loud clink of metal to glass echoes in the empty bar, as he flips his bottle opener between his fingers like muscle memory stuffing it in his back pocket.

“He’s gonna get us robbed one day, and I’m just gonna take my favorite bottle for damages and let them have the rest at this point.” His smile shows the lack of truth behind his words when you sit in the stool in front of him.

“Lucky for the both of you, it’s always just me.”  Winking when you take a swig, the bitter liquid and the company eases the bad day out of your bones almost instantly.

The beginnings of a relaxed sigh start to push past your lips when the jarring sound of his rings slapping against the wood of the bar to the tune of a drum roll has you tense right back up. You’re unable to stop the slam of your beer before deadpanning, “you know I hate when you do that-“

“My best buddy Steve starts tomorrow night, I finally got Rick to say yes.” Eddie’s excitement has him vibrating when he cuts you off to tell you the news of the latest Foxy Lounge employee. “You’re gonna have such a crush on him. I’m calling it now.” The smirk on his face and the arch of his brow dare you to challenge him as he leans forward into your space.

Rolling your eyes with a snort, you start picking at the white sticker wrapped around the bottle. 

“As if you know my type, Munson.” You can’t control the twitch of your lips the second the words leave your mouth when you finally dare to meet his amused gaze.

Eddie knew your type better than anyone else. Watching the men and sometimes women you’d bring upstairs weekend after weekend. He had you pegged and the Cheshire smile on his face told you he knew it too.

“I can hear it now.” He changes the pitch of his voice so it sounds like a bad version of yours before he continues with an exaggerated batting of his lashes, “Oh Eddie, Steve is just so dreamy. Do you think he thinks I’m cute? Will you talk to him? Come on Eddie!”

“I do NOT talk like that, asshole!” Launching a handful of bar nuts at him, he raises his hands in mock surrender shaking out the few that got stuck in his hair with a booming laugh.

“I don’t think that's a nice way to treat the guy who not only didn’t kick you out but also gave you a free beer before we opened, sweetheart.” His dimpled grin and perfect smile almost has your stomach in butterflies.

“I basically live here, besides your boss is the one who left the door unlocked. Maybe it’s a good thing you’re upping your security around here,” you tease, gulping down the rest of the beer before sliding the empty bottle over. 

“We’ll see about this Steve guy you won’t shut up about, who knows Eddie, maybe it’s you who’s got a crush.” 

Sweeping up the mess you made behind his bar he smirks before wiggling his brows.

“Everyone’s got a crush on Steve, baby.”

The pink fluorescent lights of the Foxy Lounge sign that hangs outside your window paints your studio in a blush tinted glow. It bleeds through the sheer floor length curtains, softening its harshness in a way that you liked. The darkness outside always makes it shine brightest around this time, a constant fight with your overhead lamp before bed. Your eyes catch the glaring red numbers on your clear digital clock reading 8:45pm.

Shit. You’re late.

No Doubt’s I’m Just A Girl plays loud enough through your boom box speakers to drown out the murmurs of the bar downstairs that spill through the slight crack in your bedroom window. You finish the last touch ups to the bubble gum colored gloss that coats your lips, smacking them together loudly. You give yourself a sweet smile in the mirror before fluttering your lashes for good measure. The finishing touch.

Finally feeling ready enough to leave, you adjust the black velvet choker around your neck with lavender painted nails. They highlight the lime green tube top that wraps around your chest as you pull at your black maxi skirt that sits above your hips hugging your curves just right.

You give yourself one last once over while you slip on your clunky Steve Madden slides, telling yourself the whole time you didn’t get all done up for the new bouncer. Instead you tell yourself it’s because you want to get lucky with the guy that invited you to get last minute drinks conveniently at the bar you above.

Turning around to give your studio apartment the safety check, you shuffle over your baby blue carpet with loud clacks from your sandals to hurriedly straighten your pink comforter and snuff out your incense. Grabbing your bag, you rush out with a flip of the light switch, only getting two steps away before having to pop back in to grab your keys hanging by the door.

The platforms on your slides are heavy as you make your way down the staircase, the narrow hallway bouncing your steps off the walls despite the cushion of the ugly brown carpet. One hand on the banister and the other dragging along the wall for balance, you pick up your pace barreling towards the door. Pushing it open with more force than normal, you hit something on the other side, hard.

An oof and the sound of plastic skidding across the sidewalk is followed by the crash of a stool that must’ve belonged to whoever was sitting on it. Stepping onto the pavement with a clack from your sandals, you stop in your tracks when you see his broad shoulders first. Bent over, you watch him collect what looks like an orange Tamagotchi, stuffing it quickly in his back pocket before brushing the dust off his dark denim clad thighs. The way he fills his jeans has your mouth dry up and his muscles flex under the black cotton shirt that wraps tight around his torso, the seams barely containing what’s underneath. Turning around he runs a big hand through his honey colored locks that stop just below his ears, pushing the fly aways from his face while the shine of the street lamp highlights his cheekbones and sharp jaw.

God you hated when Eddie was right.

Hazel eyes rake over your form while yours follow the freckles that run along his neck that lead to small moles placed like a cluster of stars along his jaw. His chiseled nose runs down a narrow line with lips tinged pink like his cheeks. The expression on his face going from irritated to flirty in a matter of seconds flat, the whites of his teeth showing when he gives you an easy smile.

“I’m - oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’m running late and no one is ever sitting there and I - Are you okay?” Talking a mile a minute, you hate that he has your nerves getting the best of you.  

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Raising his hands up to stop you, the press of your thighs is instant when you see the silver band wrapped around the thickness of his middle finger. “No apologies necessary, it was an accident, honey.”

The endearment leaves his mouth while his lips turn his smile crooked, and it makes you dizzy. Bending down to grab the stool off the ground, a matching chain slips out from under his shirt and the glow above gives you a glimpse at the patch of thick chest hair hidden from sight.

“Besides, it’s not the first time a pretty girl has knocked me on my ass.” Folding his arms across his pecs, he leans against the brick of the bar crossing his legs at the ankles. The black boots that cover his feet look big and menacing despite his disposition.

Biting your bottom lip into a smile, you look up at him through shy lashes and you swear you hear him sigh at the sight.

“Well as long as you’re okay-“

“Steve,” he offers his name with a flash of his teeth again, a spark lighting in his eyes when he sees the way you react to it.

“Well you’ll probably see my face around here a lot,” you say, doing your best to ignore the way your cheeks burn.

“I sure hope so.” Pulling a toothpick out of his back pocket, he slides it between his lips. Jaw clenching when he bites down on the wood while his eyes roam your curves again before offering you another grin.

It makes you do one thing a man has never made you genuinely do. You giggle. Tucking your hair behind your ear, you hardly recognize yourself anymore.

“I was gonna say, 'cause I live upstairs.” Your voice is sweet despite the roll of your eyes, his jaw clenches against the wood. He liked that.

He only breaks his stare to follow the path of your finger, his eyes lingering on your open window for a second before bringing all his attention back on you. The tension grows even thicker when he kicks off the wall, realization hitting him. The soles of his boots are loud against the pavement when he closes the distance between you with two long strides. Getting close enough to smell the cinnamon on his breath, and the expensive cologne that lingers on his bronzed skin, you forget all about your date waiting for you inside. 

“Eddie’s told me all about you.” Using the tip of his tongue, he pushes the toothpick to the other side of his mouth, his smirk telling you all you need to know.

“That’s funny, Eddie’s told me about you too,” you lick your lips, tasting the fruit of your gloss as you look up at him from under hooded shimmering lids, “Steve.”

He inches just a little closer to teeter on the edge of what’s appropriate before responding, “Oh yeah? Did you like what you heard baby?”

His smile is as sinful as it is blinding. A darkened gaze locked on yours as he pulls the tooth pick out his mouth letting the sharp end snag his bottom lip before stuffing it in his back pocket again.

The electricity in the air sparks and fizzes, standing close enough to see the freckles that line his nose and the specks of glitter smattered in a similar pattern on your cheeks. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Raising an eyebrow, your response has him sucking his teeth before rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek accepting your answer with a nod of his head.

Pulling out a small red flashlight with a soft click of the button at the end, white light floods the dark. The beam roams over the expanse of your body with a purposeful path before stopping at his outstretched hand.

“I.D.?” Amusement evident in his voice, he wiggles his fingers at you keeping up with his charade. The motion daring to make a mess of your underwear.

You try to cover up your laugh with a fake scoff, making it come out loud enough for him to snort. Your lips twitch as you try to fight the losing battle with the smile threatening to break across your face. 

“What? I need to be careful here sweetheart. It’s my first night, I gotta make sure you’re really who you say you are, and not just some pretty girl trying to flirt her way inside.” He keeps the perfect poker face while he tuts at you to hurry up for the invisible line behind you.

“Would it have worked?” you ask handing him your driver’s license, wincing internally at the picture he is about to see.

Brushing his fingers against yours when he takes it for closer examination, he huffs out a laugh before looking down at you with a smug grin.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” He winks like an expert before making a big show of bringing your ID close to his face like it might be a fake.

Tsking to himself as he reads it over, he peeks over at you with a sly smirk. “A whole year older than me. Good for you, I like older women.”

Closing the space that developed when you had to dig in your purse, you snatch the plastic out of his hand, relishing in the way his breath hitches because of it. “I’m shocked you can read Steve, Eddie’s taste can be a bit…shoddy.”

“I think I’m pretty good at it actually, I’m good at reading a lot of things.” Ignoring your jab he’s quick to regain his confidence. “Things like, I don’t know, body language.” The spice of the cinnamon returns when he pulls out his toothpick again. He flashes you his pearly whites when he bites down, keeping his eyes locked on yours, a silent dare to prove him wrong.

Like magnets finding each other, the toes of his boots brush against your sandals. When did he get this close again?

Mariah Carey’s Fantasy cuts off any witty response that sits on the tip of your tongue as the bar door creaks open, rudely snapping you both back to reality. A boy who looks barely above the legal age is the culprit for popping your bubble, stopping dead in his tracks when the flirting bouncer’s attention redirects itself to where it should be. You already miss it.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up, punk.” Grabbing the kid by the collar of his shirt, he mutters a ‘shit’ under his breath. 

You take a step back, your eyes meeting Eddie's from inside, the commotion catching his and a few other patrons' stares, including your date.

Oh yeah, you had a date.

“I’m gonna need to see some I.D.” Steve’s voice drops deeper after he clears his throat, if his tamagotchi didn’t beep right after, signaling it’s need to be fed it would’ve been more intimidating. Your own digital pet buried at the bottom of your bag probably doing the same, already reborn fresh this morning from forgetting it at home while at work the night before.

“Umm, you see, I left my wallet at home,” the kid starts to stammer, the metal of his braces showing when he gives the bouncer a nervous grin.

Almost forgetting he had an audience, Steve’s eyes meet yours, softening before that million dollar smile takes over his handsome face.

“You’re free to go in. You know where to come when you wanna talk about all those things you liked hearing about me.”

Your stomach flutters despite the roll of your eyes at his words and you're reminded crossing the threshold that you’re here to meet another man, already scolding yourself for not taking Eddie’s warning seriously.

“I bet you’d like that wouldn’t you, Steve?” You linger in the door frame, looking at him from over your shoulder, and it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle.

“You already know the answer to that, gorgeous.” His toothpick switches sides again before finally going back to doing his job, tugging the kid closer.

“I.D. or no entry dick head.”

Despite there being no line outside, the bar was pretty full. The low buzz of conversation before the drinks really start to hit filling the crowded space. Mariah finishes her last high note when your eyes connect with Eddie’s before meeting Devin’s. He’s dressed like Danny Tanner and it makes you cringe. Pushing up his wire frame glasses, he waves so eagerly the Salmon’s that cover his dress shirt look like they're swimming in the background rapids with the movements of his arm. He’s completely oblivious to Eddie mocking him behind his back, mouthing ‘DORK’ with a shit eating grin before finally attending to the girl with smeared makeup that had been desperately trying to get his attention from the other end of the bar.

You take a deep breath, readjusting the strap of your bag before you push your chin up making your way over. Determined to have a good time, you put on your best face, returning his wave with forced enthusiasm while Steve’s smile etches itself into your memory permanently.

Paula Abdul’s Vibeology starts pumping through the speakers around you, the sticky floor vibrating with the bass under your sandals as you sway your hips to the beat. He stands up when you approach his spot at the bar and you notice his button up is tucked into mustard colored corduroy slacks, and it makes you miss the tight fitting denim of the man outside even more. Shaking your head to try and get rid of all the thoughts swirling in your head about the guy you weren’t on a date with, you desperately try to match Devin’s excited energy when he opens his arms for a hug.

“I was starting to get worried you were standing me up.” He laughs nervously as you tuck yourself into his chest. Your eyes peek over his shoulder meeting Eddie’s again as he slides your favorite drink over (tequila and pineapple), and god you wish you hadn’t.

Wiggling his eyebrows, you flip him the bird behind Devin’s back watching the bartender pretend to catch it and put it in his pocket making your eyes hit the back of your skull.

“No, sorry, I just lost track of the time.” Not a total lie you leave out the fact that you forgot about him completely just a few minutes ago. Pulling away, you avoid his eyes, too scared they’ll give you away.

“All is forgiven, pretty lady.” He bows slightly, and you have to ignore the way Eddie snorts as he walks past with hands full of Miller Lite.

“You’re so sweet,” cringing at how fake your voice comes out but Devin doesn’t seem to notice as you both take your seats, knees barely touching between the space of the stools.

