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chlmtsdoll · 4 months ago

Note

hi hi ly and ur stuff was wondering if you can do like a little wedding like yk those pics of mike at that wedding with his older art haircut, maybe them at a friends wedding idkk ly <3

Omg ily yesss this is cute <3 I was just rewatching Breakfast at Tiffany’s anddd watching the new season of Emily in Paris so I felt inspired to do something classy and romantic 🤍 this is perfecttt

FRANCE WITH ART

౨ৎ 18 + | age gap, older/sugar daddy!Art, younger/sugar baby!reader, needy art, petite!reader, a little angst, fluff !

“Isn’t she just a beauty?” you sighed out dreamily as you directed your camera to the dazzling city beyond you, panning to the Eiffel Tower that was looking just poised as ever sitting beyond the sunrise. No drowsiness or jet lag was going to keep you from taking in every second you could of the beauty and scenery as long as you were waking up in Paris, France.

You’d been up bright and early but snug in your robe. Hidden away in your suite at the Ritz. The penthouse-like hotel room was Arts sweet gesture to go all out for your comfortability as you were accompanying him on this get away for one of his long time tennis co-workers colossal wedding. Being in this city has always been like a dream to you. Especially now that you got to explore it with the man you were no stranger to showing how much you adored. And he had you glued to him as often as possible too.

You and Art had arrived a few days earlier just to see all the wonders and sight out all the romance spiraling around every fountain and podium. Art planned out everything. Taking you to all sorts of historical eloquent museums, the most upscale restaurants with jazzy night life surrounding the two of you, catching the tower sparkle at midnight. You walked Pont Alexandre hand in hand with the strawberry-blonde and kissed above the waters of Puente Marie.

You didn’t know if it had been the aroma of the city, or Arts way of brainwashing you into staying in his world of poshness and high class wonders forever, but it was like something straight out of a movie. He truly made you feel like the princess of all romance and desire — You even got to be sweetness to his arm when he brought you to a few tennis matches the capital held. With he glamour of vip seats and rosé meeting your lips as Art clutched your thigh in a way that said mine as he peered the tournament.

It was something about everyone knowing who he was and wanting him right then. The paps, starstruck fans, his wealthy tennis friends, all wanting the attention of the enamored man — his smile with dimples showing contrast to his gorgeous features as he signed autographs and took photos with girls and even women much older than you. He was truly a magnet with an essence of adoration for his life post his ex wife and more wealth than ever, pilling on to his retirement. He didn’t have a worry in the world but his ever lasting fame and all the while you, his young, beautiful and spoiled beat, girlfriend that got to look too pretty and absolutely pampered by his side at all times. You just couldn’t wait till after the tournaments, when Art would be buried snug in your sweet tight cunt before you had even rushed to get your shoes off and the door locked properly. The way the pending man kissed every inch of your body, merging his own with you. Pulling your hair in wistful ways, rough in his knuckles but with the upmost love and care as he sweet talked you through his own pent up fixation of you. Heavy thrusts to your soft little body — and when you’d scream his name out at way too late (or early) you knew that he was going to shower you in jewels the next day.

He loved it. And he knew you absolutely loved it.

Your wildness only he could contain kept him feeling young, and he would do absolutely any and everything for that feeling of your girlish youthful smile to never stop making his heart swell.

“I woke up earlier than usual today. The wedding is at noon, so I just ordered room service and had the loveliest breakfast.. Art went out a bit before I got up and he should be back soon I’m sure. I should get ready, but god. I could just live in this suite to be honest.” Your giggle was breezy as you talked to your phone. You loved recording vlogs of all the beautiful places you got to see — and well, you could quite tell people enjoyed seeing what the girlfriend of a international tennis superstar was up on the daily. So that’s exactly what you gave them.

Your expensive and perfect little life.

You had been perched out on the balcony with your hand fluffed cappuccino as you gazed out at the filled streets and soft echo of jazz from down the way when you heard the muffled noise of your suite door being unlatched “Princess?” Art muttered softly as he noticed you weren’t still tucked away in bed. A grin took upon the man’s lips before he called out a little louder. “Where’s my girl?”

When you heard his voice, your smile had gone from dazed to stir in a quick shift as you got on your feet to exit from the window out look to find the tall man standing by the door with hands full of upscale shopping bags. There was no time for him store them before you were wrapping your own much shorter body around his torso. Art chuckled delightfully as he moved to embrace you back in his warmth.

“Mmm, where have you been? I missed you.” Your eyes met his gleaming ones, looking up that the man while he now cupped your cheek. His eyes half perched with colors of brown in his blue, your lips were already inching to lay a solid kiss on his fond simple staring back into your orbs with all adoration— so Art picked you up and kissed you just as sweetly before setting you down again.

“Well.. I supposed you’d still been asleep by the time I got back — I went for a little shopping stroll. Got some pretty things for you baby.. go sit.” the blonde bent to kiss at your neck with a sly smirk as he inched for one of the satin handled bags and your face lit up all over again.

You noticed one bag, a specially tinted turquoise blue and you almost lost all composure right then as Art brought it to you. He opened up a delicate box from Tiffany & Co. and your eyes fell dream like immediately. In his hands were the sparkling silver jewels you’d had your eye on for a good while now, you sunk your teeth into your lips as Art watched your pupils dialing with a grin of his own.

“I don’t care if it’s a wedding that’s not yours. I want you to be decked out tonight, baby. I want everyone to know how opulent you are, and that you belong to me.” Art smirked as he took your wrists in his palms to lock to bracelet around your skin that had a royal ‘A’ initial engraved in it. No matter how much Art gave and gave to you, you were always left speechless by his thoughtful expressions of love for you.

“Oh my.. Art, it’s beautiful- - and it reminds me that your mine,” you gleamed. “I love it.”

Your soft sigh of pleasure was light as your cheeks began to ache with your beaming smile. But the gentleman didn’t just stop there. He still was picking up more bags that followed and you noticed the Chanel logo immediately by the tag of course.

“That’s not all.” He tittered before slipping a gorgeously designed box from the bag, even larger, your jaw became quite loose as the case landed in your palms. You felt like a kid getting exposed to an entire candy store and Art watched you rummage, still with grace, through the box itself — elegantly wrapped in light paper as you breathed out excitedly till your finger tips graced over the soft pink flap beneath. You couldn’t stop your squeal from echoing across the room.

“Oh my god.. baby!” You were gagging on gasps as you pulled out the bag and your eyes ran over the gold chain along with your hands. Art chuckled as you squealed in pleasure and it affirmed that he certainly picked the right choice.

“We have a day left and I just couldn’t go back to the states without you getting one — and you already have the black and white so you needed just the perfect pink one, right sweetheart?” Art sat beside you on the king sized bed with a fond smile on his lips as he observed you. His dimples showcased perfectly and you couldn’t help but pout in admiration of the man beside you. You set the bag to lounge a hug on Art that made him laugh, grasping your soft robe to pull you into his lap with ease. Your arms were tight around him, but lips go in for a smooch that had Art leaning into your touch quick. His eyes slowly fell closed in bliss just at the sweetness that you were. Proud he got to spoil you time and time again — but the best part being as you never took a second of it for what it could be. Him just being a typical man, taking up a fathering role in your life to buy you pretty thinks all so you’d end up on your knees for him. No. He genuinely wanted to lift you up. And you just loved and adored him, and that’s what he always strived for in the long run.

“How did I ever get so lucky ?” Your voice laced with sweetness and sympathetic tones as you look up at Art with your fawning doe eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank you.” You hid your smile under your bitten lip as your soft thumb graced over the man’s peachy ones and he just stared into you with all desire of your being.

“Course.” He rubbed the tip of his nose against your exposed neck in admiration before leaving a kiss there.

“Anything for you, love.”

You couldn’t have been more giddy as you finally made yourself get up from the alluring man’s lap, hand still in contact with his cheek.

“Now, I must show the vlog everything you got for me.” You implored with assertion, but nothing could drive away from your girlish giggle that escaped as you skipped for your phone to which Art leaned out of your way for you to grab with a soft chuckle. “Okay, you guys aren’t going to believe me when I show you what Art got me…” your stammering blush matched your excited high pitched tone, and Art had a wide and easy grin on his face — he loved watching your small figure pride around so bubbly just to talk to your phone. You really hadn’t had much else to do in your free time. There was no need to have your own career, certainly no grocery list, or even a worry for your future when at the forefront Art paid for literally every last necessity or just pure want that you needed.

All you were expected to do was be his pretty little thing — traveling around the world and occupying yourself only when he had been busy with tennis, so you had your vlogs. And you were more than happy with that as long as you got him.

Soon enough you were standing in the golden embroidered mirror of the deluxe French country styled bathroom, touching up your lipstick and hair. Your dress a soft silky pink to bring out your cherry colored lips. You tried your best truly not to move much to ruin the flow of your pin curls. You felt the most pretty and expressive you might ever had right now — and when Art Apr approached the door way of the room, he had to hold his breath for a moment just at the single sight of you. Unable to utter a word. He just viewed as he leaned there tall whist his button up just slightly undone, his chest being seen enough to make you peek at the blonde with a soft grin at his icy blues glancing over your own figure.

“What?” You titter softly as you acknowledge the man who now crossed his arms as his lips curved to show his nearly sparkling teeth,

“Nothing, you just look absolutely gorgeous is all.. I don’t know how you expect me to keep my composure all night in that, but it’s a special day, so I’ll allow it.” Art chuckled and you sighed into the marble counter top as you shook your head affectionately.

“Well, this is your work Mr. Donaldson. Everything I have on you got me.” You noted as you gave him a three-sixty of your heavenly body to which the man pulled his lip between his teeth not so subtlety.

“Mmm, your being mean.” Art groaned playfully as he leaned off the wall to grab your waist and pull you into him. Your face immediately got hot as you were pushed into his aroma, YSL cologne that you found all too sexy eluding off of him. “Your gonna be so adored tonight baby, maybe just as much as the bride herself.” The blonde inched into your ear with a rasps as he grasped your limbs in his hands gently and pressed you into his chest with flow. You nearly let his teasing pull you in — but you couldn’t fight the uproar of sudden thoughts in the back of your mind,

“I’m a little nervous for tonight.” You chuckled lightly. And Art kept his eyes beyond yours, with a slight furrow of his brow.

“How come ?”

“Well… I know a lot of your tennis friends are much older. With much older girlfriends.. and wives..” Your fingers went to toy coyly with Arts collar, and you glanced down while he already had been shaking his head as he noted your words. “They might- judge me. Because I’m much younger,”

“No. No, baby.. I know it’s a little different for you, versus me. You’ll always get the short end of the stick. I know.. but I promise no one’s gonna make you feel inadequate. At least not by me. And if you do get a look or two, fuck them. We’re in France. It’s a French wedding. We’re pretty on theme anyways.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh at his wit, he always knew how to get you out of any overthinking so quickly with his pure charm and sharp-wittedness. Your reaction made Art smile down at you as his eyes followed your pretty face.

“You’re right. Besides, they’ll all be looking at you anyways.”

“What ? Please,” Art groaned before he chuckled and raised your arm so he could spin you. “You’re breathtaking. You’re impossible to go unnoticed and you know it, sweets.” You giggled out as he spun back around to him and held you close with his admirable wealthy laugh filling the air.

“But.. really, you’re the expert, do you think I look okay? I think they cut my hair too short this season…” Art peered down at you blinking up at him through your lashes and you shook your head.

“No. It’s perfect, at least to me most importantly. You look so handsome.” You ran your fingers through the man’s shorter golden locks and he couldn’t help but feel a heat rising to his own at the way you observed him. Fingers fixing every last strand or detail on him, to then grazing his jawline. “Perfect, as always.” You grin.

Arts blue orbs hadn’t been able to pull away from the beauty that was you below him, you just looked absolutely otherworldly in that dress, all dolled up. He liked to tell himself it was all for him — if it weren’t for the wedding fever going around he’d certainly blame something in the air just noting him to lock you down quick. “God, you look so fucking good in that dress..” Art groaned with a huff before lifting you off your feet and meeting you with a kiss. You couldn’t help but half moan and half sigh into it after your soft gasp as the man swept you off your feet. His lips adorned yours, and you were so pushed by the way his hands leveraged your weight effortlessly to collide with him.

Smiling slyly between kisses you mutter “we only have an half an hour before the caravan picks us up, Art…”

he could of taken your breath away but you managed to get the words across even through Arts hungry kisses. (You’d have to touch up your lipstick, again. If not the rest of your attire soon after he’s been done with you.)

