#was going to have way more clutter in this but also I have like twelve more pictures to fucking GOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[ash5monster01]

Getaway Camp : Eleven

Pairing: Charlie Dalton x OC!Fem

Warnings: 18+, mentions of smut, dirty talk, slight foreplay, minor angst, language, mentions of death, fluff, lots of teasing.

Summary: Charlie and Valerie get away for the weekend, enjoying every second alone they get together. When Charlie comes back, he finds a surprise waiting for him.

word count: 3.1k

Masterlist

Ten ←→ Twelve

July 9th 1961

It’s hot when Charlie wakes up. The sun’s rays shining through the fabric above him and getting trapped inside. It’s immediately uncomfortable but Charlie ignores it as he reaches to his side, the blanket falling low on his bare hips. Yet his hand just meets sleeping bag. His eyes open to find the spot beside him empty and he sighs until he hears the clutter of a pan outside the tent walls. Sitting up he discovers his clothes from last night are gone and he has no choice but to pull on the green shirt and khakis he had packed with him.

Ever since the Fourth of July, Charlie and Valerie couldn’t get enough of each other. As predicted the great cabin shuffle was hard to recreate so the pair had to get creative. The boat house had become a common destination since Charlie knew there was a cot in there from rowing. When it came to the weekend, the couple was quick to pack everything they had and hike to the spot where they had their first date. A whole weekend that was just the two of them, in a tent, with nothing but woods around. Charlie would like to say he had connected with nature while out here but if he was being honest, he spent more time connected to Valerie than anything else.

“Morning handsome” Valerie smiles from her campfire set up, scrambled eggs in a pan. They seemed to be sticking to the pan more than actually edible but Charlie didn’t have it in him to mind. Especially since the girl sat in his blue shirt from the night before and only the blue shirt.

“Smells good” he tells her, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips, his hand grazing along the back of her head and to the base of her neck. Now that the pair had explored each other’s bodies she had found Charlie’s kisses to be less shy and more demanding. He had no issue positioning her anyway he wanted when his mouth met her own.

“You look cute” she says when he pulls back and despite the light blush on his cheeks he can’t help but laugh at the comment.

“I guess I should’ve packed more camp friendly clothes” he suggests, moving to sit in the seat across from her own and Valerie smiles, scooping some eggs on a plate and passing them his way.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind. I plan on taking them off of you anyway” and Charlie grins a wide and devilish smile. He was not foreign to hooking up with a girl before but this was not that. He simply couldn’t get enough of Valerie which hadn’t ever happened to him before. Each time he found himself trying to out pour his appreciation for her. By the third time around he discovered he had been making love, not hooking up. The thought scared him, but he was obsessed with her more.

“Like you did last night?” Charlie suggests, eyebrows jumping at the reminder of how they had tried to eat dinner in this very spot last night. Yet Charlie had ended up with his pants pooled around his ankles and Valerie’s pretty lips wrapped around his cock as he watched the waterfall. Maybe he could convince her to leave civilization and stay with him in these woods forever.

“Anything’s a possibility” she tells him, sipping from her glass of water as he digs into the eggs. There is barely any taste but he eats them anyway, smiling at her, and wishing they didn’t have to head back to camp so soon. He hated meeting her in the boat house and then having to go sleep separately. Yet for Nate and Levi, that was their one time thing hooking up with those girls. Charlie knew Levi wasn’t mean about it in the way Nate was. Mia just happened to be a casual hookup that they both wanted to keep casual. Who would have thought? It also made Chrissy extra whiny and impossible to escape. Charlie officially felt Valerie’s pain when it came to her roommate for the summer season.

“You keep me hostage in these woods any longer and Ezra might send out a search party for me” Charlie tells her after a while and Valerie giggles, aware of how Charlie had been favoring her over anyone else these days. She had been doing the same, ditching Levi because she only had a taste for Charlie.

“I’ll make it up to him, I think he’ll understand though. I have a very attractive boyfriend” Valerie says but almost instantaneously after the label leaves her lips, the tops of her ears burn red. “I mean, friend-boy. Guy I date-“

She’s cut off by Charlie’s bellowing laughter, his hand falling to his chest as he tries to calm down. Yet his amusement hasn’t stopped yet, the cute and panicked look on her face making him laugh more. When it finally calms he gives a wide and comforting smile as he reaches for her hand across their mini pop up table. “I’m your boyfriend V. At least I better be cause I’d be pissed if you tried dating someone else”

“Same Ace” Valerie says with a shy smile, her cheeks still a soft pink from the conversation she hadn’t expected to have.

“I don’t have eyes for anyone else. Well I still favor Miss December but-” and Valerie is launching a piece of bread from her plate at the boy, Charlie laughing as he dodges it. He still had the centerfold of Miss December, his first ever read poem written on the back of it. Yet he found himself reading the words more than looking at the picture these days.

“I have better boobs than Miss December” Valerie claims and Charlie smirks, eyes dropping to her chest. How her nipples are peaked through the blue fabric of his shirt, the outline of her curves pulling the button in that spot taught. Valerie’s aren’t nearly as big as Miss December’s, than again is anyone’s? Even Charlie knew the image was unrealistic. Valerie was still big chested in all the ways that mattered and turned him on. He always had been a boob guy.

“Yeah they are, plus I’ve actually felt them before” Charlie wiggles his eyebrows and Valerie giggles, Charlie’s hand tugging her own, and indicating she join him on his side of the table. When she obeys and sits in his lap, Charlie discovers there truly is nothing under his shirt as his hand settles on her ass. It’s no surprise to either of them he’s already hardening beneath her.

“What, you trying to get me over here to grope my chest or something?” she teases but Charlie pretends to take it seriously. Fingers tracing through the fabric of his shirt on her form, slowly moving until his hand grazes inside, fingers brushing under her breast before cupping it gently in his hand. The perfect fit.

“Maybe” he grins and Valerie just rolls her eyes before kissing him. It’s not anything sexual but her tongue ends up in his mouth anyway and she wished they didn’t have to pack up so soon to make it in time for her afternoon shift.

“You gonna see Ezra tonight?” she asks once she breaks away from his lips. She loved the taste of him.

“Yeah, if I don’t I’ll go crazy alone in my cabin without you” Charlie tells her, the hand once placed on her chest now tucked gently against her thigh and holding her in place.

“Cabin fever huh?” she asks and Charlie chuckles before giving her a genuine look.

“That must explain it, because I go crazy whenever I’m without you” and Valerie feels the words settle on her lips, yet they don’t come out. Her heart thrumming quickly in her chest because those three words may be simple but for her they hold so much weight. She had always been different from other girls, felt excluded in ways she couldn’t understand. She was used to boys, the careless and reckless ways they lived their lives. It was no surprise to her when she viewed them more as brothers than love interests. Love was never an option, and now suddenly it was everything.

“Then let’s hope summer never ends” Charlie’s affectionate smile quickly falls into a frown, not expecting such a harsh reality to be thrown his way. They had never had a conversation but he knew there was a timeline. He just hadn’t expected to put his feelings out there and suddenly find out Valerie has no interest in continuing this after camp was done. A harsh reality he was hoping to ignore for a little longer.

“Yeah, let’s hope” he agrees and she misses the sad tone of his voice as she lifts from his lap and begins to pick up their things. Charlie can’t even bring himself to admire the curve of her ass that’s been revealed to him or playfully slap it. Instead he finally feels sad knowing it’s not just him that feels there’s an expiration date to what the both of them have.

It only takes about an hour to pack up camp, the giant backpacks on both of their backs filled to the brim. The hike had gotten easier for Charlie too. Once he discovered it was worse saying goodbye to Valerie when they got back it felt like the walk wasn’t the worst thing he had to go through. He had kissed her goodbye for nearly twenty minutes before she finally pulled away because she would be late if she didn’t. Sometimes he wished she wasn’t so punctual.

Slowly he makes the short walk back to his cabin, uninterested in the rest of the day, until he eyes the small mail box nailed to the side of the cabin. It hadn’t ever changed since he got here, a layer of rust on the side, a bit crooked against the wood. Yet today the lid was propped open and the smallest corner of a yellowing envelope peaked out from inside. In a scramble he’s digging in, freeing the three letters addressed to him. He can’t help the way his stomach clenches as he reads the familiar return sender names on each. Suddenly he can’t get inside the cabin fast enough.

Quickly he plops down in the chair of the desk, shoving aside a few liquor bottles to make space for him to read. Not even bothering to find a letter opener, he’s tearing the seal open with is finger. Eagerly freeing the letter inside, the familiar chicken scratch making his heart leap. It had been so long, so long since he had seen any of them in person. Suddenly he wanted to cry, the yearning for his friends deepening inside him. In this moment he promises himself he will visit them soon, not waste another shared moment between them. Especially with how long it took to send letters back and forth from camp.

Dear Charlie,

It is absolutely no surprise that you’ve become king of the camp. Yet for some reason it’s hard to picture you sleeping in a cabin and swatting away mosquitoes. The same guy who used to have all his shirts pressed and the finest liquors hidden under your floorboards. Then again I’m sure you’ve found a supply to keep you occupied. Or maybe you’ve changed from the boy I once knew and now you’re embracing nature and all it has to offer.

The image of you on waterski’s will be enough to keep me going until the next time I see you. Even better the idea of you falling. After I made sure you didn’t get hurt of course. I’m sure you’re making the most of this summer lifestyle. This girl Valerie sounds like she makes it all worth it. Then again you always worshipped any girl you could find. Yet the way you refer to her leads me to believe you’ve finally found a soft spot. I would love to meet the lady who finally tames the wild and reckless Charlie Dalton.

Please write me back soon, no feeling in the world compares to the one I get when I see Charlie Daltons name written on the side of an envelope.

Love, Todd Anderson

Charlie chuckles, hugging the letter close to his chest, thankful Todd hadn’t lost that part of him. The confidence he found right before Neil had died. Neil was Charlie’s best friend but to Todd, Neil was his person. The one that changes the entire trajectory of your life. One that suddenly means everything and then gets ripped from you just as quick as you got him. It wasn’t fair then and it wasn’t fair now. Then again, nothing in life really was. You just had to make the most of what you got while you had it.

Charlie,

When I had heard you were to work at a summer camp I’m pretty sure I had to be resuscitated. Picturing you in a cabin, possibly with a roommate like Cameron, seems like the purest form of hell you’d ever endure. Then again I’m sure it’s nice to finally be away from your parents. What doesn’t surprise me is that you’ve found yourself a girl. This Valerie sounds like a real charmer, especially if she happened to lock down you.

I go to Harvard Law in the Fall and Chris is staying back at community college. I am already dreading when the day comes so I can’t imagine how you feel when the same happens for you.

What I can tell you is to fight for her. When I had read your letter it was the first time I saw a glimpse of the Charlie I knew before Neil had died. I’ve been waiting a really long time to have him back. Plus I’m sure Neil would’ve kicked my ass if he knew I encouraged you to let go of the first girl to ever get Charlie Dalton to settle down.

I miss you buddy, please keep in touch.

Love, Knoxious

Charlie shorts a laugh at the letter, eager to tell him that so far his roommate had been pretty cool. He should’ve expected the sentiment though. It was the romantic in Knox. Knox would beg him to stay with any girl if Charlie had even slightly mentioned her. It’s because as much as Charlie talks about girls there was never the idea of one.

Charlie,

It doesn’t shock me you’re working at a summer camp. In fact, I always had a feeling you’d give up on civilization and become one with the trees. Real life was never really meant for you. You’ve always been wild and free, I figure you fit right in. Probably friends with the animals and wiping your ass with a leaf. It makes sense.

Next week me and Pitts start early admission at Yale. Feels kind of crazy the days of college are already here when that’s all we used to talk about. Pitts says hi by the way, he agrees summer camp was meant for you. He saw no point in writing you since you’d probably be annoyed with his non legible handwriting anyway.

Charlie this is Pitts, I am happy to write you but Steven is a control freak who thinks it’s easier to send our letter combined. Miss you.

Anyway Charles, we miss you a lot. Come visit us at Yale someday, or maybe we’ll get curious enough to come visit the city. Please write soon.

Love Steven Meeks & Gerard Pitts

Charlie laughs loudly at the last one, his chest aching. He misses his friends, he misses the cave, he misses study group, he misses Welton. God he can’t believe he misses a place he hates so much. The very place he still blamed for every traumatic moment in his life, but it was where he belonged. Where he should’ve been for that last year and a half. He had missed out on so much but then he felt guilty knowing Neil was going to miss out on everything.

So Charlie gets to work, writing a handwritten letter back to each, and finally finding himself not consumed with thoughts about Valerie. He tells them about everything he’s done and everything that’s coming up. How Valerie is his girl despite the end of summer looming above them. He doesn’t leave a detail out because for once he wants to be there for them even if it’s only through a pen and paper.

It’s dark by the time Valerie makes her return. Charlie’s laid up in his bed, a book in his hand, while Andy lays on his own and listens to the radio. She doesn’t bother knocking, smiling at both of them before making her way to Charlie. Shes still in her red bathing suit, indicating she came right after her shift, and Charlie disposes the book as he welcomes her into his arms instead.

“Hey baby, how was work?” he asks, pressing a kiss against the top of her head.

“Fine, some thirteen year old boys wouldn’t stop staring and flirting with me though. I just wasn’t in the mood” she tells him and Charlie chuckles, remembering being thirteen and having way too many hormones to know how to handle. A pretty girl would’ve made him malfunction, especially one that looked like Valerie.

“I’m sorry honey, want me to beat them up?” he asks and this time it’s Andy snorting from his side of the cabin.

“You two make me sick” he teases and Charlie rolls his eyes, tightening his hold on the girl against him.

“Says you. I watched you beg Alice to stay for twenty minutes. It was starting to get weird and not just for me” Charlie calls him out and Valerie giggles against his chest, warming him over completely.

“I think it’s sweet Andy” she tells the boy and he tries to hide the smile that crosses his face when it comes to the girl he finally got to go out with him.

“Thanks Val, I like you more than Charlie” Andy says and Charlie quickly flips him off, Valerie laughing at their antics and the relationship neither of them will call a friendship yet. Dare she say they were each other’s best friends.

“Most people do” Valerie responds and Charlie gasps, pointing a shocked look her way and she smiles, wiping it off with a kiss to his lips.

“I’m hurt” Charlie pouts when she pulls away and Valerie smiles, lying back down against his chest, and wishing she didn’t have to go back to her own cabin. Wishing she didn’t have to go anywhere ever again.

“It’s okay Ace, I like you more than anyone”

Taglist: @eden-punk @octaviasdread @pursuedbyamemoryy @poetsinnyc @linmichea1

Comment if you want to be added to the taglist :))

[quibbs126]

Hello! If you don’t mind if you can make Pure vanilla x white lily fan kid?

Alright, I’ve mentioned him long enough, time to introduce you all to Witch Hazel Cookie, formerly known as Vanilla Lily Cookie 

So I chose the name Witch Hazel because it’s a yellow flower, and his design was predominantly going to be yellow. Also, White Lily’s a flower and Pure Vanilla is yellow. But also I kind of liked the name because of White Lily’s ties to witches

Witch hazel:

So I’ll admit, Witch Hazel’s design is a bit simple, but I think it’s fine enough. I decided early on that his colors would be yellow with pink accents, so I just stuck with that

I had made a design for him back in July, but I couldn’t get it to work. From what I remember of that design, I was going to use more green, and that he’d have hair closer to Blue Lily. I think she was a major inspiration for that early design

Though I do also feel like I didn’t capture his height. Hazel’s supposed to be pretty tall, he towers over PV and probably White Lily (I don’t have an idea of how tall she is in my head)

Also, this is completely random, but after finishing the sketch I couldn’t help but feel like Witch Hazel looks like a lesbian. I don’t know why, he just looked like a witch who was also a lesbian. Which was not my intent at all. And frankly I don’t think the name helps. But it’s his design, so you know

Oh also I intentionally kept his left eye covered. We’ll get into it later but he can’t see out of it anymore

So anyways, let’s get into his character, because as I’ve alluded to, I have stuff to say about it

So generally he comes off as a serene and calm individual, similar to his father. He also uses plant based magic with his branch staff

The idea is that some time before the Dark Flour War, he went off somewhere and hasn’t been seen since by any of the Ancients, and they didn’t know what happened to him. Not sure where he went, but maybe he went to take the Twelve Trials of the Sugar Free Road like Pure Vanilla did

I have this idea that some time in present day (as in during the game’s events), Witch Hazel shows up at the Vanilla Kingdom again after he heard of its return, and is welcomed with open arms by his father, as well as likely being received well by the other Ancients (maybe he shows up in Odyssey? I’m not sure, might be too cluttered having both him and the Creme Republic show up with their own separate plots)

However, there are some things off about him. For one, he’s…rather intense when it comes to dragons. He clearly dislikes them, but more so than a normal Cookie, and in a way that implies he has some beef with them. I think another present member at the Vanilla Kingdom in that original idea was Pitaya, and Hazel didn’t make it entirely hidden that he didn’t like them. Another is that despite his serene demeanor, he occasionally showed cracks in his persona, sometimes muttering backtalk under his breath, or his eye twitching when he acts like this for long enough, or being dodgy about what he’s been up to in the past decades

Well, as alluded to in the sketch, it’s because it’s all fake. Not just his demeanor, but his appearance as well, and what he really looks like being partially shown in the sketch (though it’s just a quick sketch, not necessarily the final design). He uses magic to hide his true appearance 

In truth, he’s an angry, bitter and spiteful person with serious temper issues and a pure hatred of dragons. However, his hostile demeanor is more his response to his trauma, lashing out at the world for what happened, but also he finds himself very lonely

His backstory is that sometime after he left the Vanilla Kingdom, he was attacked by a dragon. He tried to fight it with his magic, but it didn’t do much against the beast, and he ended up getting horribly burned by its fire, with it disfiguring his face and body, as well as causing him to lose sight in one of his eyes. In a long, exhausting fight of sheer terror and survival, Witch Hazel eventually killed the dragon, but it was by no means a triumphant defeat. After winning, he took the dragon’s gem and afterwards was able to use dragon fire with it, that being the shape in his real staff, which is made up of a charred old branch. His body is still horribly scarred after the event, especially his face, hence why I kept it obscured. He was never the same after the event, eventually becoming the spiteful person he is today

I think this backstory was inspired by a video I had watched around the same time, in which in talking about the Hobbit movies, the reviewers talk about how Desolation of Smaug implies that Thranduil fought dragons in his youth and that he’s using some sort of glamour to hide his disfigured appearance. I remembered it and then incorporated that into the purelily kid as an idea, which eventually culminated in Vanilly here

