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#i don’t know if i could limit myself to one style
gayvampyr · 1 year
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ppl when they find out i like to draw: so what style of art do you make?
me: uh…
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… i dabble
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carakook · 1 month
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Shut Up .・。.・゜✭・.
╔═*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*═╗
“If I fuck you, will you calm the fuck down and listen to me?”
🔞FOR MATURE AUDIENCES🔞
Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader
Synopsis: After taking a job as a co-writer, you quickly find that you and your “boss” just don’t get along. Constantly butting heads, disagreeing on things, and he isn’t even nice about it. He’s a fucking dick. He’s always criticizing you in embarrassing ways, but you’ve tried to be patient, ride it out. Over the short time you’ve worked here, the tension has built quickly, and it is clear both of you cannot stand each other. Unfortunately, today is the day you reach your limit after he humiliates you in front of several of your coworkers… and the “conflict resolution” is definitely something you did not expect.
Genre: Enemies to lovers (or hookup in this case), workplace affair.
Pairings: Boss/Writer!Namjoon x Co-writer!Reader
Word count: 7.5k+
Warnings: 18+, Heavy smut!! Hate sex, protected sex (wrap it up), rough sex, face fucking, light slapping (not in the face), a bit of spit play, face fucking, cussing, crying (sort of), heavy conflict, degradation, arguing, name calling, a bit of teasing, cum eating? (Sort of), dry humping, face humping, being slapped with dick (lightly), Let me know if I missed anything!
⚠Disclaimer⚠:This story does not in any way reflect the character of those who are mentioned, it is totally fiction and just for fun. Please don’t take it seriously.
A/N: Hiiii! This is my first one shot. I’ve actually had it in my drafts for a long time but never posted it, I decided to finish it recently and post it here. I hope you like it! I love writing, have soooo many drafted one shots/full on fanfics with each of the boys. A looot of them are with Jungkook, can’t help myself. He’s my lover… 😭 Anyway, if you guys end up liking this I’ll post more. Thank you so much for reading if you do!
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.  . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆
There aren’t many things you regret in life. Because if you allow yourself to regret things, you overthink. Overthinking is never a good thing.
See, it wasn’t awful at first. But the moment you met Kim Namjoon, you could tell he had a problem with you. What? You didn’t know. You still don’t know. But he never bothered hiding it.
You powered through, because this was sort of like a dream job for you. You loved writing music, writing lyrics. It was hard to even find a job like this to begin with. So when you got the callback, you jumped at the chance. You were so excited to be working here, and you were familiar with Kim Namjoon. You thought his songs were beautiful, his writing style seemed similar to yours.
Boy, you were wrong.
Not even a week into working here he was heavily criticizing you. But again… you pushed through. Because you were new, he had a right to be picky. This was his studio, he was technically your boss… technically. So you tried to be patient and listen to his criticism.
Which didn’t last long. Because he was not subtle. Arguably, there is a difference between constructive criticism and being blatantly rude and picky. Namjoon was straight-up rude. And at times it was embarrassing.
Nothing you did seemed to satisfy him. Every single time you brainstormed with him and the team, he disagreed with you. Every time you proposed lyrics, he rejected your ideas. Every time you so as much opened your mouth, he had an issue with what you had to say.
You tried to be patient… you genuinely did. But you don’t like feeling disrespected or embarrassed. And you certainly don’t take shit from anyone. So the last two weeks you’ve both been bickering, and the tension is noticeable not only to you and Namjoon but to the entire damn team.
The worst part about it all? You are so fucking attracted to him. He makes your tummy swoop with butterflies. He smells good. He’s tall, his dimples are fucking adorable, and his body… god, he is to die for. The sexual tension is prominent.
If only he wasn’t such a dick.
Today pushed you to your limits. Never in your life have you been more embarrassed.
It all started with a song he was working on. He played the beat, and immediately you were inspired. You got excited. Your attitude was bright, and you immediately jotted the lyrics down on your paper when they came to mind. You seriously thought today would be the day he’d be proud. He would agree. You felt good about it.
Only for him to burst out laughing when he read the lyrics. That wasn’t even the worst part. It’s bad enough that he laughed at you in front of the entire team. But what he said next is what made you lose your shit.
“Oh- shit. You’re serious?”
He stared at you for a moment, taking in your very irritated expression. And then he fucking laughed again.
“Fuck, Y/N. I thought this was a joke. God, I wish it was a joke because it would be hilarious if it was. It sounds like a fucking kids-bop song. You can’t be serious.”