“Yeah ? I can work with that.” The tall blonde grinned as he carried you out into the bedroom and your giggled trailed not too far along behind you.

#art donaldson #art donaldson x female reader #art donaldson x reader #x reader #challengers #i love art donaldson #mike faist #challngers x reader #challengers fic #challengers x reader #challengers movie #dilf!art #petite!reader #younger!reader #sugar baby!reader #fanfic #fanfiction #chlmtsdoll writes

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serialkilluh1996 · 3 months ago

Text

✆𝐌𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐇𝐋𝐄𝐑✆

Older-Crush-König x Younger-female-reader pt.1

You have an unhealthy infatuation with König. But where there is obsession, there are dilemmas. He's 35, you're 21. He's your colonel, you're just an assistant. But most importantly, he can't fucking stand you.

Warnings: reader has specifically the personality i wrote, use of ☆☆☆ in place of reader's name, age gap (14 years), König is kinda of an ass, contact me if I need to add more.

Proshippers, Comshippers DNI

¹ 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ➛

It's been almost a year since you fell in love with this man.

You were 20, looking for a reasonably paying job to live a reasonably affordable life, and Kortac had just the position.

A base level assistant. All you had to do was make sure everyone was in check, keep track of everyone's time sheets, and make sure all important files, including inventory, were safely stowed away in your computer supplied by the company. Who could turn down such an easy job? You didn't even have to do any field work.

Your life was going pretty damn smooth, if it wasn't for him. Him being König, your colonel and angel. He's a gorgeous man. Bright blue eyes, a firm muscular body, imposing height, his flattering accent. You were instantly in love with him, and he fucking hated it.

It started off small, with him politely hinting you away, but you were persistent. Bothersome. You absolutely wouldn't let him go, and that very fact would be the death of you.

König taps his pen against his desk, unmotivated to write his paperwork that was long past due. It wasn't anything serious, just a list of yes/no, if/and, where/when questions he didn't feel like reading through. Tap tap tap tap, the pen knocks against the table, abruptly stopping once König noticed you standing in the doorway.

He sighs, his entire mood shifting from unmotivated to irritated. "...why are you here, ☆☆☆..." he asks, sounding like more of a statement than a question due to his heavy accent and rough tone. Your name sounded like a curse coming from his mouth; a slur, even.

"I've done all my tasks." You explain to him, hands clasped together as you lean against the threshold.

"Und? Did ya want a cookie or something?" He teases. "I–I–" you stutter out, not sure how to respond to his sarcasm. "Don't worry about it." He fans his hand, looking back down at the paper.

He would've wrather been writing than dealing with you right now. You were so genuinely in love, enamored by him and his....qualities. but to König, this was all just some dumb hormonal puppy crush. He wanted a mature woman, not some silly girl like you.

"I...wanted to know if you'd go to the bar with me." You force out, your stomach churning with anxiety as you finally got the words out. "I'm not gonna be able to sneak you, Liebling, if that's what you're implying." He chuckles softly, beginning to scribble away at the paper.

"Sneak me in? I'm old enough to go to a bar, thank you very much." You look offended. It's almost humorous to him. Your anger is probably the only thing about you that made him smile, how funny and easy it was to piss you off. The younger ones typically did have a shorter temper.

"Oh, und how old are ya? 16? 17?" "...21." You said firmly, visibly irritated. You somehow managed to be the youngest in every group, so you were no stranger to being tease about your age.

"Oh...just old enough to drink. So, you want me to come and babysit you while you get drunk off your ass by some alcohol you're probably not even strong enough to handle?" "Why are you acting like this?" You folded your arms, frowning.

"What?" "I'm not inviting you as a chaperone, I'm inviting you as a date." You tilt your head slightly.

"...A date?" König almost bursts into laughter, stifling his chuckles with coughs as he covered his mouth. You could feel your confidence dropping with every hearty giggle.

"You're asking me out? Seriously?" "...yes." You mumble, no longer wanting to talk. "Why don't you ask Avery, hm? He's MUCH closer to your age." You frown at his words.

Avery was one his soldiers. A very kind young man, no older than 25, messy blonde hair. You loved having Avery around and he always made your moments memorable, but...he was practically a brother to you. You didn't see Avery as a potential love interest, you saw him as a silly best friend who had your back when you needed it.

"I don't want to go with him. I don't like him." You pouted.

"Well, that's too bad, Liebling. I'm far too old to be going out with someone like you. You're too young, und frankly, quite annoying. I want a woman. Not a puppy. Go ask someone else," he clicks his pen, leaning back in his chair.

"You're a very beautiful young lady and I'm sure there's plenty of men your age willing to kill to be with you." "I don't care what tuey want, I care what I want." You try to sound demanding, like you're standing your ground, but it comes out like a spoiled child whining, frustrating you further.

"Don't throw a fit, now." "I'm not!" You shout, now angry with yourself for being so openly bothered by his rejection. He couldn't help but exhale, looking at the sight of you. Your face was hot with agitation, eyes squinted with frustration as you stared into his eyes. He couldn't help but smile at your clenched hands. You were awful at hiding your emotions. It was almost precious to him

He felt himself becoming more tense, having to look down at the desk and put a hand to his forehead. "What am I gonna do with you..." he shakes his head. This wasn't the first time he'd rejected your advances; you've asked a myriad of times, being slowly but surely denied with more force each time.

"... I'll consider it." He offers, scratching his forehead, and you almost instantly rejoice at the idea. You suppressed a squeal as you bit your lip, trying not to make yourself look dumber.

"But not as a date." He interrupts, and you become nervous again.

"I don't want any unnecessary rumors about us spreading around. I'm not dating you and I don't want people to have the impression that I am. I'll invite a few others to go along with us and you will behave like a proper young lady. Understood?" "....Understood."

You can support me by liking, commenting, reblogging, and/or cashapping me @fundsbrownie. Donations are optional, but much appreciated. Have fun! And remember, take care of yourself.

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simonsomeriley · 10 months ago

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dutch van der linde with a

younger reader

1k words | female reader

@bisca-connell445 for you lovely <3

cw: (legal) age gap (r is in her mid-late 20s, dutch is in his early 40s), infidelity & unfaithfulness, dutch is a tad bit insecure, maybe ooc (?)

my apologies i accidentally ended it off in a cliff hanger 🥲 enjoy this blurb

You've had your eye on him for a while. An older, territorial, & handsome grown man with confidence in his step. Who wouldn't want him?

Of course you haven't said anything about it, much too shy to do so.

You don't know what pulls your attention to him. Is it the experience, how a man like him has experience under his belt, not afraid to take the lead in unnerving circumstances.

He's the epitome of tall, dark and handsome, you think. At least for you. You'd never say it to his face, mostly unsure of what he thinks of you.

Little do you know, Dutch sits in his bed at night, replaying your conversations in his head, overanalysing every word he says, did he come off to strong? Too distant? Too cold?

Sometimes you think he's cold with you. You're unsure if it's on purpose, but it throws you off. Usually his bubbling and sarcastic personality had never been hindered by you.

In his head, you're too good for him. He already fancies someone, after all. In an attempt not to come off too friendly, he'll accidentally come off as distant. He doesn't mean to, but he knows Molly would have the shock of her life if she found out how he looks at you.

The way the cigar hangs off his lips, the pride in his walk.

You're a proper lady, in his words. Even though you don't think that's true, you'll take his word for it.

You're a young thing, a healthy and attractive woman. Though something about you stands out to him. You're different.

He makes it less and less obvious how he looks at you, and you're sure Molly notices. You try to avoid eye contact with him, for your own good.

You think about him when you're laying under your sheets, head on the pillow, thinking about him. His voice, his confident expression, you want him. And you want him bad. This isn't good, right?

Surely if you slip up at any time Molly would notice. You're not even sure Dutch appreciates you wanting him in that aspect.

You don't see the love in their relationship. Like there's no spark. Molly defends him with her life, but to you it seems like she wants something he can't give her.

Like she's in denial.

Dutch is nonchalant, per usual he's seemingly upon his high horse, he takes pride in himself. Doesn't get dramatic.

You appreciate that in him. You see the good in him even if no one else does. You understand. At least Dutch thinks so, he'd never ever let you know. He's not risking losing the relationship you already have trying to get closer.

I could treat him better, you think. I could give him everything he wants and more, if only he'd take me. I'd say yes to him any day. Your thoughts are shaken off though,

You shake them off. You think about what he'd called you, a proper lady, you wonder what makes him think so of you. You enjoy dressing up, making your hair all pretty, laced up in corsets and bodices, wearing flowy dresses and hair pieces. You'd catch anyone's eye from a mile away, he thinks every time he sees you.

Dutch is sitting outside with Molly, eating whatever dinner there was available, pretty quietly it seems. Not a word is exchanged between them. You wonder where the tension started, why Dutch is so avoidant of her.

You come closer after spectating from a distance, you sit down at a picnic blanket a bit further away from them. Everyone seems to be out and about, minding their own business, you sit under a tree, enjoying the shadow it's supplying you.

Dutch meets your eye again, seemingly unaware of Molly's burning gaze at him. You try not to pay attention.

I wish I could read his mind, you thought. His signals are mixed all of the time.

Molly is clearly upset with him, for whatever reason, it isn't anything new to anyone.

He does his best to look proper. He freshens up his hair and his beard, he dresses in his finest suits around you and takes care of himself. His feelings were eating at him, practically eyeing you down like a hawk whenever he got the chance.

You're still standing outside now, it's night time, the stars are up and bright in the sky. He walks over to you, and your heart rate skyrockets. "How are you holdin' up, young lady?" you feel like you could die.

Usually he talks to you with confidence in his speech, fast-paced and never slurred. Right now, he looks like a flustered and smiling mess in front of you. "Dutch, have you been drinking? You seem awfully joyous this night,"

Not usually him. Just talking to him makes the butterflies in your stomach erupt. The cigar hanging off of his lips, he looks you up and down. "Well, there ain't much else to do at night, eh? You've been awfully quiet as well. Anything you thinkin' about?" he talks slurred, like he's zoned out or out of focus.

You assume he'd had a bit much. You stand and talk with him throughout the night, happy for his company and being able to see his face for however long. Eventually, the conversation gets deeper. More passionate. More... intimate. He's standing closer as well, he smells of whiskey, cigarettes and floral perfume. That must be Molly's, you presume.

He's looking you in the eye as he speaks about the things he's passionate about, like he can see right through you. You put your hand on his shoulder, a way of grounding you. Or him as well, as it takes him by shock, his eyes widen and he looks at you like you're crazy.

Is this too much? It can't be, if he had had enough of you, he wouldn't have been sticking around for so long. No doubt. He reciprocates after a while though, sneaking his arm around your waist. You smile at that, he isn't so distant after all.

Now it was only to figure out how to make him yours forever.

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imagineredwood · 6 months ago

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“He’ll think you want Italian for dinner” made me laugh lmaoo he would not understand emojis at all 😭 if you’re up for another with early 20s reader x Bishop but they’re friends w benefits at first little smutty and a bit of angst bcus Bishop rejects her at first bcus of the age difference? Your choice on wether to do fic or hc’s I love your Bishop content sm 😩😩

I'm glad you're enjoying the content my love 🥰

He had turned you down at first

No matter how hard it had been

You were so pretty

With your youthful glow and wonderous eyes

You were drawn to him as he was you

Only difference was that he kept his distance

As beautiful and alluring as you thought you to be, he was well beyond your age, and knew it wasn't right

He was grown and had been for some decades now

He was worn and weary

A stark contrast to your youthful excitement as life truly started to begin for you

He knew you liked him

So he kept it civil

His hand soft when he would gently slide yours off of his thigh

His fingers warm when he wrapped them around your wrist, tenderly pulling your hand down from caressing his beard

It was harder and harder to resist every time

More so to see the slight hurt and embarrassment in your eyes when he had finally verbally rejected you

"We can't, sweetheart. You're beautiful and wonderful. If I was 20 years younger, I'd be no problem. But we just...can't."