Going back to him interacting with other Ancients, I imagine at a point where he snaps, he lashes out at them, saying they don’t know dragon fire like he does, saying that Hollyberry has her magic shield, she’s never actually in danger of it, and Dark Cacao’s dragons don’t even spit fire. His disguise might slip for a bit, with some of his scars on his face showing as he rants about the pain that dragon fire brings

Though at the same time, while he’s afraid of dragon fire, he can be a bit of a maniac when it comes to using his own fire, sometimes getting carried away and burning more than necessary 

Okay, I don’t really know how to exactly describe him. I know who he is, and he’s fun to act out in my head, but I don’t know how to describe his personality. I’m bad at describing things. I just know he’s got a lot of issues

However despite how he acts, he wouldn’t join the Cookies of Darkness or anything. I imagine he might consider it when he learns Dark Enchantress is his mother, but he wouldn’t join

There’s no malicious intent in him coming to the Vanilla Kingdom in disguise. In truth, he really did come to the kingdom because he heard it appeared again and that his father was alive. The reason he came in disguise and acted the way he did is because he was terrified that with how he was, both in appearance and demeanor, his father would reject him, so he put on a fake look with what he imagined his father would like, determined to keep that facade for as long as it takes, never breaking character so that he never faces that rejection. He desperately wants to tell Pure Vanilla about everything he’s been through and to be honest with him, but his fear wins out and he keeps the facade

I want to talk more about the idea I have with Witch Hazel showing up in the Vanilla Kingdom, but I feel like maybe that should be its own post. But I may as well talk about Pure Vanilla in this story

So Pure Vanilla is overjoyed to see his son again, and he’s willing to overlook oddities in his behavior because of it. But when others bring up his odd behavior (and I think Pitaya notes that he’s clearly using magic to hide his appearance), and even he can’t ignore it, he becomes more and more concerned, wanting to assume the best but also aware things aren’t what they seem with Witch Hazel. I also imagine a scene with the two, in which Pure Vanilla goes to talk with Witch Hazel in the room he’s staying in, and the room is completely dark, and Witch Hazel is in his true form, though we (and Pure Vanilla) don’t see it since this is before his reveal. Witch Hazel insists the lights stay off, which only off puts PV more, and he tries to confront Witch Hazel about his suspicious behavior, but Witch Hazel shuts down his concerns, trying to make everything sound fine. Pure Vanilla agrees to leave him alone for now, and at the end of this conversation, Witch Hazel hesitates and almost wants to let Pure Vanilla see his face, but he stops himself before he can

I really want to talk more about the whole storyline, but this is already very long and I explained it better in my notes, so I might as well just post those notes in another post. But for now, I’ll say that Witch Hazel does eventually snap and its revealed what he looks and acts like, and drama happens and I don’t know what exactly goes down, but by the end of it Pure Vanilla does accept him as he truly is despite everything 

I don’t really have much on his relationship with his mother though, I was more focused on Pure Vanilla since he’s actually there

All right, I think I’m gonna stop now, but yeah, that’s Witch Hazel, I really hope you guys like him

[softsnzstuff]

thinking about Wayne picking up a small cold at work and not thinking much of it cuz it only lasts a couple days until Eddie (in his true dramatic fashion) gets is 10 times worse (like total feverish sneezy mess) and he doesn’t want to bother Wayne but also all he wants is to be taken care of

First of all I Love this prompt! I’m so weak for the Munsons and this is such a them thing. Have some CanonVerse Munson action. ~KB

*****

Sunday

You could say Wayne Munson was old school. Growing up in the early 40’s, he was accustomed to a hard days’ work, even on the bad days.

In his lifetime, he’d had to work through snowstorms, heat waves, strained wrists, and so much more. So it comes as no surprise to Eddie that his uncle is still go go go when he wakes up one morning with a cold.

The 20 year old had been living with his uncle for the last 12 years. They sometimes joked that they knew each other better than they knew themselves.

One thing Eddie knew was that Wayne was always awake by noon. His uncle worked nights at the plant, would come home around 5am and sleep until twelve. He’d get up, have his coffee, and usually they’d work on fixing up parts of the car if Eddie wasn’t in school.

So when 12:30pm rolled around and Wayne was just starting to wake up, Eddie knew something was up. It was Sunday, so he was at home making himself some lunch. Apart from the sizzling of the grilled cheese in the pan, the only other noise came from the older man on the pullout.

“H’RUSSHew!”

Eddie looked over his shoulder, “Bless you!”

Wayne groaned, the mattress squeaking as he sat up and cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

Eddie tried not to let the concern be heard in his voice as he spoke, “I’m making grilled cheese. You want one?”

The man shook his head as he headed towards the shared bathroom to brush his teeth. Eddie frowned slightly, plating his grilled cheese and turning off the burner.

He was leaned against the counter, eating his sandwich when his uncle emerged from the bathroom, looking slightly more awake. He was pouring his coffee when Eddie decided to address the elephant in the room.

“Feeling alright?”

Wayne sighed, of course Eddie could tell, “Feeling a bit under the weather, Ed.”

“I’ll live, son.” He added for good measure, chuckling at the panic on Eddie’s face. “Probably gonna rest before my shift tonight.”

Eddie didn’t think he should have to be at work, but he was glad his uncle was taking the day to rest instead of working on the car. “I uh rented a new movie the other day. Wanna watch together?”

“Sure, put it on.” Wayne smiled as he took the coffee and sat back down on the pullout in the living room.

Eddie was fiddling with the tv before he made himself comfortable on the couch.

***

Tuesday Night

Eddie’s alone at the trailer after Wayne leaves for his shift at the plant. He’d just performed a small gig at the Hideout and had just gotten home. The last few days were filled with his uncle resting or watching tv.

The 20 year old has been trying to keep things in order while Wayne was down - dishes, attempting laundry and other things like that. The living room was pretty messy now, so he took it upon himself to clean the clutter - picking up tissues and binning them, putting the medicine back on the shelf, making Wayne’s bed look nice.

By the time he’d finished, he was exhausted. He went to lie down on his bed and fell asleep.

***

Thursday Morning

The alarm came way too early. How was it only Thursday? The long haired man peeled himself out of bed and shivered slightly as the air hit him. He pulled on jeans, socks and his leather jacket before he went to brush his teeth and tame his hair.

Wayne knocked on the open door and poked his head in.

“What’re you doing awake?” Eddie asked.

“Just wanted to say thanks for being a help the last week. I took tonight off. Wanted to see if you want to work on the car after school?”

“Yeah sure!” Eddie smiled.

Wayne nodded and padded off to go back to sleep. Eddie’s nose was buzzing. He scrunched it up and rubbed at it to try and quell the tickle. Not wanting to wake up Wayne, he slipped on his shoes, grabbed his backpack and keys and hurried off to the van.

He sat in the drivers seat and allowed the tickle to bloom now that he was alone. His elbow hovered in front of his face as he squinted, nostrils flaring slightly.

“H’yisSSHuhew! T’CHiew! …hh - H’eKSHTT!”

He groaned as he pulled back, mess clinging to the crook of his leather jacket sleeve. He reached over to grab some tissues from the glove compartment, first wiping off his arm, then blowing his nose. He could feel the congestion settle and swore under his breath.

He definitely caught Wayne’s cold.

***

Thursday Afternoon

Today sucked. Eddie was already the “freak” of Hawkins High and hated drawing unwanted attention to himself. So of course his cold had decided that it would turn him into a sneezy, germy mess.

The first couple classes he could get away with asking to go to the bathroom to cough or blow his nose in private, but by the end half of the day, his nose was running so much, he couldn’t ask to go every couple of minutes.

He sank into his chair in the back of Ms.O’Donnell’s class, silently wiping his nose on his bandana every few minutes, sniffling. Robin had the desk next to him and kept glancing over at him and shooting him a glance of concern. He wanted to reassure her, but he was too busy fighting off the tickle buzzing in his left nostril.

He managed to fight it off for about 25 minutes, but towards the end of class it was too strong. He brought the bandana up to his nose and tried his best to be quiet.

“H’xxT! ii’xtch! X’T’chew!”

“Bless you.” Robin whispered.

He nodded and rolled his eyes, trying to blow his nose discreetly, blowing his cover when a thick gurgle came out instead. Fuck.

A few of the popular kids turned around and stared at him with a look of disgust, his cheeks crimson with embarrassment. Once the bell rang signaling school was over, he all but bolted from the classroom.

Robin grabbed her notebook and bag and jogged after him, walking towards the parking lot. “Are you okay Eddie?”

“Yeah Robin, I’b fucki’g peachy.” He coughed to himself before stopping and turning to her. “Sorry. That was m’bean. I have the whhh worst - Heh!”

He brought the crumpled, damp bandana back up to his face.

“H’ixxTCHU! N’Gshuh! … H’aKSHT’iew! Ughhhh I have the worst fucki’g cold.”

Robin bit her lip, not sure how to fix it. She dug around in her backpack and pulled out a travel pack of tissues.

“Well sneezing into the same wet bandana probably isn’t helping. You can take these. I usually hang onto them for Steve but I have loads at the house.”

Eddie pocketed the bandana and took the tissues from Robin, “Thanks Birdie.”

She nodded before turning towards her ride home, “Feel better!”

Eddie smiled before turning on his heels and muttering “I hope so…”

***

He’d all but spaced out on the drive home, mentally taking note on how shitty he felt. Headache? Yes. Sore throat? Yep. Sneezing his head off? 100%. He could not wait to get back to the trailer, shower and climb into be-

Shit.

As he pulled up to the trailer, Wayne smiled and waved. He was outside, hood of the car open and he was wiping his hands off on a dirty rag. Fuck he totally forgot they were going to work on the car today. That could take hours.

As he turned the van off, Eddie took a deep breath and put on his best ‘everything’s fine’ act, finally stepping out of the vehicle.

“Hey kid, how was school?”

Eddie’s brain quickly scanned for a response that didn’t involve M’s or N’s.

“It was uh… it was good. Snfff”

Wayne noted the boy’s posture. His usually full-of-energy nephew looked like he could about collapse, and his nose was tinged pink, as were his cheeks.

He knew immediately that Eddie was sick and that he would try to deny it so he could hang out with him. He quirked an eyebrow. Two could play this game. He’d been doing it for 12 years.

“Great! Why don’t you put your bag down and we can work on fixing up the engine?”

This was a test. Eddie seemed stumped for a minute, trying to come up with an excuse to go inside first because he had to sneeze again.

“Yeah, let m’be just uhh phhh put this hh away?”

“You can just set it on the porch for now. I got the car all set up for your magic touch.” Wayne clapped a hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie panicked, trying to turn to keep his uncle out of the spray zone. He brought the collar of his shirt up to his face just in time.

“Okay holdonIgotta.. H’eKSHTiew! T’shew! iigSHUh! … H’eSHiyue!”

Wayne sighed, “Bless you, Ed.”

“Sorry those uh SNF sn’duck up on m’be…” Eddie lied, wiping his nose on the back of his wrist and sniffling thickly.

“Mmhmm.” Wayne nodded sarcastically, not buying his nephews act for one second, “Eddie, go march you and that terrible cold of yours into bed.”

Eddie nodded and sniffled again against his wrist as he headed up the porch steps to the front door.

“And blow your nose!” Wayne called after him, as he closed the hood of the car.

“Yes sir! Ah’yeSHuhew! Ughhhhh”

***

After a nice shower and changing into pajamas and a sweatshirt, Eddie retreated to his bed, a box of tissues in clutch, one pressed to his nose.

Wayne popped in shortly after with a bowl of soup on a tray, “Brought you dinner! Don’t want you at school tomorrow, so just try and rest okay?”

Eddie nodded taking the tray.

“Didn’t mean for you to get sick too. Sorry kid.”

“It’s okay Wayne, this is’t the first time and it wo’t be the last.”

The two of them laughed, knowing Eddie was referencing the time two years ago that he gave Wayne bronchitis.

“Get some rest Eddie. Drink all that broth.”

The 20 year old nodded, setting aside his Hellfire binder so he could eat the soup. Being sick sucked but it definitely sucked less having Wayne to take care of him.

[trashboatprince]

Doctor Who spoilers about the TARDIS.

I keep seeing people hating on the new TARDIS interior, and honestly? I personally love the hell out of it.

It's very clearly an homage to the classic eras where the TARDIS was white with the round things, with a more simple, yet still cluttered, console with all sorts of switches and levers. It's simplistic in design, just like it had been for the classic who era, and yet this new one is also massive, complicated in ways, a lot like what you see in nuwho.

It's got the dome-like shape going on, it's huge with ramps going every which way, and part of the console honestly reminds me greatly of Eleven's second interior and Twelve's.

It's a lovely, beautiful blend of old and new, just like how Fourteen's screwdriver has elements of former sonic devices (both screwdriver and laser), and even the outside of the TARDIS still hints to the past as it is clearly Thirteen's version!

I know people love the more cluttered, crazy looking versions we got in nuwho, from the corals of Nine and Ten's, to the shiny chrome and glass of Eleven and Twelve's, to whatever the hell cool-ass Meow Wolf looking thing Thirteen had going on, but I LOVE the classic who TARDIS look we have going on now.

It's retro and yet done in a futuristic way in this new interior, bringing the 60s-80s into the 2020s, with little bits and bobs of the 2000's and 2010's sprinkled in. It's perfect for a Doctor who we are watching through specials specifically meant to give us a fun set of adventures during the 60th anniversary. This is a celebration of the past and future of the show, and we need to acknowledge that Doctor Who is sixty years old, it didn't just start in 2005 with Nine after all.

But that's just my opinion, I dunno. I still stand by it, it's a beautiful design and I honestly can't wait to see what Fifteen's will be like. <3 I hope he gets the roundales as well. :D

[blackquillchillin]

Got home from work today and realized I never posted the jailbirds new house! screenshots below, It's a long post of a large Sim house, but I'd love to hear your thoughts!

First, Junie and Thena's room!

I picked out dark blue wallpaper cause it seems fun but also restful, you know? and picked out a pink bed, chairs, and rug to contrast, and because I think Junie would love it. They've got photos of friends, Junie's pet fish, and some flowers from their wedding! let me know if ya'll wanna see wedding photos by the by, I took plenty.

Next up, Thena's Work Room!

The missing wall just has a few pictures on it, nothing special. Thena's got her posters, her hard drives, her nice couch, her speaker, and all of the figures Junie's been collecting for her! everything she needs for her programming Job, and a cute little bookshelf and chair that came with the house!

Quick break to see the upstairs and downstairs bathrooms, since we're right next to one of them anyway.

Don't mind the puddle, mostly just made the bathrooms look lived in, though I did give them a more modern tub upstairs, as well as add lighting. does no one in the sims have a well lit home?

Next up, Simon's Room!

Inside we have his lovely furniture, a double bed this time, an upgrade from his last room, which he shared with Fulbright, and didn't have room for two doubles. :(

It also has his writing corner, and an easel! he's writing still, but I think it would be neat if he had another hobby, just for fun! also, a space rock, just for fun. quick look at the missing wall, bookshelf and all.

Next, Bobby's room!

Bobby where are you going.

That's Simon's room, you have your own!

Bobby's odd choices aside, I think he'd be the kind to have a liiittle bit dated wallpaper, and not replace his computer (It's still good!) despite the fact that it is, in fact, Thena's old computer from when they lived in the dinky little starter home, and were not making several thousand a day.

It just feels right.

Lastly for the upper floor, work out room!

Before they had a treadmill in Thena's room and a punching bag in her workroom, but no more! the original house just had a weird corner, so I turned it into a room!

The upstairs hall has some fossils in it, but isn't that interesting, so we'll have a quick look downstairs instead. Living room ahoy!

Frankly, this space is a little too big, Ended up splitting it into two spaces. This is why I don't really like open floor plans, but in the last house it was really nice? maybe I'm just bad at space. here's a quick look at their last living room for comparison:

Double living room and dining space, which I liked. If you guys have any advice for better using the space, let me know. Maybe add some rugs?

Speaking of dining rooms, quick look at their dining room and kitchen, nothing special!

Mostly unchanged from the base, though I did bring the nice fridge and stove with. they didn't survive at least twelve kitchen fires to miss out on their unbreakable stove and fridge now. It is smaller then the last kitchen, but not enough so to be really notable. Maybe sometimes I'll extend the building, we'll see. I also added some clutter and things, since no base house in this game ever looks even vaguely lived in.

Oh, and the sculpture on the table bobby made! it was a wedding present for Thena and Junie.

One last living space, and then a quick look outside!

That's Simon's pet fish, a Rainbow one lives in there! also Simon's print, from examining all of Junie's fossils. She has so many. Still looking for places for some of them. Maybe the bathroom? not sure. Kinda hate that they don't fit on any of the shelves. Any way to put them on top of the bookshelves? I feel like that'd be a great place.

Overlook at Junies Garden, and a quick peak at Metis's resting place, and then we're done!

Yes, they did move that gravestone from the last house, and yeah, that has implications, but it's finnneee. No worries.

Thank you so much for reading this! here's a bonus ghost for your trouble, and goodnight!

[jeremy-ken-anderson]

The Fixes of Kings

Kings Call - no apostrophe because the game's horribly ported from Chinese - has some problems. Let's dig in:

Porting: Considering the kind of problem it is in Kings Call (a small pool of cards and effects that are simply overlooked and left in Chinese) I might attach a "visible text" tag to everything that shows text to the player, so that I can run a loop that captures all of that for the localization folks.

Monetization: The monetization is old. I'm not opposed to f2p titles that earn money for their developers, but there's a level of finesse required and frankly the standards for that level of finesse have risen since the 12ish years ago when Rise of Mythos (what has been rereleased as Kings Call) came out. You need to make it feel like everyone can get to the level of power that the whales reach eventually, like that number is reasonable, and like those methods are reliable. This is a tough balance, especially if you are selling in-game power outright. It requires you provide a period during which the whales can lord their purchased power over other players, but also a place where the f2players can compete on a more even footing.

I like the idea of a pvp option where f2players can take on the whales as if they were a raid boss, using something like the army value system from Warhammer et al. Even without that level of sophistication, you can handle things with rewards: Give something everyone wants as a reward for the "even footing" game mode, but give something that's more specifically precious to the f2player - such as ~50 cents worth of the real-money currency - for going into the arena with the monster players on a random queue. Sometimes the monsters will find each other (and a proper ladder system would help that too), but if I get trounced and I get a card pack out of it I'll generally consider that a good deal, you know?