And that’s when all hell broke loose.
You went off on him. In front of everyone. For three minutes straight you cursed him out, waived your hands around, and made it clear how much you cannot stand him and how rude he has been. How humiliated you feel. You’ve always been praised for your writing, so why the fuck doesn’t he like it? You are fucking pissed.
Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to cuss your boss out in front of everyone… but at this point, you don’t care. If he gets you fired by the company, oh-fucking-well.
Namjoon stares at you for a moment once you’re done. Your chest is heaving, your cheeks are red, and your brows are furrowed angrily. Clearly, he didn’t expect your outburst. His nostrils are flared and his jaw is tense, it even does the little tick thing that drives you crazy. Fuck him for being so hot. Fuck him for being so damn hot and such a dick.
He raises a brow at you, tongue in cheek, making that angry face that would be incredibly attractive if it weren’t directed at you. He lets out an angry huff of air before speaking.
“Studio. Now.”
He points at his studio as he says this as if you’re too stupid to understand his words. This pisses you off even more.
“You’re not my fucking boss.”
He scoffs at you, briefly smiling at your bold choice of words. You infuriate him just as much as he infuriates you.
“Actually, Y/N, I am. Studio. Now.”
You know that technically, he is your boss. But you refuse to listen to him after how humiliated he made you feel. In front of everyone, how dare he speak to you this way? Regardless of his weird hate for you. Besides, he can’t fire you. He may be able to request it, but you know that he won’t. From what you’ve heard, It took forever to fill this position. He was picky when it came to hiring someone… which makes this more confusing. You can’t figure out what his issue is with you, especially when he is the one who helped pick you for the job. Regardless, you know that he doesn’t have the patience to do it again. He’s full of shit.
You stand your ground. You won’t back down this time. You’re tired of the disrespect.
“No, Namjoon. Whatever you want to say, you can say it here. You’ve already embarrassed me, so go ahead, do it some more. I’m sure you get off on it.”
No longer smiling, his gaze is dark. He’s pissed. Now he’s a bit embarrassed… that’s what he gets.
“I won’t ask again. You can march your ass upstairs, or I can carry you. Your choice.”
You say nothing, surely he wouldn’t do that. He’s bluffing. Regardless of how harsh he has been towards you, you know that he wouldn’t cross that line. You hope that he doesn’t. The last thing that you want is for him to touch you. Not because he makes you uncomfortable, but because you already have enough dirty thoughts about him. You hate him, yet he turns you on in a way you’ve never felt. Lust driven by pure hatred, it’s a dangerous thing.
But of course, you were wrong, and he never ceases to surprise you. Never underestimate Kim Namjoon.
You stay silent, secretly hoping that he will just back down and continue the brainstorming session. But is Kim Namjoon the type of man to back down? No. He never has been.
He strides over to you quickly, taking big steps in your direction, causing you to miss your chance to run.
He swiftly grabs your waist and hoists you over his shoulder, his fingers digging into your thighs. You don’t even have time to react before he starts carrying you upstairs to the studio. He has no trouble doing so either, carrying you as if you weigh nothing.
You come to your senses and swat at his back while you yell profanities at him, demanding that he put you down, threatening to report him, and telling him that he’ll be fired by morning if he doesn’t stop.
But you know that he won’t. This company would never side with you, no matter what Namjoon did. They relied on him. They didn’t rely on you. You were replaceable, even if it would be difficult. Namjoon is not replaceable.
“Resume the session. If you finish before we’re done, you’re free to go. This may take a while. Don’t interrupt us.”
Hurried nods are sent in his direction, no one dares protest him or intervene. Cowards.
He kicks the door open to the studio, entering with ease, making sure not to hit your head on the doorframe as he walks in. You wish he would have hit your head, knocked you out, hell even thrown you over the staircase. Anything to avoid this humiliation he has cursed you with. You almost wish you would’ve just kept your damn mouth shut.
But the damage is done now. No point in backing down.
He throws you roughly on the couch sitting opposite his desk and then closes the door, locking it before facing you.
You glare at him, chest heaving, heart beating out of your chest. You’re just as pissed as he is. Yet, you still find yourself clenching your thighs together, irritated at the fact that he turns you on so much. You shouldn’t be horny right now… yet you are. The way he squeezed your thighs… fuck. Fuck him. God, fuck him to hell. You hate him.
“What the fuck was that?” You nearly growl at him.
He stands in front of you, arms crossed, looking down on you as if you’re nothing more than a pesky roach that he wants to squash.