“Thanks for agreeing to drinks tonight, I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while now. Just didn’t know, w-with office etiquette a-and all,” stuttering, his nerves get the best of him. He tries to hide it behind a sip of his beer.

“No, I’m, I’m glad you did,”you lie, your eyes flicking to the door one more time before grabbing your drink. An awkward silence settles between the two of you as you press your lips to the rim to slurp at the top to prevent any spill over.

God, you already want this to be over.

The conversation does get easier after your first drink, the flirting a little less forced as your hand finds its way to squeeze his thigh when you laugh at something he says that’s only half funny. Choking on the foam from his beer from your sudden touch, he wipes his mouth bashful from his outburst. Eddie murmurs a “go easy on him tiger” when he gets you a refill, earning him your bratty tongue. 

“So you transferred here last year from Portland, right Devin? What’s it like over there?” Resting your chin on your knuckles, you look up at him from under your lashes enjoying the way it makes his breath catch.

“It was- It was a lot different from here…”

Finally on your A game, you try not to pay attention when the front door opens behind your date. It’s to no avail when you catch his figure in your peripheral and you can’t fight it anymore. All the progress you’ve made going out the window when Steve makes his first reappearance since your arrival. 

Toothpick replaced with what looked like Big Red chewing gum, his hazel eyes scan the crowd before landing on you. The smirk that you’d been trying to forget tugs at the corners of his lips, and any luck that Devin might have had with you tonight disappears like that.

The bouncer looks pointedly at the man beside you, sizing him up, smile stretching wider when he assesses his threat. Leaning against the wall, he crosses his arms across his chest so the sleeves of his shirt look like they are being pushed to their limits as the muscles in his biceps flex. Hips pushed out in a way that’s daring you to look below his waist, he throws you a wink with a snap of his gum.

“...So yeah, that’s the long and short , it,” Devin finishes with a proud smile and you just nod, not catching a single word he said.

Steve’s stare is relentless, and your body responds to it without you having to even meet his gaze. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, jaw clenching with every hard chew of his gum. Pushing himself off the wall, he starts a slow walk towards you. Big heavy steps bring him closer, every thud of his boots making your thighs clench, as you try desperately to stay concentrated.

Your date’s in the middle of another story that sounds like white noise, your lack of attention making him a babbling mess. He doesn’t notice the way Steve stops next to him first, giving him a once over from up close to make sure he wasn’t missing something from afar before coming up to you with the kind of smile that’s dripping with trouble.

“....So the logistics of it are kinda crazy when you think-“

“Just checking on my pretty new friend over here,” Steve cuts Devin off, not interested in anything but you. His large hand finds the small of your back, his palm almost big enough to cover the exposed skin between your skirt and top. It sends a shiver up your spine that the pad of his thumb soothes when it rubs circles over your sprouting goosebumps. “Having a good night, baby?”

The pet name falls so smoothly off his tongue that it takes Devin a minute to realize that it even left Steve’s mouth, a scowl souring his face when he sees the way your eyes glaze over looking up at the bouncer. 

“Yeah, I’m having a real nice time Steve.” Sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, he notices the subtle way you lean into his touch. Your body needy for more.

“You better be.” He winks, letting the blunt ends of his nails scratch along your back before adding salt to Devin’s wound, “And you know where to find me if that changes.” 

There’s a knowing smirk that plays on the edges of his mouth, biting his lip he finally tears his eyes away from you to give a head nod to the date you’d forgotten about for the second time tonight. Steve tosses him a wink too, a gesture that makes Devin’s jaw clench. Steve opens his mouth to say something that was sure to piss him off more, but he’s cut off by the sound of Eddie’s rings slamming hard on the bar behind you. 

“Dude! What the fuck are you doing inside? Do you know how many people have walked in without getting checked? It's PEAK hours!” The bartender's eyes are frantic, fingers running through his curls as he yells at his friend. “Quit flirting and go do your job. Also, is that a fucking kid man?”

Eddie points to the boy that the bouncer stopped earlier who was snooping around abandoned tables in search for leftovers he was definitely not of legal age for, Steve’s cheeks tint the color of your lipgloss when he looks at you with sheepish eyes. The confidence he was dripping with disappears into embarrassment while doing his best to ignore the smug look on your date’s face.

“Calm down man, it was three minutes! I’ll get rid of the fuckin’ kid. Again.” He rubs the back of his neck as he walks away, stalking towards the boy who looks like he’s seen a ghost. “Hey asshole! You must’ve grown eight years in twenty minutes for me to be seeing you here!” 

The boy raises his hands up in surrender slowly backing away, giving Steve an opportunity to turn around to toss you one last smile and wiggle his fingers at Devin before focusing on the high schooler who is already halfway out the door. The kid's walk turns into a run when Steve cracks his knuckles for show, following him out with long strides, disappearing back outside and out of sight.

You’re left with awkward silence between you and your date as Eddie stomps away muttering under his breath. Devin clears his throat, twirling his beer, the glass against the wood making a sound that starts to grate on your nerves. He’s daring you to look at him. The huff he exhales afterwards begs you to look. Your mind races with ideas of how to get out of this and when you dare to finally take a peek, he’s looking forward, emptying the last of his bottle.

“I’m gonna go smoke a cigarette!” You blurt out, grabbing your bag and leaving no time for a response. Your sandals clack as you power walk to the door. To Steve.

The summer night is sticky on your face when you step out of the bar, the sound of a girl’s sniffled “You’re right Steve” directing your stare to the bouncer you were looking for. Sitting on the very stool you knocked him off of, his big boots sit on the lowest footrest with his knees spread wide. Inviting. His eyes connect with yours, widening a bit when you smirk at him while getting yourself comfortable on the brick wall on the opposite side of the door. Digging your cigarettes out of your purse, you notice the girl next to him has mascara running down her cheeks that she only makes worse when she wipes them with the back of her hand. 

“You know Maryanne, it sounds like this isn’t the first time he’s done this to you. I think it’s time to kick him to the curb. You deserve better.” He speaks to her like they’ve been friends their whole lives and you have no idea how he’s learned so much about her in the few minutes he’s been outside. Crossing his arms as he leans back enough for the legs of the stool to pull up, he catches himself with his shoulders against the wall behind him. 

“He sounds like a chump if you ask me,”you chime in, lighting your cigarette. Steve’s smile shines under the pink luminescent sign above him when he hears your voice. The wooden legs of his stool smacking loud against the cement when he pushes off the wall.

She’s startled by your sudden appearance, not noticing when you came out - too lost in her own world. She gives you a weak smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes before she nods, tugging at her high pony and somehow making it higher. The sequined scrunchy in her hair catches the street light as she tries hyping herself up to return to whoever was making her cry inside.

“He is a chump, but most men are.” She sighs, her shoulders relaxing a little more as she calms down.

“You’ve got this honey, tell him to fuck off and go home with Lisa if that’s what he wants so bad,” Steve champions, patting her on the back, a new layer to Maryanne’s story being revealed. His eyes flick back to you as you take a drag, the mossy green going dark when he watches your cheeks hollow.

“Thanks for listening Steve, I’m gonna go back in now.” She wipes her nose one more time, before giving you a polite head nod.

“Have Eddie make you something sweet, and tell him it’s on me.” The bouncer winks, giving her the boost of confidence she needs before opening the door you just came out of. Monifah’s Touch It adds to the tension between Steve and you when it leaks out of the bar as she disappears inside. The bass thumps against the brick, leaving the song just muffled enough to be background noise when it closes behind her.

The air is heavier, thicker with something you both know is there. Playing hard to get, you don’t meet his gaze, despite feeling it over every curve and dip of your body. Inhaling another hit of nicotine, you lift your head up to exhale the smoke into the dark sky, extending your neck for him to see before you finally give in and chance a glance in his direction.

He looks far too handsome, smiling wide when you meet his eyes, all his perfectly white teeth baring themselves at you in a way that makes your legs shake.

“Missed me already baby?” His feet hit the sidewalk, his man spread somehow bigger this way as he scoots closer to the edge of the stool. 

“You’re not very good at your job, are you?” You grin, successfully dodging the answer he already knows as your head hits the side of the building. Tilting your chin in his direction with your lip tucked between your teeth, you catch his narrowed glare.

“Nice try sweetheart, I used to watch Road House, religiously. I learned from the best. I’m just distracted,” the buttery smoothness of his voice returns, the last of his sentence coming out in a purr.

“Distracted?” You quirk a brow, not giving into him just yet.

“Yes, very much so and I regret to inform you that it’s all your fault too.” He sticks his bottom lip out at you in a pout, earning the giggle he’d been trying to get again since he first heard it, even if it's accompanied by your pretty eyes rolling in the back of your head.

“I’m on a date, Steve.” Even though you know it’s a weak comeback at this point, you still give it and he doesn’t miss a beat.

“Where? I don’t see him.”

Your cheeks heat up at his observation so you take another drag of your half smoked cigarette to try and hide the way he’s affecting you.

“I’m supposed to be quittin’, but you’re makin’ it look too good, pretty girl. Let me have a puff?” His question is an invitation, making the first move to call your bluff, to get you closer.

“Is that why you seem to have a cinnamon addiction?” you tease, not surprised when you kick off the wall accepting it with a smirk and an exaggerated sway of your hips.

He licks his lips while his eyes roam the length of your body unashamed, one large hand raking through his hair when you stop close enough to smell the topic of discussion on his breath. 

“Could be addicted to worse,” he murmurs, not sure where to look having you between his legs like this. 

“It’s a Newport, S‘that okay, Steve?” you ask him from underneath flirting lashes. His breath hitching before a sly smirk spreads across his pink lips.  

“More than okay baby.” He leans closer, fingers wrapping around the plush curve of your hip to anchor you in place.

Tipping up on your toes, your hand comes down on his thigh making the muscle flex against your palm, your touch sending shocks through the rough denim while the other holds the gloss stained end up to his mouth. 

Steve holds your stare when his lips wrap around where yours just were. His nails dig half crescent moons into your exposed skin as his cheeks hollow out. You can feel your heartbeat between your legs, your brows meeting in the middle when he tugs you even closer before tilting his head up. The thick expanse of his neck on full display as he blows out his drag, adam's apple bobbing in the light making the moles dance across his skin. 

“The strawberry really sets it off.” He grins as his hand dares to slide down the top curve of your ass, making it his new home when you make no moves to get away from him.

“Thanks, it’s my favorite gloss.” You shrug, pretending to unphased by his teasing, but the mess in your panties would give you away if he could see.

“Maybe I could get a better taste,” his words are bold, but his free hand is bolder. Soft fingertips play with the top hem of your skirt, daring to dip under the fabric every once and awhile and he swears he hears you whimper.

“You want more?” Your voice comes out small, dripping in honey just for him. You know what he really wants, but he’s not gonna get it yet.

“God, if you’ll let me honey.” There’s a light squeeze on the dough of your ass, and it makes you flutter around nothing.

You lean in slowly, your hand moving further up his thigh watching the way his chest starts to rise and fall from it. Stretching the cotton of his shirt with every breath. The fingers that had been exploring the top of your skirt start a path up to the bottom of your top. A low hum coming from under his breath when the sweetness of your body lotion hits his nose. 

His eyes shut when your faces get close enough that he feels like he can taste the strawberry that he wants so bad. He doesn’t notice when you pull back at the last second to replace your kiss with another puff until your cigarette shoves past his puckered lips. 

When he opens them, he’s met with your giggles, a sound he wants on a loop. He pretends to glare, still taking the hit you were offering him, exhaling it through his nose like an angry bull. He opens his mouth to chastise you but the beeping of his digital pet interrupts his intimidating moment again.

“Gotta get that?” Your lips twitch while you try to contain your laugh, flicking the cigarette onto the street.

“Listen, my best friend got it for me. I thought it was incredibly stupid, and I definitely told her it was too.” The hand on your waist leaves to dig his Tamagotchi out of his front pocket. “But now I’m attached to the little guy.” 

The key chain sized toy lights up in his hand, as he starts to feed it with a press of a button.

“Mine died yesterday,” you admit and the laugh you’d been fighting off echoes loudly when he looks up at you horrified. 

“What? Do you have it with you now?”he questions as the small happy tune plays signaling that his pet is fully satisfied. 

“She’s somewhere in my bag, don’t worry she was reborn this morning,” your words don’t reassure him considering they seem to need food every thirty minutes and you haven’t pulled it out once since he’s met you.

“Sounds like you want her to die again to me.” Steve’s very real concern about your Tamagotchi has you smirking.

“They die so easily, you’re telling me yours hasn’t died?” 

Your jaw drops when he shakes his head ‘no’, a smugness taking over his handsome features.

“Steve, that’s like really hard to do.” You don’t know whether you should be impressed or roast him but when his hand grips at your ass one more time you decide it’s the first.

“Better give her to me for the night baby, I’ll keep her nice and healthy for my favorite girl.” Stuffing his back into his pocket, he holds his palm open for you in a vow to keep your digital pet alive and an excuse to see you later.

Rolling your eyes playfully, you obey his wishes. Digging to the bottom of your bag till you find your purple one. The screen already going off, and the muffled beeping that signaled the need for it to be fed finally becomes loud enough to hear.

“See! I told you. On the cusp of death already.” 

You drop it in his hand, right as an older trucker comes barreling out of the bar reminding you where you’re at and that Devin is still waiting inside. Again.

“Fuck, I should go back in.” You sigh as your fingers play with the seam on the leg of his jeans.

“Go back in and tell that guy to get lost,” the bouncer almost whines, his grip on your hip tightening before he lets you go.