Levels: There is, weirdly, a shortage of content. They ask you to do a lot of either waiting for the passive xp gain to unlock content for you or that you replay levels you already beat several times in order to speed the process along. It really needs a procedural generation system. And it has the framework that could make such a thing happen! It has values for the cards, so it can make a deck of ~X total power out of random cards. If they kept record of various decks' win/loss ratios internally, they could adjust the deck's total score in a way that functionally accounted for internal synergy - I guess this would be a little like an online version of KeyForge's modified difficulty?

Cleanup: Attached to the idea of the monetization is that there's a bunch of visual clutter. I get the idea of making sure people consistently see how cool things would be if they were spending money on the game, but this process of slapping billboards on practically everything makes the game feel trashy. Also, some of them are bad links, flashing at you and then leading you to an event you've already received the rewards for. This may be a matter of the game's age; Maybe one of these tabs was added every couple months of the game's original life cycle and that's why there are like twelve of them now...but it's a huge turn-off for new players. Keeping that new-player experience clean and snappy is important, whether you're unscrupulous and want to get them hooked or plenty scrupulous and just want them to have a good time.

[akinformation]

Page 288

21.Numbers Everywhere

I was deciphering the number twelve and wanted to bring your attention to this topic again. It is very important, so please hear me on this. You can’t just go ahead and google some articles and watch videos about the number twelve relating to its meaning, structure, and use in modern society: twelve months, twelve hours, twenty-four hours, etc. It is forbidden to read other people’s implications. It will just clutter your head. This is why people degenerate. They are fed disinformation, and their minds are all over the place. This is how the system works. If you want to grow like me and move towards the truth, then the right way to do it is by using my approach. I have noticed that this number can be divided into four groups. So here is what I usually do, and this is what you should do. Take a piece of paper and a pen and sit down to decipher like this. You start thinking, “Ok, there are twelve months. Ok, there are twelve apostles. Ok, there are twelve Labours of Hercules.” You just think about everything you know and compile a large list of everything where the number twelve is mentioned.

After that, you start dividing it into groups. Why groups? Take a look at the Bible as an example, the last revelation of the apocalypse. It describes twelve elders, twenty-four elders, and three gates in each cardinal direction. We need to decipher this but without any information from the outside. I have repeated it a thousand times already, but I will repeat it one more time so you remember. We need to analyze everything ourselves. These twelve months are divided into four groups. Twelve months are divided into seasons: winter, spring, summer, and fall. Each season has three months. Total twelve. Also, we know there are four zodiac signs, and they are also divided into four groups. What are they? They are forces of nature: fire, water, air and earth. I’ve used these simplest and most obvious examples so everyone will understand. Pay attention to which months belong to which groups, why there are three months in each group, and where else we see four groups. There are four cardinal points. Further, we need to think about twenty-four hours, twelve and twelve. Twenty-four is divided into two groups of twelve. We will analyze this later, but for now, I want you to puzzle your head over this. Furthermore, I will explain how you can understand

[activatingaggro]

Churning through ball pictures, so first up: Liyiji and Marduk, being dweebs, because college taught me that at any party, you will have at least three people sitting on the ground somewhere, in a corner, ignoring the perfectly good couches nearby.

Liyiji’s armour is a duplicate of one of Sayiid’s generals. It’s historical, he says. He’s being humble, he says, when the truth of the matter is that his ancestor’s boots are literally just too big to fill in.

[squadrah]

What does everyone's apartment look like? Illuso is a maze of junk and Sorbet has plants in his (and Gelatos' cursed random objects) so what does everyone's general living situation. Also what does the 'common' room look like. You mentioned that they have a shared kitchen and a shared living room and that they live in an apartment block? Sorry just trying to get visuals!!!

Never be sorry for asking me fun things like this!

Okay so basically my headcanon is that rather than maintaining their own apartments or houses all across Naples and congregating to this one other place to hold meetings, it is simply easier and more economical for them to have a single apartment block that is just theirs, whether the Boss had granted it to them as their base or they saw an opportunity to evacuate a block and took it. I'm not so interested in that as I am in the idea that because they are a team and they own and share this one block, it is way easier for them to gather without raising suspicion in outsiders, and they get to use the space however they want, hence the following:

That team meeting room in the anime? I would put that in the basement; it feels like that one could be some chamber or garage space below ground where chances of them being overheard is greatly reduced.

Now, as pointed out by fans, you can actually find out the location of the hideout from the address given by Araki, and what I am seeing here is a yellow building with a ground floor plus five additional floors, which would give us at least twelve apartments, or two apartments per floor. I hope they have an elevator in there because if not, ouch.

To my mind, it would make sense for them to reserve the ground floor as the shared living area, meaning they would have basically opened up the apartments there so team members could freely come and go. Since the apartments are clustered together on each floor, it was probably no great feat to figure out with Metallica where walls were safe to demolish (no worries about the debris since Little Feet can just shrink it so they can dump it later), which would give them an open space to chill in, and if they were lucky, they might have managed to turn two separate kitchens into one with two sets of appliances to use. I also gave them a court yard opening from the ground floor; it just felt right for an apartment building to have something like that, and since there is some discrepancy between what we see in canon and what we see in real life, why not? Let's face it, they need a place where victims can go, and a court yard where they serve as fertilizer for Prosciutto's roses and Risotto's garden vegetables is still better than say, them having garages just full of ashes...

With this being an evacuated or "claimed" block, to my mind the apartments were for the most part nearly identical and individually furnished by previous owners and tenants, except for maybe a few that were empty to begin with, so I could see Risotto moving in with his handful of assassins at the beginning and them claiming an apartment each from the second floor up; this is very much a first come first served situation, though I could see Melone being moved to the first floor once he joined so his joints would be spared in the long run. From then on everyone is basically working with what was already there, and customizing their spaces on top of it, which leads us to...

Risotto living on the first floor, it is his prerogative after all, and his space is predictably full of metal furniture like shelves, wrought iron tables and chairs. They did some shuffling (again, Little Feet is just so useful, what a Stand, I love it) to get him the biggest possible armchairs and bed in the building because he needs all the space he can get. He uses his own kitchen regularly, but for big meals he will cook downstairs.

Formaggio's apartment is somewhat cluttered and messy because his preoccupation with appearances extends little further than his own personal looks. However, his apartment has some really fun features like a doll house and toy car ramps - gotta have some enrichment when you shrink -, and his living room is fairly neat because he likes to have pals over. If they want to watch movies but don't want to be cold in the basement, they go to his place.

Prosciutto went ahead and picked the most well-maintained apartment, and it is organized and clinically clean thanks to The Grateful Dead. He is the only one with nothing but fake plants in his place because those won't suffer from his fumigating the apartment. His office hours tend to take place in a room on the ground floor because he doesn't have people over if he can help it. His balcony is also full of fake plants to give it some color without risk.

Pesci's apartment is fairly messy on the regular, but he cleans up every weekend because he would not have Prosciutto think him a slob. He changed almost nothing from the original setup he found beyond removing some stuff to make way for his own, including his comic book collection; his living room is basically his own fun library. Doesn't use his kitchen but makes use of the cabinets and fridge for snacks and some cold milk (gotta mind the acid reflux).

Ghiaccio took one look at his own apartment and rearranged most of it to suit his own personal needs, and they did quite a bit of shuffling to get him furniture that he felt comfortable using (initially there were some offensive textures that really bothered him). His place is mostly used for sleep and working out, so his living room became his gym and includes a punching bag he was given as a welcome to the team gift (and because it was cheaper than finding him a therapist).

Melone was luckier than most of them because not only did they give him a first floor apartment, but Baby Face can reconfigure living things into any type for furniture, so the cops that sometimes came around to investigate? They are all in his apartment now serving as expensive looking furniture for the rest of time. Basically he customizes the most freely, and has asked for and received several glass case units to displace his own collections.

Illuso we have already touched upon in detail here, here, and here.

Sorbet and Gelato I will lump together because 1) they picked the same floor to be on, so their apartments are right next to each other, and 2) because this was apparently not enough, Gelato smashed what can only be described as a cave entrance into the wall separating their apartments so they can be together even more. He is very proud of having done this by himself with a sledgehammer on three shots of navy rum and without hitting any pipes, and Sorbet to his credit installed some bead curtains on his side of the thing to make it look more like a feature instead of a gaping hole in the wall. Not that he needed to, because going from one to the other is like dimension hopping from a DIY hellscape with a mini bar into a boheme jungle.

God this got long but I hope it was fun to read! :D

[thenamesblurrito]

some asks that tungle wouldn’t let me answer in actual ask format 🙃

i will admit it took me a good long while to realize what the heck this meant lol. i'm using cygate and skygate to refer to them, i just don't know which is more fitting when in this canon it means the same thing... i also constantly forget that tags are like. a public searchable thing instead of just blog organization and i don't want to upset somebody following the cygate tag for non-Skywarpified cygate

no, as a matter of fact, much to Tailgate's disappointment once he gets over the shock and fear! ultimately it's a good thing though i don't think Skywarp has the composure to stay steady way up high supporting the both of them if Tailgate sprung a snog on him. safer with all pedes on the ground. don't worry, Tailgate gets his chance. later. after a lot of uh. big stuff happens

i... hm. i know this is a joke and i definitely don't know enough about altitude and distance measurement, but he could probably see the lights from his hometown?? they're flying directly over Iacon, and Tailgate was forged and raised in the community around the Rivets Field hotspot, near Staniz. comparatively not super far!

(it's something of an oddity for mecha to be raised where they were forged, since obviously with there being only twelve fertile hotspots on the entire planet, some distribution of newsparks is required after they're harvested. but sparklings who aren't adopted out from the creches by parents or traveling group home patrons are simply sent to compacts in the local community. coming to the JAAT is probably the farthest Tailgate has traveled his whole life!)

actually mecha, unlike humans, are really good at keeping their orbital zone clear! they have specific satellites and space stations, and defined flightpaths for flightframes, spacers, ships, and other spacefaring things, so there's very little clutter and regular cleaning sweeps by spacer flightframes. not unlike roadside litter crews, just in space! turns out it's pretty important to keep an area clear if you have regular traffic going through, especially vessels as carefully maintained as spaceships

so aside from local satellites or Lunas 1 and 2 (which are preeeeetty far out from them by a huge margin!) there's not really anything? they're still in the atmosphere, they couldn't talk otherwise. and i'm actually still not sure how/when they end up getting married post-SNAP. it takes awhile, i know that, and Tailgate marries Whirl as his Amica before Skywarp becomes his Conjunx. there's some twists and turns (nothing, like, horrible, don't worry. Hot Rod and Deadlock have the worst of it bc they're stupid 🙄) but they'll get there eventually. just gotta work out how

[lovely-jily]

potions and locked closets

hey!! sorry this is such a long fic BUT i just wanted to say that i’m also working on this same fic but from lily’s pov lmk if you’d want that:))) thanks and i love you all so freakin much <3

James tried to steady his breathing. His heart was already beating too quickly for his liking, and he hadn't even seen her yet. He was already surprised that she agreed to be his partner; they both know that it would likely be another hour of pointless bickering but nonetheless. Lily Evans had agreed to partner with James for their weekly project Slughorn had assigned. She finally said yes to something.

"Fine," she had said after he asked her, following it up with, "But I'll undoubtedly need help with Transfiguration this week, so if you swear to help me, then I suppose we can partner."

In all honesty, James wasn't having too much trouble with his Elixer to Induce Euphoria, but he just wanted an excuse for Lily to be with him. And maybe if she saw that he had matured at least a little bit, it would make her start to tolerate him.

If that were even possible.

The dungeons were decently empty, but Lily had intentionally reserved the potions room in advance so no one else would be around. Meaning they would be completely and totally alone.

When he walked into the room, she was fiddling with the size of the fire under the cauldron. She was at the desk she usually sat in, the second row to the left, with her back to him.

"Evening Evans," He said, setting his bag on the table and standing next to her, "I see you've started already."

"Well, I actually want a good score on this," She exhaled through her mouth and flipped through her Potions book, her dainty fingers lingering on the words "Elixer to Induce Euphoria".

"I'm right there with you," he said, rolling up his sleeves. He watched Lily's eyes dart from his arms back to her textbook. From what James could see, she already gathered the ingredients and had them neatly organised in front of them.

"Alright, you can start by skinning these then?" She said, swiftly handing him the Shrivelfigs.

"Got it," he noted the way her eyes darted up to his for a second when she was handing him the Shrivelfigs, their skin touching momentarily. While it was only a second, it was long enough to cause James to hitch his breath in an all too noticeable way.

He started skinning the flower, trying to ignore the way her perfume smelled or the curve of her jaw. She tied her hair up in a low ponytail, pulling out tiny wispy hairs that framed her face. He chastised himself for the dirty thoughts that followed, but, Jesus, he couldn't help his want to do the most unholy things to her when she did that.

She started working on porcupine quills as he attempted to pull himself together.

"I wish we got Amortentia."

James took a sharp inhale, resulting in him coughing on his own spit. She, Lily Evans, the same Lily Evans who insisted she hated every fibre of his being every day since they were twelve, wanted to make a love potion with him- James! James Potter! As in the same James Potter that she would shoot daggers at any excuse, the boy she would scold any second she could, the boy-

"It's just so much more of a challenge compared to this one," she finished.

Right. Of course. That's why Lily wanted to make that potion, no other reason, as much as James wanted there to be.

"At least we didn't get Felix Felicis. That takes a while," He ignored the feeling of his heart sinking and his stomach twisting as he finished up the Shrivelfigs. He should've known that was the reason, but he couldn't help but innocently jump to conclusions with her.

"What did Amortentia smell like for you?" She asked, causing James to start jumping to conclusions again.

How do I answer this honestly without giving away the fact that I smelled her?"

"Fresh bread, rain, and- uh- my mother's shampoo," He mentally kicked himself for bringing up his mother, but it was the quickest thing he could think of on the spot, "What about you?"

She sighed, stirring in the quills, "The ocean, my mum's hot chocolate and a cologne of some kind, but I couldn't place where that one was from."

A pang of jealousy beat along with James's heart as he thought about her smelling another lads cologne. Whoever he was, he was a prick.

She shook her head quickly as she seemed to panic for a moment, hastily saying, "Anyways, I'm sure it doesn't matter."

She fiddled with the ladle, brushing the few hairs out of her face. Her cheeks were bright red.

"You alright there, Evans?" He asked as he turned to look at her. He swallowed what felt like all his dignity and pride but was actually just the extra spit that always was around with Lily.

"Just fine," She cleared her throat and handed him the Sopophorous beans, not looking at him, "Would love it if you could start working on these, though."

"Got it," he mumbled as he started dicing the beans.

"No, Potter," His heart lightened a little at the sound of his name in her voice, even if it was to chastise him, "Those are far too small. They'll dissolve too quickly."

"What do you mean, this is how Slughorn does it-"

"Slughorn always cuts things too small, but he makes up for it by moving a little quicker-"

"Well, that's stupid. What kind of a teacher-"

"James," She looked up at him, sighing, and despite her exhausted expression, his lungs lifted immensely at the sound of his first name. She never used his first name.

"Yes, Evans?"

"Could you perhaps go find more in the Potions closet? I think it'll just make things a lot easier."

"Got it."

The closet was cluttered, full of misplaced ingredients from students whose first priority clearly wasn't organisation. After a solid minute of staring at the mess, he called her in to help him.

"What do you mean 'Can't find them'- I just saw them," she huffed, shoving herself next to him in the tight space. James would be lying if he said he didn't do this on purpose but let the boy live. He would take any excuse to be in close proximity to the girl.

"Not sure how anyone could find anything in here. I feel bad for the poor bloke who has to clean this during detention," He said, hands on his hips as she stood in front of him, green eyes scanning the shelves. The closet door closed behind her, and while they weren't any closer than they were by the desks, it almost felt like she was right on top of him. It was taking his total concentration to not think about shoving her against the door and having a long-awaited snog.

"It'll probably be Sirius," she said, glancing at him, a smirk on her face.

He chuckled as he looked at the messy shelves, suddenly shy from her eye contact, "Probably. Maybe we should leave him a note."

They faced each other, her back towards the door and his towards the shelves of messy ingredients. There was just enough room between them for her to fold her arms against her chest, her smile making James's lungs feel extra airy, "Or we can charm the Wolfsbane to fall off every time he tries to put it away."

James laughed, shaking his head as he looked down at her. Their faces were only inches apart, and his heart was beating so hard he was worried she could feel it.

"You know, for such a stickler for rules, you're quite creative with pranks."

She smirked, "I've learned that you can get away with a lot more if you aren't so obnoxious about it."

James let out a fake, dramatised gasp, "You?! A Prefect breaking rules?"

She just shrugged, a smirk still painted on her face. James took a second to look at her, feeling fortunate that not only was he was in the potions closet with her, but she had chosen to carry a conversation with him. This friendly banter was still a little rare, even though they had been getting a little closer lately. Since the incident at the end of fifth year, roughly nine months ago, James decided to get his act together. Mainly for the sake of Lily, but also the threat of war was becoming more than just rumours, and he knew that a war was no place for an immature bully like himself. He was not a person that he- or really anyone- was proud of, and he wasn't okay with that.

James was about to say something when her eyes lit up at something behind his head.

"There it is!" She said and reached her arm out to grab something just next to his ear.

Under normal circumstances, James would've been disappointed that she found it because it probably meant that his time in a closet with her, the girl he's wanted to shag since he had first laid eyes on her, was now over.

However, when Lily reached forward to grab whatever they were looking for (James had since forgotten. Other things had occupied his mind the past couple of minutes), she had subconsciously pressed her body up against his. In a panic, James put his hands on her waist. They both looked at each other with panicked eyes when they realised what was going on, faces close enough that James felt her heavy exhale as she attempted to catch her breath. Her eyes darted to his lips as he was suddenly aware of how naked they felt without hers on them. He instinctively bit them.

James cleared his throat and politely turned his head away from her, trying to reduce the awkwardness.

"Er-Um-Sorry," He said, taking his hands off her waist and shoving his hands into his pockets. Lily's hand was still grasping the beans behind him, and she was staring at him, seemingly debating something. Feeling shy and awkward as she studied his face, James was staring at her left earlobe, noticing the freckle resting next to her small pearl earring.

"Don't worry about it," She mindlessly whispered, still looking intently at him. She seemed to be deep in thought and was not thinking about the words she was saying.

James was just surprised she wasn't showing any signs of being uncomfortable. He would've guessed that she would be yelling at him by now.

"So-uh- I guess we should get-" James cleared his throat as he reached for the door handle behind her. He was nervous under Lily's stare and was having a hard time keeping composure. He wasn't sure what she was thinking, and that honestly bothered him more than if she was yelling at him. At least he knew how she felt then, but he was entirely in the dark right now, "We should get going. The potion's probably been simmering for too long."