You'd avoided him like the plague after that, embarrassed and let down

He'd been the one to seek you out after an entire week of barely even any eye contact

It had started, both of you finally acknowledging the obvious that you both tried to ignore

The age gap was arousing

With him being so much older and you being so much younger

He enjoyed that a younger woman who took an interest in him

Kept him on his toes

Showed him new ideas and kinks

While you liked an older man pinning after you

Being gentle and old-school

Sending flowers and pulling out your chair

Using his skilled and experienced body to show you a good time

It was an even exchange

The quality time was nice

The sex was even better

The both of you clicking and spending many a night tangled up in the sheets

It was clear that after all, you could teach an old dog new tricks

General taglist

@piccasoe @ateliefloresdaprimavera @woahitslucyylu @everyhowlmarksthedead @glimmerglittergirl @fanaticfangurl21 @encounterthepast @svintsandghosts @starrynite7114 @destynelseclipsa @queenbeered @iamthegraham @emoengelfurleben @otomefromtheheart @rosieposie0624 @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @beeroses @weirdosandhopelessromantics @kola95 @cruzwalters @myakai13 @kaystacks17 @cole-winchester @alexxavicry @savagemickey03 @fanfic-n-tabulous @choochoo284 @xbloodyxangelx @carma-fanficaddict @gillysoldlady @choochoo284 @whitetxilwxlf @ravennaortiz @flowercrowns-goodvibes

Bishop taglist

@maciiiofficial @x-goddess-of-nature-x @jatriciaaa @redpoodlern @black-repunzel99 @xonickibaby @yosoynicolexo @cruzwalters @myakai13 @lyly00 @kaykaysuh

#mayans mc #bishop losa x reader #bishop losa #age gap HC #headcannons #headcanons #younger!reader

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nativegirltapes · 4 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/42angelgirl/759618404922621952/i-feel-like-angel-and-drew-would-get-in-like-a

write this as a one shot pls

warnings / notes ; angst 🤔 + drew being kinda mean :( based on this post !!! i kinda just jump right in lol sorry

࿔*:･ 🎀 ღﾟ

"when will you realize i'm trying y/n?" drew scoffed, throwing his arm in the air. "i'm fucking trying here."

he didn't even have to explain himself and you already knew what he was talking about. and he was right. so for once you couldn't argue back, you just looked at him, hoping that this conversation wouldn’t hurt too bad.

"i love you." drew sighed. "do you love me?" he rubbed the back of his buzzed head. "tell me. do you love me?" he asked again, but this time more demanding.

of course you loved him, why couldn't he see that you'd love him no matter what? with a stupid ring or not.

"yes." you stared at him with glossy eyes. a singular tear falling down your face.

"do you?" drew paused, hoping that you'd elaborate a little more. "it doesn't feel like it." drew nervously chuckled. "i'm crazy about you. like fucking crazy about you. and you're making me feel stupid for wanting to marry you." drew furrowed his eyebrows. "is it really that stupid of an idea? that i want to marry the girl who i'm fucking crazy about?"

"no." was all you could say, for once you couldn't bring yourself to say anything else. you had so much you wanted to say, but none of it would have made sense.

"then why are you making me feel that way?”

“i don’t mean to,” you said softly, so soft it was barely audible.

“i know,” drew loosened up his tone a bit, feeling bad for making you cry. but to be honest, he should’ve been the one crying. “i know you don’t mean to but,” drew heisted. “but i need to know if i’m wasting my time.”

there was no other way to describe what he said other than your heart literally shattering. wasting his time? he couldn’t have meant that.

“i’m sorry,” tears were falling down your face faster and faster. why would he say that to you?

“you don’t have to apologize.” drew came closer to you, embracing you in a hug. it didn’t feel genuine though, it felt like a pity hug. “we can talk more about this tomorrow, kay?”

“okay.” you pulled away from the hug, looking up at drew with your red puffy eyes.

wasting his time?

#⊹₊ works ⋆#⊹₊ blurbs ⋆#꒰ 𖥻 angel!reader ♡ ꒱#younger!reader #drew starkey prompt #drew starkey x female reader #drew starkey #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey x you #drew starkey blurb #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey x reader

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magnetic-braincells · 1 year ago

Text

Too Old?

Fem!Reader x Kim �� One-shot

Warnings: Slight gerontophile themes, overall sfw, unrequited attraction. Cursing. Violence. Mental struggles. Read till the end! I swear you come to your senses.

Word count: 5k+

I wasn’t expecting to be walking outside a government building around six pm, but here I was.

Files in my hands, I was trying to my best to be an ideal intern. All I had to do was transfer some papers and I’d be done for the day. So that’s what I did. I handed the papers to a woman in the lobby, and opted to go through the building to the parking lot. The thing is I’m not great at remembering directions. The nice lady gave me clear instructions that seem to evaporate in my head the moment I began walking away. I was a senior in college. Just trying to get through my internship hoping to get a job as a secretary or some sh*t. I was interning for an office job here at a government building. I had no idea about any bad apples employed there until that day. I must’ve taken a wrong turn. My introversion didn’t want to ask for directions, and my extroversion decided to find a way out myself. I turned into a hallway, and— hardly stopping myself— almost slammed into a man.

“Sorry,” I said, ducking towards the other side of the hall. The apology wasn’t enough for him, apparently. “Watch where you’re going-!” He barked. It did make me flinch, I’ll admit. I stopped in my tracks, almost feeling a little annoyed. Yeah… I apologized. What happened to manners? I turned to the man, taking in his appearance. Tall, a little brutish. I caught sight of some pins that no doubt meant something important. Damn. If this guy is of some significance, maybe I should’ve keep my mouth shut. At least, that’s what I thought.

“Sorry, I will.”

I turned to walk away still a little put off. Then I felt his hand clasp around my wrist and yank me backwards. I did yelp, and curse at him— heat of the moment sort of a thing

“Show some respect, b*tch,” he breathed. His breath smelt like smoke. Very unpleasant.

I wiggled away from him, slamming my heel into his toe. The officer raised his hand to grab me, and I was prepared with a mouthful of profanity and slander but… Before I could get in another word, I pressed into something warm and hard. Really solid. I stumbled forward.

That’s when I saw him. I had to crane my neck up/down (your height) to really look at him. Must’ve been 6’2. Glasses. Not the neatest hair, but it was still elegant. An angel? A demon? He looked like both. He sort of was.

The new stranger sort of— completely- ignored me. I swallowed a thick lump in my throat. It was partially out of nervousness, but I was also swallowing down a million insults. He stared at the officer. An expression of anger, possibly indifference.

“You should go.”

That was all he said. Three words. I walked away down the hall, a little confused. Words were still caught in my throat that would never get out. The hallway didn’t lead outside. There were familiar rooms, though. I could find my way out, but I hesitated. I wanted to wait. I wanted to thank that man for… sort of stepping in. At least, I think that’s what he did. It didn’t matter though. I stood idly against the wall, waiting for the older man to reappear.

When he did, he looked different. He had more purpose to his walk, and he had some papers in his hand. I noticed, too, that his hands were red.

“S-Sir—?” Since when did I stammer? Social anxiety was finally creeping in? I thought I was over this.

He stopped, casting a sharp glance over at me. His hardened features and cold look softened a bit. It wasn’t very noticeable, and maybe I was just searching for some sort of reaction. His glasses glinted and he was silent.

“Thank you. For stepping in back there,” I finished. My cheeks felt warm.

He kept quiet. The corners of his lips perked upward a little. Barely at all. He didn’t nod, didn’t hum in acknowledgment. He just turned and kept walking.

To me, nothing could have been more attractive.

𐬿𐬾𐬿𐬾𐬿

I spent the rest of the night eating, getting ready for the next day, and thinking about that encounter. Sure, I only saw the guy for a minute or two at most, but that was the most exciting thing that had happened to me all month. No, I didn’t like being grabbed or having to mouth off my superior who I’d never met. But that man… the one with the nice hair and the glasses… he was just one of those guys. Not overly handsome, but not bad to look at. The kind of person who gets stapled into your mind. I wondered what he was doing there in the first place. How old was he.

More questions kept flooding my head the next day and the day after that. Actually, this was becoming a problem. I couldn’t get the guy out of my mind and I had no idea why.

𐬿𐬾𐬿𐬾𐬿

Sogin High School. I graduated from there and am a certified alumni. I was headed there, probably four days after the incident. Normally I wouldn’t spent my free day visiting my old school, but a teacher had called me up and asked me to come. I decided to humor her. She had been a nice teacher anyways. The campus was still the same. The elitists ran rampant, like always. I sort of felt sorry for the poor children stuck in their immature high school years. I had bigger problems. I was still immature too I guess. My thoughts would wander to the man every now and then. I looked for him in crowds. Part of me felt disappointed about his seeming disregard for me and my gratitude.

I looked for his face amongst the crowd of high schoolers. Passing by the old classrooms and intermingling with my underclassman felt weird. I kept close to my teacher pal, but ended up wandering off.

“It was nice to see you, (Y/N),” she had said. It had come as a surprise to her to see me as a twenty-three-year old. She was probably expecting my face to be more/less mature (any baby faced readers out there??)

“You too, Ms Han,” I answered. I meant it, but being around her warm and smiley face was giving me painful flashbacks to my acne-prone days, and her personality was a little stuffy after a while. It was nice to escape.

I walked towards some of my old classrooms. As I peered into a classroom, I caught sight of a lone girl. A sophomore- carrying way more books than she could handle. Oh school projects. I didn’t miss those at all. I was always awkward about offering help, especially to strangers. My internship was prompting me to step out of my shell though.

“Uh… do you need some help?” I called. She looked up at me. She seemed familiar, features graceful and delicate. I’d never met her before though. Her lips parted as she nodded. I’m guessing it was obvious that I was an alumni. “Yes— please!”

I walked into the classroom fully, approaching her desk that was completely emerged in the sunlight. If I remembered correctly, I’d say my desk was two seats behind hers. I scooped up half of her heaping books. the girl couldn’t even fit them all in her backpack. This must be some research project.

“I’m (Y/N), by the way,” I offered. She staggered upright with the rest of the books in hand.

“Oh… and I’m Minji Kim. Nice to meet you,” she replied, a little breathless. She added a small thank you, which I thought was sweet.

She walked home. I accompanied her. I wasn’t in any hurry to get back to my college dorm and I had already said my goodbyes to my old teacher, Ms Han. We walked down a few blocks, exchanging a few words. I handed her the rest of her books as soon as her house was in sight.

“Thanks for your help!” She gushed. Nice girl. I waved it off and began to turn around, but I stopped. That’s when I saw him again.

This time in casual clothes, peering out of one of the houses, looking a little damp and rumpled, but relaxed. It caught me off guard— all I could do was stare wordlessly and question every life decision I ever made. He called for Minji to come inside (so they knew each other-?), and even waved at me. He didn’t even recognize me… I don’t think. I waved back. A feeling of warmth pounded through my body and filled my cheeks. The walk back to the school parking lot was very disoriented. I stumbled over my shoes and almost crashed into a cyclist. I wasn’t expecting to see him again. It was a really odd coincidence. Too odd for me. It didn’t sit well in my stomach.

My inner musings about the man, who I now dubbed Mr Kim, became more frequent. I had seen him twice. It felt like having an airport crush sort of. Only you booked the same hotel as your airport crush, or something similar. It plagued me to the point that, the next day at my internship, I asked about him. He must’ve been at the office for one reason or another. It was possible that he worked there.

“Hey… Chae-Won?” I asked my mentor who was way too invested in reapplying her lipstick. She glanced over at me and absently straightened some papers, still preening at herself in the reflection of her computer screen. “Was there a Mr Kim visiting last week?” I began. I cringed in realization that Kim is a very common last name. Something flashed over her face. “Uh, there was an incident with a Mr Kim, if that’s what you mean. I think you were headed home though.” “Does he work here?” I pressed. “No? Why do you ask?”

I resorted to telling her there was no reason.

It wasn’t as if he was plaguing my thoughts. I don’t know why he bothered me so much. I started to drop it a little. Life moves on. I wasn’t obsessed. I steamed some rice that night and binged a drama. Anything to get my mind off “Mr Kim” was a relief. He was giving me a headache, and at the same time making me hot in the face. I kept wondering how old he was. He was older. He was courser and colder. He had stepped into a very minor interaction at my intern workplace. There was nothing notable about what he did.

But still bothered me though. He hadn’t accepted my thanks, not really. I had seen a reaction, but a very slight one.

I tried to recall how his voice sounded as I clumsily shoved a mouthful of rice into my mouth. The heat burned the roof of my mouth, actually, and I had to spit it out. My daydreams about that guy were actually interfering with my eating habits, which wasn’t good. Anyway- he had only said three words to me, tops. You should go. It was enough to make my heartbeat pick up pace.

I was actually a little worried, at that point. If this guy was going to haunt my thoughts until he accepted the damn “thank you,” then I was going to have to see him and make him accept it.

𐬿𐬾𐬿𐬾𐬿

I ended up back in the sophomore classroom. “Can I ask you something?” I said suddenly.