“Steve,” you huff but the smile on your face gives him hope.

“Just saying sweetheart, could be fun.” He shrugs, putting on an air of nonchalance while your Tamagotchi dangles from his thumb.

You both know who you really want to go home with tonight.

The bubble you and Steve are in pops as soon as you get back inside The sound of the distant cars on the freeway and Steve’s voice is replaced with Return of the Mack and the crowd that was at a simmer when you first got here is now at a full boil. 

You have to get rid of Devin.

He’s right where you left him, hunched over and twirling his beer bottle on top of the bar. You notice the three empty shot glasses before you see Eddie dropping off another one while giving you the kind of eyes that say ‘Come take care of your date’ as he walks away. Taking a deep breath, you make your way towards him going over all the ways you can let him down easy while your nerves drown out the little bit of guilt you had for ditching him.

“Heeeey,” your voice is high pitched, awkwardness dripping from its tone when you finally return to your stool next to him.

Crickets.

You freeze - he’s ignoring you. How can you get rid of him if he’s ignoring you? Your eyes shift around the bar nervously, offering an awkward tight lipped smile when anyone meets your stare. You search for Eddie again, hoping to silently ask for help but his back is to you, clearly putting the moves on a girl at the other end.

“Devin.” 

You hope that saying his name will elicit the desired response but that dwindles quickly when he chugs the rest of his beer, continuing his charade and keeping his gaze forward before slamming the empty bottle down.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he grumbles, irritation laced in every word before he pushes off the stool still not meeting your eyes.

You wait till he’s out of earshot before you let out a groan, your long disappearance clearly pissed him off. Propping yourself up by your elbows on the sticky bar, you close your eyes, rubbing your temples while you try to think of the right way to go about this. Eddie’s knowing chuckle is the last thing you want to hear but that’s just how the night is going now.

“You pretty little scoundrel!” He slaps the spot in front of you forcing your eyes open, his smile only widening when you glare at him.

“He’s so pissed and now thanks to you,” gesturing towards the empty shot glasses Eddie gets rid of with quick hands, you avoid the real reason, “He’s gonna be trashed!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa sweetheart. I’m not the one who can’t keep their hands off Stevie boy. And on a date too? Tsk tsk tsk.” He crosses his arms with a shake of his head, “Now you broke poor Derek’s -“

“Devin.”

“Whatever - fish guy’s heart. Aren’t you in a little predicament hmm?” Eddie hums the last part, but you can see the excited glint in his eyes. He loves watching your escapades.

“Listen,” you can’t help the giggle that bubbles past your strawberry lips under his knowing gaze, “When you told me he was hot Eddie, you didn’t tell me he was that hot.”

Smirking, you enjoy watching the way his face contorts knowing that was a damn lie.

“Are you kidding?” He throws his hands in the air, giving you the reaction you were baiting him for, “It was the first thing I told you.”

You laugh loudly at his exasperation with your antics, almost forgetting about Devin entirely for the third time tonight. 

“Have fun figuring out this little love triangle you’ve created, I need to get to the rest of the paying customers so I can get back to that hottie at the end of the bar.” He points to the girl he was talking to earlier who’s sipping a drink she looks surprised to even like.

“I bet you aren’t charging her for anything are you?” You narrow your eyes playfully, cackling when he rolls his waving you off as he walks away.

Sliding off the stool, you tug up your tube top, ready to give it to Devin straight, more than eager to get back outside again. 

“I knew the guys in the office said you were easy, but I didn’t think you’d be spreading your legs for anything that walked on our date.” Devin’s voice comes as a surprise, but the tight grip on your arm pulling you to him is an even bigger one.  

Searing rage fills every part of your body at the fact that he put his hands on you, palms flat on his chest, you use all your strength to shove him away. Shock paints his features, not expecting you to fight back so aggressively. All the drinks he’s had make him stumble back, losing his footing almost falling into the couple next to him.

“Well I’m sure as shit not spreading them for you!” you spit, looking him up and down with disgust before putting a finger in his face, “And your shirt? It’s fucking ugly.”

You give him one last once over before shaking your head and walking away. Heading back towards the entrance, you notice Steve inside again. A hard glare is set on his face, nostrils flaring as he zeros in on Devin behind you who’s still trying to regain his balance. 

God, it’s the hottest he’s looked all night. 

Steve’s hazel eyes meet yours and they instantly soften when you can’t help but smile as he opens the door for you.

“Thanks Stevie,” using Eddie’s nickname, you run your hands across his chest when you walk by, just to add salt to Devin’s wound.

The flush that paints his cheeks tells you how much he likes it.

“When I told you to ditch your date, I didn’t mean to fist fight him, honey,” he teases, following you outside, letting the chipped red door shut behind you and muffling the sounds of the bar again. 

“He got mad about my little disappearance before I could let him down easy.” Turning around, you bite your bottom lip to try to hide your growing smile.

“Poor guy.” Steve grins before taking the two steps to close the gap, to crowd your space. Cinnamon fanning across your face, “Never stood a chance.”

It’s harder for you to breathe when he looks at you like he wants to kiss you, but before you can respond, the door flies open.A drunk Devin stumbling out with a glare breaking you two apart.

“Of course, of FUCKING course. Not even two seconds later? You really are a slut, huh?” Devin seethes, stumbling out onto the sidewalk.

“I’m really going to need you to watch your mouth champ. No need to call girls names. You’re a big boy.” Steve’s tone is condescending as he squares up, making sure you’re behind him.

“You think you’re so fucking cool,” Devin scoffs before hiccuping, “Careful with this one, she’s probably sucked your buddy’s dick inside too.” 

“Yeah, that’s enough, asshole. Go home, before I have to beat some respect into that ugly skull of yours.” Steve cracks his knuckles again, but it doesn’t have the same effect as before, Devin only raising his eyebrows at the bouncer.

“Respect? That’s funny. The whore behind you hasn’t heard of it.”  

Steve loses his cool and like a flash he’s on him. Pulling his fist back Steve moves just a little too slow and Devin clocks him right in the jaw. The sound of bone against bone echoes loudly into the night. Stumbling back, Steve cradles where an ugly bruise will start forming in the morning, rubbing it out. He cracks his neck before barreling towards Devin, taking him down to the ground like a football player.

In a flurry of fists and cuss words, Devin somehow gets Steve pinned. The alcohol and anger flowing through his system turns him into The Hulk. Your screams for them to stop fall on deaf ears while they continue to roll around on the ground. Panic sets in when you realize neither man is going to stop. Doing the only thing you know how to do in these situations, you get Eddie.

Frantic, you open the door, ignoring the fact that  Third Eye Blind is playing at the exact worst time, you scream Eddie’s name loud enough to silence the bar.

“Eddie! It’s bad. Steve needs you!” 

He looks up from a clearly flirtatious conversation with the girl from before, both of their eyes landing on you as you get your friends attention. He grumbles, grabbing her hands saying something to her that makes her nod bashfully before jumping over the bar top. Jogging out the front, he towers easily over the two men, neither one of you bothering to check the red heads I.D. that walks in after you.

“The first fucking night man!” Eddie yells at Steve, grabbing Devin by the back of his shirt pulling him off the bouncer with ease, but not before Steve gets one more cheap shot in.

He wrestles against Eddie’s grip for a second before finally giving up with a hiccup, hocking a loogie in Steve’s direction.

“You done?” The bartender's face is unamused, as he waits for Devin to nod. “I never wanna see you or your shitty ass style at my bar again. Beat it bozo before I give you a matching black eye to go with the one Steve gave you.”

Two against one is too much for Devin to take on, so he raises his hands up in surrender when Eddie lets him go. Rolling his tongue against his cheek he shoots you one last glare before turning on his heel. Flipping everyone off as he starts down the sidewalk. Steve returns the gesture, spitting at his retreating form.

“You good?” Eddie asks, extending his hand for his friend to take.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just hate that guy.” Steve mumbles, looking everywhere but at you while he straightens his shirt and dusts off his jeans with bloody knuckles.

“Your hand dude, I can’t have you bleeding all over people I.D’s. and I know Rick doesn’t have a first aid kit. At least I’ve never seen one.” Eddie rubs the back of his neck, stress coming in the form of knitted brows.

“I’ve got one,” you mumble, finally finding your voice and the bartender claps, wiping his hands clean of the situation.

“There, go play nurse with lover boy and get out of my hair tonight. I’m like this close,” he pinches two fingers together to show “to scoring and you both have been fucking it up every chance you can get. I swear to god.” 

Eddie waves you off as he makes his way back in, and you can feel the shift in energy between you and the bouncer you’ve been wanting all night.

Steve’s quiet the whole walk up the stairs to your apartment, fuming with anger and embarrassment, the confidence from before gone while the bruise on his jaw deepens and he cradles his bleeding knuckles.

“This is me,” you break the silence cringing, your voice amplified in the walls of the narrow hallway while you dig out your key.

“Thanks for this, angel,” his words come out in just above a whisper but at least it’s something.

The endearment has a smile creeping across your face and you finally dare to turn around to get a look at him after you hear the click of your lock. You press your back against your open door, it’s your turn to extend an invitation.

“Anytime Stevie.”

His face softens the minute he lays his eyes on you again, jealous of the way you bite your bottom lip sweetly, he wishes it was him. 

You let Steve into your world one heavy boot at a time, locking the door behind you. Watching the way his dimmed eyes brighten, curiosity winning over any leftover irritation. The ghost of a smirk twitches at the corners of his lips while he walks the small space of your studio taking everything in. The neon sign outside your window is the only light that illuminates it, shadows dancing off trinkets on shelves and pictures on walls, he was getting a glimpse of you. 

He stops in the middle of your room, right at the edge of your bed. The dark denim and leather that cover him are a stark contrast against your baby blue rug, but you think he looks like he belongs here. You watch the way he takes in your hastily made bed, licking his lips when he sees a pair of panties that didn’t quite make it in the laundry basket in the corner. The radio you’d forgotten to turn off plays a commercial, filling the space between you, and you aren’t prepared for when he puts his full attention back on you again after not having it for the past twenty minutes. Your body responds immediately to the playful glint in his eye.

“Cute place, for a cute girl.” He grins, running his good hand through his hair before he walks over to the window to take a look at your view.

“I bet you say that to all of em’,” you tease because it’s easier to do with his back to you. Making your way to the bathroom, nerves burst like butterflies in your stomach.

“You’re the only one baby.” 

His response is quick as he turns around, the flirting you’d grown accustomed to coming back like a raging storm. He watches your hips while you walk the short distance with a heavy stare that covers every part of you. Leaning against the door frame with your curves on full display, something shifts behind his eyes. Flipping the lightswitch, white beams break apart the pink, highlighting even more of you for him to drink in.

“Come on handsome, let’s get you patched up.”

His cheeks flush at the new nickname and it's his turn to bite his lip in a shy smile for you. 

It doesn’t take more than a few steps for his long legs, the wood creaking under his weight. Pressing your back to the frame, he stops in front of you with one foot over the threshold and the other still in your room. He takes up so much space. His biceps flex when he reaches for your hip, tugging you even closer, you can smell the menthol still lingering on his breath. On instinct your palm hits his chest, muscles dancing under heated skin as you tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. Squeezing at your softness before he speaks, he lets his middle finger dip under the top of your skirt.

“I really meant it when I said thank you back there. Just need you to know that.” His finger dares to dip lower, rubbing circles that make your back arch, hips pushing forward on a search for his. The curve of your stomach touches the cool metal of his belt buckle and the heat of his body sets fire between your thighs.

“I know you did,” your voice is sweet for him, the tone you know he likes while your hand moves down the dip between his pecs, “Thank you for sticking up for me.”

You can feel the coarse hair that starts at the top of his belly button where your hand stops, and you swear you feel him twitch in his pants. A second one of his fingers finds its way under your skirt and another subtle tug gets you even closer. So close that all you’d have to do is stand on your tiptoes for your lips to touch. 

“Anything for you, pretty girl,” he breathes, spice and tobacco taking over. His adam’s apple bobs when he catches the way you start staring at his lips, the gloss on your own shimmering in the new light.

“Anything?” Quirking your brow with a smirk, your innuendo makes him moan and his hold on you tighten.

“Absolutely.” Ducking his head lower so his nose brushes against the bridge of yours, he dares you to make the first move.

“In that case…” Pressing your toes down to push yourself up, the playful glint in your eye goes unnoticed by him.

Your lips are a ghost, his top one barely brushing against your bottom, it's enough for him to taste the strawberry he wanted more of outside but not enough to satisfy. His eyes flutter closed waiting to feel their full plushness but your words bring him back to reality.

“Sit on the toilet for me.”

The specks of emerald shine again when his eyes snap open to see you flat on your feet with a grin. Groaning loudly with fake irritation, he lets go of you in exasperated defeat, letting his head fall back and hit the wood of the frame.

“What? We came up here for my first aid kit, didn't we?” You giggle after you say it, you don’t mean it.

“Sure, sure, yeah, yeah.” Nodding, he runs a hand through his hair while he looks around your bathroom. 

It smells like your coconut body wash and it drives him crazy. He takes an unexpected step forward, his hand finding its way back to your hip to push you against the wall. One heavy boot between your wedged sandals, getting just close enough to kiss you. Is he going to?

It's your eyes that flutter closed this time, your fingers wrapping themselves around his belt loops again. He’s tentative with his injured hand when he uses it to cradle your jaw. His palm is soft as it covers half your neck, his thumb pushing up against your chin to tilt your face up to his. He runs the tip of his nose along your cheek and you feel your knees start to get weak, a whimper begging to fall from your parted lips.