Lily blinked and shook her head as if leaving a deep trance. Suddenly embarrassed and blushing, she nodded her head and cleared her throat.

"Right," She said as James tried the door handle.

It didn't move.

He tried it again.

Nothing.

"Well, shit," James said, trying to jiggle the door handle again with both hands despite knowing it wouldn't work. She probably thought he did this on purpose (Which wouldn't be a terribly bad idea if James wasn't so afraid of her), "It's locked."

Lily's eyes widened in a panic, and she promptly turned around, trying the door handle for herself. When it inevitably didn't work, she turned back around and sighed as she leaned against the door, looking up. She groaned and brushed the hair out of her face.

"I forgot that Slughorn keeps it locked," She said, still huffing, "Normally, it doesn't matter because he just keeps it open, but..."

James felt his pockets for his wand and remembered he left it on the desk, "You haven't got your wand, do you?"

Lily looked down as she felt her own pockets, looking back up as she shook her head.

It was then, at the sight of a dishevelled Lily Evans, that James realised that he was locked in a closet with her, and he had a hard time remembering why this was such a bad thing. He tried to shove out the thoughts that entered at the way she looked dishevelled and breathing heavily. The things he would do to be the one making her look like that...

"Sorry, Evans. I feel partially responsible for this predicament," He shook his head, trying to regain self-control. What was he thinking? This was Lily Evans he was thinking about. The girl who never failed to let him know just how much she wanted to strangle him at any given moment.

She said nothing, instead resumed studying his face. He sheepishly messed up his hair, unsure what to do with his body under her gaze.

"Oh, Christ, James," She said in annoyance, biting her lip softly.

"What did I do? I didn't know about the lock!" James said defensively, finding it odd that she was just now getting mad at him.

She rolled her eyes and just looked at him.

"Fuck it," She said, and before James could form a confused expression, her hands were pulling his neck forward, and her lips were being slammed against his.

"What the fuck?" James said, shock widening his eyes as he pulled away slightly. He clearly was baffled beyond logical thinking and reason because Lily would be shoved up against the door if he were thinking clearly. There was no way that Lily Evans, the same Lily Evans that swore she wouldn't ever go out with him not even nine months ago, had just kissed him. Passionately, at that.

"Are you complaining?" She asked, a soft smirk resting on the lips that James was just kissing.

"What-No? Of course not, I just-"

"Then shut up," She whispered, feeling her way from his neck to his tie, which she pulled him forward with so their faces were close again, "And give me a good snog."

"Yes, ma'am," James smirked and tilted his head, pushing her against the door and kissing her firmly without a second thought.

[leah-bobeea]

Magazine Girl; Steve Rogers

You ever start writing a fic about a journalist reader at two am who’s eventually gonna end up doing steeb, over his desk, biting down on his expensive leather belt?

❀ ❀ ❀

Warnings: CEO!Steve x Journalist!Reader, Angst, Steve’s a little mean, Bossy Steve, Shy/Anxious reader, Dom!steve, mentions spanking, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, coercion (a little teensy bit), Bad writing lol

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Terrible writing w/ a terribly rushed ending. Written on my phone, in my notes app, not beta read, and barely proofread.

❀ ❀ ❀

Yes, your hands were busy. Not busy typing out a rough draft of this stupid article on Steve Rogers, not busy calling his secretary to set up a meeting with the man, or the closest to him you could get, not busy doing their job at all. They were busy tapping your pen against the glass tabletop of your desk, successfully annoying Wanda, who sent you an aggravated look from across the room.

“Seriously, Y/n?” Wanda moved from where she was at her desk, clearly not making a breakthrough on her article for this month's issue either. You could only shake your head in reply. Throwing your head back to stare at the ceiling, you starting explaining. “Maria gave me this huge article, Wanda. Cover! And, trust me, I know she’s testing me and doesn’t think I’ll actually be able to do it so she can fire me, or belittle me, or- or something! I don’t know what to do, help me, bestie.” As you finished rambling you looked up at her with your best puppy dog eyes, hoping for some of that amazing advice she gives.

Wanda laughed and pulled a chair over from an empty desk, sitting down and haphazardly throwing her feet on top of your cluttered tabletop. “She wouldn’t give you an article you couldn’t handle, she loves you, Y/n. If it’s truly as difficult as you’re making it out as that means that she knows you’re ready for it, and you’ll do amazing. Who’s it on anyway?”

She was doing such a good job at easing your nerves until she brought up the topic. You whined high in your throat and threw your head to the side before uttering, “Steven Rogers,” you turned your body back to Wanda, “What more do I need to say?” Her eyes widened just a little. “Sheesh...I’d start making phone calls, and praying, maybe?”

❀ ❀ ❀

“Hello, Miss. Carter, um- this is Y/n L/n with Shield Mag-“ “Please hold, dear.”

You pulled the phone away from your head and let it rest on your naked thigh, quickly pressing the speaker button. It was times like this when you were grateful that you let your grandma convince you to buy a house phone. Peggy Carter was the fifth person you’d contacted trying to get an interview with this man and she was the second lady that humored you enough to at least pretend like she’d get back to you.

She’s his main assistant so you might have better luck this time...

Thirty minutes later you had your head inches off the ground and your toes wiggling in the air. Humming the annoying hold music to yourself, you braided, unbraided, and re-braided a single strand of your hair. At thirty-nine minutes you were ready to give up until you heard a click on the other line.

You scrambled to turn off the speaker and press the phone back to your ear.

“Miss. Carter I was hoping to set up an interview with Mr. Rogers, over the phone, in person, or through email, if that’s possible?” You asked, hopeful that she wouldn’t shoot you down immediately like everyone else.

“Well, Magazine Girl, I only do in person. But I am a very busy man, so I need to know right away, what’s in it for me?” Your breath hitched and you almost fell and cracked your head open from how startled hearing his voice made you. Then, you nearly gave yourself a head rush from how fast you sat up.

“Well, um, Sir, you would get a headlining article, and uh, a cover on the June issue of Shield Magazine. That’s um, that’s if you want a cover- you don’t have to be on the cover if you don’t want to, just the interview would be mentioned on the cover, but-“ His chuckle was gritty and vivid, effective in stopping your babble. “I’ll see you Friday around noon. Goodbye Magazine Girl.” He hung up on you before you could even comprehend anything but that captivating laugh.

You rubbed at your eyes and grabbed your planner and pen. “Friday at noon...”

❀ ❀ ❀

The next day you were back in the office, sitting in Wanda’s stiff chair with twin caramel lattes sitting in front of you. That was the thing about you, you’d come to work early bearing gifts just to tell your closest friend your good news. You’re sweet like that.

When Wanda arrived it was fifteen minutes later and your latte was halfway gone. Hearing her black stilettos click on the glossy linoleum made you perk up immediately. As she approached, you stood, handing her the latte and wrapping your arms around her lithe body.

“I got an interview!” You squealed, rocking your bodies side to side. She stilled you and smiled. “Gosh, that’s great, Y/n. How’d you get it?”

“Well, I called, like everyone, and he picked up, Wanda! he picked up! I’m scheduled for Friday, and my Lord, Wanda, his laugh, it's like honey...” You trailed off, sighing at the thought of him. Your head was rested on her shoulder, a faint smile on your face. “You’ve got a crush on him!” Wanda exclaimed, grabbing your shoulders and holding you an arm's length away to get a good look at your bashful face.

You gasped, “No I do not! That would be totally unprofessional!” The cackle that erupted from her made her sound like the wicked witch of the west. And honestly, under her stare, you felt like Dorothy stuck under that house.

When Wanda was finally done laughing maliciously she let you go, plopping down in her desk chair and sipping her latte. She pointed over and your desk and gave you a look. “Better start drafting those questions... we wouldn’t want you to blank on your crush.” “Wanda!”

❀ ❀ ❀

The days leading up to Friday were excruciatingly long, yet the hours until twelve flew past all too quickly.

It seemed as if your wardrobe was never ending, full of clothes that you deemed inappropriate for a meeting with the CEO of American Enterprises. You threw yourself back onto the bed, hair and makeup done but body still wrapped in a fluffy white towel. “Oh Milky, what am I gonna wear?” The soft white kitty glared at you from the pillow she was perched on, meowing at you aggressively.

Ten thirty blinked on the clock and you sat up, glancing at all of the clothes that were scattered on the floor. “I guess this will do.” You picked up the same emerald blazer you had chosen originally and layered it over some basic Levi’s, and gray low cut blouse flowing over your form. A belt was necessary, so you grazed over your options. Brown wouldn’t go, even though it was your only fancy belt. The only black one you had was old, the leather cracked and worn, but it had to do. You slipped on some pretty black heels, lucky that you painted your toes a similar color to your blouse. After accessorizing you sprayed your signature perfume, the one that got you your first college-aged boyfriend, and the same one that you were wearing when you got your first real job.

By the time you were on the Metro, it was eleven o’ six, and you were worried. If you were late you’d lose this chance, and probably your job. The car stopped around eleven fifteen, giving you fifteen minutes to make your way to the building, check-in, and try to not seem so nervous.

Finding the building wasn’t difficult at all, after all, it is the second biggest building in New York City, competing with Stark Tower. The “A” at the top wasn’t illuminated, but it still stood out against the other buildings, cowering over them.

You found that the doors were heavy and if you denied Wanda of going to those burn boot camps you would have extreme difficulty prying them open. The inside was classy, just as you expected. The lamps had blue shades and the front desk lit up with a design that resembled the American Flag, but with less curved stripes and only one large star.

The receptionist was one of the women who shot you down immediately when you called and was a little surprised when you checked in. “Hello, I’m here for Mr. Rogers, twelve o’clock?” She searched for something on her computer, clearly trying to see if the appointment was legitimate. When you were proven correct, she handed you a temporary security badge and a sharpie to write your name on it. “Have a seat over there when you’re finished. I’ll call for you when Mr. Rogers is ready for you.” She smiled, it was fake, but it helped you feel more comfortable.

The red couch was stiff and small, clearly not meant for long periods of sitting. The badge was clipped onto your blouse, not your blazer, and the weight of it was pulling at the already low cut neckline. You thought about moving it, but your attention was quickly turned to the coffee table, where your magazine sat, opened to an article you wrote. Your hands were a little shaky as you went to close the magazine, but you were interrupted before you could grasp the bent pages.

“Miss. Y/n? Mr. Rogers is ready for your interview. Head up to floor thirty six, the door on the right.” Miss receptionist sounded bored, her eyes never left the monitor in front of her. “Thanks.”

Some of the others in the waiting area looked up to you after hearing where you were going, causing you to blush.

You felt lucky to get the elevator to yourself. Thirty-six floors is a long way to go, yet you got there in under three. In the elevator you adjusted your outfit and flattened your hair, hoping it wasn’t frizzy.

The door on the right was clearly not just a meeting room but an office, which you thought was odd. You also found it odd that no one was in the room, you expected to at least be met with his assistant or secretary, if not Steve himself.

Your eyes scanned the room to make sure it was completely empty before taking a seat on the leather chair on the opposite side of the big desk. You opened your notebook and got out your lucky rooster pen before going over your questions once again, hoping he didn’t think they were stupid.

You waited fifteen minutes for him, growing increasingly irked as the minutes built up. When he walked through the door you felt like your heart stopped.

Six-four build covered in a black suit and tie, white undershirt pristine. Blonde hair disheveled and a perfectly manicured beard. The door slammed shut and you heard the clinking sound of a glass being set down. Steve lifted his head and you snapped yours to the front, hoping he didn’t catch you checking him out.

The room was silent besides a rustling coming from behind you. You busied yourself with your notebook, highlighting the questions you wanted to ask most.

“You’re a very patient girl.” He observed. Steve made you wait on purpose. He knew from the first person you called that you wanted an interview, he was friends with Maria Hill after all. But he wanted some entertainment, and after looking into you, he knew you were the right girl. So far he’s made you wait an hour and fourteen minutes for just a smidge of his attention.

“Yes, Sir.” You mumbled, accidentally stopping the highlighter too soon, pressing it down, and letting the pink ink bleed to the next page. He hummed in approval as he rounded the corner, drink in his hand, coat jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, first couple buttons loose. Finally, Steve sat in the big chair, keeping eye contact with you as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the mahogany table.

“Give me that.” Your eyebrows furrowed at his statement, “What?” You asked, putting your pen down on your lap. Steve motioned for your notebook, and you opened your mouth, starting to stumble over your words. “Oh? um- Okay?” You handed it over to him and he relaxed back into his chair. A question bubbled in your throat, but you didn’t let it escape. Instead, you watched as his eyes scanned the papers, blue cursive, and pink highlighter, little stars and flowers drawn in the corners. “Mr. Rogers, are you ready to start the interview?” You tapped your watch, twelve twenty four.

He nodded, “Yes, I’m ready.” You cleared your throat and went to ask for your notebook, but he beat you to it. “Miss. L/n, is there an achievement or something that you’ve contributed to me that you are most proud of?” Why was he asking you your own questions? “Sir, I-“ He cut you off once again. “Answer the question, doll.”

You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest. “I- um, no. I haven’t contributed anything to you that I should be proud of, Sir.”

“Is there a particular moment or memory of building this relationship that stands out to you?” He continued with the questions, tilting his head to the side. Why was he twisting the questions onto you? When you didn’t come up with an answer he chuckled, sounding sickly sweet like molasses dripping straight from the sugarcane. “Patience finally wearing thin, honey?” You nodded eyes staring at his chest, you couldn’t quite muster up the courage to look him in the eye.

He snapped your notebook closed and slid it towards your side of the grand desk. “You couldn’t answer my questions correctly, Y/n.” You nodded, eyes now downcast, admiring the pattern on the blue carpet. You felt like you were going to cry. This big scary man was mean and just wouldn’t let you conduct your interview and you didn’t know why. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“I know you are, doll. But, if you can’t answer my questions how can I answer yours? You have nothing to offer me.” This was it, you were losing your chance. “Business wise, that is.” Your head shook, and your hands were clasped together, your left thumb rubbing your right nail back and forth. “I don’t understand, Sir.”

“I’m friends with Maria, Y/n. If you’re able to get this article done and get me on the cover you’re gonna get a promotion, you want that, right doll?” Your eyes went wide, “Yes, Sir.” Now, he stood, coming around to the front where you are and leaning against the desk. “She said to make it difficult, but I don’t care enough to do all that. So, doll, I’ll answer your questions. They’re quite good actually. And I’ll do a little photoshoot for the cover, but you’ll need to pay me back.” You gulped, hands suddenly sweaty, you felt like a little chihuahua, trembling under his gaze.

“How? Um, how do I pay you?” Gosh, even your voice was shaky. “Stand up. Lose the blazer.” Steve commanded, slowly unbuckling his belt. You could faintly tell from the buckle that it was Hermès. You stood and took off your blazer in a rush, folding it poorly and setting it on the arm of the chair. “Atta girl.”

He placed his hands on your shoulders and then ran them down to your hands, giving them a little squeeze before he hooked his index fingers into your belt loops, pulling you closer. So close that the tips of your shoes were touching. He leaned down to kiss your neck and you stiffened, but when he grazed his teeth over the bruised spot he just created you melted into him, your hands grasping at the pristine white button up, letting out a little whimper.

Steve pushed you back a little and took in your form, then he pulled the little security badge off, tossing it to the side. Like a little kid, he pulled at the neckline of your shirt. “Off.” You would’ve giggled at him if he didn’t look so scary right now. His blue eyes were piercing into yours, left hand so tight on your hip you thought he might leave bruises.

By the time your shirt hit the floor, he was pushing at your shoulders, hinting at you to go to your knees. “Sir, I don’t know-“

You started, knees hitting the carpet underneath you. He shushed you and guided your head to look up at him. “It's okay, baby, you don’t have to know how. I’ll do all the work, doll. Now, undo your bra.” As expected you did as he asked immediately, fumbling with the clasp until it fell down your arms. It ended up next to your thigh as you watched him pull his belt through the loops.

Steve walked around you and kneeled down, belt in his hands. “Put your hands behind your back.” You nodded immediately, so submissive, completely at his mercy. “Yes, Sir.” Steve loved how polite you were. He made quick work of restraining you, tying your hands to rest against your jean clad ass. The metal felt harsh against your skin and the soft, expensive leather snaked up your arms.

When he was back in front of you he sighed and shook his head. “I should’ve had you unzip me first.” Hearing Steve say that finally brought you to the reality of what was about to happen. You watched with big eyes as he undid the button and then the zipper, the sound making you tremble. His dress pants puddled on the floor and you were in awe as he massaged his bulge through his boxers. Slowly, he pulled them down to the middle of his thighs. His cock bounced up to hit his abdomen and he hissed as he stroked it a few times. “Open as wide as you can, honey.”

As always, you did as asked. Your tongue stuck out a little, wetting your bottom lip. He grasped the back of your head and leaned you forward a little, then you felt his blunt tip on your tongue. You gagged and spluttered when Steve was about halfway seated, he pulled out and leaned down, kissing you sloppily. “Breathe through your nose, baby. Don’t forget.” Then he was back at slowly entering your throat. “Fuck...” he grunted, finally fully seated in your throat, your nose pressed against his nicely groomed pubic hair. He caressed your throat then, rubbing the bulge in your throat, resisting the urge to press down and have you choke on his cock even more. “So good, Y/n.”

Steve started rocking into your throat, slowly fucking it as spit leaked from the corners of your mouth. After minutes of abusing your throat, he finally pulled out, adoring the way tears ran down your cheeks and how you hiccupped, wanting to desperately rub at your raw throat to soothe it. Your hands pulled at the belt and your eyes begged Steve to undo it. “Up, doll.”

He hoisted you up from your armpits and bent you over the desk. Steve pressed kisses down your back and reached in front of you, unbuckling your belt and throwing it somewhere to the left of you, then he unbuttoned and unzipped your pants, tugging them down with fervor.

Steve undid your restraints and left more kisses down your back until he reached your ass, spreading your cheeks to reveal your tight hole and glistening cunt. “I’d love to see this ass all bruised and red, but I’ll have to save that for another day.” His index and middle finger ran circles on your clit, your back arching to press into him more. “Sir, please!” You gasped, your hand flying out to the edge of the table and nearly knocking over the glass of whiskey he left on a coaster when Steve finally pushed two fingers into your aching hole.