This conversation was going to be a little awkward. I could feel my embarrassment already creeping in. This wasn’t going to blow over well. Minji blinked, nodding her head. “How old is uh… Mr Kim?”

“My dad?”

That already wasn’t a good sign. It should have been a red flag. Alarms should have been blaring in my head, but they weren’t. My infatuation was still growing. Color was visible in my neck. I nodded, leaning forward onto my desk.

“He’s forty nine I’m pretty sure. We don’t really talk about it…” Minji answers. I can tell she doesn’t have an endless amount of friends. Most people wouldn’t answer that weird question anyway. Minji was just more naïve than most people?

“Oh,” I breathed. I don’t find his age attractive. I didn’t find it bothersome either. Why did I feel so bashful? I had barely seen him. In my head, I knew I would chose a forty nine year old over any guy my age.

“How old are you?” Minji asked. It startled me.

“Twenty three. You?” “Eighteen.”

Our conversation continued. My mind wandered elsewhere, which didn’t surprise me anymore. I tuned into Minji whenever possible. I was developing some weird ignoring disorder or something. She asked me if I could walk home with her and I agreed.

𐬿𐬾𐬿𐬾𐬿

My pulse thrummed audibly in my ears. I realized I really admired the way his glasses framed his face.

“This is (Y/N) (L/N). She’s an alumni from my school,” Minji announced. She seemed a little bashful about introducing me to her dad.

It should have been off-putting, but it wasn’t really. I could see his eyes gloss over with familiarity. There’s a face everyone can pull when they recognize a stranger. A subtle shift of acknowledgement; hey, I’ve seen you before.

He said hullo. I could tell he wasn’t super talkative. It didn’t really surprise me, actually. He didn’t seem like the loud type. I said hello back. I was completely aware of the color in my cheeks. My goodbye was short and brisk, but neither Kim seemed to mind.

That walk back to the car was filled with more uncertainty. Why hadn’t I thanked him? I wasn’t sure. I wanted an excuse to see him again, I guess. I was attracted to the demeanor. The certainty. The subtle shift in personality. The damnable glasses and the damnable hair. Forty nine didn’t register in my head as too old. All I could think about was how he looked less like a demon and more like an angel now. My heart hammered pathetically in my chest.

The weekend came and went. I busied myself with other things, even hung out with my dorm mates at a party. I told one of them about my first encounter with Mr Kim… but kept the Minji-meetings to myself. It was a coincidence, but I had a feeling they wouldn’t understand.

“Didn’t your coworker say Mr Kim was in an incident?” They asked, taking a slow sip from their Bloody Mary. It didn’t dawn on me that I had already mentioned that to them. Sheepishness washed over me. But after I recovered from my embarrassment I came to realize the weight to their words. That’s right… Chae-Won had mentioned an incident involving Mr Kim. I had been too embarrassed and distracted to ask for elaboration. “Yeah, she did,” I nodded slowly, leaning my head against the couch we sat on. My friend raised an eyebrow and cocked their head. “Couldn’t that be a bad thing?” They ask.

I keep my lips sealed. A blush rises to my cheeks. I hadn’t thought of that. Even in my delusional state, I didn’t even consider him causing a scene over me. There had to be some reason he was at the office, and there had to be some reason his hands were red when he left. I only remembered that then at the party. It’s funny how details slip from your mind for a while until you suddenly remember them. I decided to ask Chae-Won about the incident.

I hadn’t encountered my superior since that day. He was a military officer- so it wasn’t unusual for people like him to frequent the building. That man in particular, though, had been absent. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was on Mr Kim’s bad side though. He had gotten on mine.

At the office, while my mentor was patiently explaining how to use a certain filing system in the computer, I couldn’t help but stare down at my wrist. There was no mark from where the officer grabbed me. I had reported it though. As Chae-Won droned on, I had trouble focusing on her words. They slipped through her lips and seemed to fade into the background. “Uh, Chae-Won…”

“Were you paying attention?” She snapped. I felt guilt crawling into my stomach. “I— you sort of lost me. Sorry.”

She sighed. A break; that’s what she suggested. I closed my eyes and kneaded my forehead. This internship wasn’t the most interesting thing ever.

“I heard you were involved in the little scrap the other week.” Chae-Won’s voice prodded me out of my trance. I looked up at her with wide eyes. “You must still be shaken up about it, huh?” She asks. There’s a hint of concern in her eyes, but I get the feeling that whatever I tell her will just give her gossiping rights more than anything. “Yeah. I still don’t understand what happened in the ‘scrap’ though,” I use air quotations to emphasize my point. “Did Mr Kim say something to the officer?”

“Officer Baek? Yeah? He was in the ER. You’re lucky you weren’t hurt!” My stomach didn’t plummet. The color didn’t drain from my face. My eyes didn’t widen. Instead, my heartbeat picked up. A lot. An intense heat overflowed my body. Kim walked away. I thanked him… and he walked away.

Three words echod in my head. “You should go.”

The age gap never resonated as a problem to me. All that mattered was that I backed into a demonic-angel- pressed against his tall and sturdy form- and he told me to go. When I thanked him he hardly batted an eye. He walked away.

That was attractive to me.

𐬿𐬾𐬿𐬾𐬿

I texted Minji if I could see her the next day. I figured that I could tell her about meeting her dad already. Again, the thought of mg underclassman being the daughter of my recent obsession didn’t bother me. I was even bold enough to admit it was an obsession, but only to myself. She replied with a nice confirmation text and that was that. I crawled into the covers that night and braced myself for the next day. The normal routine. My eyes roamed across the room as my imagination ran wild. I wondered what kind of argument Mr Kim had gotten into with officer… Baek? Officer Baek. What had happened. What kind of man was Mr Kim, besides attractive. I noted that I found his attitude and the way he carried himself attractive. Within our brief encounters, he always remained quiet and curt. Polite around Minji, of course. I guess my daydreams had sort of drifted off track. I wondered what kind of job he had. Maybe a security officer? Or maybe something else… a little more ordinary. I couldn’t make up my mind, so I fell asleep.

As soon as my classes were over, I got into my car and started driving towards my old school. Rain started pattering on my windshield. I always did love a dramatic atmosphere. Now no one could judge me for playing my bad*as Spotify playlist on the way over. I realized that Minji probably wasn’t out of school yet, which caused my stomach to jolt. I told her I’d meet her at her place. I could only hope she had an umbrella.

As much as my heart throbbed at the thought of seeing Mr Kim a little early, my intrusive anxious thoughts told me to go get some coffee. A nice steamy drink to help warm my cold feet. When I pulled into the drive thru for a coffee shop I ended up ordering three drinks subconsciously. It was probably my intern instincts kicking in. I had grown used to running out for really unnecessary coffee orders. My autopilot brain just told me to order some for the people I was seeing. I spewed out some nonsense I thought Minji might like. My face felt warmer as I ordered something more simple and straightforward for Mr Kim.

The drinks steamed in the cup holder as I drove towards their house. I almost drove right by, but I ended up pulling over and rolling down my window.

“Minji! Get in!”

What a good alumni I am, right?! The kid was walking without an umbrella, trying to shield herself with her backpack. As soon as she got in the car I shoved the drink into her hands.

She apologized for being so imprudent or some sh*t. I didn’t care. I was just glad I ran into her. Anyway, I wasn’t about to scold her. That was never in the job description. “Do you want me to turn the heat on?”

“T-That’s okay! Thank you. I’ll just shower at home,” she gushed, pulling her lips away from the cup. I was kinda proud of myself for picking a drink she liked. I still felt apprehensive and turned on the heater anyway. I only realized when we got there that I was going to have to be with Mr Kim alone. While Minji was in the shower, that is. Actually, speak of the devil, Mr Kim was about to pick Minji up. He looked a little frantic, but obviously calmed down as soon as we stepped out of the car. I was a little ashamed of myself for noticing the relaxation in his stuff shoulders when he caught sight of her. By no means was I intentionally checking him out; but his hair was looking nice today. “Thanks (Y/N). I’ll be quick!” Minji called. Her feet padded hurriedly between her room and the bathroom. It left me awkwardly standing in the entry hall with the two coffees in hand. Mr Kim closed and locked the door behind us. It shouldn’t have made my face heat up.

I would have started the conversation, but I followed Mr Kim into the kitchen and offered him the coffee instead. I could tell that he wanted to say something anyway. My chest felt really tight. I was going to make him accept my thanks.

“Minji tells me you’re a senior,” he offered, stirring some cream into his coffee. Honestly that was a little uncalled for. The cream, I mean. Who would’ve thought…

“That’s right,” I replied. My face felt warmer than usual. My blush was an unwarranted violation of the subtly-code. “I’m interning right now at a government office. It’s not super interesting, but I wanna help improve the system eventually. Especially with the juvenile prison situation.”

Kim nodded as he replaced the lid on the coffee. I took a sip from my (warm drink) and looked down at the table.

When I looked at Mr Kim, I realized he looked really passive. There wasn’t a trace of embarrassment on his face. I was the only one whose cheeks were burning. He hummed. “And you applied for college fresh out of high school?” I nodded.

“Mhm. I changed my major after the first year. Started interning this year,” I let out an attempt at an easy-going chuckle. “It’s a weird coincidence though. Seeing you at the office, and then meeting your daughter.”

I stared down at my hands, feeling more of a burn in my face. A little disappointment crept into my chest. I was getting around to thanking him again… but he still seemed altogether dispassionate. Would this really make the haunting thoughts and guilt go away? Actually, I was more concerned with the fact that I was really attracted to him. He didn’t seem to give a damn about me.

If I would have looked up, I’d have caught sight of a very suspicious Mr Kim. “Yes, that was… a weird coincidence,” he murmured.

I smiled at the sound of his voice. It had been echoing in my head on-and-off for the past few weeks. You should go. My new favorite phrase— for no special reason at all.

“Mr Kim,” I began. My voice was a little feeble. “I wanted to thank you again, actually. I don’t usually get into encounters like that so… if you hadn’t been there… something worse might’ve happened.”

His gaze flickered down to my wrist, and all he did was nod. I could sense he wasn’t really accepting it now either. Maybe he was just that kind of guy. “Well, I think you could’ve handled yourself,” was all he said.

It was definitely an unusual sight. A twenty-three-year-old, wide eyed, staring at a man twice her age with in awe. Eyes not glancing where they shouldn’t, content to stare at his impassive expression. Normal college students don’t find themselves infatuated with a man they’ve barely met. And there I was.

Minji came into the kitchen, fully dressed. That was the end of me and Mr Kim’s conversation.

𐬿𐬾𐬿𐬾𐬿

That night, our conversation haunted me. It had nothing to do with our talk and everything to do with the look he had given me. Disinterested… maybe? He was polite and listened respectfully to what I was saying, but I got the feeling like something was off.

I was more attentive to him. My cheeks grew rosy at his words. My expression struggled to maintain impassive politeness and not break into a bashful smile. Mr Kim didn’t seem to have that trouble at all.

He wasn’t as interested in me as I was in him. I thought over what our conversation might’ve looked like to a bystander.

A middle aged man, good-looking and soft spoken, talking with me. A college senior wearing a hoodie and drinking her beverage. A young college student. A stable, capable older man. I guess the scene wasn’t as romantic as I thought. But to me, in the heat of the moment, my chest felt like warm and my stomach felt light. I still felt the warm kiss of a blush at the thought of Kim.

However… I began to doubt something. I wondered dubiously if Mr Kim would ever feel the same level of attraction. I reasoned he probably wouldn’t.

Tears trailed down my face in frustration; I was pretty mad at myself for being so stupid. Of course he wouldn’t. But I couldn’t help it. I was so… so attracted to him.

That night I tossed and turned in bed, wishing I had just asked for directions that fateful day two weeks ago. Even as I regretted the incident and running into Kim, my face still felt hot at the thought of me stumbling backwards into him. I felt jittery recalling his voice. That’s what was so damnable about the situation. I wasn’t normally so easily infatuated or irrational. Mr Kim did something different to me.

Something that, disgustingly enough, didn’t make me alarmed about the age difference. It didn’t matter to me, even though it normally would. I’d be disgusted in myself if it were any other person. But it wasn’t any other person.

I fell asleep with a lot of things on my mind.

𐬿𐬾𐬿𐬾𐬿

Kim was suspicious. He didn’t like coincidences, especially not coincidences that tied in with the little mission he was on two weeks ago. Minji was happy to have a new friend, especially an older figure in her life. That made Kim hesitate to follow after (Y/N). Maybe he was being overprotective, but that was sort of the norm nowadays. He just decided to dig a little deeper into her work. Why was she interning? Was her story legit? Was it an all coincidence? She seemed like a good kid, but was she really? He didn’t know. He needed to be sure.