“If that’s the only thing we’re here to do then we should get to it then, huh?” 

Just as quick as he invades your space, he leaves it. The porcelain of your toilet seat cover clunks loudly when he drops himself on it. Spread out like on the stool outside, he takes over the room, leaving you to catch your breath with a smug grin.

It’s a staring contest with narrowed eyes after that, but the twitch of your lips tells him you aren’t actually mad. He snorts when you clear your throat to regain your composure, purposely ignoring the obvious when you bend over to open the cabinet under the sink, pulling out the bright red zip up bag. 

“We need to wash your knuckles first, then I’ll put some ointment on them and wrap it up for you. We’ll keep it that way for the night and we can check on it in the morning.” The words leave your mouth before you can stop them and he catches the slip up instantly.

“Oh? You need to keep me overnight for observations?” 

You bite your lip to try and hide your smile, grabbing a washcloth running it under hot water instead of looking at him. 

“You know what I meant, I’ll come check on it tomorrow when you get to work.” You don’t even believe your lie, and the toothy smile you catch from the corner of your eye tells you he doesn’t either.

“But nurse, I don’t know. I think I should stay, I got hit in the face too. Concussions you know? I really shouldn’t be alone tonight.” He lays it on thick, eating up the way he sees you loving it spreading across your face when you ring out the soapy rag.

You don’t try to hide it when you finally face him, or when you settle between his legs for the second time tonight. The new position has him eye level with your chest, easier access to his lips. You hold your palm out for him, your hand disappearing completely when he drapes his wounded one over it.

“Concussion, huh? Are you feeling light headed Steve?” You play along giving your best impression of a medical professional.

He hisses when you press the damp cloth to his knuckles, sucking in air between his teeth when you start to clean. The soothing circles the pad of your thumb rubs on the side of his hand is almost enough to distract him from it.

“Yeah, but that started before I got hit.” 

You finally dare to meet his gaze, a flattered smile spreading wide across your face that you try to play down with a roll of your eyes.

“Hmmm,” you hum to yourself, deciding not to give in just yet as you switch from the rag to the ointment, getting the bandaging and medical tape out.

“I mean, you’re the professional honey. You tell me.” You feel his good hand tug at the bottom of your skirt while you smear the neosporin on his knuckles with a q-tip, his long fingers flexing at the cooling effect.

“It started before you got hit?” You question with a fake pensive expression, gently taking his palm in your hand to start the wrapping process. 

“Yeah, you see, this girl hit me with a door earlier. Knocked me clean off my stool.” He makes the motion of him falling with a swipe of his hand, “ and I haven’t been the same since if I’m being completely honest.”

It takes everything inside you to not give him the satisfaction of a laugh, the way you met coming back to the forefront of your mind.

“Some would argue putting your stool in front of the door like that is kinda stupid, but that's just my professional opinion.” Your shrug earns a loud laugh from him and you relish in it, promising yourself you’ll get him to do it again.

“All done.” You let go of his hand and he already misses you holding it, but the proud look on your face is a good distraction while you admire your handy work.

He holds it up, and you still can’t get over just how big they are. Curling his fingers in before extending them, he only winces slightly from the pain. The pressure of the bandage already helping. He jumps slightly when the backs of your fingers smooth over the fresh bruise forming on his jaw, the stubble tickling your skin. His eyes watch yours as they rake over the damage, the softness of your touch almost enough to make his eyelids heavy when you stroke the sore spot again.

“What do you think, huh?” His question comes out quiet, the playful edge gone while both his hands find the back of your legs. Rough fingertips run up your calves, catching the bottom of your skirt as they go, “Are you gonna keep me baby?”

A shiver runs up your spine when he hits the back of your thighs and you feel yourself getting pulled closer. He drags his nose up the bare skin of your sternum while his hands grab doughy handfuls just below the curve of your ass. The sound of your moan when his fingers get high enough to just barely graze the soaked material between your weakening legs sends him into overdrive. Growling, he nips at the tops of one of your breasts.

“Come on, tell me, what’s it gonna be?” Despite trying to sound confident, there’s a desperation in the way he asks. He knows you want it but he needs you to say it.

It’s when his fingers slip under the lace trim of your panties that you finally give in with a gentle grab of his chin. His eyes are black when they meet yours, the ends of his nails digging into soft skin. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna keep you.” You give into an urge you’ve had since you laid eyes on him, tangling your fingers in his hair as you spread yourself open for his hands to wander.

He doesn’t hold back anymore and you��re reminded of just how tall he actually is when he stands up. His actions are quick and with purpose, the strength you knew was behind those muscles showing itself when he lifts you onto the edge of the sink with your skirt rucked up to your hips. He man handles you in a way no one ever has and you feel it light a fire in your gut. Impatient for his next move, you grab the collar of his shirt while his hands spread wide over the tops of your thighs, your lips finally getting to do what they’ve wanted all night.

It’s soft at first, both of you moving slow as you figure out what the other likes, careful not to hurt his jaw. One of his hands finds its way back to your cheek, the pad of his thumb rubbing the length of the bone while his tongue begs you to open up. He traces the top of your lip, shuddering at the taste of the strawberry and it makes him wonder if your skin tastes like the coconut he smells. 

You give him the access he wants, your tongues meeting in the middle, making the fire that had been begging to consume you pour out from your fingertips that bury themselves into the roots at the nape of his neck. You need more. The hard length that has been fighting against the denim of his jeans presses hard into where you want his attention, your legs wrap around him - silently begging him to do it again.

One arm snakes around your lower back, holding you flush against his chest, the grind of his hips giving you the friction that makes you keen. A moan and a breathless “fuck” is what breaks your lips apart when his zipper catches your swollen clit with just the right amount of pressure. He uses his new found freedom to kiss down the length of your jaw, humming against your heated skin when you tilt your head to give him better access to all the sensitive places he can’t wait to discover. He sucks the soft spot behind your ear when you meet the next roll of his hips, your slides falling loudly off your feet to the tile floor.

“Steve,” his name comes out in a high pitch whine when he starts sucking a bruise in a place you know you’ll have to try and cover up for the next few days. He was marking you, and you could care less. You hold him there, encouraging more as his teeth graze your pulse point, a “baby” slipping past his lips when he finally pulls away.

He meets your eyes with flushed cheeks and messy hair and the kind of hunger that makes you melt.

“Let me take you to bed, let me take care of you,” he’s panting, his hold on you tightening so you can feel just how bad he needs this. A smirk spreads across his swollen lips when your hips shift in search for more, giving him the answer he needs along with the nod of your head.

Just as easy as he lifted you on the sink, he carries you to the bed, big hands cradling thick thighs before he lays you on your back. Your giggle fills the space in between heavy pants before TLC’s Creep starts playing over the speakers of the radio. His hands find their way to the bottom of his shirt, pulling it over his head and you watch an expanse of new freckles and moles get revealed to you. You want to kiss them all. They dot the spots next to the dark hair over his belly button while the thick thatch of chest hair you’d only gotten a glimpse of glistens with beads of sweat in the glow of the Foxy Lounge light. 

His jeans hang low enough for you to get a glimpse of the veins protruding from the V shape that leads to the part of him that’s sure to make you forget your own name. His grin is cocky when he recognizes the expression on your face. Grabbing your ankle, he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed. The bottom of your foot resting on the soft hair of his chest while long fingers hold you in place. He keeps his eyes trained on yours while he starts to trail wet kisses down the inside of your leg. The stubble covering his jaw scratching along his path in the best way. He stops when he gets to the soft skin of your knee, nipping playfully, he smirks at the squeal it earns him before he drops your leg in favor of curling his fingers under the top of your skirt.

You lift your hips for him without him having to ask, and the flash of his teeth is almost enough to blind you. He’s slick with his movements, taking your panties too. You hear his breath catch in his throat when he sees the effects all his teasing has on you. His fingers grip at your thighs before pulling your sticky skin apart with a lick of his lips.

“Look at you baby, all this for me?” The last part of his question comes out in a groan when he swipes the pad of his thumb against your bundle of nerves, kicking up in his jeans when your legs shake in response. “So sensitive too. Let me make her feel good, yeah?” 

He swipes his thumb against your clit again making your eyes shut tight and your hips buck.

“I need to hear you say it.” He keeps rubbing circles, applying just enough pressure for you to forget how to speak, “Come on, be a good girl for me.”

His other hand pulls down your tube top, breasts spilling out in the blush light for his eyes to devour. He groans at the sight, his other hand coming up to cup the soft flesh feeling the way your nipples pebble against the warmth of his palm.

“Steeeeve, please.” 

You’re whining for him and it makes his brows pinch together, feeling drunk off you. 

“God angel, you’re fuckin’ beautiful you know that?” He emphasizes his question with his hands, giving your sides a squeeze while his eyes roam every dip and curve of your body. “Turn around for me? I wanna see all of you.”

The look on his face makes you decide that you’ll never deny him anything he asks, giving him a nod, you run your hands up his arms, nails dragging across the light hair before you push yourself up to get on all fours.

You feel completely exposed to him like this, all the secret places of your body on full display. He’s quiet for a minute and it’s almost enough for your nerves to get the best of you until you feel his palm find the apple of your ass. Fingers digging into doughy flesh, a groan loud enough to drown out the music erupts deep from his chest.

“Baby, baby, babyyy,” he emphasizes the last endearment with another handful before pulling your cheeks apart to get a better look at your dripping cunt, “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever fuckin’ seen.”

Your hips wiggle at his words, your walls fluttering around nothing while the cool air from the overhead fan hits your heat, sending goosebumps dancing across your supple flesh. A dark chuckle leaves him when he sees how much power his words have over you. His knees hit the side of the mattress, one hand hooking around your hip while the other runs down the dip of your spine giving you a light push when he hits your shoulder blades until you're bent over for him.

“She likes when I talk to her, huh?” his voice is low, mesmerized when you start dripping on the bed for him and he’s barely touched you, “She likes when I call her pretty doesn’t she?”

The moan that leaves your mouth is pathetic and he wishes he could record it. 

“Playing hard to get all night, but look at you.” His good hand comes down hard enough on your ass for the fat to jiggle and you to fist handfuls of your comforter because of it, “Making such a filthy mess and I haven’t even put my mouth on you yet.”

His grip is rough when he tugs your hips, the outline of his dick pressing into you, the denim scratching against your clit in a way that has your eyes rolling in the back of your head. 

“Tell me how much you want my mouth baby, tell me how much you want me to make you cum.” He grinds against you again, only this time making sure to apply the kind of pressure that makes your back arch.

“Fuck - Steve, please I want it. I’ve wanted it all night. I’ve wanted it all night,” you're babbling as he circles his hips, fingers kneading your soft skin.

Satisfied with your answer he mumbles a “so good for me” as he pulls away he gives you another light slap to your ass - signaling for you to scoot up, your mattress dipping behind you when he gets on his knees. 

Big hands spread you apart, your forehead hits the comforter when you feel the heat of his breath against your slick folds. Your walls flutter, begging for his attention when his tongue runs a long stripe up your slit. He hums at the taste before he does it again, this time making sure to circle your clit before lapping up everything you were drenching him with like he was thirsty for it. 

“Oh my god,” you huff into your blankets, toes curling when he starts an assault against your bundle of nerves, the pointed tip of his nose pressing deeper into your entrance as he gets lost in the sounds he’s pulling from you.

His fingers stretch across the tiger stripes on your butt cheeks, pulling you even further apart to give him better access. The coil inside you already threatening to snap when he sucks hard on your clit. He lets it go with a loud pop, smirking to himself at the way he has your body shaking from overstimulation already.

“Taste so fuckin’ good. Strawberries, just like your lips.” He groans, inhaling your scent like a man starved, his good hand coming down on your cheek again only this time a little harder pulling out another broken moan from you.

“Can I taste all of you pretty girl?” 

There’s zero hesitation when you say ‘yes’, in fact it’s a little desperate. He could have whatever he wanted from you now. Not even sure what he means, your brain’s too fuzzy with lust to comprehend anything until you feel the tip of his tongue circle a place you’d never let anyone else go before.

“Holy shit - Steve.” The new sensation sends another wave arousal to your dripping core, a needy whine following it when he does it again.

“This okay?” He kisses the curve underneath the apple of your cheek, the softness of his voice comforting you while he checks in.

“God, it’s, it’s -“ He gives you another kitten lick and it makes your eyes roll in the back of your head, “It’s more than okay - Jesus Christ.”

Too lost in the feeling of him testing the tightness of you with his tongue, you aren’t expecting his thick finger to start circling the entrance he’d been neglecting, the one you need him to fill the most. Your silk walls welcome the intrusion with ease, the stretch only stinging a little when he pushes to the last knuckle while his tongue starts getting a little more bold. Your back arches when he groans against you, curling his finger to hit the spot only you’d ever been able to find with ease. He adds a second digit when you start bucking against his face, the new addition almost makes you run away. He tsks at you from buried between your butt cheeks, one large hand locking you in place when he starts feeling you get close.

“Give it to me,” he demands, coming up for air. Fingertips relentless against the spot that has you squelching loudly.

His mouth returns to the sensitive part of you, tongue circling your tightness in a way that has you finally snapping. Your walls constrict, wrapping around his fingers while your vision goes white. Your body freezes, the orgasm overwhelming your muscles with a violent shake, his name falling from your lips like it’s the only word you know. You feel him grin against you, the movements of his fingers only slowing down but never stopping, milking every last drop you give him.