“Gotta open you up first, doll, get you all sloppy and ready for my cock.” You cried out as he hooked his fingers, rubbing the magic spot inside of you. “Please, Steve, please.” He cooed at you, pulling his fingers out, and instead traced his name over your clit. “You gonna come, baby? Huh? You gonna drench my fingers, little girl?” You were moaning in wanton, hips humping his hand desperately. He brought his other hand down and started fingerfucking you again, giving you just enough to push you over the edge.

Your moans were breathy, your legs twitching, and you were panting by the time your orgasm faded. “I hope you know I’m not done with you yet, doll, I still haven’t come inside you.” That made you whine high in your throat and you tried, to no avail, to slam your legs shut around his hand.

Steve’s right hand fisted his cock a few times, making sure he’s rock hard and dripping with pre-cum, while his left kept your lips spread, showing him your gorgeous pussy. The blunt head at your entrance shocked you, and you yelped at the intrusion. “Sir!”

He leaned his head down and spit where you were joined, trying to make the glide even easier. “Shut up, doll.” He snapped after you cried out. Once he was as deep as possible inside of you he reached for his belt, looping it over as if he was going to spank you, and stuffed it into your mouth. “Bite down,” Steve demanded, a hand snaked around to the front of your neck where he was applying light pressure.

When you tried to push back against him he held your hips down against the wood steadily and started snapping his hips at a fast speed. Each thrust pushed you down onto the table, letting your clit rub against the mahogany wood.

Your vision felt spacey like you could black out any moment as he choked you. Your orgasm washed over you and you had to use all the strength you had in you to keep biting down on the belt. You didn’t want to know what would happen if you disobeyed his and let it go. Steve’s hips harshly snapped against your ass a few more times before he stilled inside of you, filling you with his spunk.

Before Steve cleaned you up and let you leave his office he had to finger his cum back inside of you, making sure none of it went to waste. Then, he made sure you had a way home, and a way to contact him, because, “Now you’re no longer Magazine Girl, but My Girl.”

@lo-bells

[morganayenneferburnham]

Have I Known You 20 Seconds or 20 Years? – Nikolai Lantsov Series

Chapter 1: Devils Roll the Dice, Angels Roll their Eyes

https://archiveofourown.org/works/33661984/chapters/83654680

A very short summary: Y/N has been working with the crows for a few years. Her life feels complete until she meets the insufferable Nikolai Lantsov. She finds herself forced to work with the King of Ravka on one of Kaz Brekker's crazy schemes.

Nikolai Lantsov. King of Ravka. He was privateer extraordinaire Sturmhond?

Word count: 2k

A/N:  So I wrote my first fic! Hopefully at least one person likes it! I just posted the first chapter today. The second one should follow somewhat soon ☺️I’m currently writing the third chapter!

Chapter 1: Devils Roll the Dice, Angels Roll their Eyes

Nikolai Lantsov. King of Ravka. He was privateer extraordinaire Sturmhond?

Y/N couldn’t quite believe it. She had been a fan of him for years. Asking for the latest news on the voyages of the Volkvolny and its captain every chance she got. They were legendary. When Kaz had told her a few days prior that Sturmhond was going to be with them for a job she had barely been able to contain her excitement. Now, she was mortified. How could she work with a king?

Had she not been standing next to Kaz during the meeting she’d never have believed it.

“How long have you known, Kaz? I mean, I know you’ve worked with him before but…” her voice trailed off in a question.

“I figured it out when we first met.” His mind traveled back to that day. Meeting the privateer by the Geldrenner hotel’s baths, just a few years ago. They had been trying to save Kuwei Yul-Bo, a Shu inferni who’d had the misfortune of being the son of the fabrikator who created Jurda Parem, making him the most valuable hostage in the world. They had auctioned him off, faked his death, and gotten revenge on Jan Van Eck all at the same time. “The king of Ravka wouldn’t just let anyone represent his country in important matters. The fact that he always travels with at least one member of the Triumvirate doesn’t help him keep his identity secret either.” He scoffed. “He really should stop doing that.” Kaz sounded almost… annoyed?

“I take it you’ve given him that particular piece of advice and he didn’t listen?” She smirked. “Though, you know, I’m glad Zoya Nazyalenski tagged along. She is even more gorgeous than I thought.”

“He never listens. Almost as stubborn as you.” He huffed. The glare he gave her would’ve been enough to scare most people, however, she was not most people. She considered Kaz family, and she knew that Kaz did too, in his own way. They had both lost siblings to the city after all. She had joined his crew a few months after they had lost Matthias and Nina had gone back to Ravka. He had needed a new corporalnik and she had made fast friends with Inej, Jesper, and Wylan. As much as Kaz had tried to keep the young tailor at arm’s length, she had found a way to worm herself into his cold guarded heart. His look softened before he continued. “You should steer clear of her. She’s just as icy as she appears. Wouldn’t want you to get your heart broken before the job.” That was his way of showing he cared.

“Don’t worry, Kaz, I’m not looking to marry her. Maybe she’d be open to a bit of fun?” She laughed, throwing her long auburn hair over her shoulder, and made her way back to Jesper and Wylan down the corridor.

---

A few days had passed since they’d met with Sturmhond. He and Zoya had temporarily moved into the slat. Kaz had been cooped up in his office, wearing his scheming face most of that time. Everyone could tell Kaz’s plan was going to involve multiple steps and deceptions.

Since they hadn’t been working any other jobs, the crows had been left to their own devices for the first time in months. Kaz occasionally called on them for their expertise, but they had a lot more downtime than they were used to. They had taken advantage of it to get to know their new teammates. Y/N had mostly struck out with Zoya, though she had managed to make her laugh a few times, to everyone’s surprise. Maybe with more time, she’d have a small chance with Zoya? The young grisha had also tried to wrap her head around the identity of her favourite privateer. She now found herself sitting in Kaz’s office, Jesper and Wylan on her right and Sturmhond and Zoya on her left. Kaz looked all business, so serious she feared he’d give himself an aneurysm.

“I need you to tailor him. Once you’re done, you’ll tailor yourself.” Kaz nodded in Sturmhond’s direction sitting behind his cluttered desk, hands resting on his crow’s head cane.

Y/N looked up at Inej who had been sitting at Kaz’s window. “May I ask why? Hasn’t he already been tailored?” She gestured to the privateer before returning her hand to her lap. “He doesn’t look like the king of Ravka.”

Kaz rolled his eyes. “Why must you always question me?” He sighed. “Yes, he has been tailored, nonetheless, he is too easily recognizable as Sturmhond. I need you both to look like rich Kaelish merchants. It shouldn’t be too hard for you?”

“Of course not. You know there’s nothing I can’t do, Brekker.” She replied in Kaelish. She softened her tone before continuing in Kerch. “I’m simply asking you to share your brilliant scheme with us mere mortals” Her voice was laced with sarcasm. Inej stifled a laugh. It looked like the Suli girl couldn’t help but smile at the other’s antics.

Kaz groaned. “Fine, I’ll share my plan for the job. It’d be easier if you just listened. I’ll explain it once so pay attention – Jesper!” Poor Jesper jumped on his chair. He’d been staring at Sturmhond since they’d all entered the office. Y/N couldn’t blame him. The privateer did have an inexplicable charm despite his tailored features.

“Yes, Boss!” Jesper straightened in his chair and sent an apologetic look to Wylan.

“Alright, to pull this one off we’ll need blueprints that can only be found in Gert Van Verent’s safe. He keeps his office under lock and key – ”

“Wait, you want us to break into a councilman’s house, again? Why can’t you do it Kaz? You’re the best at picking locks.”

“Well, if you hadn’t interrupted me” he was glaring daggers at her now, his eyes the hue of bitter coffee “you’d know that two guards are posted outside his office, at all times” he’d emphasized the last part and raised a hand to stop Y/N from interrupting him again “and his windows are protected behind steel bars.” Y/N nodded once slowly indicating she was willing to listen with no more interruptions.

“Van Verent is throwing a party in the hopes of finding his eldest daughter a husband. Being a devout Kerch merchant, he is also using the occasion to find new business ventures. The party is our window of opportunity. That-” he gestured to her and Sturmhond “is where you two come in. Ainsley and Eoin Ó Ceallaigh, newlyweds from the Wandering Isle, looking to extend your exporting business to Kerch. I already secured your invitation” Y/N felt her jaw drop. No sound came out. All she could do was stare at Kaz. He had finally lost it. He wanted her and the king of Ravka to assume false identities and pretend to be married? Dirtyhands had gone mad.

Wylan was the one who voiced her concern. “Kaz? I know Y/N’s a talented tailor and well she is Kaelish so that part’s covered but, well, um, no disrespect Sturm-, Sir? Your Highness? But, um, do you speak Kaelish?”

The king smiled. He looked amused at Wylan’s confusion. He replied in perfect unaccented Kaelish “Call me Nikolai, it will make for less confusing conversation. Of course, I speak Kaelish, I have been educated in 6 languages. I also had a fondness for Kaelish poetry in my youth.”

Everyone seemed to relax at that. However, Y/N could tell she was going to need Jesper’s help to undo the knots in her shoulders later that night. “Kaz? I don’t think I’m that great of an actress… You also haven’t told us how we’re supposed to get the plans if we do get in.”

“Don’t worry darling, I’m sure we’ll manage. I’m talented enough for the both of us” Nikolai winked at her. Nikolai, who just so happened to be the privateer she had admired for years. She felt her cheeks flush. Saints, she thought, this is going to be a nightmare.

“Jesper and Wylan have also been invited to the party thanks to Wylan’s new position on the merchant’s council.” She had never been more grateful to Kaz for overlooking the interruptions. “They’ll cause a distraction, with Nazyalenski’s help, to let you and Nikolai slip past the guards and break into Van Verent’s office.” He stopped and looked at Y/N. “I know you can pick the lock and crack the safe. I trained you myself after all.”

The discussions and planning continued well into the night. Y/N wasn’t convinced it was such a good plan, but everyone else seemed on board so she kept her mouth shut. All she could do now was make sure to memorize all she could before the job. The party was two days away, which didn’t give them much time to learn all they could about their characters. Kaz had instructed Nikolai and Y/N to spend every waking moment working together to make sure they made a believable couple.

Twelve hours in, Y/N was cursing herself for saying she wasn’t a great actress. If she’d only pretended to be confident in her acting abilities, she might have been allowed to take a break from the insufferable king. Well, insufferable might have been a little dramatic but the man loved himself way too much. They had memorized their stories in the first 8 hours and were now being quizzed by Wylan and Jesper while she started tailoring them both, yet the King would not stop flirting with her. He also made sure to touch her every chance he got. A brush of his fingers on her cheek, of his knuckles on hers, twirling a strand of her hair around his finger. She knew it was just harmless fun for him. It was driving her completely mad. She just wanted him to take the job seriously.

“How did he propose?” Wylan asked for the third time in the past two hours.

Y/N sighed and moved her fingers through Nikolai’s hair to darken it. “It was incredibly romantic. He had planned a picnic by the lake where we met.” Her cheeks were already starting to hurt from the plastered smile on her face.

“I had all of her favourite foods, of course” Nikolai interjected, moving to softly caress the girl’s cheek.

Y/N had to restrain herself from slapping his hand away. “Yes, even strawberries, in winter! Can you believe it? Once the sun began to set, he dropped to one knee and pulled the ring from the picnic basket with a bouquet of winter roses. I’m so lucky to have fallen in love with such an attentive and caring man.” She turned to Kaz who had been observing them, leaning against the doorframe, and dropped the smile from her lips. “Was that satisfactory, Boss?”

Kaz shrugged. “It’d be better if you didn’t look like you wanted to stab him every time he touches you.”

Y/N released a breath. “Maybe if you’d let me take a break...” her tone was pleading.

Kaz smiled at that. He was finally wearing her down. Giving her a taste of what she’d put him through the last two years felt like sweet justice to him. He liked the girl well enough, but she had a way of getting on his nerves. He took no pity on her. “You’ll keep going until I actually believe you are in love with him.” He left the room with a pointed look at her.

Zoya released an amused laugh. “I’m just glad Nikolai found someone else to bother for a change.” She smiled smugly at Y/N. “Don’t worry, he’s mostly harmless. Just come find me if he gets too handsy, I’ll put him in his place for you.”

Y/N couldn’t believe it. Zoya had definitely sent her a wink before following behind Kaz. Maybe all her flirting had paid off?

“Sweetheart, I’m hurt, you are taking more interest in my general than in your own handsome husband.” Nikolai’s tone was toeing the line between mock hurt and amused.

She turned back to the three men in front of her. “Jesper, please, just shoot me.”

[eclipsedpascal]

Lavender Bruises

Older!Duncan x Female reader

A meeting with you and your father’s company’s buyers, leads to the shocking realisation that you had unknowingly slept with it’s new owner, Duncan Shepherd, just the night before. You needed to hide this sinful secret from your father, which left you stuck between wanting to make him proud and the unsatisfied craving you couldn’t ignore for Duncan to claim you as his personal toy. But you could manage both. Right?

Warnings: mentions of work (ew), alcohol, one night stands, large age gap, daddy kink, size kink, unprotected sex, public sex, fingering, oral (female receiving), intercourse, spit kink, slapping, spanking, hickeys, bruising, degrading/teasing, mouth fucking with fingers? is that a thing?, hair pulling and a ring kink ig:)

Notes: I've been writing this for fkn MONTHS now bcs I kept loosing inspiration, so this is actually the first thing I ever properly wrote! it's kinda complicated ig? idk like the parts in bold are a time skip to the night before and the fic goes in-between the meeting the reader is at and the previous night, meaning there’s two separate smut scenes so!!! but yeah i'm a whore lmao. Also ik hickeys don’t show up the same on certain skin tones and i’m sorry for that. i tried my best to be as inclusive as possible nd didn’t mention anything to do with the skin tone. Also!! if you're interested, I was listening to Cherry lips by garbage most the time I was writing this nd I feel like it fits it pretty well😌

Word count: 8.4k

●●●●●●●●

Going over the logistics of a content deal with the conglomerate that had recently bought your fathers newspaper wasn't the most preferable way for you to spend your lunch, but unfortunately it was necessary.

You know how these “lunches” go; business meetings disguised as casual discussions. They’re exactly the same if taken place in a conference room. Disagreeing and having to come to compromises you’d rather not, with the only differences being there's more chatter and cluttered noise of dinnerware coming from the restaurant around you.

You much preferred being in the office for these kind of things, but it was at the request of the new owners that you meet here, meaning you didn’t really have choice.

As you arrived at the restaurant you saw your father inside, waiting for your arrival just past the main entrances oversized, glass doors. You were almost 10 minutes late now and you knew he would be pissed. Honestly, you couldn't blame him.

Having to rush through a traffic riddled DC to get home at 10 in the morning because you had spent the previous night in a strangers hotel bed wasn't your proudest moment. Was it worth it? Yes, but it didn’t exactly leave you with much time to prepare for the lunch only two hours later.

You payed the driver and stepped out of the cab onto the drowning, wet sidewalk, desperately trying to shield yourself from the relentless rain that had been pouring down on the city all morning.

Looking up at the grand building on front of you, you could tell the place was going to be expensive. The entrances steps were 12ft wide and made of a pearly white marble that was now soaked with cascading rain water, making them even harder for you to run up in your heels as you tried escape the cold.

“Y/N, where have you been? You're 10 minutes late and these people don't like to be kept waiting." The people your father was referring to? the owners of Gardner Analytics. they had bought what seemed like hundreds of press company's over the past few years, especially those in the DC area. Their most recent purchase being the Washington herald, of which your father was the Editor-in-chief. You had been working there for a few months as your fathers assistant and helping out at these meetings had become routine.

“I'm so so sorry, my alarm didn't wake me and I-“

"It's fine" He interrupted "It's fine, just please tell me you have the documents I asked you to bring?" You could tell he was stressed out from the way his voice was wavering and how often he was stumbling over his words, so instead of trying to explain yourself any further you stayed quiet and did your best to take in as much of the information he was relaying onto you as you possibly could.

As he led you through the dinning room he explained to you who else was there, telling you that the others from the herald who were attending the lunch had already began talks with Gardener Analytics at the table ten minutes prior.

The closer you got to the table the more your fathers voice faltered, trying to round off the conversation so he could properly introduce himself when the time came. "Now Bill Shepherd had to cancel last minute, said it was something to do with his health unfortunately. But not to worry! I've spoken with him over the phone and he's informed me his nephew is filling in for him, okay?”

Before you even had a chance to reply he turned from you, reaching over the table to shake hands with a man you recognised as Seth Grayson; their director of communications, and an older woman who you assumed was Annette Shepherd. She and her brother Bill were the owner's of Gardner Analytics and your father had said it was important he got on their good side.

As your father greeted the others, you began retrieving the documents out of your bag, knowing they would be needed by Seth right away.

"..So sorry for the delay Mr Shepherd, you know how DC traffic can be" Your father chuckled slightly as he shook the man’s hand, making some light small talk. Mr Shepherd? that must be bill’s nephew, you thought.

You felt even more unprepared now; you didn’t even know the man’s name.

"This is my daughter and assistant, Y/N" Upon hearing your father introduce you to the mystery Shepherd, you slotted the documents under one arm and reached out to shake his hand with your other.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Shepherd" But as you shifted your gaze up to his own, you realised that there was no need for introductions.

He smiled gently, a kind of smug delight obvious in his eyes as he looked you up and down, taking you all in. "The pleasure is all mine, Miss Y/L/N"

He released your hand from his grasp, moving to clasp his own behind his back. “But please, call me Duncan.”

Duncan fucking Shepherd. how could you be so oblivious? The two of you had spent hours together last night. How hadn't you figured out who he was? As panic ripped through you like a wildfire, you wondered if Duncan was feeling the same way; but from the look on his face, he was enjoying this.

●●●●●●●●

11:34pm previous night

It was getting pretty late now, and meeting someone who could fuck the stress out of you was becoming less and less likely by the minute. so deciding to finish your drink and leave, you took in the room one last time; making sure you hadn’t missed anyone interesting.

The fluorescent red and blue lighting of the expensive hotel bar was just bright enough for you to spot an older man you hadn’t noticed before. He must have been at least 40. He was sat in a booth with five or six others, all drinking, laughing and joking, yet he was staring at you.

Taking the seat next to you, he called out to the bartender. “Bourbon. Neat.”

You'd been waiting for him to come over ever since you saw him. It had been 20 minutes or so of quick glances and smiles to each other before the group of men he had been with dissipated. You had heard one of the men he was with refer to him as ‘Duncan’ when he had said his goodbyes, but other than that all you could assume about the man was that he was rich; judging by the all black LV suit he was wearing.