𐬿𐬾𐬿𐬾𐬿

I was almost finished with my internship shift. My feet ached and my back was sore. I had just finished a delivery and was once again heading to my car. There was intense déjà vu. I knew my way to the parking lot from inside the building now. I passed by familiar hallways and unfamiliar ones. The footsteps that echoed behind me didn’t bother me; everyone had somewhere they needed to be.

I passed by a dozen people until I reached outside. The thing is, there were a pair of footsteps that had been ghosting me for a while, and I was getting uneasy. A little weirded out, I glanced behind me.

I recognized the guy. He had noticeable stitches over his eye and a bandage taped to his ear, but it was definitely Officer Baek. I felt a gradual drop to my confidence. Just don’t bump into him and you’ll be fine.

I crossed the street and into the parking complex and he continued in the same direction. Paranoid, I took an abrupt turn and went in between some cars. In my phone I scrolled through my contacts, ready to call my roommate and ask them to meet me somewhere close. My foot skidded and I slammed forward into someone. Nope. Nah. Nuh uh.

How the hell was my luck so bad? I felt dizzy and irritable looking up at the Officer who waited for me at the other end of the cars. “What the hell?” Did slip past my filter, happily enough.

He glared down (idc how tall you are he is taller.) at me. “This is my car. Shouldn’t you be going to yours?” I found it unbelievable that this was his car, but it actually wasn’t surprising seeing as I was really bad at decision making and my luck had run out just now. “You did make this easier though. I was gonna ask you about Code 66.”

“The computer filing program?” I countered dryly. I’m pretty sure that the system only went up to thirty-

“Kim! He goes by Kim. How do you know him? Cuz you two seem pretty close now…”

Officer Baek took another step closer and I took two backward. Creep. I reached for my purse and prepared to squirt some perfume in his eyes. The mention of Mr Kim rolled right over me. I wasn’t worrying about my silly infatuation, just surviving this encounter. Thank you very much.

“I met him the day you grabbed me. There’s not much of a connection, and I don’t have to answer your questions,” I said steadily. Hooray for my returned confidence. “Goodbye sir.”

I heard him open his car door and figured that was the end of it. But then… of course…

I yelped as my wrist was yanked backwards. Here comes the perfume and a kick to the crotch-

My heart pattered angrily against my ribs like a caged bird. Alerts sounded in my head as he tried shoving me in the car. I thrashed and cursed and yelled for help, dizzied as he slammed my head against the door.

The car driver door opened on its own and slammed into Officer Baek, smashing him against the next car. My arm was released. I looked around sporadically for the source, and of course found my liberator. Ironically, another swell of déjà vu flooded my head. Kim jumped out of the car, and my heart skipped a beat. Literally. I think I must’ve been scared. (Shocker.)

I numbly ran to my car as instructed. His words were muffled and fuzzy in my head. I waited, craning my neck to catch sight of them. Blood spurted onto the cars nearby and I heard glass break more than once. I thought about something as I waited, hands clutching my steering wheel nervously. I thought about what the hell was going on over there. What did Mr Kim do for a living? Should I be concerned about him? What’s code 66? I also thought about his disinterest in me… how he didn’t seem interested in a college student at all. Maybe Officer Baek hit my head a little harder than I thought, but my mind was suddenly a little clearer. Mr Kim was older than me. Too much older than me. But my stomach still squirmed, and my cheeks still felt warm. I would never get what I wanted, and it made my eyes sting. I had been so stupid. But I still wanted what I couldn’t have.

When Kim found me in my car, he asked if I was okay. I blurted out the only thing that came to mind. He had just fought off an officer. It was the most brutal thing I had partially witnessed, and no doubt my expression showed how mortified I was. But I said what was on my mind anyway.

“Mr Kim!” If I can’t have him… “Please! Teach me how to fight! B-Be my master!”

This is the next best thing.

#Manager Kim #Lookism #HTF #Manager Kim x Reader #Kim x Reader #Code 66 #Manager Kim webtoon #Manager Kim Manhwa #PTJ #ptj universe #kim minji #Minji Kim #Reader #unrequited crush #unrequited attraction #Younger!reader #Idk how to say this I swear it’s not gross

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chrisbesitos · 3 months ago

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀masterlist. 𔘓

彡 chris sturniolo. ୭෧

彡 matt sturniolo. ୭෧

彡 madison beer. ୭෧

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laikabu · 9 months ago

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save me mother and child imagery save me thistle’s innate desire for a family save me (peep the mother and child painting on the first pic)

#if you don’t think thistle is meant to be *seen* as a childlike villain with childish motivations by the reader u may need to do a reread #dungeon meshi #falin touden #thistle #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi spoilers #delicious in dungeon spoilers #thistle dungeon meshi #like yeah hes not literally a child but im saying she deliberately drew him much younger than when he first appeared

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bamsara · 5 months ago

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I think that one thing people fail to understand is that unsolicited literary criticism coming from an online stranger who is reading with no knowledge of what the authors intended goal is, is not going to be received the same as say: the authors beta reader or friends who know what the authors intended goal and has the sufficient knowledge and input to help the author reach that desired outcome.

"But I'm only trying to be helpful" How do I know you have the knowledge and literary skill for you to be able to actaully do that when we don't know each other and you are essentially a stranger to me? Are you applying this criticism based out of personal biased experience and desire to see the story or characterization be driven in another direction or tweaked, or do you know the author's intentions for the character? If the story is incomplete, are you basing your criticism of a character on the incomplete narration with only partial information available of them or are you building up a report until the story's completion? Did the author provide you with the information needed to make a fully informed criticism?

Have you discussed with the author what their plans are or are you assuming them based off the narration, especially if the narration is proven or implied to be unreliable or missing key points of the plot? Are you unbiased enough to help them reach their desired outcome for the characters and story regardless of your personal feelings towards the characters/antagonists and setting? Can you handle being told your specific input isn't wanted because you're a reader and/or have no written anything relating to their genre or topic? Do you understand and respect that the author's personal experiences might influence their writing and make it different than how you would have done it personally? Do you understand if an author only wants input from a specific demographic relating to their story?

If it's for fanfiction or other hobby media, are you holding a free hobby to a professional standard? Are you trying to give criticism because you feel like the author has produced 'subpar job performance' of their fic? Are you viewing their work as a personal intimate outlet or something that must conform with mass media? Are you applying rules and guidelines when the fic is shared for simple sharing sake? Is your criticism worded appropriately and focused on the parts where the author has requested input on rather than a general dismissal and or disapproval?

Have you put yourself in a place where you assumed you have the input needed for the story to evolve better, or have you asked what the author needs and what they're having trouble with? Can you handle having your criticism rejected if the author decides their story doesn't need the change and not take it as a personal offense against your character? Are you crossing that boundary because you think you are doing the author a favor? Are you trying to be helpful, or do you just want to be?

I think sometimes when people hear authors go 'please don't give me unsolicited writing advice or criticism' they automatically chalk it up to 'this author doesn't want ANY constructive feedback on their stuff at all' and not "i already have trusted individuals who will help me with my writing goals and- hey i don't know you like that, please stop acting so overly familiar with me'

#small rant brought to you by: listened to my younger sibling's friend be very upset today because an original story she wrote gets bashed #the story itself is fine maybe a little fast paced but overall she was happy with it's progress #and there is this one dude who keeps trying to tell her that her story needs to go another direction to 'make sense' and it changes the end #after she's repeatedly explained she's happy with the outcome and does not want to expand on that plot point any further #dude says she's 'unreceptive to criticism' no dude you're just being a dick #constructive criticism helps the AUTHOR reach THEIR intended goal #not steer the story in the direction a reader wants to see it go #sara shush #pls don't reblog with any 'but i take unsolicited criticism all the time' this isnt about you. your boundary is not other people's boundary

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mistyorchid · 4 months ago

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Meet-Cute

Old Man!Logan x fem! reader

summary: Failed talking stages inspire you to meet someone irl. Riding an older man in the backseat of his limo makes you forget about the immature boys who ghosted you on Hinge. Ch. 2 Ch. 3 warnings: MDNI, no use of y/n, smut, age gap, reader is 21+, fingering, riding, size difference, praise kink, pet names (doll, baby, sweet/good girl, sweetheart), unprotected p in v, light slapping, oral (male!receiving), creampie, car sex (nobody's around tho), logan's slutty glasses. wc: 3k

Hinge. The app designed to be deleted. You smiled as you pushed the cart, daydreaming about chucking your phone into the nearest lake. The few matches that you received often ghosted you after a week, afraid of committing to a real date.

So here you were, aimlessly strolling through a grocery store. Desperately begging the universe for a real man.

You spent an embarrassingly long time curating the perfect outfit to attract a guy worth your time. Casual enough for a quick errand, but still chic. I want to be with someone who admires my confidence. They shouldn't reprimand me for expressing myself.

That's how the feminist part of your brain explained your attire. The other touch-starved half, however, wanted to wear the shortest skirt you owned just to feel men stare holes through it.

You turned into the bakery aisle and pretended to evaluate the nutritional contents of a massive chocolate cake. Maybe this could be plan B, if tonight's endeavor was hopeless.

The comforting hum of fluorescent lights softened the sterile environment around you. Memories of simpler times floated in your mind. Handmade school lunches. Gentle kisses placed on your knee after a bad fall. You closed your eyes, lulled by the promises of love you were granted as a child. Now an adult, you yearned for a partner that could nurture you in a romantic way.

Logan overheard a bag of produce spill onto the floor as he picked up a shopping basket. The cashier dropped it when he saw Logan's blood-stained dress shirt.

Mumbling a string of profanity, he decided to release some steam. "Show's over!" he snapped, flippantly tossing his right arm behind him.

Ignoring the shocked gasps of the other shoppers, Logan sulked further into the store in search of something to soothe his palate.

His doctor tentatively ordered him to "lay off the booze," a suggestion that left three deep puncture wounds in the drywall of his office. Alcohol numbed the emotional and physical pain that plagued him, but it also further delayed his healing powers.

Logan's skeleton was withering away, and all he wanted was a fucking sweet treat.

Your body braced for impact as your chest made contact with a shopper haphazardly turning into the aisle. After dropping the cake onto the pristine white tile, you closed your eyes again, salvaging the moment of peace that was stolen from you.

"Hey, watch where you're going, asshole." You reluctantly opened your eyes and were met with the solid torso of a man.

Slowly raking your gaze up his body, you raised your eyebrows at the sight of his bloody shirt before meeting his narrowed eyes.

Crows feet radiating from the corners. Prescription glasses. He appeared much older than you expected from your brief contact with his chest.

You silently cursed your luck. This meet-cute plan was steadily evolving into a meet-angry situation.

"Not smart to close your eyes in public," he huffed, staring pointedly at the fallen cake. It was hard not to notice your mini skirt. He hasn't seen a skirt that short since the 60s.

Although you had pulled away from him, the man's eyes lingered on your chest. The playful baby-doll top hugged your cleavage in all the right places. Your glossy lips donned a similar shade of pink. He quickly resumed eye contact, feeling like a dirty old man for imagining them wrapped around his cock.

She's too young, you sick fuck. Logan's internal monologue worked overtime to maintain a shred of decency.

Your face turned away from him at the impending embarrassment you were about to put yourself through. Smirking, you shyly retorted, "Not smart to stare at a girl's tits in public." You gently pushed up his glasses further onto the bridge of his nose.

Closing the gap between your chests, you tip-toed to reach his ear before whispering, "It's okay . . . I want you to."

The answer to Logan's suffering was sweeter than any slice of cake he could have indulged in. A pretty little thing was actually flirting with him, a cynical ex-soldier worn by the unforgiving rings of time.

Logan's hands found the back of your elbows and slowly pulled you closer to him. You gasped as you felt his belt buckle catch on the flimsy fabric of your top.

"Careful, doll," he grunted, leaning down to meet the side of your face. "I'm old enough to be your father."

You defiantly peered up at him through your lashes. "Yeah, and . . .?"

The man slowly distanced himself from you, gently tugging the hem of your top down to its original state.

Okay, definitely not the best response to seduce an older man. You chewed the inside of your cheek, stunned by your juvenile comeback.

"I'm sorry, kid. Forget I said anything," he muttered before turning into another aisle. He mentally kicked himself for letting the interaction go that far. Although his aching body and mind yearned for some relief, he wouldn't take advantage of some young girl.