“I told you, you could walk, or I could carry you. You made your choice, clearly.”
Fuck him.
“Fuck you, Namjoon. This is ridiculous.”
He laughs. He laughs at you.
Fuck him.
“You are ridiculous, Y/N. Why are you even here, if you can’t take criticism?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? I can take criticism, constructive criticism, something that you are apparently incapable of giving. You’re so fucking mean to me and I’ve done NOTHING to you.”
“No, I-“
You cut him off, unable to control your mouth.
“And another thing, it’s only me that you speak to this way. I’ve yet to see you speak to anyone else the way that you do me. What is your issue with me, why do you hate me so much?”
“Maybe if you-“
You cut him off again, and his jaw does the tick thing. He’s getting angrier, but you do not give a fuck.
“No, this isn’t on me. I earned my spot here, I was hired for a reason, and everyone else respects me, why don’t you?”
“Because-“
Again.
Fuck him.
“There is no reason, you obviously have some sort of sick vendetta against me. You’re fucking insufferable!”
“Me? No, you-“
Again.
And he’s had enough.
“No, fuck you Namjoon, fuck you and this weird ass game you’re playing, you—“
He borderline growls before he pins you on the couch.
You don’t even have time to register what he’s doing, and if you did, you’d slap the shit out of him.
That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.
His lips crash into yours as he hovers over you, one knee perched in between your legs, while his other leg steadies him. He grabs your face with force, so rough that you swear he could break your jaw if he gripped you any harder. His other hand is on the back of the couch, steadying him the same and pinning you in place.
The kiss is no different. His lips assault yours, and he wastes no time in forcing his tongue into your mouth. He kisses you with vigor. A kiss unlike any you’ve ever experienced before. You’ve only ever been kissed like this in your dreams, the same dreams that wake you up in the middle of the night leaving you touch-starved. It’s fucking aggressive and rough.
And of course, you kiss him back. You don’t want to. Yet you do. You don’t want to give in to him. But you do. You can’t help it. As soon as he made his move, you were under his control. He has that way about him, he’s easily able to affect people. You were a different story. You always defied him, disagreed with him, challenged him. Yet, this is the way that he tames you, even if only for a minute. Shit. You’re weaker than you thought.
He nips your bottom lip before pulling back, your jaw still in his grip. His nostrils are flared and his breathing is rigid, as if he’s just as shocked as you are at his actions.
And he is. He has no idea why he just kissed you. He has no idea what came over him. He just wanted you to shut the fuck up, and he acted on impulse. And now he has a raging hard-on, which pisses him off even more. He doesn’t want to want you, in the same way that you don’t want to want him. But you both do.
He whispers, searching your face, studying your reaction.
“Do you ever just shut the fuck up and listen?”
You clear your throat, still trying to come down from the rush of the kiss, adrenaline running through your veins.
“I-“
“Do you know how fucking irritated you make me?”
Suddenly, you have no fight left in you. You feel intimidated. Fuck him.
“Then why-“
“Am I gonna have to kiss you every time you need to shut the fuck up?”
You blink at him, unable to respond. You have no idea what to do, or how to react, and are becoming distracted by the puddle seeping between your thighs.
You haven’t had sex in over a year. You haven’t been able to grow interest in someone enough to give them that piece of yourself again. Your last situation-ship left you simply sick of men. Sex wasn’t appealing enough to go through that again. But, of course, as if the universe is punishing you, Namjoon awakens your sex drive.
You nervously bite your lip and clench your thighs, not even realizing what you’re doing. You’re on the verge of tears, overwhelmed with anger and lust. And this doesn’t go unnoticed by Namjoon.
He looks down at your thighs, and you immediately unclench them. Your cheeks betray you by reddening, thanks to the smirk that very clearly gives away that he knows exactly what you’re feeling right now.
He keeps his eyes on your thighs for a moment before looking up at you. He smirks, raising a brow, giving you a crooked smile that tells you he knows your dirty little secret. Your jaw is still firmly in his grasp.
“Is that it? You’re sexually frustrated? Is that why you’re being such a bitch?”
You try to wriggle from his grasp, embarrassed, angry, horny. You’re starting to wish he would just fire you. Anything to save you the embarrassment of his knowing glare.
“Fuck you.”
He chuckles, bringing his face closer to yours, so close that you can feel his breath touch your lips.
“Yeah? Fuck me? If I fuck you, will you calm the fuck down and listen to me?”