"Can I buy you a drink?” Turning to face at him when you heard him speak, you were practically stupefied by how attractive he was. His hair was full of shiny grey streaks that aged him. His stubble complimented his cheekbones perfectly and the speckles of grey throughout it helped bring out the brightness of his piercing blue eyes. His lips were full, and you couldn't help but notice how soft they looked.

“Vodka and coke” You smiled, trying your best to be confidant, but they way he was looking at you was giving you butterfly's you couldn’t swat away.

“I.D?” The bartender asked. You grabbed it out of your purse, proving your age to the bartender before watching him walk away to make your drink.

There was a brief silence before the man spoke again. “I hope my staring didn’t bother you, I just couldn’t take my eyes off you.” His flattery almost made you blush, but he wasn’t going to get you with a line that bad.

“Didn’t bother me at all, though i’m sure your friends there must have been envious” You chose to ignore his cheesy line, knowing that as much as you wanted him to take you there and then, you would much prefer making him work for it.

He chuckled slightly, knowing the game you had chosen to play. he looked away from you and down into his glass before taking a swig of the golden-brown liquor that occupied it. “Well I’m known to be quite a busy man, so I’m sure they understood.” He turned to face you slightly, waiting for some kind of reaction from you.

“Busy enough of a man to be drinking on a Tuesday night?” You questioned him teasingly, Ignoring that you yourself had the most important meeting of your young career in just over twelve hours.

“Is that really such a surprise? Most times being so busy is the main reason for drinking” He joked with you as he flirted, making it hard for you to keep eye contact without going red at the thought of such a beautiful man seeking your attention.

Duncan could see how nervous you were under the confident demeanour you had put on, I mean you were practically screaming it out to him at this point. The way you were fidgeting with the chain of your silver earring as you leaned against the bar and the fact you couldn’t even look at him for longer than 3 seconds without blushing was evidence enough for him.

“Well, that’s true.” You giggled a little as you spoke in your anxious state.

Taking a hold of your drink, you wrapped your lips around the paper straw and moved your gaze over to the bartender who was now serving someone a few seats down, attempting to distract and ground yourself from the situation at hand.

You were gripped back into reality quickly when you heard him speak again.

“There’s no need to be so nervous, I’m not going to eat you.” You found his use of the phrase quite ironic, being that’s exactly how it seemed. His eyes were piercing into you in an almost questioning manner, but when he gazed over your body, taking in your satin, black slip dress covered curves, the swipe of his tongue against his plump bottom lip gave you a very different impression; an impression he wanted to devour you. It was as if he thought you were that sweet snack he had been craving all week.

“No? That's a shame” You faked a frown, pouting as you moved to rest your chin on your hand.

“Well I think we should at least be aware of each others names before making such wild propositions, don’t you…?” His smirk never seemed to leave his face as he spoke.

He was good at this game, better than you at least. Of course It was obvious he was going to have had more experience with his age and all, but the way he was charming you so easily with just plain old conversation and confidence was getting harder and harder to match.

“Y/N, my name’s Y/N.” You batted your eyelashes at him a little, for some reason feeling smaller upon revealing your name to him. You felt as if you had lost the upper hand in the conversation suddenly.

“Hm, Y/N. That’s beautiful.” You rolled your eyes. Of course it is. Thats what they all say. You thought.

“Aren't you going to ask mine?” His ego now showing, you decided to make a bolder move.

“You rather fancy yourself, don’t you, Duncan?”

He finished his drink and moved closer to you. “Oh, so you already know my name?”

He was close enough to you now that you could make out the many beauty marks which decorated his cheekbones and hear the rasp of his voice even better than before. It was thick as honey and just as sweet too.

“I heard your friend call you it.” You quickly replied.

He scoffed a little, finding amusement in what he was about to say. He brought his face down closer to yours and began to run his fingers through your hair. “Hm, well he’s an old friend sweetheart. Most people would call me Mr Shepherd.”

You felt yourself grow hot, Duncans words casting a haze of complete lust over your mind.

You did your best to stay confidant, doing everything you could to ensure you didn't loose this game the two of you were playing. “Really? Is that what you like? Mr Shepherd.”

Your faces were so close to each others now that you could smell the bourbon on his breath when he let out a loud chuckle. His pearly whites showing as he did so. You even felt him graze his stubble against your cheek.

“Mhmm.” He ran his finger over your lips as he spoke slowly. "So tell me, what is it that does it for you Y/N? Hm? I mean a girl your age doesn’t decide to stare at a man like me all night just for the hell of it. So what is it? The power? The money? Or is it the age gap so big I could be your father?”

You squeeze your legs together as his sentence finishes, letting out a hushed whimper. Of course you were attracted to older men, that was obvious, but hearing him say it out loud in public whilst being so close to you turned you on even more than you thought previously possible.

He chuckled a little, “So it’s the age then, is it sweetheart? The idea of having a man more.. experienced pleasure you, instead of a man who would leave you to fend for yourself after finishing in less than five minutes. You want someone who can make you cum so hard you’d be begging him to make it stop, don’t you?” Every move Duncan made, every word he spoke was calculated, and it was all in pursuit of teasing you just because he knew he could.

You made a mental note of his nickname for you as you looked up at him. You felt his fingers run across your cheek and then push some stray hairs back behind your ear as you desperately tried to think of something smart to say, anything to say; but he had won. He knew what you wanted and he wanted it just as bad. You didn’t even care anymore. You were more than ready to give what little of a resolve you still had up to him.

He whispered to you as he moved his spare hand up the small of your back. “Now little one, I have the presidential suite of this hotel under my name tonight. So what do you say we go on up? Since now we're just so well aquatinted."

●●●●●●●●

Having to take part in a meeting with your father and the man double your age that you had fucked for hours the night before was NOT what you had planned for today.

“Mr Shepherd, I apologise that I didn’t make it here on time. I had a pretty hectic morning.” You did your best to keep your chill in your now shocked state, but with everyone watching the two of you it wasn’t easy.

“No don’t worry, I know how DC traffic can be, especially in this weather. As long as you're here now.” A wide smile was planted on his face as he spoke. The same as last night. He never broke eye contact with you, and you found yourself wondering how he could do it so easily.

“Please, sit.” He gestured you over to take a seat as he pulled out the chair next to his own. You thanked him politely and sat down, your mind racing and spiralling out of control at the thought of your father discovering the sinful deeds you and his new boss had taken part in just hours prior.

You felt him tuck you into the table before sitting down next to you. You could hear the voices of the restaurant that surrounded you and the others at the table coming at you. Every noise was muffled, as if your head was suddenly underwater.

“Y/N?” You were quickly brought back to reality when you heard Seth question you.

“From my understating you have the merger documents in your belonging, yes?” He looked at your father for reassurance this was definitely case as he spoke. So with everyone at the table’s eyes on you, you slid the documents over to him.

“Yes! And uhm the specifications for the more politically based content changes are detailed on page 25. I was told that was of high interest today?” You got yourself back on track, trying to stay as professional as possible whilst ignoring Duncan and the predicament you had found yourself in.

“We were briefly discussing the more major changes before you arrived Mr Y/L/N, but I believe you’ve already been made aware of most them?” Duncan addressed your father, kicking the meeting off. But you couldn’t concentrate. You were listening to the conversation, you really were! It was just that you were so wrapped up in Duncan’s voice you couldn’t actually understand what the fuck they were all talking about.

Seeing him so invested in the crucial conversation he was having with your father and the many other associates at the table was just doing something to you.

Observing the way his hands were moving when he spoke, you noticed how he would often clasp them together when he was explaining things, and how he would tilt his head slightly as he listened. His bronzed curls were combed to perfection, resting delicately on the right side of his face and when he licked his bottom lip, it sent a shiver down through your spine all the way to your cunt. You were entirely captivated by him.

Hearing your Father ask for your opinion on the subject being discussed, you shook off the spell Duncan’s attractiveness had casted onto you and responded, giving your perspective on the subject.

Duncan relaxed into his seat a little more as he watched you talking. He knew you had been staring at him, but it was cute, he thought. Almost endearing seeing you get so flustered at just the sight of him. He had seen you squirming around in your seat whilst you watched him and decided the accidental teasing wasn’t enough; he wanted to toy with you more. As much as he possibly could.

“You know, if you’re trying hide what’s happened between us then you might consider making your staring a little less obvious, sweetheart.” He was speaking quietly enough for nobody else to hear and not looking in your direction, pretending to still partake in the tables back-and-forth. Still the fear of your father, who was sat just across the table, overhearing Duncans remarks was petrifying.

You knew you couldn’t let your craving for him and the confusion from not knowing who he was last night effect the meeting, but there he was with that nickname again, stirring your desire even further.

“How are you even here?” You let your frustrations out onto him as you talked back, his cocky attitude getting to you too easily with the stress you were under. “I’m trying so hard not to ruin today and this situation isn’t helping! They’ll fire me if I mess this up and I’ll be fucked! Which surprisingly, I’d prefer not to be!” Your whispering was pretty aggressive, but could you really blame yourself?! This kind of coincidence was rare, so you had every right to be mad at the universe for letting it occur on today of all days.

His ego not faltering for even a second, he chuckled. “Oh you don’t wanna get fucked? Funny, because I remember you saying the exact opposite last night.”

He grazed his hand across your inner thigh, massaging it gently before diving underneath the little black pencil skirt you were wearing to grip onto your flushed skin.

You scoffed at his words and looked up at him, shocked at how bold he was being and expecting some kind of response from him, but he didn’t even look your way. You assumed this was so no attention was brought to the two of you and so you followed his lead, turning away from him just as fast as you had looked.

With the heat of your cunt having grown far too intense to bear, any friction that wasn’t your own thighs pressing up against each other was to be welcomed. So you decided not to stop him. In fact you did the exact opposite, spreading your thighs wider for him, not having the self control or restraint to keep yourself from him any longer.

His hand moved closer to where you needed him most, diving under the crotch of your underwear to swipe his fingers over your slick folds and immediately begin rubbing circles onto your neglected clit.

You stifled a moan, leaning onto the table on front of you to keep yourself steady as he touched you. Finally, he moved his gaze to rest on you, watching you as you struggled to stay silent. He whispered once more, “Always so wet for me, aren't you princess?”

●●●●●●●●

As soon as you entered the suite, Duncan gripped onto your waist, pushing you up against the door and cradling your cheek with his spare hand before smashing his lips into yours.

His tongue slipped past your lips, dancing with yours whilst he moved his hands all over your body, clutching onto your breasts and then moving them down to explore the rest of you.

He lifted your dress up just enough so he could grip your ass. Pulling you closer to him and making you feel his bulge against your hips, you were too short in comparison to him to feel him where you wanted to most.

He spoke to you in kisses, telling you of how ravenous he was for you and that he was going to savour every moment. He moved his lips down, trailing open mouthed kisses from your neck to your collarbones and to the top of your breasts.

“This fucking dress” He took ahold of the bottom of your dress, pulling it up above your head with urgency as you lifted your arms to better help him strip you. Throwing the dress down onto the floor and hearing it land somewhere behind him, he admired your body and it’s curves.

“The perfect wrapping for such an enticing present.” He finished his sentence. Immediately grabbing at your breasts, sucking and kissing them.

You couldn’t speak, too enthralled with the technique of his tongue swirling around your nipple to do anything but moan in response to him.

You threw your head back against the door, staring up that the beautifully patterned ceiling in pure ecstasy. You felt him drag a callused hand down to the waistband of your Lacy white panties, tickling the sensitive skin of your stomach as he traced his fingers over it. His finger tips running across the little white bow that centred the waistband.

He collapsed down to his knees, yanking the delicate lingerie as he fell, leaving it to puddle around your ankles.

He teased your heat, moving from kissing the skin of your thighs to your folds, but not yet reaching the lengths you wanted him to, only adding fuel to the fire in between your legs.

“Please Duncan-” you begged him, desperately needing some kind of release from the binds of lust he had managed to wrap you in over the past 45 minutes.

“Ah ah, don't you remember? You don’t get to call me that.” He spoke.

“I’m sorry, Mr Shepherd.” You corrected yourself, recalling the conversation you had with him prior to coming upstairs.

“Mhmm, now as magnificent as that name sounds coming from you, I know that there’s something else you’d rather call me.” He hummed in disapproval, calmly redirecting your choice of name for him and reassuringly pressing his lips onto your clit.

You let out a stuttered gasp, you did want to call him that, but now you felt nervous due to the build up he had created.

“Com’n, sweetheart. Do you think I don't know why you’re here in the first place? Why else would you be sat all alone in the bar of a hotel you weren’t even staying at? You’re just another slut with daddy issues, sneaking down to an expensive hotel to scavenge for any man good enough to fuck you into submission. Isn’t that right?”

Mildly insulted at his all too accurate observation of you, but enjoying the effect his degrading words have on you none the less, you gave him what he wanted. “Mm yes daddy!” You whimpered out, admitting your ploy to him.

A low rumble emitted from his chest, your words setting off some kind of animal inside him. He dove his face down into your pussy, starting by sucking on your clit gently, flicking his tongue over it and applying more and more pressure as you writhed above him.

His mouth was closed around you now, his grey, speckled stubble scratching your already inflamed skin. You were taken aback by his skills, intwining your fingers through the curls in his hair and tugging on them with every wave of pleasure that hit you.

He snaked his large hand around your thigh, lifting it up to rest on his shoulder while he ate you out. Enjoying the new angle he was utilising, he hummed, sending vibrations through your nerves up to the pit of your stomach, bringing you closer to your climax.

“Mmh.. fuck daddy, i’m gonna cum!” He didn’t let off, his tongue perhaps fucking into you even faster since you told him how close you were. You locked stares as your orgasm took over your body, your lips forming an o as you screwed your eyebrows together in rapture.

He came back up, letting you taste yourself and he placed his lips on yours again. You eased into the kiss, a relaxed haze having taken over your body in your post-orgasm state. Feeling a slight breeze flow up the side of your form, you realised that Duncan still had all his clothes on whilst you had none. Deciding you needed to change this as soon as possible, you began unbuttoning his suit’s matching black blazer and shirt, rushing to feel his skin on yours.

He helped you, shrugging the shirt off his shoulders as you began to unthread his leather belt from the loops of his trousers. “You’re so impatient, little one.” He spoke.

“I think I’ve waited long enough, daddy.” You smirked, dropping the belt at his feet.

As soon as his shirt hit the floor you reached up, gliding your hands across the expanse of his bear chest, taking notice of how small your hands appeared in comparison to him. He watched you, relishing in the glimmer of entrancement that shone through your eyes as you ingested him.

He lifted you, his strong arms carrying you bridal style towards the king sized bed and throwing you down onto its crisp, satin sheets. Grabbing your ankles, he dragged you down the bed towards him and finished taking his pants off. His cock sprung free from the confines of his boxers, smacking against his stomach.

He clambered onto the bed, resting on his knees as he jerked himself in his hand, reluctantly groaning out at the first contact his neglected cock had received all night. His pressing cock had made it unfathomably hard not to just fuck you up against the door when he saw that sweet little way in which your face scrunched up as you came.

You were practically drooling, watching him fuck himself into his fist as his eyes scanned across your naked body. Not being able to wait any longer and wanting to finally feel his cock on your skin, you sat up slightly and reached out to touch him. But before you got the chance, he shoved you back down. leaning over you, he held your wrists down against the pillows with one hand and wrapped his other around your delicate throat.

“So greedy, baby” he stoked his thumb over the skin of your neck as he made his observation, watching you struggle underneath him.

“I just know what I want.” You toyed, your voiced coming out slightly muffled with the pressure of his large hand covering your voice box.

“Such an attitude, too.” His cock brushes over your cunt as he sways his head from side to side in disappointment and disproval. “Now sweetheart, you’re gonna stay exactly where you are and daddy’s gonna fuck you just like this, okay? So he can see that pretty little face of yours.”

You gulp at his words, anticipating the feeling of having him inside you. “Please just fuck me. Please.” You knew you sounded absolutely pathetic, but you didn’t care. Just needing him plummeting in and out of you as soon as possible.

He chuckled at your neediness. Taking his hands back from your wrists and grasping his cock, lining it up with your entrance and slowly pushing in, he let you adjust to his size.

Moaning out, you dug your nails into the bed sheets, watching his head drop down to yours as he closed his eyes in pleasure.

“Fuck, you take me so well.”

●●●●●●●●

He slipped his ringed finger into you, pushing against your spongy walls whilst you made a desperate attempt to suppress your moans. You bite down onto your nails, your elbow resting on the table as you put all your weight onto it for some kind of crutch.

He began with a slow pace, making sure you would feel every little movement he made. You heard him join into the conversation once again, mentioning something about an article he had seen from the Herald last month which had impressed him. You weren't even sure. You couldn't think for the pulsing beat of your own heart that filled your ears.

“You all right there, Y/N?” Your heavy breathing must have been a dead give away for something being up, being your father was now questioning you.

You felt Duncan stop his movements momentarily, joining the rest of the table in their standstill, staring at you as they awaited a reply, but his little act of sincerity didn't last too long.

“Yeah, uhm-“ you felt him slide a 2nd figure in, making you fake a cough as to stop the cry desperately trying to escape your throat from doing so.

“Yeah, I’m uh, just thirsty.” Hoping this would ward off the worried looks you were receiving, you were shocked when you heard Duncan chime in. “Oh don’t worry, we can get you something.���

He called the waiter over, asking him for a pitcher of lemonade and thanking him as he walked away, back towards the kitchen. You would have preferred some water, you thought, but you were far too focused on what was going on underneath the table to say anything.

“Now, where were we?” Seth began talking once more, bringing the attention back to where it should be. But Duncan? No. His attention stayed on you. Even more focused on fucking his fingers into than before, he sped up and began going even deeper now, curling them upwards until you were twitching.

You looked up at him pleadingly. You were getting too close to cumming for your own liking, so you grabbed onto his thigh and dug your nails into his expensive black dress pants, warning him. He shot you a devious grin, scissoring his fingers inside you and pressing his thumb down to rub sweet circles on your hooded clit, letting you know he didn’t intend on stopping.

He looked behind you suddenly. Following his gaze, you snapped your head to the side, trying to get a good look at what had grabbed his attention so abruptly.

It was the waiter. He had arrived with the pitcher of lemonade in hand and yet Duncan was still plummeting his hand into your pussy with such a speed you began to wonder if someone had actually noticed what was truly going on. I mean the waiter must know.

At this point you had let far too many questionable gasps leave your mouth, your breathing had become even more erratic as you grew closer to your orgasm. He knew you were about to break before he swiftly pulled his fingers out of you, wiping the juices that coated them back and front onto your skirt so he could pick up the glass on front of you, leaving you unsatisfied.