He hurriedly stomped past the cashiers, swiping a few cigars from a distracted employee's station.

After the initial shock wore off, you quickly followed the older man to the parking lot. Totally not stalker-ish at all, right?

You wanted to take care of him. His reluctance to return your lust-sick gaze should have deterred you, but it only made you more desperate.

You watched as his hands dug into his pocket, pulling out a set of keys. The chipper click of the limo doors unlocking motivated you to get his attention.

"Hey! Can we talk?" You yelled, raising an outstretched palm to stop him from getting inside the car.

Logan froze at the sound of your voice. He contemplated being responsible, slamming his door and driving off without a second glance.

The gentle pressure of your hand wrapping around his wrist made him think extremely irresponsible thoughts.

Turning around to meet your gaze, the older man swiftly opened the passenger door. "Get in. Now," he growled.

Words betrayed you. All you responded with was a surprised squeak as he used your grip on his wrist to push you further into the vehicle.

His eyes widened as you briefly parted your thighs to get settled in the lush leather seat. The sinfully short hem of your skirt bunched up, revealing your underwear.

Logan whipped his head to the front of the limo, avoiding the sight of your body. Unfortunately, he couldn't avoid how you felt against his. You sat at an angle towards him, knees pressing against his thigh. His body tensed as you placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Why were you following me, huh?" he asked, finally meeting your eyes. "I've had a long fuckin' day and I need answers." He couldn't believe that a young woman like you would be interested in him.

"Yeah, you're old enough to be my father, maybe older-" you paused to move your left hand onto his thigh. "-but I'm done playing with boys." You shyly turned your head before continuing, "Need a real man."

Logan was done holding back. Now, it all made sense. Your lack of direction in the store, the low cut of your outfit that was way too sexy for a late night grocery run. We're both adults, he reasoned. She wants this.

He gingerly cradled your jaw with his large hand, turning your head towards his. "You sure about this, sweetheart?

You covered his hand with your own, bringing your lips to his in a spontaneous kiss. "I-I need to hear you," he stuttered.

"Shut up and fuck me, . . . " you sighed, pausing to ask for his name.

"Logan . . . call me Logan, doll." His left hand snaked around your waist, bunching the delicate material and exposing your breasts.

As you leaned into his palm, he fished the limo keys out of his pocket and clicked twice, locking the doors. He fondled the underside of your tits before rolling the sensitive nipples between his thumb and forefinger.

You were grateful for the tinted windows that shielded your embarrassing moans from the public.

"Already whining for me, hm? So fuckin' needy," he hummed, pushing up your top even further. You crossed your arms to undress, but Logan swatted them away, explaining, "It's cute. Wanna see your tits bounce for me, baby."

He gripped your ass with both hands and effortlessly swung you onto the broad expanse of his lap.

Your back arched as his rough palm cupped your pussy, thumb languidly tracing your sensitive bud through the cotton.

"But this . . . has to go," he drawled, tugging the elastic of your panties before letting it go with a faint snap.

It was too much. You were splayed over the lap of a stranger, hips wantonly rocking yourself over his prominent bulge and mewling as your sensitive clit caught on the rough fabric of his slacks.

He stilled your movements with his hands, lovingly kneading the flesh of your hips. "You okay with this?" he asked, searching your eyes for any sign of doubt. "Yeah, Logan . . . more than okay. Need you."

You loved that he was confident enough to take what he wanted but also gracious enough to check in, unlike the boys you were used to fucking around with.

His fingers hooked around the waistband of your skirt and panties, skillfully pushing your legs against your chest as he pulled them off. He decided against slicing them off with his claws, not wanting to hurt you. "Fuck. You're so pretty. My sweet, sweet girl . . ." he cooed. You whined as your aching cunt was finally exposed to Logan's hungry gaze and the chill night air. He groaned as you resumed desecrating his lap with your juices.

Your breath hitched as Logan traced two fingers along your bottom lip. You granted him access, playfully darting your tongue around his digits.

After his fingers were thoroughly soaked, he used your saliva to gently trace your hole, noticing the faint flutter of your walls.

"Need me to fill you up, hm? Poor baby's clenching around nothing. Let me fix that . . ." Logan's palm brushed against your clit as his fingers plunged into you, setting a steady pace.

You were incredibly wet, but he needed to prep you for his thick cock. He drooled, collecting a heavy wad of spit onto his tongue before letting it fall onto your pussy.

"Ah-ah!" You exclaimed, surprised by the contact. You bit your lip, cheeks flushing at the lewd feeling of his spit mixing with your wetness.

He used his other hand to slap repeatedly against your puffy folds, mesmerized by how vulnerable you were being for him.

"Yeah, you like that?" He whispered, curling his fingers as they met your cervix. You covered your mouth, desperately trying to maintain some modesty. Logan withdrew his left hand to pry away your arm and swallow your moans, sloppily slotting his lips into yours.

You gasped into his mouth as you felt your cunt spasm around his fingers, gushing all over his tight slacks.

"Oh, fuck! Logan . . . " you mewled, biting his lower lip while he continued to finger you through your orgasm.

Your head fell into the inviting crook of his neck, nuzzling his graying beard. "Atta girl, come for me," he cooed.

Logan peered down at you, noticing wet droplets dampening his beard. You were silently crying, tears cascading down your puffy cheeks before landing on his face.

At first, he was alarmed. "Hey, hey, shhhh," he purred. "What's the matter, doll?"

His cock twitched when he realized you were smiling against his neck.

"Nothing's wrong, Logan . . . you make me feel so good, that's all."

He planted a sweet kiss on your forehead. "Yeah? Want me to make you feel even better? Fill you up for real this time?"

You nodded dumbly, still basking in the haze of your release.

"Nuh-uh. Words." The simple command made you rut into his lap.

You shuddered while responding. "Wanna feel you inside me. Need your-" Logan bucked up into you. "-cock."

He slid his hands under your thighs, briefly pushing you forward so he could unbuckle his belt. Your small hands slinked toward his waist. "Let me do it," you pleaded, hastily sliding his belt through its loops and tossing it to the floor.

You pulled his cock out of his slacks, leaning down to press sweet little kisses to the head. Your thighs burned with the effort, but it was worth it to feel him momentarily lose control. Logan hissed sharply, "Good girl, fuck-" before guiding his thick cock into your heavenly mouth.

You licked a prominent vein that teased its way above his waistband. The taste of him was utterly intoxicating. You moaned onto his length, choking back tears as he suddenly thrust up into your eager throat.

The delicious weight of his cock on your tongue was short-lived. He cupped your face, forcing your mouth to slide past the tip with an obscene pop.

"Won't last long if you keep doing that, doll. Takes a lot less to get me riled up these days," he explained.

You nodded as you straightened yourself, using your knees to hover above his lap. He teasingly ran the flushed tip of his cock through your folds before sinking into your weeping pussy.

"Oh my god! fuck-" you cried, lowering your hips to embrace his full length. Your hands found stability on Logan's shoulders as you bounced on his cock.

Logan stared in awe at your tits. They were practically spilling out the sides of your cute top, jiggling with each movement of your hips.

As he admired your form, you drunk in the sight of his coarse salt and pepper beard. His wiry glasses barely held onto the slope of his strong nose due to your eager movements. You paid special attention to his crimson-stained shirt, wondering how he was enduring the wounds.

"You're hurt." You stated, pausing to slowly unbutton his dress shirt.

Logan's hands grabbed a handful of your ass and slammed you down onto his lap, forcing you to continue taking his cock.

"Never said you could stop," he huffed. "It'll take time, but I'm healing."

You gasped as your clit hitched on the bunched fabric of his slacks, frantically shrugging off his shirt in the process. A devastating moan ripped from Logan's throat as you peppered kisses on his wounds. The coppery taste of his blood was oddly soothing, reminding you that the man buried in your cunt was real and not just a figment of your lust-fueled imagination.

Logan loved how dazed you looked, your chest rising and falling with each shaky breath, your pupils dilated and glossy. His cock twitched every time your soft tits brushed against his face. You whined as the steady rhythm of your hips faltered, hinting at your imminent release.

"Lean forward, baby. Let your old man take care of you," he sighed, wrapping his broad arms around your waist. You allowed yourself to slump forward, arching your back and playfully wiggling your ass in the air.

You yelped as he slapped your ass with enough force to feel the sting radiate from his outstretched palm. "Such a fuckin' tease," he growled, filling you up in one thrust. He set a punishing pace that made you sob into his chest. The loud squelches of your release echoed throughout the limo, mirroring your high-pitched wines.

"Oh, my god! . . ." you mewled, savoring the feeling of his cock stretching your walls. Your breath hitched every time his hips met yours, balls slapping against the sensitive skin of your ass.

He fucked up into your cunt, relishing the fact that you'd probably never had a cock as big as his. Logan stared at where you were connected, hypnotized by the subtle drag of your folds along his rugged length.

"Don't know what I did to deserve a pretty girl like you." His teeth tugged on the delicate strap of your top, exposing your breasts. His mouth enveloped the bud, gently sucking and pulling as they hardened.

"Logan . . . can't take it anymore. I'm close." You clenched around him, earning another hard slap on your ass.

"You gonna come for me sweetheart, hm?" He somehow increased his pace, hips drilling into your sensitive cunt. "C'mon, come all over my cock. Such a sweet young thing, so eager to please . . . " he hummed into your ear.

"And just so we're clear, I am definitely older than your father." His filthy words made you arch even higher, stilling your hips mid-air and allowing Logan to fuck you through your release.

The sound of you faintly chanting his name as you came sent him over the edge. "You can take it," he encouraged as your pathetic whines intermingled with his unabashed groans. His hips drove home, bouncing you harshly against his tense thighs and spilling into you with a low growl.

You almost blacked out at the feeling of his cum spurting into your walls, reaching even further when Logan buried his cock to the hilt. You clenched around him, overstimulated and thoroughly fucked.

"That's it, just relax . . . You look so pretty milking my cock," he praised, brushing stray hair away from your face.

You managed to sit upright and shakily moved to lift yourself off his cock, but Logan quickly steadied your hips. He's still hard, you realized, fascinated by his renewed vigor.

He panted, obviously just as spent as you were.

"So, uh, tomorrow, the Italian place on fifth street, 8 PM?"

You narrowed your eyes, incredibly confused at his choice of words after experiencing the best sex you've ever had.

"Our first date," he clarified. He kissed your cheek and you blushed at the contrast between the innocent action and the fact that his hard cock was still buried in your cunt. "After all, I'm a real man, right? And real men plan dates." He plastered on a cocky grin, repeating your earlier statements.

"Okay, old man. It's a date." You smiled, kissing his mouth with passion.

an: Ah!!! I had so much fun writing this. Old Man Logan, when will it be my turn >:[

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mostly-imagines · 6 months ago

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Sugar on the Rim vol. I

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

warnings: implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), mentions of sex, smut in next part

You twist the stem of the wine glass around between your fingers slowly. Your chin rests atop your knees as you stare vacantly at the tiny puddle left of the drink. You could go refill it, but then you’d have to go back out to the main room and man…you really do not want to do that. So you’ll sit here, swiping your tongue across the bumps of the roof of your mouth as if it's a fascinating new discovery.

The creak of hinges has you shooting upright, your back thumping against the stair step behind you. You’re not immediately sure how to act as though it’s normal that you’re sitting in the stairwell outside the fundraiser rather than in it, fraternizing with old and new money alike. You freeze, trying to relax your posture so it doesn’t look like you’re alarmed at the sight of another person, but not so relaxed that you look as bored as you are.

Your neutrality stutters when you glance up to find the host of the fundraiser. The billionaire host of the fundraiser. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire host of the fundraiser. Your posture straightens right back up and your mouth snaps shut as you make eye contact.

Should you stand up?

No, he’s rich, not royalty.

You are in his house though—

He looks you over contemplatively, “I don’t know you,” It’s not accusatory, rather he says it like it’s something interesting.

You perk up at that, immediately formulating reasons to justify your presence. “Oh, uh, no—” the words nearly spill out of your mouth all at once. You clear your throat, “I’m just a plus one for my boss—”

“Who’s your boss?” he asks, relaxed.

“Arthur Mullins.”

He looks to the side, squinting, “Mullins…he’s the executive at Williamson Industries, yes?”

You nod and he returns the gesture, slower, like he’s processing through something. “I’m Bruce,” he says warmly after a moment, holding his hand out to you.

You nod before you can even think to get any words to come out, “I—yeah, I know,” you accept his hand, shaking it as you tell him your name.

There’s a slight glint in his eye when he hears your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. “A pretty name.”