“So good, so pretty when you cum baby,” he mumbles praises, his lips kissing anywhere they can reach while your body comes down from its first high. 

You feel his weight leave the mattress, hear the metal of his belt buckle clinking followed by the low thump of his jeans hitting the floor. You find enough strength to look over your shoulder and it’s enough to make you whimper. Steve’s big. Dark hair at the base, it’s thick and curved, the pretty pink tip leaking just for you. The long vein that runs up the side pulses when he gives it a couple of tugs before his knees hit the mattress again. 

His hands spread over your hips pulling you closer before he starts trailing kisses up your back, the silver of his chain making you shiver as it runs up your spine till his lips stop right at your ear.

“You ready for me?” 

Your eyes meet his and they’re pitch black, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you know yours looks the same when you give him a nod but you know that’s not going to be enough for him.

“Come on, you know what I need,” his tone is mocking as he grabs his cock at the base, swiping his head through your folds, smirking at the way you try to suck him in, your body greedy for him.

“Please, please, please, please.” 

All your self respect goes out the window when he pushes the tip in and you can’t stop repeating yourself. The stretch is already bigger than his two fingers and he wasn’t even half way in yet and for a brief moment you wonder if he’ll even fit. 

“Fuck - baby.”

He moans as he pushes further, sheathing himself half way and he feels the way it makes your legs shake. His hand sneaks around your waist to find your clit, slippery fingers rubbing circles to get you to open up more as he rolls his hips one more time bottoming out. He groans so loud you’re sure anyone who might be smoking outside of the bar can hear him. 

“Holy shiiiit, I’ve never had pussy like this.” He stills, adjusting to how tight you feel, and it’s his turn to babble as you constrict around him making him twitch -  dangerously close to cumming already.

“You feel so good Stevie,” you whine as you push back against him, taking his length even deeper, feeling every curve and ridge of him against your walls.

He pulls out half way before slamming back in and it makes him curse under his breath before he does it again, only harder.

“God, fuck- this is all mine now, yeah?” he mutters, an angry edge to his words when he thinks about Devin getting to do this. 

“Mmhmm,” your answer is automatic, no thoughts behind your eyes while his cock fills you in the way you fantasize about when you touch yourself. 

“That’s right baby, it’s mine. You’re mine.” 

His thrusts get aggressive as he gets closer to his release, your slick making it easy for him to slide almost completely out before pushing back in. The rough hair covering his pelvis rubbing your clit at the same time his tip reaches the same spot his fingers pulled your first orgasm from. 

“Shit, Steve, right there.”  Your jaw goes slack, eyes closing tight when he hits it again, your words spurring him on while he tries to re-grip his hold on your sweat-kissed skin.

“Yeah? you want more?” He makes sure to put all his attention where you want, slowing his hips just enough to hit it even harder. “I’ll give you more.”

Steve tilts his head to the side watching how you wrap around him, and the way he barely has to push back in, your greedy walls doing almost all the work when he finds the perfect pace that has you twisting the sheets.

He huffs out a cocky laugh and it makes you tighten in response, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.”Yeah, I know baby. I know. You gonna cum again for me?”

“Uh-huh,” you manage to get out with a nod but it’s not enough for him, he needs you loud enough for Devin to hear from across town.

The sound of skin slapping against skin drowns out the music, keeping his stamina up despite the twitch of his cock, he bends over, somehow getting deeper, the cool metal of his chain dragging across your back while one hand snakes under your waist. His fingers are unrelenting when they find their way to your puffy clit again, applying just enough pressure to get your legs to shake for him.

“I’m gonna ask again, are you gonna cum for me?” He keeps his voice even, but he knows he’s not gonna last much longer, especially not when your cheek hits the mattress and you meet his eyes looking like that.

“Yeah, god, yeah Steveee! Please, please, please.” You don’t even know what you’re begging for but it makes Steve’s resolve break. 

The moan he lets out is loud enough to echo off your wall, warmth flooding your insides as he cums hard enough to collapse against your back. It’s enough to send you over the edge for the second time. Your walls fluttering enough to make his nails dig crescent moons into your hips with a low “fuck” escaping him as you milk him for more with the sweetest chant of his name he’s ever heard.

“That’s it baby.” He coos lips placing sloppy kisses along the your shoulder blades when you collapse against the mattress, your bodies tangled in a way you don’t have the energy to leave quite yet.

The radio cuts out leaving just the sound of the two of you trying to catch your breath, you can faintly hear ‘Pony’ playing from the bar below but the sound of a car driving past quickly snuffs it out. You feel his nose nudge against your ear, a slow lazy smile creeping across your face when his lips brush your temple.

“I don’t think you have a concussion, but you better stay the night just in case.”

His laugh vibrates against your back, a toothy grin pressed to your skin.

“It’s always better to be safe than sorry,” he agrees. The response you somehow managed to conjure up gets lost on your tongue when both your long forgotten Tamagotchi’s go off in his abandoned pants in a matching tune you’d never heard before.

“Our babies need daddy, honey,” he groans, slowly lifting himself up on his elbows.

You roll your eyes with a snort as he trails kisses down your back only wincing slightly when he pulls himself out. Folding your arms under your head, you still can’t bring yourself to move, but the view of him naked and still semi hard while he holds the two digital pets in his hand with a confused expression isn’t one you really can turn away from.

“What?” Your curiosity is piqued when his eyes grow big.

“No fuckin’ way,” he mumbles more to himself than you, “I didn’t even know they could do this.”

“What??” The irritation is clear in your voice, the feeling of being left out turning you into a brat.

“Umm, I think they had babies… yep. Marty definitely got her pregnant.” The smile on his face gives away just how excited he actually is and you hate to admit that it’s contagious.

“Well we’re gonna have to figure out a child support plan I’m afraid. Daisy’s a free woman Steve.” The serious delivery makes him do a double take before he narrows his eyes.

“Child support? No, we're raising these kids together. So I’m gonna need you to care a little bit about keeping her alive. It's not just you here honey.” He tosses you the toy before jumping back on the bed pulling your body into his chest with ease, “I’m afraid you’re never getting rid of me.”

---

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[neverasfarawayasitmayseemxo]

It’s Like Fate - Part 2

Here’s part two! I hope you guys like it :) I always feel the pressure to write extremely well when people are eager for the next part…so I hope it satisfies! Feedback is always appreciated :)

You put the final finishing touches on your makeup and get up to look at yourself in the mirror.

“Ummmmm….you look incredible!” Penelope says eagerly. She was wearing a canary yellow strapless maxi dress. She always wore bright colors and liked to stand out.

“Dear god. I want to throw up. I am so nervous” you say adjusting the strap to your baby blue body con dress.

“Don’t. Please, this dress is too hot to get stained” Penelope noted as she tied the back of your dress in a bow.

You laugh, “This is crazy. I can’t believe we are going to this party”

Penelope grabs her purse. “Me either. The fact that he noted what you were wearing yesterday and told that lady! This is definitely going to be a night to remember!”

You open your purse and slip the piece of paper with his address on it inside.

“Come on! It’s already 8:05. Let’s go!” she says, excitedly.

~

“This….must be it” Penelope says with a finger pointing out the window.

We pull up to a massive house. Probably the size of 4 football fields.

There were cars lining the driveway as well as the street.

“Where am I going to park?” you ask looking around for a spot.

Penelope sighs. “I guess we are going to have to walk far”

She slips off her shoes and tucks them under her arm. You look at her and laugh.

You finally find a spot…at least 10 houses down from his. It wasn’t too far of a walk but to walk in heels was not ideal.

“Should have taken them off like I did” Penelope says with a shrug as she slips back into her tan wedges as you make it to the driveway.

“Ha. Ha” you say sarcastically.

You both approach the door. You breathe in deeply then out slowly. God, why were you so nervous? He’s just a guy. He’s a normal guy. He’s a normal guy who just starred in a million dollar movie who is about to skyrocket to stardom. Totally normal!

Penelope rings the doorbell three times.

“I hope Tom Hanks is here. I have so many questions” she asks as she tries to look inside.

You look at her and shake your head. Then you begin to think that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. What was the point of this? You were starting to feel silly showing up here all eager and excited. Why would he like YOU? Seriously, this wasn’t a good idea.

“Maybe we should go” you say and turn on your heel.

You set one foot down the stairs.

“Leaving before you even say hello?” a deep, raspy yet sexy voice, says gently.

It was Austin. You turn around and both him and Penelope are looking at you.

He looked so sexy. He wore a white button down with a white blazer and black slacks. He wore what looked like the same boots as yesterday.

“I…uh….I don’t know” you say awkwardly walking back up to greet him.

“Austin Butler, you are so cute!!!!!! Penelope Sacks. Big big fan” Penelope exclaims, pulling him in for a hug.

He laughs and thanks her.

“I’m very happy that you guys came” he says smiling at you.

You nod, “Of course, wouldn’t miss it”

“Not to be a pain….but is Tom Hanks here?” Penelope asks.

Austin laughs, “He sure is. He’s in the kitchen. Straight down and to your left”

She jumps up excitedly, pushes passed him and disappears past the foyer.

“She’s a barrel of fun, that girl huh?” he says as he gestures you to come inside.

“Oh, she dances to her own beat, that’s for sure” you reply as you walk through the door.

There were people scattered throughout. Many were chit chatting with champagne flutes in hand. Waiters walked around serving hors douvres and alcohol to the guests.

“Your house is beautiful” you say admiring the architecture and decor.

He smiles, “Thank you, wait until you see the pool. That’s my favorite”

He walks you through the house making sure to stop in each room to give you the grand tour.

You both weaved your way through people until you finally reached the pool where dozens upon dozens of more people stood around chatting and drinking.

“Goodness, there sure are a lot of people here” you admit as you observe the crowd.

Austin turns towards the bar and picks up two glasses of champagne.

“Well, good thing the only person I wanted to see tonight was you” he says softly. He takes a sip of his champagne and you follow suit.

“I am still in shock” you admit. You both walk toward the pool and sit in two patio chairs opposite each other.

“Shock? Why is that?” he asks.

You shrug, “Well, considering there were at least 5 million people there yesterday and you noticed me. I’m just…surprised”

Austin laughs, “Well, I can tell you there was definitely less than 5 million people there, that’s for sure. And when I stepped out of the limo and walked down the carpet, my eyes immediately gravitated towards you. I don’t know what it was, I’m usually a shy guy but something was telling me to speak to you”

You bite your lip and look down at your dress, smoothing out the wrinkles.

“I hope that’s not weird to say…I was just…very drawn to you. I’m attracted to you is what I’m trying to say” he clarifies, sipping his champagne.

You look up at him and he’s looking at you.

“Weird? No. I’m extremely flattered and also very attracted to you too” you admit.

He smiles, “Good, I’m glad I’m not a weirdo then”

For the next two hours, you and Austin talked about everything and anything. From your favorite bands, to your favorite vacation destination. From your biggest fears, to your biggest accomplishments. From your latest breakup, to your biggest pet peeves. It was as if you had found your person, someone who shared similar interests and hobbies. You hadn’t been in a relationship in three years. Maybe the excitement of a boy actually talking to you sincerely made it seem like more than what it was? You shook that negative thought from your head.

By now, the party was starting to wind down. Waiters were cleaning up empty glasses and crumbs off food plates. There were a few stragglers here and there making their way towards the exit.

“I’m surprised no one has come over to bother you” you say surprisingly.

Austin nods, “I told my team not to bother me at all tonight. I wanted us to have each other’s undivided attention”

You smile, admiring how sweet this man really is.

“Actually, come to think of it, I’m surprised Miranda didn’t force me to mingle with other guests” he says. “She’s the one who gave you the note yesterday. She’s my publicist”

“And I’m surprised Penelope hasn’t run over here to tell me some wild story about Tom Hanks” you say with a laugh.

Austin giggles. At that moment, Penelope runs towards you with a huge smile on her face.

“Oh my god. I have so much to tell you!” Penelope grabs your arm.

“I’m a little busy right now” you say through gritted teeth, gesturing to Austin. She looks at him and the back at you.

“Oh right. Well, I’m actually going to take off. I met a very cute boy tonight. Turns out, it’s Tom Hanks’ NEPHEW!!!! I could potentially be apart of the Hanks family. My favorite actor!!!!” Penelope squealed.

Austin laughs and you join him.

“Text me tomorrow!!!! Have fun you two” she sings as she raises her eyebrows up and down.

She turns and we watch as she links arms with a dark haired boy at the door and leaves.

“So” Austin says standing up.

You watch him saunter over towards the pool, waiting to hear what he has to say next.

“Want to go swimming?”

He takes off his blazer and throws it on the chair.

“Um…” you say and stand up slowly.

He kicks off his shoes and starts to unbuckle his belt.

“I don’t necessarily have a bathing suit” you say as you watch him undress.

“Neither do I” he says and takes off his shirt. You gaze at his beautiful abs. Jesus Christ, it was like he was sculpted by Michelangelo himself.

“I don’t know” you say looking down at your dress.

He takes his pants off and now he’s just left in his boxer briefs.

He jumps into the pool, splashing you a little in the process.

You step back and giggle. He swims up to the surface and shakes out his hair.

“You can come in the pool with your dress….or whatever you got going on underneath it” he says looking down at your cleavage with a smile.

You bite your lip and look at the water. Fuck it. It’ll be a fun story to tell Penelope tomorrow.

Thank god you were wearing a bra because you weren’t ready for him to see you fully naked just yet. It was the first time you were hanging out after all.

You kick your shoes off and unravel the bow behind your back then pull your straps down. As you do this, Austin is watching you. His eyes peering at your hands pulling down your dress.