You scrambled to collect your thoughts and breath as he picked up the pitcher, pouring the ice cooled lemonade into your glass.

“Here.” He spoke. You lifted a shaky hand up to take the glass from him when the grasp he had on it ‘slipped’, spilling the contents of it the onto your lap.

“Oh!’ You jumped up, making the sweet, sticky liquid run off your skirt to your thighs, dripping down your legs and eventually onto the floor. The now empty glass falling with it.

“I am so sorry, Miss Y/L/N.” He picked up the glass, sitting it on the table before joining you in standing. Now he was stood, you could clearly see the dark tint of his cock straining against the constrictive fabric that was his dress pants. It sent a pulse of lust through your cunt.

“Duncan!” Hearing Annette voice her annoyance at her son for being so clumsy almost made you laugh. It was quite amusing seeing his mother reprimand him, being he was a grown man in his 40s.

“It’s okay, don’t worry. I-I’ll just go clean myself up in the bathroom. I don’t want to distract the meeting anymore than I already have.” You made eye contact with your father as he rubbed his temples.

He was annoyed at the scene you and Duncan had caused. You gave him an apologetic look, feeling bad for stressing him out even more than you already had with being late, but knowing it was technically Duncan’s fault and not yours.

“Please, let me help you clean up.” Duncan pushed his chair in, quickly grabbing some napkins off the table and resting his hand on your back to guide you towards the nearest bathroom, walking as fast as your weak legs would let him.

His hand stayed delicately placed on the small of your back, until you were out of the tables sight, at which point he took hold of your arm, clutching it like a vice as he dragged you through the bathroom door.

He locked the door behind him in preparation for what was to come. He needed to make sure nobody would be walking in on what he was about to do to you.

Looking back towards you, satisfied as ever now he had you alone, he waltzed on over, pinning you up against the counter with force. You could smell him on you again, same cologne from the night before. Dior, you guessed.

“You’re not very good at staying quiet, are you, Sweetheart?” He mused, hoisting you up onto the counter and forcefully cradling your face with both hands as he moved to kiss you deeply. His tongue ravenously re-familiarising itself with your mouth.

“You almost got us caught back there.” He spoke in between kisses. “Your poor, naive father, watching you. He was probably wondering why you kept squirming.” He voiced a dark giggle, moving down to suckle on your neck and push your skirt up your thighs.

“I almost got us caught? No. Y-you almost got us caught when you decided putting a second f-FUCK, finger into me whilst I was talking to him was a good idea!” You choked out, doing your best to fight through the pleasure of his lips finally grazing your skin as you watched him pull your panties down and slot them into his pants pocket.

“Awh poor baby. Did you not want your daddy knowing that you’re a greedy little slut for his new boss? Hm?” He admired the blossoming lavender and cherry bruises now forming on your neck as he teased, marvelling at the idea they could be noticed by your father once you finished.

He quickly opened his fly, pulling his dress pants and boxers down just enough that he could pump his cock in his hand. Gripping onto your hips for purchase, his fingers dug into you so viciously you could feel the marks he had left the night before. You knew after this, there would surely be more.

He thrust himself into you, earning a loud wail to fall from your lips. You arched your spine at the feeling of him pounding into you, making your head fall back against the mirror behind you. His hand shot up to the it as he gathered more speed, his pace growing far faster than you had anticipated.

“Was it too much for you? Taking my fingers in your cunt whilst you were trying oh so hard to concentrate? I almost made you cum on front of everyone.” You moaned out at his grotesque words, pulling your head up to rest your forehead on his shoulder.

“Answer me.” He pulled your chin up back to look at him, still pounding into you. The sound of your skin slapping against one another’s felt even louder in the small, tiled bathroom.

“Yes daddy! It was too much for me - AHH!!” You let yourself go limp against the mirror, giving yourself up to him entirely and wanting nothing more than for him to use you like his personal rag doll.

●●●●●●●●

Your throat was growing hoarser with every squeal you made. Duncan had been fucking you ruthlessly for what felt like hours now, constantly changing his pace from calm to aggressive and back again. His lips were mouthing over your peaked nipples, tongue slathering trails of saliva across your skin and teeth scrapping over dozens of tiny goosebumps.

“Such a filthy, fucking whore for me.” Squeezing down on your neck with one hand he uses his other to slap you. His ringed hand coming down across your fleshy cheek with a loud crack.

You gasped out, shocked at this move and feeling reinvigorated by the suddenness of it. His abuse only made you more attracted to him, causing your cunt to puddle its juices around his cock.

Slowing his thrusts down to an almost complete halt, he grabbed your jaw, yanking your mouth open just enough that when he dripped his spit down you could catch it. You moaned at the filth of his actions, tasting the bourbon he had drank earlier at the bar.

Following the thick thread of salvia that connected the two of you to each other, he brought his face back down to yours, bringing your sloppy lips together. Never giving you the chance to close your mouth before he slid his tongue into it.

Your lips part, foreheads leaning on each other with eyes locked as you scream and moan at his brutal fucking. “Such a good girl.” He praised you.

“Thank you daddy!!” You cry out, feeling tears brimming in your eyes at the deepness of his cock. You knew he was going to be good when he first pushed you up again that door, but this was insane. You had never felt his turned on before. Loving being completely at his mercy, but receiving none.

He pulled out suddenly, wrapping his hands around your stomach and flipping you over to your front. You got the just of what he wanted and clambered onto your hands and knees for him. He pushed his cock back into your folds, hips ricocheting off your ass immediately.

He pulled at your hair, lifting you up to his chest as he gruffed and groaned. He was much larger than you, making it easy for him to pull your head back enough that he could see the expression on your lust enthralled face.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” He demands, spanking your ass cheek and twisting your hair around in his hand. His other hand moved to your gaping mouth, pushing two fingers inside so you taste the metallic bite of his silver band.

You gag as he fucks your mouth, mumbling around his fingers in a desperate attempt at begging him to allow you to cum. You were getting so close now. You guys had been going for so long and your impending release wasn’t going to wait much longer.

“Fuckk, don’t worry sweetheart. Daddy’s close too.” He took his fingers out of your mouth, bringing them down to your clit and swiping at it furiously. You could feel your own spit on his fingers as the coil in your stomach tightened.

“Ohh Daddy’s gonna come so deep inside you, little one.. would you like that?” His breathes were uneven. Thrusts uncontrolled and sloppy.

“Yes!! Fuck, fuck, FUCK Daddy I’m cumming!!” Your cunt pulsated around his shaft, squeezing his own orgasm out of him even sooner than he expected as you screamed. You could taste the saltiness of your own tears, them having run down your cheekbones and into your agape mouth.

His cum flooded your walls, filling you up with his hips pressed against yours as he enveloped you in an embrace from behind. He uttered out a shudder against your temple, his breathe feeling hot and damp on your skin.

He set you back down on the bed and pulled his softening shaft out of you, moving his large hands back to your hips as your own gave out and fell underneath you, pressing your face into the sheets. You eventually rolled over to lay on your back, wanting to let your aftershocks roll through your quivering limbs more comfortably.

He fell down onto the duvet next to you, propping himself up on his side slightly and pulling you closer to him so he could plant a kiss on your swollen lips. “You alright? I didn't hurt too bad now, did I?” He stroked your face, words alluring as ever now your resting bare bodies were tangled up together in a complete stand still.

“Nothing that I didn't enjoy, no.” You joked, lightly drawing intricate shapes on his arm with your fingertips, still harnessing the blemishing sting his ring had left under your cheekbone. “I’d say we're pretty well aquatinted now; wouldn’t you, Daddy?”

●●●●●●●

You could feel cool drips of perspiration slipping down your heated skin from your forehead to your collar bones and all you could do was hope they hadn't taken any of the concealer you had applied earlier this morning with them. You had needed to cover the bruise Duncan’s ring had so easily left on your cheek the night before, since you really didn't want your father or anyone else from work seeing it.

Duncan’s cock was curving in all the right places as he hammered into you. His pace and brutality showing you stars. He seemed even more confident than he did yesterday. Having had experience with you, he knew that you could take his most heinous savagery with delight and didn’t hold off one bit.

His huffs and groans were tantalising, growing louder and more uncontrolled as he fucked you into oblivion. His hand squeaked as it fell down the steamed mirror he leant on, leaving the glass behind you and finding its way to your jaw. He brought your face to his own and kissed you, loudly moaning into your open mouth.

You giggled through your mewls. “Mmm.. I thought I was the loud one, daddy.” You were amused that he had been teasing you so adamantly about the volume of your pleasure, when he was now the one making all the noise.

He paused, quirking an eyebrow at you before slamming his hips into you with a thrust so strong it made you practically scream out. “Oh, my apologises, sweetheart.” He smirked as he picked up his pace once more.

You wrapped your hands in his perfectly styled hair. You no longer cared who knew what was really happening in here, the thought didn’t even cross your mind. All you cared for was chasing your high. You rutted your hips on his and took his length entirely, feeling dangerously close to cumming.

“Fuckkk baby, daddy’s gonna cum okay?. Cum with me princess. Fall apart on my cock.” His unfocused thrusts had you coming undone in seconds. You held onto him tight, digging your nails into his shoulders and pulling at his curls as you cried out in ecstasy.

He shot his seed into you, feeling all his pent up frustrations from earlier at the table leave him as he pushed himself deep into your abused cunt. He didn’t even attempt to stifle his moans, too invested in finally receiving his release to realise just how loud he was being.

He rested his forehead on yours, your sweaty skin pressed against each other as you both attempted to catch your breathes after such a quick, ruthless fuck. You started laughing, finding it utterly ridiculous that you had spent the majority of a meeting you had been terrified for, getting fucked by your new boss (and the man you had fucked the night before) in a restaurant bathroom.

He joined in laughing, clearly finding humour within this strange situation too. Interrupting your laugh, he pushed his lips into yours, kissing you as if your lips were some kind of prize. You felt his cock slip from your cunt, his seed immediately spilling from it as you were left with a sudden, empty sensation.

He made quick work of zipping his pants back up and fastening his belt. You tugged your skirt back down to your thighs, being reminded of how Duncan had snatched your panties and stashed them in his pants pocket. You guessed you wouldn’t be getting them back anytime soon, which you were okay with, you just hoped nobody saw his remnants leaving you left the bathroom.

You flattened out your skirt and felt the wet sticky lemonade that still coated it. You had completely forgotten to clean it. “Fuck, my skirt's still sticky! Why would you order lemonade?” You whined; still mad he hadn’t just ordered some water.

Awaiting a reply, you turned to check your make up in the mirror. Luckily it was pretty light today, so it still looked good other than the bruise on your cheek now being slightly more obvious than before. What really concerned you was your neck. It was covered in every shade of purple and red you were aware existed. If your father and coworkers didn’t know what was going on from how weird you were being at the table before, or how long it had taken the two of you to finish in the bathroom, or the noises that were emitting from it, they would definitely know after seeing all the claims he had left on your skin.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t think that spilt water would have been a good enough excuse to get you all alone in here.” He chuckled to himself, leaning over to rest his chin on your head and wrapping his arms around your waist as he joked over his mischievousness.

“But we should probably head back out there. I’m sure your father’s going to apprentice the beautiful mosaic I’ve painted across your neck” he kissed the bruises he spoke of as he watched you through the mirror.

You scoffed at him, gifting yourself one last look before completely giving up on finding a way you could make your face and neck appear more presentable for heading back to the table.

Duncan opened the bathroom door, nodding his head towards the hallway and waiting for you to hurry up and join him.

The two of you started walking back, your legs struggling to take your weight with how weak they had become. Your heels clicked along the floor, making you far more aware of how soon you would be sitting back down with everyone from work. Like a clock counting down to all the judgmental stares you would surly be receiving.

You kept your eyes trained on the floor as you took your seat at the table. Seths voice trailed off upon seeing the two of you sit down, leaving you both in the middle of an uncomfortable silence that felt near suffocating.

“What took so long!” You could hear the anger and perhaps embarrassment in Annettes voice as she whispered to Duncan. She looked towards you, glaring and scowling before retiring her vision back to him. She was probably hoping that what she assumed to have occurred hadn’t, but from the marks clearly decorating your neck, she would have known it to be true.

“Oh, we just couldn’t get the lemonade out of her skirt.” He tut as he spoke to his mother, smiling and playing off any obvious suspicions. “I’m sorry, really.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, dripping with a sincerity you knew to be false.

“So what was it we were discussing?” he speaks louder now, addressing the rest of the table.

“Uhh actually, I think we have a deal.” Seth replied, looking over at him and then the rest of the table. You heard your father mutter something in agreement, but it was meek. Quiet. He must have felt the awkward tension too. It was ripe in the air, like a shiver you couldn’t shake off. You didn't even want to look at him, knowing If anyone there felt most uncomfortable, it was him.

Saying their goodbyes and finishing up with any last details, everyone stood to shake hands and bid their farewells. You felt your fathers scowl as he came and stood beside you, but you didn't dare look at him. You were too ashamed to face him whilst still with your coworkers.

Duncan walked over to your father, looking more satisfied than ever with his eyes still focused on you as he thanked him for meeting and shook his hand firmly.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mr Y/L/N.” He let go of your fathers hand only to take a hold of yours. He grasped it delicately, a touch more gentle than he had ever shown you previously. Assuming he was trying you shake it, you were more than surprised when he raised it to his lips, kissing your rosey knuckles; still red from the tight grip you had, had on his hair earlier.

“I look forward to working with you in the future, Y/N.” He graced you with once last signature smirk as he walked away, leaving you with your father who was waiting for an explanation and apology for your disgusting and foolish behaviour.

Maybe it hadn’t been the worst way to spend lunch.

Tags: @sojournmichael @dark-mei-rose @ntxoza @angelicmichael @jimmason @michaellangdonstanaccount @blakescoven @7-wonders @ghostangels @fernfiction @brattylovee @melodylangdon @brooklinn13 @instincts-baby

[starculler]

Lead Me Down Another Road (preview)

Word Count: 2975

I fell into a minor rabbit hole and stand before you now with a scrap from the Crèchemaster Anakin AU I'm working on. The full fic is a few thousand words longer than this (and will go up on ao3 within the week), but this is technically the original bit I'd planned on writing (and is thus self-contained enough that I'm comfortable posting it alone here. As a treat). Hope y'all enjoy it and the glimpse of at least one of several Jedi OCs I've been having to come up with for this lol Note: I'm using crèche-minder in place of crèchemaster because it fits a little better with how I've set up the role in the au -- the particulars of which will be explored in the full fic.

Anakin stood from where he’d sat among the younglings in Targon Clan when he caught sight of his master standing just inside the room, all ten pairs of eyes straying from their painting to watch him stretch. He grimaced briefly at the splotches of bright paint he could already see on his tunic and pants, but made it a point to smile at a scowling nautolan making a grab at his ankle. He shuffled back, just out of reach, and had to dodge another two pairs of eager, sticky fingers with a put-upon sigh that failed to fully mask his amusement. It was the same song and dance every time he was sent to Knight D’nali for crèche-duty, and he’d long gotten wise to the initiates’ tricks.

What made today’s game of Catch-the-Padawan novel was Obi-Wan’s presence hovering at the edges of Anakin’s focus. His master hadn’t come to collect him like this since his first few weeks, confident that Anakin would neither get lost on his way to and from the crèche, nor try to dodge his punishment after that awful first and final attempt. He shuddered at the memory even as he leaped nimbly over a pair of near-humans who’d thought to tackle him from behind. He laughed when they turned, eyes wide and betrayed for a moment before trying for a frontal attack.

He dodged, weaving between ten tiny, determined younglings — baiting them with the promise of his capture before stepping just out of reach once more — until he hit something solid from behind. He blinked, stunned for a second and sure that he’d had enough space still to maneuver around, only to yelp when an arm snaked around his waist and pulled him off his feet with an ease that spoke of more than a little help from the Force.

“Master!” He groaned, his protest drowned out by mixed cheering and jeering from Targon Clan and their minder’s own loud laughter. Anakin shot Knight D’nali as much of a betrayed look as he could while caught, but the traitor only laughed harder. He huffed.

“Well,” Obi-Wan said, grinning and smug and just as much of a traitor as the kiffar knight, “it seems I’ve won a prize to take back with me. A whole padawan all for myself.” A chorus of “No’s” and groaning followed the statement, and Anakin, face warmer than it had been a minute ago, suddenly found the floor much more interesting than a gaggle of disappointed initiates. Obi-Wan, still being a traitor, only laughed.

“Alright, alright. Settle down now,” Knight D’nali interrupted, wading into the chaos so she stood between them and the younglings. “Knight Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker have other duties to attend to, and you little Jedi have a latemeal to prepare for.”

With only a mild amount of protest, the little ones acquiesced. In true, and still vaguely eerie to Anakin, Jedi fashion, they bowed in sync, calling out a discordant mix of goodbyes and thank yous. Anakin nodded in return, starting to wriggle in his master’s grip in a futile attempt to free himself. Obi-Wan held fast even after two of the younglings, a zabrak and the same nautolan who’d first tried to grab onto him, crept around Knight D’nali to hand him four sheets of flimsi splattered with a variety of bright, clashing paint.

He sighed, resigned to the embarrassment of being gifted their paintings under the too-amused gazes of both knights, and murmured a quiet “Thanks” that made the pair smile so wide he thought their faces might split. Their obvious happiness made something warm bubble up in his chest and his hand tingle where flimsi met skin. It was hardly the first time one of the younglings in any of the clans he frequented had given him something small like this to take back with him — he had a wall in his room dedicated to doodles and paintings and a corner set aside, free of his usual clutter, for knickknacks and crafts — but the shock and awe and tingling warmth it left in him never wore off.

Anakin’s gifts had never lied with children. His temper ran too hot and he never quite knew what to say to anyone his age, much less younger than him. It had, in fact, taken months of constant supervision, patience, and teaching from the crèche-minders who’d agreed to take on his crèche-duty punishments for him to build up any sort of rapport with the little ones under their care. It had been hard and frustrating, but ultimately rewarding, work even if it had been borne out of his master’s own frustrated desperation.

The arm around his waist squeezed briefly, and Anakin had to fight down yet another burning flush when he realized Obi-Wan had most likely noticed where his thoughts had wandered. He floundered for something to say or do, but settled for a heavy sigh that drew a brief chuckle from his master.

“I apologize again for stealing Anakin back so early, Knight D’nali,” Obi-Wan said and Anakin could picture the apologetic smile on his face as he spoke.