“Oh, it’s just…” Just your name. But rather than fill him in on that fascinating tidbit, you let the sentence die off.

He smiles kindly anyway, “What are you doing in here? Party’s out there, or so they tell me.”

“I…I’m hiding in here,” you admit sheepishly.

He leans in towards you slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret—so am I,” he smiles at you like it’s easy.

Your grin matches his, “It’s your party,”

“That’s why I need to hide.” He tilts his head, “Doesn’t give you much of an excuse though, does it?”

“I don’t know anybody here.”

He puckers his bottom lip contemplatively, “Your boss.”

You shake your head, “I’m just his assistant. I’m pretty sure he just brought me as a precaution in case he needed a designated driver.”

He laughs at that, “Based on the way I’ve seen Mullins’ attempts to operate, his assistant would have to be a hell of a lot more important than just a designated driver.”

Well, he’s certainly right about that. Your boss doesn’t exactly “have it together” per se. He’s an unorganized man with little to justify his importance in Gotham, so he tends to insist on taking on more responsibility than he has any business having. Not to mention, he’s a bit of a try-hard and you’re constantly left to sweep up the pieces of his reputation that he shattered himself. Not to say he’s necessarily unprofessional, he just will do anything and everything to prove he belongs in any given space. It’s honestly a bit exhausting to watch. It’s more exhausting to try and convince him that the exchange went well afterwards.

You nod slowly, eyes on his shoes. “Mr. Mullins has…a unique approach to business. It does usually leave me fairly busy, I’ll give you that.” You take a quick deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “But that means I occasionally get to go to fancy parties where I don’t know anyone, so..”

“Well then it sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” he ribs, “Or don’t you agree?”

You smile coyly, “I would never be so bold.”

“I don’t mind boldness. For example, the reason I came in here is because he spotted me.”

You laugh at that, “Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

“Mr. Wayne,” you suppress your smile as you pause, choosing your words carefully. “I think he’s just networking.” He doesn’t have the money to give.

He nods surely, “He’s definitely just networking.” He really doesn’t have the money to give. You allow just the faintest wisp of a smile to adorn your face as you look down again.

You check the time and realize that you’ve been hiding away for too long and that if he hasn’t already, your boss will notice soon. You sigh quietly to yourself, “I should..”

He turns his head to the closed door where the chatter can be heard from beyond, sighing in defeat as he shakes his head looking back at you. “So should I.”

You feel a bit insecure as you stand, the gown you’re wearing is pretty but it is very much affordable and you’re sure someone as wealthy as Bruce Wayne would know the difference.

If he does notice he makes no deal of it, motioning you forward gallantly to walk ahead of him.

He follows after you, hands behind his back. “Would it be rude of me to ask you to distract him while I run for the bar?”

It’s busy, even for a Sunday afternoon, and you have to sidestep past someone nearly every step you take. You stick next to the windows of the line of boutiques down the road, trying to balance window shopping and not bumping into other pedestrians.

You're in a nicer district of Gotham, truthfully an area you don't quite belong in. So far you’ve only managed to find a couple shops that weren’t several ranges above your budget.

A call of your name has you blinking rapidly and turning around as if you’re lost. It doesn’t take long for you to pick the six foot two billionaire out of the crowd and it’s only half a second longer before you realize he’s walking towards you. A few people collide shoulders with you as they move past thoughtlessly, no regard for the personal space of the idiot that stopped in the flow of traffic.

You let him approach a couple feet closer before you ask him, “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wayne?” The presence of his figure in front of you allows for a break from being bumped into, as he seemingly makes for a far more easily seen and intentionally avoided target.

He sways a bit, “Bruce. I’m not sure yet,” he looks down to the couple of bags you’re holding, extending his hand out. “May I?”

It takes you just a moment to move past your surprise at the request, allowing him to hold them for you. “Are you in a rush?”

You shake your head quicker than you meant to, “No, I—not at all,” he gestures his head forward, allowing you to walk before him.

You traipse ahead in silence for a moment before deciding against biting your tongue, “What exactly is it you’re not sure about?”

He raises his voice a bit so you can hear him over the crowd, “Whether or not you’ve got plans on the 19th.”

You look back at him, “What’s on the 19th?”

He stops with you as you admire a set of jewelry inside a window display, “We’re hosting a gala for something or something else, hopefully less boring than the fundraiser.”

You blink, “You’re inviting me?” He nods. “Why?”

“I could use someone who wants to be there even less than I do.”

He said it so casually it takes you a second to even register his meaning. You blink, face contorting defensively, “That’s not—” you can barely make out the smile on his face as he continues on walking.

You shake your composure back together and trail after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t think Mr. Mullins would be very happy to hear that I’m attending a business gala without him.”

He shakes his head as he scans over the crowd, “He can’t fire you for that.”

“He’ll try.” He would. A petty little man, he is.

He scans across the rows of clothes leisurely. “Well, then he can speak to me about it. Besides, it wouldn’t be for business.” And then he just lets that sentence linger.

It takes you a moment to recover from those words and begin to start processing the world around you again. After a few more feet down the sidewalk he pulls you gently to the side by your lower arm, out of the rush of traffic, and looks at you dead on, “What do you think?”

You try not to waver under the weight of the eye contact, “I don’t…uh, I don’t really have…” you look down, hoping to get the message across without actually having to say the words.

He glances into the store window next to you and raises his eyebrows, “Well then I’d say we’re in the right place.”

You can’t manage to tell him that this store is definitely far too expensive for you, walking through the door as he opens it for you, albeit apprehensively.

Well. Up close window shopping is more fun anyways.

The spotless white of the floors and walls has you intimidated, and just as much so by less by the no doubt designer clothes lining the walls. The saleswomen all look pretty highbrow themselves, hair up in tight buns and uniforms chic.

You only break from gawking at the store to look behind you at Bruce. You note the way his eyes roam around blindly, looking for something and clearly having no means to narrow down where it might be. You take one more glance around, immediately finding the women's section with no such difficulty.

“This way.” You say, nodding your head over to the left. He recovers nicely and lets you lead the way towards the section of dresses. You peer back at him, “You don’t seem like someone that does much of his own shopping.”

Thankfully, he laughs at that. “Well, special occasions.”

You keep your gaze ahead this time, asking as casually as you can, “Is this a special occasion?”

He hums in consideration, “I’d say so.”

You stop upon approaching the dress section, taking in the immediately stunning display of options.

“What are you doing up here anyways?” you ask, hand brushing across a particularly plush dress.

“Ah, I was headed to a meeting.”

“Oh,” you frown, looking at him. “Don’t you need to go?”

He shakes his head with a puckered lower lip, “No.”

A few seemingly heiresses roam down the aisle mindlessly, not caring much that you’re in their path.

Bruce sees them before you do, knowing well that they were not going to excuse themselves. “Sweetheart,” he nudges you gently to the side, closer to him as the group passes. His hand remained open-palmed and flat as he guided you to the side, seemingly very careful not to touch you with uninvited boldness. Though you’re quite shaken by the chivalry of the gesture, a brazen touch wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.

As your arm brushes against a rack of clothing your gaze follows, met with something rather appealing.

Bruce is quick to notice you admiring the sleek black dress that looks like something you’d see a model wearing on a runway. “You like that one?”

“It’s nice, yeah,” you murmur, not really thinking. You flip the price tag over and your face drops. “It’s $800.”

He nods thoughtfully, “We can find a nicer one,” he says, though it’s clear he knows exactly what your problem with the price tag was.

“I can’t—” you restart, “I would never have a reason to wear something this nice again.”

He shakes his head coolly, “That’s alright.”

Your shoulders drop and your head tilts seriously, “It’s not, though.”

“You like it?” He looks you in the eyes, his own searching for a truthful answer.

“I mean, of course, but it—”

He nods affirmatively, “Then we’ll get it. Problem solved.” He turns his back to the rack, casually observing the rest of the store goers. “Pick your size.”

Apparently not one to argue, you thumb through the row until you find one that should fit.

You sigh, realizing that you’re running out of time to mention that you don’t have $800 to spend on a dress. “I can’t—”

“You don’t need to,” he says simply as he takes the dress off the rack and drapes it across his arm, making his way towards the salescounter.

You try to stop your mouth from hanging open as you follow, “It really is okay, I don’t need—”

His grin cuts you off, just in time for you to hear him mutter, “Sweet girl..” to himself. You stop right in your tracks, feeling very thankful that he’s not looking at you right now because you’re certain the look on your face would give you away.

He still doesn’t face you as he calls out, “Come on,” as he continues on.

Obviously you’re not stupid. You know what type of intentions a billionaire playboy must have with a younger girl that he doesn’t even really know. However, if said billionaire is offering to buy you a pretty dress…no, you’re not sleeping with him because he bought you a dress—of course not—and you’ve made absolutely no promises to do so, so what’s the harm in letting him? Really?

And yeah, maybe it’s a plus that he’s not bad looking, but how is that your fault?

You stand a bit awkwardly next to him as he puts his card in the machine, not even glancing at the outrageous number, and declines the offer for the receipt.

As you exit the store together and stand at the doors as he hands your original two bags back to you along with the new shiny black one that on its own looks like something people would pay for.

“You will be there?” he asks, eyes more hopeful than you were prepared for.

You nod, gesturing the bag up, “Well you just bought me the dress.”

He shrugs that off, “I would’ve bought you the dress anyways.”

You linger in the midst of the ado wearing a dress that you feel far too overshadowed by, fidgeting with the half empty wine glass in your hand. Unfortunately, this time around you were invited by the host of the event and it would be extra rude to run away and hide. That doesn’t stop you from considering it, though.

A hand sliding across your lower back has you momentarily startled, and for reasons you couldn’t quite verbalize, you’d naturally assumed it was Bruce. The disappointment rings strong when you turn around to be met with the sight of an even older man, who looks considerably wine drunk.

“Hello there, Miss.,” The words themselves are polite but the salacious smile on his face and the way his eyes have no trouble roaming your body gives you a solid idea of what this conversation is going to entail.

“Hello,” you fake a polite, tight smile and shift your attention to the rest of the room.

This does nothing to deter him, as he takes a sizable step back into your line of sight. “Having a nice time?”

The man is clearly from money, if his attire didn’t give it away his attitude sure did. There’s an heir of entitlement around him, like he’s inherently deservant of your attention—a quality you were notably surprised to not have found in Bruce.

You give him your faux-smile again, this time tighter but half a second longer for the sake of politeness. A rookie mistake.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, gesturing to the bar.

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say, gesturing your wine glass up.

A momentary flash of irritation crosses his face, but to his credit, he does a better job recovering from it than you would have expected. Though, that’s not really saying much. “Well, pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone here,”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Both of your heads snap to the side, finding a much more welcome surprise than you’d previously received.

Your counterpart's posture straightens immediately, “Mr. Wayne,” he fawns, “What a lovely event you’ve thrown. I’m sure the Bernsteins will be appreciative.”

Bruce hums, eyes narrowed slightly. “You are…”

The man startles and rushes to finish off his sentence, “Alexander Watson, senior executive to the accounting department for the research wing of the company.”

He nods slowly, no recognition actually present in his eyes. “Ah. The research wing of the company that just blew fifteen million dollars on prototype self-operating cell phones.”

You’re trying hard to fight the smile creeping up on your face.

“What exactly is a self-operating cell phone?”

Watson’s face drops, hurrying to justify his approval of the proposal’s funding. As he rambles, Bruce’s gaze lowers to where Watson has once again placed his hand on your hip, though he’s not close enough to you for it to rest fully or naturally. You don’t know him well but you can say confidently that he doesn’t look pleased.

He looks back up to Watson, attitude challenging. “Surely you’re not poking around where you’re unwelcome?”

Watson stutters at that, blinking and shaking his head quickly. “No, no, of course not! I was just hoping to provide the young lady with some company. That’s all.”

“And so you have.”

“I—,” about two steps behind in this conversation, Watson finally decides to retreat, “Yes, good evening, Mr. Wayne.” He bows his head and shuffles away back into the crowd.

“Mr. Wayne,” you smile knowingly, turning to him. “How are you?”

The hardness of his gaze fades quickly as he takes in your appearance, quite liking how you wear the dress you’d picked out.

“Things are looking up,” he smiles, “You look lovely.”

“Thank you,” you glance over to where Watson has made his way to the bar, likely about to down an entire glass. “Mr., uh, Mr. Watson makes quite the impression.”

His smile turns a bit sullen, “You know last year he tried to convince the board that battery-powered battery chargers were going to be the next big thing?”