You were now in just your bra and underwear.

“Jump in” he yells.

You shake your head in disbelief that this is even happening.

You feel yourself flying, jumping into the pool as the water surrounds you.

You float back to the top and Austin swims over to you.

“Feels freeing right?” he asks.

You nod, “It feels amazing”

“You know, I had a lot of fun tonight getting to know you” Austin admits.

You smile, “I feel the same way”

He swims closer to you. You could feel your body tense up with nerves. Was he going to kiss you?!

“Honestly, I’ve never connected like that with someone before. I mean, how many people do you meet that ALSO say their favorite food is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?!” Austin exclaims.

You giggle and shrug. “Maybe one in a million”

Austin swims closer, your faces just inches away from each other’s.

“I think it’s like fate” he whispers. With his face being inches from yours, you could see how blue his eyes really were. They were truly captivating.

“I’d have to agree” you whisper in response.

Austin leans in, you could feel his breath on your lips. This was really happening.

“Austin!” someone screams.

You both jump, startled at the loud and aggressive voice coming from the house.

It was Miranda.

“I’m sorry to interrupt” she says as she walks across the pool deck toward the both of you. “Austin, I really need to go over next week’s schedule with you. Also, the waiters need to be paid and I’d like your help gently reminding some guests in your living room to leave. If I do it, the cops will come and someone WILL have a black eye”

Austin looks down and sighs. His eyes then meets yours and he bites his lip.

“I’m sorry” he says to you.

You shake your head, “Don’t be. I need to get going anyway”

You both hop out of the pool and Austin fishes two towels out of the pool chest.

“Miranda, can you give me like 10 minutes? I’d really like to walk [Y/N] to her car” Austin says as he ties the towel around his waist.

You slip back into your dress not even caring that it was going to get wet.

Miranda shakes her head. “I’m sorry honey, but this needs to get done. I’m on a time crunch right now and truthfully so are you. I’m sure [Y/N] will be able to find her own car”

Miranda gives you a side eye. Jesus, what was this woman’s problem?

You look at Miranda then back at Austin.

“Uh…yeah, don’t worry about me. It’s not far at all” you explain. You were disappointed that your alone time with him was cut short.

Austin sighs, “Well, I hope you had a nice time tonight. I’d like to see you again”

You nod in agreement. “I’d like that”

“Okay then, ta-ta miss [Y/N]” Miranda sings as she pushes Austin toward the door.

He turns his head and waves goodbye, a sad expression spread across his face.

You pickup your purse and sling it over your shoulder.

So much for “a night to remember”.

[dino-fart]

The Third Strange | Chapter 1: Clea

Pairing: Clea Strange x Female!Reader x Stephen Strange

Genre: SMUT, PURE FILTH, Threesome

Summary: Reader comes to visit her two favorite sorcerers for a dinner date night. Both Stranges propose an opportunity for the reader. An opportunity of a lifetime. Will the reader take it?

Summary | Preview | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

You are a sorceress and an informant to anyone who paid your price. Your favorite client by far was Clea Strange. She had come to you many times and you two always met at the same club in the Dark Dimension. You admired Clea, you thought she was so badass by the way she walked, the way she could silence a room just by walking in, and how sexy she was. So when Clea called for your help again, you were eager. 

You wore a black cut out cold shoulder bodycon dress. Your hair was in a high ponytail and you had on matching heels. You finished your drink and set it down on the counter. The music began to get louder with the beat and you felt your hips sway to the music. You made your way to the dancefloor and began to dance. 

You felt someone’s hands on your hips and turned your head to see a female clubber with a skull mask behind you. You smirked and pressed your ass against her hips and grinded against her. The woman leaned her face closer to your neck and nipped your earlobe. “Mmm, that’s it, baby, touch me...” You moaned. The woman groped your breasts through your dress and a male clubber approached you. 

You grinned, “Come to join us?” The man smirked and put his blunt between his lips and blew a puff of purple smoke in your face. “Mmm, purple heaven, huh?” You purred. The man took the blunt and placed it between your red lips. He began to kiss along the other side of your neck. You took a drag of the blunt and removed it from your lips to blow smoke. 

Across the dancefloor was Clea in a black sleeveless mock neck high-low maxi dress. Her eyes immediately spotted you dancing with two people. She smirked, you were so gorgeous that people couldn’t help themselves. Too bad, you were hers, or going to be after today. Clea sauntered across the floor toward you. 

Many clubbers tried to dance with her but she ignored them. She finally made it to you and smirked. “Having fun without me?” She cooed. 

You turned to look at her and grinned, “Hey hot stuff~” 

“Mind if I cut in?” Clea said firmly to the man and woman grinding up on you. The two saw Clea and scrambled. You still had the blunt between your fingers and Clea pulled you toward her. Clea’s hands roamed your curves and landed on your ass. She groped it hard and smirked at you. “This dress for me? How sweet~” She cooed and slapped your ass. 

You yelped and giggled, leaning in to kiss along her jawline. Clea purred and took the blunt from your fingers. She took a drag of the blunt and then made it disappear. “Fuck you’re so hot...” You moaned at the sight of her. Clea grinned and grabbed your hand in hers. 

She lead you to the bathroom and slammed you against the wall. You faced the wall and felt her hands all over you. Clea pressed her hips against your ass and grinded hard against you. Her face buried in your neck and she kissed the flesh there. You groaned and wrapped your arm around her head. “Did you call me for something...Or is this a booty call?” 

“Mmm, both~” Clea teased and slapped your ass again. 

You giggled and shook your ass for her. Clea flipped you around to face her and kissed you desperately. You nearly fainted at the passion and ran your hands over her breasts. Clea pulled back after the kiss, “Fuck I missed you.” 

“I can tell, gorgeous~” You nipped her bottom lip. 

“My place or yours?” 

“Yours is always fun~” 

Clea stepped back from you to pull out her sword. She slashed the air to create a portal to the Sanctum. Clea pulled you close to her and walked you into the portal with her.

 You were soon pinned on the large king-size bed and Clea used her magic to make you both naked. Clea moved between your legs and kissed your inner thighs. “W-Wait Clea...What about your husband?” You moaned. 

“Mmm, he’ll be back soon, then I can finally introduce you to him.” Clea licked your cunt slowly.

“W-Wait he knows about us?” You let out a shaky moan.

“Of course.” 

“And he’s okay with it?” 

“Yes, and in fact, he was curious to...Please you too.” 

You blushed and bit your lip, “Really?” 

“Shh, dove, just relax.” Clea kissed your hips slowly then made her way back to your legs. 

A few hours of lovemaking later... 

You had fallen asleep on Clea and she wrapped her arms around you. She looked up as the bedroom door opened and Stephen walked in. He stopped when he saw his wife and you. “Hello, my love.” Clea smiled. 

Stephen raised a brow and walked over to the bed, “I take it this is the woman you told me about?” 

“She is, do you want me to wake her?” 

“Not yet, my darling. Come with me, let her sleep.” Stephen leaned over to kiss Clea slowly. Clea kissed him back and nodded. She gently laid you on the bed and left, she was still naked. Stephen bit his lip at the sight of his wife and teleported the two of them somewhere else. 

Another few hours later...

You stepped out of the shower, drying your hair with the towel. You made a blue bathrobe appear out of nowhere and wrapped it around you. You stretched your arms and looked at the bite marks on your neck. You smirked at the sight and sauntered out of the bedroom to find Clea. You made your way to the large living area with books and a large circular table. You turned your head to the right to see the large Sanctum window and an armchair. “Clea?” You called out. 

“Clea will be back soon.” You heard a male voice say and turned around to see Stephen Strange leaning against the doorframe. You swallowed hard, expecting to be kicked out or shouted at despite what Clea had said. But instead, he walked toward you slowly, his gaze was filled with hunger. “So you’re the little minx my wife is enchanted by...A pleasure to finally meet you.” Stephen smirked. 

You felt your cheeks heat up at his gaze, “You’re...You’re very handsome...” 

Stephen chuckled and gently cupped your chin, “Why thank you.” Stephen leaned his face close and pressed his cheek against yours to whisper in your ear, “So tell me, minx...You’ve satisfied my wife perfectly...I’d say I should have a turn, hm?” 

Your lips parted and you nodded, “Yes, sir...” 

“Sir? I prefer master.” Stephen swatted your ass and you yelped. Stephen pulled you closer and cupped the back of your head to kiss you passionately. 

You were never going to leave this Sanctum and you were quite alright with that...

Tagging: @slutformisswena​, @narcissapet1, @romanoffandmaximoffswhore, @readingroos​, @siredlust​, @wandasslutt, @elenaguarnieri​, @friendsofdarkness​, @blackgaladriel​, @aureliapappa​, @drchiltons​, @coffee-and-red-lipstick, @faltinestrange​, @leins-stuff​, @nattywentsplatty, @baebaesposts, @mister-faltine​, @secretcollectorcrusade, @cemak​, @toneitup, @thealleydog​, @gorpgirlie​, @dragonqueen89​, @strangesluvr​, @tittylover6000, @stupidthoughtsinwriting​, @namor-is-the-way​, @k1mikoz​, @mirikusashes​,  @raspberry-18, @casualimaginesfluffwagon, @pinkthick​, @starksbf​, @lucimorningst4r​, @tessieds, @strangesthirdeye​, @320viada, @deepbatched, @vikingqueen28, @leonkennedyslefthand, @stewardofningishzida​, @icytrickster17, @onlinecemetery, @marki-moo0, @absolute-not-original, @creamecafe, @scrubb, @nightingal3-tales, @alliethedaydreamer, @strangesthirdeye, @alexa-33, @zombiedixon89, @sunnsettee, @deliciousfestsalad, @kiaradaniell, @freyafriggafrey, @criticalroleobssedperson, @avengersfan25, @lunamoonbby, @androgynouspersonapricotfan, @foxcantswim, @namorkawaiiwife, @starkiller-queen, @kyuupidwrites, @luciamajer, @renatas10, @ayamenimthiriel, @gaiagurl05, @dipsylou, @pinkthick, @hansai, @andywinter16, @iambored24601, @3-cheese-tortellini, @cumbrbatchbenedict, @aribas-stuff, @rianumochi, @ironstrange1991​

[jessmalia]

heartless | 01. operation smile

pairing: henry mills x oc  a/n: henry's aged up for this story. he's just two years older. so he's 12 in season 1 and 16 in season 6. also the last scene was kinda rushed together because i was tired sorry not sorry.  wordcount: 2858 warnings: none for this chapter, but this book includes heavy themes of ptsd and emotional abuse. reader discretion is advised.

masterlist || next>>

"Smart kid." Emma sighed as she looked through Henry's empty email account. "He cleared his inbox. I'm smart too," she said, fishing her go-to USB from her jacket pocket and holding it up so that Sheriff Graham could see. "A little hard disk recovery utility I like to use."

  By the way Graham looked at the thing, you'd think it was a spaceship or something. "I'm a bit more old-fashioned in my techniques," he said uneasily. "Pounding the pavement, knocking on doors, that sort of thing."

  Emma rolled her eyes as she plugged the USB into Henry's computer. Out of all the towns she had to be dragged by her long–lost child into, why did it have to be one where the Sheriff was stuck in the 1950s? "You're on salary. I get paid for delivery. Pounding the pavement is not a luxury that I get," she said coolly, scrolling through Henry's refilled inbox. "See, just as I thought. He's been emailing a girl called... Maxie Collins. Do you have any idea who that is?" she asked, turning back to look at Regina.

  "No." She shook her head, leaning closer to read the messages on the computer. "Henry has never mentioned her before."

  "Well, he told her about his plans to seek me out, so she might know where he is," Emma said as she went through their most recent conversation. "And she lives at..." Emma felt a sudden lump in her throat as she read the address on the webpage, "...Storybrooke Orphanage," she finished quietly.

  "Great," said Graham, slapping his hand against the tabletop and standing up. "Let's go visit this girl then."

–––

Graham quickly knocked on the door to room 18 as they approached, then stepped back as they all waited for an answer. Emma felt extremely uneasy being in the building. This was certainly not how she had wanted to spend the day. Merely standing in a place like this again brought back old memories that she'd prefer to keep repressed. These types of buildings, whether orphanages or foster homes, all had the same depressing feel to them. As if the despair of the lonely children was sucking all the colors out of the room. 

  The door was finally opened by a young girl who looked to be around 13 years old. She had long tousled blonde hair, a braided leather necklace with a green gemstone woven into it hung around her neck, and she was wearing a hooded black leather jacket that was easily three sizes too big for her. However, the thing Emma noticed first were her eyes. They were big and green, but that wasn't what stood out to her. Emma saw herself. That look in her eyes... the despair. It was the same one she had when she was in the foster system. It was the look of an orphan.

Maxie Collins looked up in surprise at the three adults standing by her doorway. "Am I in some sort of trouble?" she asked, eying the Sheriff and Mayor particularly. Emma opened her mouth to tell her that she had nothing to worry about, but Regina spoke before she could.

  "That depends on how you answer our questions," she said, marching past Maxie into her room. The girl looked annoyed but said nothing. Instead, she gestured for Emma and Graham to follow her.

  There wasn't anything too remarkable about Maxie's dorm. The walls were beige and there was a plain and unassuming bunk bed in the corner, but there was no indication that the top bunk had been slept in. There were barely any personal belongings there at all, except for a couple of CDs on a shelf in the nightstand, an old laptop and a couple of school books resting on a rickety wooden desk, and a single potted plant by the window. It was like the girl was afraid to make this place her home.