You blink at him again and say nothing. You want to protest, tell him how gross he is, tell him how much you hate him, tell him that he’s the worst. Yet, his idea just makes you hornier. You’ve never had hate sex, and oh fuck, you’re sure that it would improve your mood, even some of the tension between you two.
But it pains you to even admit that. It’s humiliating. He has humiliated you enough.
He moves his hand to the back of your head, angling it upwards so that he has better access to your neck. He places his lips on your jaw, running his teeth up it, leading to the crook of your neck, keeping his lips on you as he speaks his next words.
He grabs your wrist with his other hand, leading it to his crotch, coaxing you to feel him. And he’s hard. So hard that you’re certain a button will break on his jeans. Fuck. He feels giant… You’re so fucked.
“Do you see what you do to me? Never in my life have I had anyone piss me off to the point of getting a fucking boner.”
You can’t help but whimper at his dirty words, but you make sure to bite your lip, preventing yourself from begging him to take you as you so desperately want to. You aren’t one to beg for anything. And you hate him even more for bringing you to that point.
“I’ve thought about fucking you so many times, Y/N. Fucking you to the point that you don’t even remember your own name, and my name is the only thing that you can scream. I just wanna fuck you until you shut the fuck up.”
“Please, just… do it then.”
Word vomit. You thought it but didn’t intend to say it. Yet, you said it. Of course, you did. You’re on the brink of cumming just from his filthy words.
He kisses your neck before speaking. And you can feel him smile as he does so.
Fuck him.
“Oh, Y/N, baby, hearing you beg makes it so tempting. I never thought you’d be the type, considering the amount of shit you talk.”
You croak out, suddenly feeling defensive, “I’m not. I don’t beg for shit.” You weakly push at his chest, even though you both know damn well you don’t want him to stop.
He laughs, pulling back to look at you, keeping his face close.
“Yet, here you are, begging for my cock like a desperate whore.”
You frown at him, feigning offense, when in reality his degradation is making you even more desperate. Why? You don’t know. You’ve never liked being degraded, in fact, nothing turns you off more than being called names… but hearing it come out of Namjoon's mouth? Fuck.
“I’m not a whore.” You whisper.
He tilts his head at you, amused.
“Fucking obviously, you’re acting like you’ve never been touched before. Are you this needy with other men?”
“There are no other men.”
He studies you for a moment, carefully calculating his next move. The way that he looks at you makes you feel insecure, as if he’s a judge on one of those cooking shows, trying to figure out whether he likes the taste of you or not. You have the urge to push him away and take off, his gaze is too goddamn intense.
He is too intense. Never met a man like him.
“Stop looking at me like that.” You mumble, looking away from him.
“Like what?” He asks, furrowing his brows. Amused.
“Like you think I’m the most vile thing on earth.”
He’s taken aback by your response, almost looking offended. Because that is the last thing he was thinking. If only you knew.
“Vile? Baby, I’m so hard for you right now that it hurts, do you know how hot you are when you’re pissed? Fucking annoying, but soooo hot.”
You squirm, your cheeks pinking again. You didn’t expect that. You expected him to laugh in your face and agree. He grunts as he takes in your facial expression. If only you knew what you truthfully do to him. He closes his eyes and scrunches his brows, taking a deep breath before he pulls away from you, leaving you considering getting on your damn knees and begging for him to touch you again.
He chuckles while shaking his head, eyes still closed as he speaks. As if he’s in pain from pulling away from you.
“Yeah, fuck, and you’re cute when you blush. This is fucked. I can’t stand you, yet you’re so fucking cute. What the fuck are you doing to me? Huh?”
Fuck. He’s making this hard. You’re so overwhelmed. So pissed, so horny, you wanna push him away and cuss him out some more, but also you’ve never wanted another man more in your life than you do him right now.
Both of you stare at each other silently for a moment. His jaw keeps doing the tick thing, and you squeeze your thighs tighter, rubbing them together to relieve some pressure. His eyes flick to them, and you don’t even bother hiding it this time. As humiliating as it is, his cock is hard and bulging out of his jeans. So you can’t find yourself caring too much at the moment.
What really makes his resolve waver is the way you’re looking at him, which you don’t even realize. Normally you look at him with such disdain, as if he’s the vile one. But right now? Your eyes are wide and glossy, your lip stuck between your teeth. You’re looking at him almost sweetly. The desperation in your gaze is impossible to hide.
He loses it completely.
“Ah, fuck it.” He declares before grabbing you by your hair again as he sits on the couch. He tugs you roughly into his lap and starts devouring your mouth again.