You blink, tilting your head, “Thought you didn’t know who he was.”

His eyes are fixed on the wall as he tugs the corner of his lip down, knowing he’s been caught but not really caring. “I’m sorry to have been away for so long, it seems everyone needs my attention at these things.”

“At the gala that you threw? I’d imagine so.”

He rolls past that smoothly, “You’re having a good time?”

“I am,” you say with a confirming head bob.

He regards the room with a numb expression, “You know, I think I’m getting bored with all of this.”

You smile at him, brow furrowed, “It’s only been an hour.”

He looks at you, eyes wide. “It’s only been an hour?” He’s exaggerating his surprise to make you smile, and it works.

“I think we should go,” he says lower.

You stare at him, bemused. “You still have a whole room full of guests.”

He shrugs, “They’ll filter out on their own eventually.”

He clocks your hesitation easily, accurately noting it to be more out of politeness than actually wanting to stay at the party. “What, you’re not ready to leave?”

You look around at all the mostly old, posh guests, disinterested small talk evident all across the room. You take a breath, “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

He smiles and leads you out a side door and through a corridor that’s significantly longer than you’d expected.

“Do you always ditch your parties this early?” you ask, following closely.

He makes a sharp right at the next doorway, “If I can manage it.”

You look around at the high wooden ceilings and grand furniture. “Aren’t some of them friends of yours?”

He shakes his head, “My friends aren’t here.”

You frown at that, “Then why do you throw them at all?”

“Why did you show up last weekend?”

You nod slowly, understanding. “It’s your job.”

He returns the nod, adding, “Only difference is, there’s not a chance in hell you get paid enough for the work you do for Mullins.”

For the sake of maintaining your wishful facade of professionalism, you’re going to not acknowledge that incredibly accurate statement. Instead you smile politely and continue on walking. He seems to get the implication, returning it with an even brighter adornment.

“Well, money’s money,” you say wryly.

His smile fades a bit, “You shouldn’t have to worry about things like that.”

You shrug, “A day in the life,”

He looks sullen upon hearing that, with more sympathy than you’d have expected from someone of his stature. He’s done nothing if not surprise you, though.

“Here,” he says, taking hold of the handle of a glass door. It opens to a garden, lit up beautifully by the moon and outdoor light. A fountain sits in the middle, water rhythmically gushing out of the top and trickling down the sides. The bite of the Gotham night air burns at your cheeks a bit and you find yourself thankful the dress you’d chosen is so long.

Bruce leads the way to an expensive marble bench positioned nicely in front of it, allowing you to sit first before following suit. Your hands find a place in your lap, clasped together awkwardly in an attempt to find warmth through contact.

It takes Bruce less than ten seconds to stand, remove his suit jacket, and drape it over your shoulders before sitting back down. The material is thicker and warmer than you would’ve expected, surely reminiscent of the perks of being owned by a billionaire.

He doesn’t look at you to acknowledge the grateful expression on your face, simply carrying on like it didn’t happen. “Was hoping it was warmer,” he murmurs.

Your focus momentarily goes to the icy cold stone of the bench under your thighs, initially finding it uncomfortable before deciding the coolness actually felt quite soothing. You remove your gaze from the gray stone and turn your head to find Bruce already focused on you.

You start to say something, though you’re not sure what it would’ve been, when he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down.

Well, he certainly knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?

His eyes stay on your lower lip as he murmurs, “You’re a pretty girl, you know that?”

God, he’s a professional.

You look up at him and refrain from saying anything, waiting to see if he follows it up with something that will make you regret agreeing to coming out here with him.

He doesn’t.

You shift, moving your hands off your lap to rest on the stone under you. “You can’t just do this—”

He smiles and lowers his chin to look you in the eyes, “Then what can I do for you?”

“You—” you blink rapidly, “Stop it.”

His coy beam persists, “Stop what?”

You raise your gaze up to him ever so slightly, a pouty expression across your face that you’re trying to sell as serious. “You’re trying to make me nervous.”

“Do I make you nervous?” He tilts his head down further, a ghost of a smile echoing on his lips, “I don’t mean to, sweet girl.”

Your eyes drop to the ground, biting your tongue. “Yeah.”

His simper grows, “I’m serious. I’d hate to scare away a new friend.”

You laugh at that and he perks up a bit at the sound, “What? We’re not friends?”

You cock your head to the side, “You’re the one who said none of your friends are here.”

He hums, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

“You think so?” You should probably stop flirting so much.

“Yeah,” he leans in a bit closer, “I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Maybe I want to be your friend,” his hand finds a place atop yours.

Your eyes flicker across his face as he closes in, “What if I don’t want to be yours?”

His eyes are on your lips, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

You take a slow deep breath, “Your intentions are blurry.”

He smiles lightly, amused. “We’ll have to clear that up then, won’t we?” His lips are inches away and his voice is soft as he says, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

You look up at him eyes wide, barely processing his words as you nod. He gently grasps your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up. His other hand finds the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you with intention. Your hands hover in the air for a second before holding onto his forearms.

He breaks the kiss only to give you another sweet one right after. Your mouths remain close when it’s over, eyes still shut, trying to catch your breath. You stay like that for a moment until he kisses you once more on your cheekbone before pulling away. His hands drop to rest on your knees, the weight of them gentle.

He hums lowly, “Sweet thing..”

Being under the heaviness of his gaze leaves you feeling vulnerable. It’s starting to get you concerned with the potential levity and implications of kissing him. The expectations.

“You…” you stare down at where his hands meet your skin, not quite sure that you actually meant to start that sentence.

“What?” he frowns, brow pinched. Your chin lowers further as your mouth forms a tight line. He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. What is it?” he asks gently.

It takes a surge of willpower for you to get the sentence out, “You just want to sleep with me..”

He frowns harder at that, pulling back a bit. “No. I’m…” he sighs, “I’m not trying to lure you in just to toss you out right after.”

That makes you look up again. His voice has a sincerity to it that you weren’t prepared for.

He continues, “I would like to, yes. Yeah. You’re beautiful, of course I would, but..” he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you, “No, that’s not the most important thing to me.”

You break eye contact again, thinking over his words. If that’s not the most important thing to him, what is? You can’t think of what else he could possibly want from you, a billionaire who could have anything he wants..the only thing you could have to offer in his eyes is sex.

Right?

He exhales, “If you want to leave, I’ll call you a car. No hard feelings.” He nudges your chin up gently so you’ll look at him, but he gives you the freedom to fight against it if you wanted to.

You let him move you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you tell him, looking into his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” he says it like it’s automatic. You physically can’t help but roll your eyes at the corniness of it. He doubles down, though, “Seriously. Anything.”

You smile in disbelief, shaking your head.

“Alright,” he returns your smile, straightening, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Do you need a ride home?”

You blink at him, “I’m going home?”

“You are,” he nods softly, “Do you need a ride?”

“No.”

He nods again, more like he’s working through something in his head. “Okay. You’re going to go home and think through what you want. If you decide you want to, come back here next Saturday.” he stands up, extending his hand out to you, “Then you can let me know what else you want and we can get to work on that too.”

You start to shake your head, “I can—”

He drops his chin seriously, “Think on it.”

You relent easily, taking his hand and coming to a stand.

“Alright?” Again, his question is genuine. He does really want to know if you’re on board with this plan.

Already going against his request, you agree without a thought, “Okay.”

He starts to lead you back over to the garden door with a head nod and a kind smile.

It ultimately was not a decision you had to think very hard on.

You’d considered every scenario of how this could play out and none of them ended with regret as far as you could guess.

You’ll still admit though, there was one scenario you had missed, apparently, which is why you were immeasurably confused when you showed up and he invited you to play chess.

He’s not wearing a fancy three piece suit this time, but his clothes are still very nice. With the sunlight peeking through the windows, you’re able to see the manor more clearly than you had been the other night. It really is a beautiful home, clearly very old and charmed, but there’s a lot of little details of character and history scattered around. There’s portraits and photographs of his parents from when he was young and furniture decorated with trinkets all throughout, kept absolutely spotless and dust free. Everything is neat and tidy but there’s still traces of the house being lived in with the patched throw pillows and worn carpets. Still, it’s very, very placid.

You’ve met new money plenty of times over the course of dealing with countless businessmen for Mr. Mullins but old money is something entirely different. You don’t really have a frame of reference here. New money is almost always brash and demanding, they like things done quickly and correctly the first time around. They’re usually not very interested in hearing what you have to say (even if it would save them a lot of trouble) and prefer it when the assistants women keep their mouths shut. Bruce has proven to be very different from these standards already and you’re not sure where to begin with placing new ones.

You’re about halfway through a second game, and while you’re not awful at chess, you get the impression that he’s easing up on you considerably.

You sit on the floor in front of a short coffee table, the game having no clear lead so far.

“I think this is stressing me,” you mumble, no actual weight behind your words.

“It’s just chess,” he says, not looking up from the board.

You watch him move his knight forward as you ask, “And that’s all we’re doing?”

“As it stands, yes,” he looks up at you, though you don’t return his gaze.

“Yeah,” you sigh, sliding your rook, “But later?”

“Later?”

“Well, you said...” you meet his eyes, “You said you wanted to sleep with me.”

He nods slowly, “I do. Is that alright?”

You consider it for a moment. You already knew that, if you really weren’t okay with it you wouldn’t have come here. And yeah, the idea makes you a little shaky, but in a good way.

“Yes,” you tell him, moving your queen forward two spaces.

“Are you sure?” he presses, moving to sit on the side of the table rather than behind it.

You do the same, sitting on your knees. “Yeah, I just..” you shift your weight, eyes wandering. “I’m not…overly experienced.”

He just smiles at that, like it’s endearing. Your words didn’t quite convey your meaning but your tone did. In any case, he understands the implication. “That’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not going to throw you in the deep end.”

You nod, looking down again.

“You’re nervous,” he comments.

“No, I’m—I mean, maybe,” your voice is barely a murmur by the end of the sentence.

He’s quiet for a moment, observing the way you fiddle with your rings. “What if we get you something pretty to wear? Something that makes you feel pretty. Whatever you want.”

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, opening and pulling out a lump of cash without even looking. He holds the money out to you wordlessly and you can see from the bill on the outside that it’s at least a couple hundred dollars.

You shake your head instantly, “I can’t take that.”

He doesn’t put the money down but his eyes turn to begging. “Please. I just want you to feel good.”

“Bruce—”

He wavers a bit at that but it’s more of a falter than you’ve seen from him before so it’s easy to take notice of. “What?”

He shrugs barely, “I like when you say my name.”

Your eye contact holds for a moment and your resolve starts to shake almost instantly.

You exhale, “I’m not taking more than a hundred.”

“Two hundred.”

“Bruce.”

He smiles and picks out some of the cash and pockets it, handing you the rest. You don’t comment on the fact that it’s a hundred and fifty more than you’d agreed on.

You look down at the money in your hand like it’s a foreign object, shaking your head. “I don’t even know what to get.”

His thumbs start to rub reassuring circles by the bend of your knees, “Anything you want,” he tells you. “What do you like? Silk, lace, cotton, anything.”

You look up, tilting your head at him with a furrowed brow. “It doesn’t matter what I like, th—”

“It only matters what you like,” He says seriously, lowering himself to meet your gaze. “I’ll love it, no matter what you pick. Don’t worry about that.”

You lean forward a bit instinctually, “Okay.”

His eyes scan across your face in something that you can only recognize as awe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper.

“I want to kiss you again,” he says, voice even quieter.

Your eyes go to his mouth and you can only manage a nod, lips already parted.

He moves forward not a second later, kissing you with more fire than you’d gotten to see the other night. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing lightly as you hook one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

You hear the clatter of chess pieces falling over as he moves nearer to you, large frame leaning over you. You push up on your knees, meeting his lips up at his level. His hands caress around your hips as the kiss gets deeper.

You just start to fumble with the hem of his shirt when he takes your hands in his, pulling them away before breaking the kiss.

“Easy, sweet girl,” he smiles, nudging you back with little force.

You groan, “Why?”

He barks out a laugh at that, stroking your hips again. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on the floor.”

“Then let's go somewhere else,” you nod up towards the stairs.

He shakes his head, that soft smile still playing on his lips. “Not tonight.”

You sit back on your heels again, frowning.

He brushes your hair back, murmuring, “No. But for now, I'll kiss you ‘til you can’t think if that’s what you want.”

You really hope you didn’t perk up at that as much as you think you did.

part two

🌾🌽 i heard a rumor that if you like without reblogging your crops will be cursed but hey what do i know 🌾🌽

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