  Maxie sat down in the rolly-chair by her desk, closing her laptop that seemed to have been open on a barely-started school assignment. "Shall we get on with the questions, then? Because I have no idea what this is about," she asked, turning towards the adults.

  "I'll tell you what this is about," Regina fumed, stepping towards her. "I want to know what you want with my son."

  Her statement left an awkward silence in the room.

  "Huh?" Maxie finally said, eyebrows furrowed.

  Regina's scowl deepened, her patience already running thin. "My son has started acting out and disobeying me, and I'm guessing you have something to do with that. I want to know what you want with him."

  "Um, nothing. Henry's just my friend," Maxie said in an aloof voice that clearly showed that Regina's anger had no effect on her whatsoever. "If your son refuses to listen to you, I'd venture a guess that the fault is yours, not mine. You should actually talk to him instead of going around throwing accusations at people for something that's clearly just a result of your bad parenting." 

  Emma was surprised at how well spoken the girl was, it didn't seem to match the rest of her character very well. She looked towards Regina, whose eyes were flared with rage, and decided it was probably best to step in before things got out of hand. "Look, Maxie–"

 "Actually, people call me Max."

  "Okay... Max. Henry has run away, and we don't know where to find him. Do you have any idea where he might be?"

  Max let out a long sigh, leaning back in her chair. "Henry's fine. He'll come back soon enough. My suggestion is to just wait him out. He should be in Boston by now, so there's no way you can find him."

  Emma shook her head. "No, you don't understand. He's already been to Boston, but he ran away again." 

  Max's eyebrows knit together. "Wait..." she murmured, eyes squinting as she looked over Emma, eyes slowly dissecting every part of her. "Are you Emma? Henry's birth mother?"

  Emma nodded, her mouth pulling up in a thin-lipped smile. "Yup. That's me."

  Max's face visibly softened, but she still didn't give them any worthwhile information. "I'm sorry. I don't know where he is now."

  Regina groaned, grumbling something about a "waste of time" before grabbing Graham and dragging him out of the room. But Emma didn't follow. She had some questions of her own she wanted to be answered first.

  "Do you know anything about this storybook Henry's always talking about?" she asked, taking a seat on Max's bed.

  "Oh, that?" Max inquired, raising her left eyebrow. "Our teacher, Ms. Blanchard, gave it to him. She's a really good teacher. Smart too."

  "Do you have any idea why she gave him the book?"

  "She says that stories are a way to deal with our world at times when it doesn't make much sense," she said, looking out of the window, a wistful look washing over her big green eyes as she spoke next. "Henry's a great kid. I mean, really. He's kind and smart... but he's also very lonely. Until I came around, which was only about a year ago, he didn't really have any friends at all. And even now, we don't get to spend that much time together since I'm in the grade above him. And then there's the fact that his mom keeps such a strong hold on him." Max paused, biting her lip. "Ms. Blanchard gave him that book because she thought it would give him hope. And it has." She paused again, this time making eye contact with Emma for the first time during her answer. "Henry needs that book." 

  Emma nodded, breaking eye contact with Max for a moment as the weight of what the girl had just told her was too much. But even though it all made her feel very guilty, it also clarified that Max cared immensely for Henry and seemed to know him better than anyone. Emma didn't need her superpower to know that she had been lying to Regina earlier. 

  "You know where he is, don't you?"

 Max looked down at her lap, an appreciative smile pulling at her lips. "You might wanna check his castle."

–––

Max stood by the entrance to her school, arms crossed as she leaned against the wall, waiting for her best friend — her only friend — Henry Mills.

  When the boy finally arrived, he immediately ran towards her, smiling whole-heartedly for the first time in a while. 

  "Hey, kiddo," she greeted as he reached her. Henry rolled his eyes.

  "Don't know how many times I have to tell you — I'm only a year younger than you."

  Max ignored his comment. "I see Emma decided to stay for a while," she said, nodding towards the spot just outside of the school where Emma stood talking to Ms. Blanchard.

  "Yep!" he exclaimed, much enthusiasm in his voice. "I managed to convince her to stay for at least a week, but I think she's going to stay for longer. I told her all about Operation Cobra and she's totally in!"

  Max smiled at his excitement. "That's fantastic," she said. "Have you found me in the book yet?"

  If she had to be totally honest, Max didn't believe any of this fairy tale business that Henry was so obsessed with. It just did not feel real to her. But she would be damned if she ever let that show. Max may not be able to fix anything about her own shitty life, but she could help Henry with his. She would do just about anything to see that smile on his face. And in one way, she really wanted to believe Henry. She wished she did. Like, really... a fairy tale land with magic and wonder, where the bad guys always lost and the good ones always got a happy ending — who wouldn't wanna believe in that?

  Henry nodded enthusiastically. "Actually, I have!"

  Max raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Really?" she asked. She really didn't think Henry was going to find her there. Nothing about her that she could think of connected her to any sort of fairy tale. Like, Ms. Blanchard she got — that woman was basically Snow White come to life. But she was different. And on the off chance that this was real, she was convinced that she wouldn't be important enough to mention. She'd probably just be a background villager or something. "Who am I then?"

  "I'll show you," he said, grabbing Max by the hand and dragging her away. He ran until he found a spot on the west side of the building. The spot was cornered off on two sides, leaving only one side open, which was covered by a large bush, completely cloaking them from any outside eyes. 

  "Well," Henry started as he lifted the book out of his bag and started flipping through the pages, "I couldn't connect your story to any specific fairy tale. My first guess would've been The Little Mermaid, but there's already an Ariel in here and–"

  "Wait, what?" Max stopped him in the middle of his rant. "Are you telling me that I'm a mermaid? I don't even like swimming!" It was true — for as long as she could remember, Max had hated swimming and anything to do with the water. Weirdly, she was extremely good at it, though. A useless skill, really, but she was better at swimming than any of the other subjects in school! Although, that wasn't really saying much.

  Henry nodded. "Yeah, I know. But it fits," he said, finally stopping his flipping as he found the page he had been looking for, showing it to Max. "You didn't like being a mermaid! You wanted to be a human." 

  "Sure sounds a lot like The Little Mermaid," Max mumbled, looking down at the page in front of her. It contained a drawing of a young girl, or rather, a young mermaid. She was sitting on a cliff in the middle of the ocean, gazing longingly towards the land in front of her. The girl did look like her (though, one might say that about any girl with white skin and blonde hair), but she was a few years younger. "It does look like me, but that girl looks to be around ten years old."

  "Well, you've been ten at one point in your life, right?" said Henry. 

  Max rolled her eyes. "Yeah, of course I have. But this must've been a while before the curse then, right? So is there anything in the book about what I did around that time?" 

  "No, nothing at all. It's a bit strange," Henry said, frowning as he examined the page for what was probably the two hundredth time since he found it last night. "This is the only time you're mentioned." 

  Of course, just like she thought. She was not a main character by any means. "What's my name then?" she asked instead, hoping to change the subject to something that would make Henry smile again. "Maybe that can help us determine which fairy tale I'm from."

 "Actually..." said Henry slowly, "your name has always been Max."

  ...

 What?

 Max quickly ripped the book from Henry's grasp, examining the page with narrowed eyes. He was right. The girl in the picture was indeed referred to as Max in the text. And it did look a lot like her...

 This truly was very strange. 

–––

Max had been sitting in her usual armchair just outside of Dr. Hopper's office for roughly twenty minutes now. She was concentrated on the phone in her hand, using the down time to try and beat her high score in snake. She was interrupted in her gameplay when rapid footsteps echoed throughout the hall. Max looked up, eyes meeting with Emma's, and she didn't hesitate before standing up and blocking the door. 

  Emma brows drew together in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

  Max glared at her. "I always wait for Henry after his sessions so I can walk him home," she said coolly. "What are you doing here?"

  Her eyes flickered to the floor. "I need to see Henry."

  Max scoffed. Wasn't the fact that she was blocking the door enough of a message? "Yeah, I don't think that's the best idea after what you called him. Why don't you leave taking care of Henry to the people who actually believe in him?" 

  Emma sighed. "I know I made a mistake, alright. Please, just let me in. I'm here to make it right."

  Max hadn't planned on relenting, but the look on Emma's face surprised her with how earnest it was. She sighed, before stepping aside, and Emma let out a deep breath.

  "Thank you," she said and opened the door, stepping inside. 

 As they walked in, both of the rooms's residents turned to look at them, and as soon as Dr. Hopper's eyes met with Emma's, he jumped out of his seat. "Miss Swan, I can explain. The Mayor forced me to–"

 Emma didn't let him finish. "I know," she said, holding up her hands as a gesture for him to stop. "Don't worry about it. I get it." The shock spread across the man's face was almost comical, but Emma promptly ignored it, instead walking towards her son. "Henry, I'm sorry."

  Henry was sitting dejected on Dr. Hopper's sofa, with his cheek leaning against the side. Worst of all — he was frowning. "I don't wanna talk to you," he mumbled, staring at his lap. 

  Dr. Hopper tried to interject. "Miss Swan, if she knew you were here–"

  "To hell with her." Emma said with much conviction, leaning down in front of her son. "Henry, there is one simple reason I stayed here — you. I wanted to get to know you," she said. 

  "You think I'm crazy."

  "No," Emma objected, "I think the curse is crazy. And it is..." She paused, taking a deep breath. "But, that doesn't mean that it isn't true."

  Not much changed in Henry's expression after her words, but his eyes did turn to focus on his mother's face. 

  "It is a lot to ask someone to believe in. But there are a lot of crazy things in this world. So what do I know? Maybe it is true."

  Henry wasn't convinced, his voice raising slightly when he said, "But you told my mom–"

  "What she needed to hear! What I do know... is that if the curse is real, the only way to break it is by tricking the Evil Queen into thinking that we are nonbelievers. 'Cause that way, she's not onto us. Isn't that what Operation Cobra was all about?" Emma looked around the room for a moment and up at Max, who had a warm smile stretched across her face. "Throwing her off the trail?"

  Henry sat up, eyes shining as he beamed at his mom. "Brilliant!"

  Max had never seen Emma look so relieved. 

  "I read the pages, and Henry, you are right. They are dangerous. There is only one way to make sure that she never sees them!" She stood up, walked towards the roaring fireplace, and threw the pages into the flames. "Now we have the advantage."

Henry ran up to hug his mom, that shining grin back on his face. 

Operation Smile was complete.

–––

heartless taglist: @jochase​

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

customer service, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You're the simple owner of an erotica shop. Known for being non-judgmental, non-kink-shaming, and for providing pleasant customer service. So what happens when a certain customer asks for a little... extra service?

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; non-idol!AU; mentions of toxic masculinity and kink shaming; dom/sub themes; smut (restraints, body appreciation, praise, nipple play, handjob, edging); softdom!reader x firsttimesub!Jungkook

--

“Thank you for your patronage.”

The older woman bowed politely and took the inconspicuous brown paper bag from you. You smiled at her as she tucked it safely in her purse before thanking you again and walking out. The sky was already pitch black, with only a few people walking about. It was late, almost closing time. There was only one other customer browsing the shelves.

You knew him well.

You turned from the counter and continued calculating the day’s sales. It had been a surprisingly busy day for an erotica shop. Lots of people had purchased books today and even a good number of toys. Being one of the few adult shops in the whole district got you some… interesting customers. Thankfully, everyone was too nervous or awkward to start shit. This made your job a lot easier and you didn’t have to hire a second person. It was a small business, but you were quite proud of owning it.

You heard the clearing of a throat.

You punched in the last number. It took you less than a second to record the total in the book before shutting it. A deep breath coursed through you. You lifted your head, a small smile on your lips.

The young man shifted nervously on his heels. Curled, dark brown hair past his ears. A sharp jawline, mole quivering under his lower lip. A permanent deer-in-headlights look, at least when it came to visiting the store. He was wearing an over-sized, navy blue dress shirt and tight black slacks with black oxfords.

“How can I help you, Jeon Jungkook?”

His ears turned red. “Oh… you remember my name.”

You bowed ever so lightly. “Of course. Did you enjoy your book?”

The blush crept to his cheeks. He coughed awkwardly. You didn’t look away, keeping your small smile on your lips. You were wearing a high-necked, long-sleeved, floor-length black dress. Completely covered except for your head and hands. Your hands were perched one over the other, calmly waiting for his answer.

“Er, yes.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Over the course of his visits, you had learned a lot about Jeon Jungkook. He bought books and porn primarily BDSM-themed, either lesbian dom/sub or female dom/male sub. He bought only a few toys, but all were marketed for self-pleasure. He did not purchase any of the clothing, despite always eying it as he checked out. He was very hesitant to ask questions when there was a lot of people in the shop. He did, however, ask when there were no people in earshot. He requested opinions and recommendations a lot. He listened closely to your responses, dipping his head a bit as if he was afraid someone would know what he was asking.

At the moment, Jungkook seemed to be collecting himself. You patiently waited, watching his body language. Trembling shoulders. Chewing on his lower lip. Eyes flickering, looking in every direction except you.

“Could I… Could I please try that on?” he finally asked, raising his hand to point at something behind you.

You turned your head, following the direction of his finger. It was a black leather top for men, cut high, just above the nipples. There was a steel circle at the center of the chest that would lay under the collarbones, against the sternum. High-necked, with studs at the seams to prevent it from getting ripped with use. It had long sleeves, except instead of an opening for the hands, it ended in a closed, flipper-like encasement with straps. The back had a zipper to get inside the top.

You took a moment to let your eyes roam over the piece before facing him.