You let out a little huff of air as he does this, not quite used to the rough handling. But god, it’s fucking divine. You feel as if all of the anger you’ve held for him comes rushing out in the form of kisses and touches. He feels the same.
His hand leaves your hair and he grips your hips, roughly grinding his hard cock onto your pussy. Dry humping like fucking teenagers as you make out aggressively.
Your hands come to rest on his face, framing it as they tremble slightly from the overwhelming emotions. You don’t hold back this time either, licking into his mouth wantonly, letting out little grunts and mewls that make his cock strain and twitch inside of his jeans.
His hands leave your hips to grip your ass, and he fucking groans into your mouth. He slaps it once, testing. When you let out a whine, he slaps it much harder this time, making your body jerk slightly.
He laughs into your mouth and says breathily, “Fuck, you really are a whore aren’t you?”
You bite his lip hard when he says this. You hate it. You love it. You grind down harder onto his clothed cock. He reaches back up to grip your hair and tugs your head back, pulling on it harshly and pulling you away from his mouth.
He grins when he hears you whine at the loss of his lips. “You wanna fucking bite me, huh? Uh-uh, fuck no you don’t.”
He pushes you off of his lap and lets go of your hair, you look up at him with heavy-lidded eyes and confusion. Honestly, you already look fucked out and he’s barely done anything. You’re just touch-starved, so every little kiss and touch is fucking you up. You’re craving relief from both your sexual frustration and the building irritation he’s caused you over the last month.
Before you even realize what he’s about to do, he grabs your hair again, his grip much firmer this time. It actually kind of hurts… yet you don’t stop him. He pushes your face roughly into his clothed cock, and grinds onto your face as he spreads his legs wider on the couch.
Oh fuck.
He grunts as he starts nearly smothering you. When he feels a bit of your drool gets onto his crotch, he yanks your head back, he laughs again, “Bet your big fucking mouth is great at sucking cock. Should we find out?”
You just glare at him. Don’t wanna give him the satisfaction even though every single thing he has done so far has made you borderline cream your pants.
He clicks his tongue, “No? Don’t have anything to say now? Isn’t that funny…”
Fuck him.
He keeps his grip tight on your hair as he uses his other hand to fumble with his zipper and button. Once it’s undone, he whips his cock out. It hits the fabric of his rumpled shirt and is already dripping precum.
Holy. Fuck. His cock is huge. A good nine inches.
He yanks your head forward again, literally smearing your face all over it, humping your face again. His head falls back and he grunts at the feeling. Your skin is just so soft, and the way your makeup is already becoming fucked up is making him go crazy. He’s always loved sloppy sex. And you are fucking gorgeous like this, he thinks.
He grabs his cock with his free hand as he tilts your head back, starts slapping your mouth with it, your cheeks too. The precum starts stringing from your cheek to the tip of his cock, and you can see his pupils dilate even bigger, he almost looks like he’s about to lose control.
He says uncharacteristically softly, “If you want me to stop, pinch my thigh real hard, yeah?”
If you had even a single moment of free thought, you would’ve probably been thankful that he gave you an out. You know despite him being a huge piece of work, he’s not a bad guy. So the fact he’s setting boundaries in your favor, even in the heat of the moment, is comforting. He cares about your safety and comfort. It’s the bare minimum of course, but most men lack even that. It’s why you stopped having casual sex to begin with.
But you don’t have a moment to think because pushes your lips down onto his cock abruptly, your mouth opens on instinct and he shoves himself inside. Doesn’t even ease into it, he just straight up plows his cock inside of your mouth until your nose is pressed against his pelvis.
You cough, and gag, already drooling all over him. Fuck it’s hot. You’ve never been face fucked like this before, but you’re starting to think maybe you’ve been missing out on good sex if this is how good rough sex feels.
You can’t even imagine what his cock would feel like inside of you if it feels this good in your mouth.
When he sees tears start to form, he pulls your hair back, strings of spit and precum connecting from your mouth and onto the tip of his cock. Fuck, it felt so good feeling your throat constrict around his cock. His resolve is wavering heavily. But he’s trying to remain patient. He smirks at you, stroking his spit-covered cock lazily directly onto your lips, causing beads of precum to escape his tip and cover your lips like lipgloss.
“Fuck, look at you. And you haven’t said a damn word. So pretty when you shut up.”
Your cheeks flush and you say petulantly, “Fuck you.” Because even now you don’t wanna give him the satisfaction.