“No need,” said Knight D’nali, smiling just enough that the wrinkles in her eyes and the upward pull of her cheeks distorted the two, bright red tattoos — one line the width of her thumb and the other no more than half a centimeter — cutting vertically down from hairline to jaw over her right eye. “I may be getting older, but I remember well enough how busy a padawan’s life can be.”

“You’re not that old,” Anakin groused and earned himself a huff from his master and a bark of laughter from Knight D’nali.

“That’s sweet of you padawan, but the gray in my hair tells another story. And not another word about it,” she said the second Anakin opened his mouth. “There’ll be no buttering up this old knight. I told you, if you’re back here in less than a week I will sit this clan down for a four-hour meditation at least. Force knows your master certainly won’t object.”

“Yes Knight D’nali,” he said in the dull tone every chastised padawan seemed to affect, much to Targon Clan’s delight if their stifled giggling was any indication. Knight D’nali simply nodded, satisfied. Obi-Wan, again, laughed.

“And on that note, we’ll be taking our leave now. Knight D’nali.” Obi-Wan bowed as well as he could with an armful of padawan still pinned against him. “Targon Clan.” He offered the still-giggling younglings a much shallower bow. “May the Force be with you,” he said, echoed only a moment after by Anakin, before turning on his heel and striding out into the hall.

Anakin wriggled again and said: “Master, you can put me down now.” Obi-Wan hummed but didn’t so much as slow down until Anakin huffed, rolled his eyes, and added an only somewhat petulant “Please.”

It took him a moment to find his balance when Obi-Wan suddenly let go, but soon enough he was keeping pace with his master, just shy of being at the knight’s side. They walked in silence, past the doors to other clans of exuberant younglings and down the almost confusing pattern of turns that made up the Temple’s Crèche. It was, he knew, meant to be confusing so that intruders would have a harder time reaching the Jedi’s most vulnerable members on the off chance they made it through the Temple, guards, and every Jedi in between. He also knew that Obi-Wan was purposefully leading him through the longest route rather than the faster shortcuts one of the other crèche-minders, a young pantoran knight he’d only met with a few times so far, had taught him.

They nodded at the pair of guards stationed at the Crèche’s primary entrance once they’d finally made it through, and again to any Jedi they passed along the main corridor. Anakin glanced curiously at his master when he led them not towards the dormitory or refectory, but instead toward the salles and meditation rooms. He pursed his lips, unsure if it was a good or bad sign.

The salles meant lightsaber practice — Anakin’s favorite — but he doubted they’d stop there. He had, after all, been in the crèche because he’d let his temper get the best of him again, and Obi-Wan had made a point of steering Anakin away from as many potentially aggressive outlets as he could until he was sure Anakin was cool-headed. That didn’t stop him, however, from reaching for the lightsaber on his belt, shiny and still new considering he’d only just built it less than half a year ago. The trip to Ilum had been terrifying and exciting in equal measure, just the two of them instead of waiting for the next crèche clan’s planned gathering. It still awed him sometimes, to brush the warm, steel cylinder and find it there or to sit and listen to his crystal’s song virtually anytime he wanted.

It was a scrap of undeniable proof that he was a Jedi. That, late-comer or not, he belonged here just as much as any other padawan or knight.

Obi-Wan slowed, looking back at Anakin with the kind of unbearably soft, caring smile that told him his master had probably felt where his thoughts had gone. He held an arm out and Anakin hesitated a moment at the familiar invitation, torn between embarrassed frustration and elation at being invited close in a fairly public space, before stepping up so he was beside rather than behind Obi-Wan. He stiffened when Obi-Wan put an arm around his shoulder, but relaxed before his master could even think about pulling away. Anakin pressed into his side, deciding that, right now, eleven-nearly-twelve wasn’t too old for the show of affection, and just about melted when Obi-Wan’s arm shifted to briefly squeeze his shoulder.

His vain hope for the salles was, of course, dashed as they walked passed to duck into one of the smaller, unoccupied meditation rooms. Despite not wanting to complain, Anakin couldn’t completely stifle a sigh as he took in the room: bland, small, and box-shaped, with a few colorful cushions laid out and more stacked against the walls with a few other types of seating for those who might need it. Obi-Wan flashed him a quick smile, squeezing his shoulder once more before letting go and settling on an older-looking, dark blue cushion. Anakin breathed in, held it for a count of four, and breathed out in an effort to brace himself for the ensuing lecture or meditation he was sure to suffer. He picked up a red cushion from the far wall, calling it to his hands with the Force, and sat himself down in front of his master, close enough that their knees almost touched. Then, he waited.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan started after they’d sat in silence for a few tranquil-bordering-on-nerve-wracking minutes, their slow, even breathing the only sound in the room. Anakin met his master’s gaze, shifting slightly as a small kernel of icy unease sprang to life in the pit of his stomach. “You’re not in trouble, Padawan.” Obi-Wan smiled, still soft. Still caring. Anakin frowned.

“You don’t usually bring me here unless I am.”

“I suppose I do, don’t I?” He seemed to speak mostly to himself, brow furrowed and a wry twist to his lips, like he’d found something funny. Anakin cocked his head to one side, watching as Obi-Wan breathed deeply a few times like he was trying to center himself. Or, a traitorous part of his mind whispered, bracing himself. Anakin squirmed in place, hardly daring to breathe himself as the unease in his stomach grew a fraction larger. “I’ve been talking to a few of the crèche-minders you’ve been working with.” Anakin swallowed, thoughts flitting towards the many mistakes he’d made the last few months and especially at first. “They’ve given you rather glowing reviews if I do say so myself,” he said, a small but pleased curl in his lips. And Anakin—

Anakin blinked.

“Really?” he asked, and wished the question hadn’t come out quite so bewildered. His master grinned and Anakin swore there was pride gleaming somewhere in his eyes.

“Really. They’ve enjoyed having you there. Knight D’nali says you have an uncanny ability for distraction,” Obi-Wan teased. Anakin stuck his tongue out and earned himself a bark of laughter. “Master Benni,” he continued, sobering once more, “made an interesting suggestion when I spoke to him last week. I—” Obi-Wan stopped. Inhaled.

“Master?”

A fine tremor had started in Anakin’s hands at some point. Excitement at first, quickly drowned out by a fresh wave of nerves. He’d once thought, at first, that Tatooine would drown in rain the day Obi-Wan Kenobi didn’t have a sharp retort on the tip of his tongue. A nearly three-year partnership with the knight had broken the facade a bit by now, but the sight of Obi-Wan struggling to put his thoughts together unnerved Anakin even after his master smiled reassuringly, reaching forward to clasp one of Anakin’s hands between both of his.

“There are many paths to becoming a Jedi, as I’m sure you’ve learned by now. Guardians, Council members, diplomats, teachers … crèche-minders,” he said, emphasizing the last. Anakin’s breath caught, eyes wide as the implication sunk slowly in.

“Did— Did Master Benni,” Anakin started, strangled and halting. Obi-Wan nodded. “But—But I’m horrible with younglings! I’ve made so many mistakes. I—”

“You are learning, Anakin. No one expects you to be perfect at anything. Much less in dealing with younglings.” Anakin opened his mouth. Closed it. Floundered in his incomprehension until—

“Are you … Are you getting rid of me?” he asked, voice suddenly small and hurt. He turned his hand in Obi-Wan’s grip, wrapping his smaller fingers around his master’s wrist as if he would disappear from Anakin’s sight at any moment.

“No,” Obi-Wan said firmly, one of his thumbs stroking the back of Anakin’s hand. “You are my padawan, Anakin, and I will never abandon you.” Obi-Wan paused there, earnest and scorching in his focus until Anakin nodded, more numb than anything else at the moment. Satisfied, his master continued: “But I do think that this is a good opportunity for you.” Obi-Wan’s eyes flicked down to their hands and then back up, meeting Anakin’s once more, steady and confident and calm. “You’ve changed a little since you’ve been around the crèches. I can see a confidence in you that wasn’t there before, and better control. Not just with the Force, though I’ve no doubt entertaining younglings for hours has done wonders.” Anakin flushed, fuzzy warmth buzzing in his chest at the praise.

“You feel things — everything — so strongly, Anakin, and I fear I’ve not been able to help you much in that regard.”

Anakin opened his mouth to protest, but snapped it shut when Obi-Wan held a hand up for silence and settled for a quiet pout instead, much to his master’s amusement.

“I appreciate your faith in me,” he said with a nod, “and I do not doubt that you would learn a lot at my side alone. But I’m coming to realize where you might need more than I am able to give, not because I don’t want to. Force knows I’d do whatever I could to help you, Anakin, but there are simply things I won’t be able to understand. Haven’t been able to understand,” he added and Anakin frowned at the brief, bitter note he could pick out in his master’s tone. “Master Benni’s offer has as much to do with your potential as it does with your connection to both the initiates and their minders. I— We think it’s something you should consider, despite how it’s likely not the path you first envisioned for yourself.

“You will still be my padawan, always,” he said and squeezed Anakin’s hand to reinforce the sentiment, “but you would split your time between myself and a rotating number of the crèche’s minders under Master Benni’s supervision. You’ll be busy, and kept in the Temple more often than not even if I’m sent out on missions. It may cut into your classes or lightsaber training, in which case you’ll have to work harder to keep up, but there’s not a doubt in my mind that you could do it.”

Anakin nodded, mind whirling and thoughts spinning. There was more Obi-Wan wanted to say, he could tell, but Anakin was grateful for the lull granted to him to gather his thoughts.

“I—” Anakin swallowed, his throat and mouth suddenly dry. He held his master’s wrist a fraction tighter. “Can I think about it?” He winced at how his voice cracked, but Obi-Wan only nodded, smile still firmly in place.

“Of course. You don’t have to decide on anything until you’re ready. Master Benni made it quite clear to me that the offer is open to you whenever you wish to take it, whether that time is now or after you’ve been knighted.”

Anakin blinked, balking at the magnitude of not only the offer, but the old Master’s apparent faith in him, even as the buzzing warmth from earlier threatened to consume him fully now. He felt a fresh flush rise on his cheeks and a sheen of stinging tears prick at his eyes, held back by sheer force of will because he refused to waste the water just yet. Slowly, carefully, Obi-Wan squeezed his hand before leaning forward, reaching out and grabbing a fistful of Anakin’s outer tunic. When he pulled, Anakin went as easily as he used to into his mother’s arms, overwhelmingly grateful for the contact just then.

“I’ll think about it, Master,” he mumbled into Obi-Wan’s robes, his face pressed into his master’s chest. “Thanks.”

Obi-Wan only hummed in response, tucking Anakin close and rubbing soothing circles into his back while Anakin clutched at him in return.

[qqueenofhades]

Modern AU Heartrender Husbands gives me the vibes of like they'll watch eurovision bc Fedyor wanted to and Ivan only begrudgingly agreed but in the end it's him who's standing really close to the TV with a bottle of beer loudly criticising the jury vote

Anon, your Mind. As 100% ever, I am so very easy to enable. As before, this is set in Phantom!Verse, and serves as a sequel of sorts to this (and as a further prequel to PEL).

Brighton Beach, 2014

It’s their first spring in their new home – they arrived in America in August 2013 and got this place, fittingly, right around Orthodox Christmas in January 2014 – and that means many things to them. Their apartment is in a formerly rent-controlled brownstone tenement right off the boardwalk, but prior to their arrival, it was occupied for fifty years by an old bat from Krasnodar Krai who apparently never, ever, threw anything away. (Fedyor is too scared to ask if she actually died in this apartment and her mummified corpse is lurking at the bottom of all the junk.) That is why he and Ivan were able to afford it, at least, but now that the weather is warmer, they have been spending all day cleaning, hauling boxes of crap to the dumpster, and trying in vain to get the smell of pickled cabbage out of the kitchen. It looks exactly like your Great Aunt Masha’s house, the one that traumatized you as a child and has never left your nightmares since. Home sweet home.

The upside is that the location is great, the apartment is surprisingly spacious and lovely – a big bedroom, a bathroom with two sinks and a deep claw-footed tub, a living room with high windows that let in lots of light, original crown molding and hardwood floors – and if it was located in the really chic parts of Brooklyn and inhabited by a tech-startup hipster rather than a Russian émigré spinster with definite hoarding tendencies, it would rent for some astronomical monthly sum. Fedyor has a three-ring binder full of paint swatches, sketches, furniture samples, and other plans to give it a total overhaul (he’s thinking a nice pale green for the living room?) But the one thing that spring definitely means is Eurovision, and it is just the ticket to relax from their grueling schedule of throwing boxes of junk away and hoping they don’t stumble upon a withered hand in a glass jar. He likes America and he’s excited for their new life, for all that they had no choice but to leave Russia in a hurry, but Eurovision is Eurovision.

Actually watching it, of course, is easier said than done. For one thing, Fedyor can’t find a blasted station that is airing it, when he could have just switched on the TV and found it right away back home. For another, Ivan is deeply dubious of the whole endeavor, having watched five minutes of it once when he was eighteen and turning it off in disgust, never to return. Fedyor spends a lot of time wheedling him to give it another chance. “Come on, Vanya. It’s fun!”

“It is a lot of homosexuals gyrating in leather to very bad music,” Ivan snaps. “They look ridiculous. And sound even worse.”

Fedyor glances at them – the fact that they’re sitting on the couch, he’s on Ivan’s lap with his legs draped over Ivan’s thigh, and Ivan’s arms wrapped around his waist – and coughs. “I’m not sure how to break this to you, darling,” he says, “but you are also a homosexual.”

“Maybe, but you would never catch me dead up there.”

“Of course not.” Fedyor rolls his eyes. “You might actually have to smile.”

Ivan makes a scoffing noise. Then he notices the full-on puppy-dog face that Fedyor is now giving him, and says, “Oh no. Oh no, Fedya. Do not look at me like that.”

“Why not?” Fedyor shamelessly snuggles closer. “Is it working?”

The predictable outcome is that Ivan grudgingly agrees to watch it with him, though they’re on American time now and Eurovision Song Contest 2014, held in Copenhagen, Denmark, is six hours ahead of them. Ivan thinks that it’s stupid to sit down and watch a lot of gyrating homosexuals in the middle of the day, when there’s still so much work to do, and tries to demand that they just watch the recording later. Fedyor says this is nonsense, you simply cannot watch a recording of Eurovision, and after a lot of investigation, finds the online streaming channel on his laptop and hooks it up to the TV so they can watch it there. Then he prepares his popcorn, his alcoholic beverages, and his glitter glasses, corrals his recalcitrant husband, and readies himself to experience pure joy. No wonder Ivan doesn’t get it.

However, the effect is both swift and remarkable. By the end of the first semi-final, Ivan is put out about the fact that Russia came seventh in the popular vote but was knocked down to eleven by the jury (this is evidence of an anti-Russian conspiracy, according to him) and when only Moldova, a tiny no-name non-EU former Soviet state, deigns to award them the full twelve points, he is openly incredulous. “Moldova?! That is all we get?! MOLDOVA?!”

“Well,” Fedyor says delicately. “There is that little situation in Ukraine, so I’m afraid we are not that popular right now.”

“That is bullshit,” Ivan grouses. “This is a song contest. The Tolmachevy Sisters are not Vladimir Putin. I am sure they have worked very hard to be here.”

Fedyor glances at him and wisely decides not to say anything. He is likewise a little peeved when the Russian contestants get booed by the Danish audience, but Ivan looks like he’s about to leap through the screen and throttle every single one of them. He thrusts out a hand. “Give me a drink, Fedya. I need it to suffer this indignity.”

Fedyor cracks the lid off a cold one and hands it over – there is the Brighton Bazaar just a few blocks away, stocked with Russian goods, so they are spared the ordeal of drinking Yankee beer – and Ivan takes a long slug. He thinks they can skip watching the second semi-final two nights later, since Russia isn’t in it, but Fedyor puts it on anyway. They both like Austria and “Rise Like a Phoenix,” sung by the bearded drag queen Conchita Wurst (there have been a few dumb comments about her from the usual suspects), but Ivan hits a fist on the arm of the sofa. “She was not better than the Russian girls,” he says loyally. “I still think that they should be the ones to win.”

“Right, well,” Fedyor says. “I think the only ones less likely to win are the Brits, and they never win, so we might be waiting a while.”

The grand finale, on May tenth, is an inadvertently hysterical exercise. They get up early and put on the pregame show, like the Americans do with their bewildering fixation on the Super Bowl, and Ivan gets even more furious when the Tolmachevy Sisters are booed again. “Are they not supposed to love everyone at this glitter bacchanalia? So much for the Scandinavians being tolerant and accepting people! The song is nice! They are nice girls! What is wrong with them?!”

“Come over here and give me a cuddle, Vanya,” Fedyor suggests. “Otherwise you will blow a blood vessel long before the show starts.”

Ivan growls like an escaped tiger from the zoo, but consents to sit down next to Fedyor. They both drink copiously once the festivities get underway, singing along loudly (and not that melodiously) to the various entries, Fedyor’s arm draped around Ivan’s neck as he sits on his lap and critically judges the acts before the official results pop up. Once again, the only twelve-point awards Russia gets are from former Soviet countries (Azerbaijan and Belarus) and Ivan looks like he’s going to have a conniption before Fedyor kisses him and he gets distracted for the next three minutes. “This is disgraceful,” he mutters, when they break away. “Not you, Fedya. Just the horrible way they have clearly rigged this show against us.”

“You know,” Fedyor says. “That’s Eurovision. You declare war on your neighbors when they don’t give you twelve points. Now they have the EU, they’re not supposed to fight anymore, this is the only way they can get all those old rivalries out. Just be glad that Australia isn’t in this year. You might have really blown a gasket.”

“Australia?!” Ivan shifts Fedyor to a more comfortable position on his lap and grabs for his third bottle of beer. “AUSTRALIA IS NOT IN EUROPE! It is not even anywhere NEAR Europe! WHY DOES AUSTRALIA GET TO BE IN EUROVISION!?!”

Fedyor laughs out loud. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Ivan says. “But this is still the stupidest thing I have ever seen.”

“Shh.” Fedyor nuzzles him. “Just give in, Vanya. Just give in.”

Ivan consents to turn his grumbling down to a simmer, and is somewhat mollified that Russia comes in sixth overall, which is better than even Fedyor thought they were going to do. Austria takes the champion’s crown, they can both agree that Conchita Wurst deserves it, and get up and dance around their still-junk-cluttered living room as she gives her bravissima performance. A few things have been thrown during the judging, but they can’t add much to the existing mess, and in Brighton Beach, “damage caused to the apartment because Russia got shafted during Eurovision finals” might actually be a legitimate excuse. As he leans against Ivan’s chest and grins into his neck, Fedyor has to admit that this place may just feel like home yet.