“You will need someone to help you put it on.”

You saw his hand falter. He lowered it, expression falling.

“Perhaps you can come back with someone to see if you two like it.”

Jungkook shifted his feet uncomfortably. “I don’t... have anyone who could help me.” His eyes darted from side to side. “No one knows.”

Your brows furrowed at his sad tone. “I’m sure there is someone who understands.”

Jungkook shook his head quickly. “Everyone I’ve even suggested that kind of… thing… they laughed at me,” he said tearfully, chewing on his lip harder. “They told me I was weak for wanting something like that. They told me I should be a man.”

A sharp tinge of annoyance shot through you. What kind of fucking bullshit was that? To be so vulnerable and admit what you liked – that was being a man, or any human for that matter. Jungkook blinked rapidly, pushing away his tears. He had been repressing this side of him for a long time, it seemed, only revealing a little when he was at the shop. The thought made you angry. Not having sexual freedom was soul crushing.

“It’s expensive.”

Jungkook nodded. “I saved up for it.”

Your eyes flickered to the clock. “It’s ten minutes before closing, Jungkook.”

He bowed his head. “I understand.”

You winced. He looked so lost and alone, like a bunny who couldn’t find home. You tapped the counter sharply, making him snap his head up.

“The fitting rooms are in the back. Let me close up a little and I will be right with you,” you said, sweeping your skirts back to walk around the counter. Jungkook watched you stride to the door of the shop before scurrying towards the back. You locked the door and pulled down the metal grate before turning off the front lights. You could never be too safe, after all. You made your way back to the counter and grabbed the tall metal hook to bring the leather top down. He had good taste. This was one of your favorites.

Simple, yet effective.

You placed the metal rod back and walked to the fitting rooms, heels clacking on the hardwood. You always liked to wear heels. They gave you a sense of power, even though no one could see them under the maxi-length dress. It was like announcing your presence.

Your hand grasped the red velvet curtain and pulled back, revealing an awkward-looking Jungkook. He was picking at the peach fuzz on his face in the floor length mirrors. You blinked at him and he pulled away from the mirror quickly. He saw the top on your hands and gulped.

“Sorry, I–”

You cut him off. “Remove your shirt.”

Jungkook looked down. “R-right.”

You watched his fingers fumble with the tiny buttons of his navy dress shirt. He had long fingers, large hands. Small tattoos on his right hand. Lightly tanned skin, toned chest, dark nipples, sculpted abs. The silky fabric slid off his right shoulder. Tattooed arm as well. He slipped out of the other sleeve and held his shirt awkwardly in his hands. You indicated the hook to his left with your free hand. He swallowed and placed his shirt on the hook. His black pants were very tight. You could see his muscular thighs and calves.

Interesting.

“Move the ottoman to the center,” you said softly. There was an edge of command to your voice.

Jungook spied the black leather ottoman in the corner and gently pushed it to the center of the dressing room. He looked back up at you for approval.

“Sit.”

He did, but facing you. You smiled, just a little.

“Face the mirrors, Jungkook.”

There was an inflection on your tone when you said his name. He started and scooted around, facing the three floor-length mirrors. You could see Jungkook’s nervous expression in the mirror and he could see you standing behind him at the entrance of the dressing room. You pulled the curtain closed behind you as you stepped in.

Now you two were alone, in the red velvet room.

You calmly removed the hanger from the leather top. “Raise your arms.”

He did. He had nice forearms and biceps. Even his triceps were nice.

You unzipped the back. Jungkook was watching you closely. You separated the zipper and reached around him, placing one sleeve on and then the other. Your chest was very close to his back but not touching. You placed two fingers around his wrist and yanked the leather down, making sure the fit was smug. Jungkook gasped. You did the same to his other hand before backing up and rolling the sleeves up. He shivered as the steel ring touched his skin, flush against his sternum. You had to pull a bit to fit his broad shoulders in it. The top could accommodate some stretch, but it was a little tight due to his build. Your eyes flickered to his face. He seemed fine with it.

Maybe a little too fine with it.

You zipped the back, careful not to catch his hair in it. Jungkook peered at his flipper hands and flapped the straps. He smiled. You almost did, but instead cleared your throat. He straightened.

“So,” you began, voice dropping an octave. “The nice thing about this top is that it can be fastened two ways.” You reached around him and took his left arm, crossing it over his right arm, over his stomach. Your hands lingered on the straps for a moment before snapping them behind him with the proper tightness. Restraining, but not circulation-cutting. You looked up. The position made his pecs push together and his biceps bugle against the leather. Jungkook gawked at his body in the mirror, eyes wide as if seeing himself for the first time. You could see his dark nipples harden.

Hm.

“And,” you continued calmly, unsnapping the straps. “It can be done this way.”

You undid the snaps and maneuvered his arms to cross them behind his back. A few steps and you were in front of him, slipping the straps under the steel ring and pulling them taut. He inhaled sharply as you touched his hot skin. Quick few adjustments and you were done.

You let your eyes trail to his face.

Jungkook’s brown eyes were quivering, staring at you.

You moved out of the way and let him see himself. Now his chest stuck out a bit due to his arms pinned behind him, forcing him to arch his back. Jungkook tilted his head, tugging at the restraint. He flexed his muscles. It didn’t budge. His lips parted. Curls of dark hair framed his wide, inquisitive eyes. He looked at himself in every angle, the confidence evident in his features.

You stood about a foot behind him, hands behind your back. He caught your eye and blushed, looking to the floor.

“Like what you see?”

One, two, three seconds passed. Then he barely nodded, not making a noise.

“Jungkook.”

He looked up slowly, chewing on his lip.

“Tell me how you feel.”

You could tell he was struggling with lying or telling the truth. You waited patiently.

“I feel… sexy,” he said, quietly at first, but with added sureness as he looked at himself in the mirror. “I really love it.” His eyes shifted towards you. You could see them sparkling with gratefulness. “Thank you.”

The side of your lips curved upwards. You took a step towards him. Your hand curved around his head, hovering just under his chin. “You don’t have to thank me,” you murmured, making eye contact through the mirror. Those brown orbs full of wonder and open possibilities. The mole under his lips trembling as they parted. Your other hand pointed to his reflection, where he looked at himself once again.

“Look how pretty you are, Jungkook.”

He whimpered.

You heard it. Jungkook heard it. You blinked slowly. His teeth sunk into his lower lip. Your hand was still under his chin, not touching. Gradually, very deliberately, he lowered his head, right into your palm. You observed him through the mirror. He rolled his hips, ever so slightly. The tight black fabric molded to his obvious erection, revealing everything.

You dropped your head a few centimeters lower, lips against his ear. Eyes still on his.

“Jungkook, I’m the shopkeeper,” you breathed.

He nodded in your palm, breath hitching. You tucked your tongue in your cheek. His breathing was getting heavier. You pulled your hand back, against his neck. He gasped as your fingertips touched his skin, your index and middle on his pulse. It was racing.

“I know,” he pleaded, so quietly you barely heard him.

You breathed deeply. “Wouldn’t this be your first… encounter?”

He nodded, short, quick nods of his head. You waited.

“P-please…”

Shit.

His voice was a whisper, fear mixed with arousal. “I know you won’t… laugh at me.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Your hand slipped down the leather. “You’re right,” you murmured. “I won’t.”

His bangs shrouded his eyes a little, but he was watching your every move. Watching your fingertips trace the steel ring, watching your hand splay across his chest, whimpering as you touched his skin. You kept your eyes on his as he watched you stroke his abs, tracing the muscles.

“Look at you, handsome boy.”

His ears turned red at the compliment. You smiled, just a little. Your other hand snaked up his side, making him gasp. Your hands roamed over his body, his tanned skin, his taut muscles. He moaned softly, music to your ears. Your thumbs slid up, pressing against his nipples. Jungkook trembled as you rubbed them slowly, exhaling lightly onto his earlobe.

“Pretty boy,” you whispered, “No one is allowed to call you weak.” Your breathing was getting heavier, heated against his skin. “What a beautiful body.”

You pinched the small nubs tightly. He groaned, bucking into your hands. You let your nail graze against them and he jerked into it, sinking your nail into his skin. His head lolled back, leaning against your shoulder.

“You can take a little more?” you asked, pressing a little harder.

“P-please…”

You pinched again, harder. He really moaned this time, loud and clear. You pinched again, twisted. His eyes slid closed, thrusting his hips in his pants. You placed a soft kiss on his neck as you rubbed his nipples roughly. They were turning a little red. Jungkook was leaning against you and you supported his weight, planting your feet solidly on the ground. You flicked his nipples repeatedly with the back of your nail until he was squirming against you, dragging your name out in long moans.

You could feel wetness pooling between your legs.

You stopped, sinking your nails into his chest and raking down, down. Jungkook gasped in pain, lurching forward. You scraped down his torso, ripping your hands away sharply. He whimpered, panting hard. Swiftly, you moved in front of him to push the ottoman out from under him. He pitched forward, knees hitting the hardwood. You held him up until he straightened, kneeling.

His black slacks were very, very tight.

You moved back to your position behind him, sitting down on the ottoman. You spread your legs and scooted forward so your chest touched his back, making him shudder. You pressed your covered breasts up against him. Jungkook was staring at the ground. You impatiently reached forward and yanked his chin up.

“Don’t look away,” you warned.

He gulped. “O-okay.”

His dark, curled hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat. You pushed it aside gently, revealing his forehead, placing your lips softly on the top of his head. He made a small noise, appeased. Your fingers slid down his torso, tracing the scratches you had made. Pink, lightly raised. You traced the waist of his pants, playing with the button. Made eye contact with him.

“What are you hiding down here?” you purred, teasing the button from its hole. You could feel his chest rise and fall sharply as you pulled the zipper down, down. The bulge slid out slowly, now unconstrained by the zipper. You traced the outline with your nail and Jungkook whined, thrusting his hips lightly in your hand.

“Nice and hard, all for me?” You licked his earlobe ever so slightly.

Jungkook moaned as you palmed him, pushing his slacks down. “Yes. Oh, god, yes.”

You pressed your lips against his ear. Made sure to add a hardness to your words, like poisoned honey.

“There is no god here. Only me.”

You dipped your hand underneath the waistband and grasped his cock. Jungkook gasped, arms straining against the leather. You used your other hand to push down his underwear as you freed his cock and balls, your fingers wandering over them, cupping him. You massaged his balls, squeezing them, before dancing your fingertips on his cock. You nudged his head so he could watch you in the mirror.

“What a perfect cock waiting for me.”

Jungkook moaned, pupils blown wide with lust. His eyes darted from his face, to the leather top, to the reddening scratches on his stomach, to your hand on his cock. He rolled his hips in your hand, trying to get more friction. You took pity on him, wrapping your hand around his thick cock. It felt nice, you against his hard stiffness, veins pressing against your palm. He thrust his hips into your hand and you let him. You watched him fuck your hand, precum glistening from the head of his cock.

With your free hand, you hooked a finger around a stray strand of hair, tucking it behind his ear as he continued rutting into your hand. You placed your lips against his ear.

“Aren’t you a desperate, needy boy?” you purred.

“Y-yes,” Jungkook panted. “Yes, I am.”

You tightened your grip a little and he groaned, eyes rolling into his head as he thrust harder. You let him go on, until his breathing became shallow, tight, brows furrowed in pleasure.

Then you squeezed the head of his cock, hard.

He squealed in protest; orgasm cut short. You spread the pre-cum over the head, roughly. He whined, pressing his back against you, tears clinging to his eyes. You rubbed the angry red head, carefully but firmly, earning a choked sob of your name.

“P-please…”

You pressed your lips against his jaw. “Shh.” You only intended on edging him once. If he continued acting like this, you might go full dom on him. You needed to be in control of yourself, for his sake. One by one, you wrapped your fingers around his cock again, this time dictating the pace. Your hand was slick with his pre-cum, adding to the pleasure. You kept the grip solid and tight, making sure to rub just under the head. His eyelids fluttered, moans filling up the store.

“What if someone hears you, Jungkook?” you mumbled against his shoulder, smirking. He cracked his eyes open as you continued jacking him off, fast and hard. His breathing was in short, rapid pants.

“Don’t care,” he whined, eyes fixated on his reflection and his cock pumping in your hand. “Wanna cum so bad, just for you.”

Jungkook, please, you thought, inhaling deeply. He smelled like fresh laundry and pre-cum. Delicious.

“Please… please let me cum for you.”

How could you not give in to his sweet pleas, his eyes finding yours, begging you so earnestly? You increased your pace.

‘You going to cum for me, handsome boy?” you growled. “I’m going to make you cum all over this mirror, all over your pretty reflection.”

Jungkook was becoming a moaning, ruined mess in your hands as you went harder, faster, tighter. His entire body jolted and he threw his head back, screaming your name hoarsely as he came, long, thick strings of white splattering across the mirror. You sucked in a breath, jerking his cock so it shot in different directions. All over his reflection, until it dribbled against the hardwood, dripping fat drops onto the ground.

“You’re so fucking sexy, Jungkook,” you breathed, marveling at the cum sliding down the mirror.

Jungkook slid down, head between your covered breasts. His chest was heaving, hair stuck to his face, lips dry. He nestled against you comfortably. Your hand was covered in cum and a few drops fell onto his muscular thigh.

“I-I’m sorry…” he gasped, cheeks turning pink. “I made a mess.”

You chuckled, petting his hair.

“I’ll just make you clean it with your tongue.”

He whipped his head towards you, but you were smirking at him. You winked.

“Just kidding.”

-

part ii.

--

masterpost