That’s short-lived though because he starts fucking your mouth again. He shoves his cock inside and starts thrusting into your mouth as if it’s a goddamn sex toy. He hits the back of your throat with every thrust, causing you to gag and cough, your hands squeezing his thighs hard but not pinching.
You can take it.
He grunts out, “Fuck… I swear to god I’ll fuck your pretty little mouth every goddamn time you mouth off from now on Y/N, since nothing else has worked so far.”
Each word punctuated by a harsh thrust, he grunts our, “Just shut. the. fuck. up. Fuuuck.”
He keeps fucking up into your mouth, not easing up even for a second. Your eyes roll back in your head, and all you can do is take it. His thrusts only become sloppier and wetter. His head is thrown back and his abdomen starts clenching hard. But he knows you need to breathe. As much as he wishes he could just cum down your throat; he has other plans…
He pulls your head back again, he’s already feeling a bit too close to cumming. He doesn’t wanna cum too fast, he’s certain it would give you more to talk shit about.
He gazes down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his mouth parted slightly and his breaths coming in fast. You look utterly fucked. Your makeup is ruined completely now, your eyes are red and teary, and your pretty pink lips are swollen. His stomach flutters, because he thinks you have never looked prettier.
He’s always thought you were so pretty. It’s one of the reasons he can’t stand you. He isn’t supposed to want you. You’re his coworker, technically his subordinate.
But none of that matters now, does it?
He doesn’t look much better, his shirt is covered in wet spit and his boxers are ruined too. He should’ve taken his clothes off… but luckily, he thinks it’s so much hotter this way.
His cock twitches against his belly, and he strokes your cheek with his free hand. He murmurs, “You good?”
You nod stupidly at him even as drool dribbles down your chin and your mascara runs onto your cheeks. There’s nothing to say really. You’ve never enjoyed having a dick down your throat so much. And he has effectively shut you up.
He nods and guides your head up, kisses you deeply. His eyes roll back as he tastes his precum on your tongue. So fucking good, he thinks.
He guides your pliant body to lay down on the couch, and then he settles in between your legs, his hands stroking up and down your thighs as he looks you over. God, there is so much he wants to do to you. He wants to use you but also wants to make you come undone as many times as possible.
Maybe then you’ll be more tolerable. Maybe this is what you both need, he rationalizes.
But he’s getting impatient. His cock is standing tall as he looks down at you, visibly pulsating, jerking upward now and then. And fuck, it’s making you impatient too. So much so that you whine at him, “Fuck, stop looking and just do something.”
His jaw ticks. He’s getting irritated. That’s what you think, anyway. But in reality, he’s preening on the fact you’re just as impatient as he is. It gives him an excuse to cut the foreplay and fuck you stupid.
You want him to do something? Oh, he will.
He lets out an almost mocking laugh, “Yeah? Want me to do something about it? You sure?”
You groan and roll your eyes at him, scooting your ass closer to his pelvis on the couch, his cock dripping so much precum, you have no idea how he’s not losing his mind right now. You certainly are. In fact, he’s starting to piss you off again.
Right as you’re about to talk shit, he can immediately tell. He grabs the front of your button-up and he rips it open. Doesn’t unbutton it like a normal person, but fucking rips it open, sending buttons flying on the floor of the studio. You let out a grunt, and blink at him in surprise with your mouth open.
You liked that shirt. Fuck him.
“Fucking seriously? You’re ruining my clothes now?”
Your patience is almost nonexistent at this point. You have drool and precum drying on your chin, you’re so horny it hurts, and he just ripped your shirt open like a wild fucking animal.
But him? It’s like he’s not even paying attention. His eyes are averted downward, tongue flicking over his lips. He looks almost stupid like this. What the fuck?
You look down to see what he’s gawking at, and… Oh. Oh. Kinda slipped your mind that you aren’t wearing a bra today. You were running late this morning and forgot to throw one on. Oops.
Namjoon doesn’t even look at your face at this point. His eyes are glued to your tits. He feels kind of ridiculous, getting this worked up over tits. He’s seen tits many times, it’s nothing new. But something about yours has him salivating, has his cock jerking upward.
He reaches down and starts lightly slapping the sides of your tits, watching them jiggle with a gaze full of hunger, he rasps out, “Not the only thing I’m gonna be ruining.”
One hand remains playing with your tits like they’re fucking stress balls, and Namjoon would argue that they absolutely are. The other hand reaches down and lifts your skirt, causing it to pool around your waist. He looks down a bit further, begrudgingly tearing his eyes away from your perfect tits, his other hand pushing your ruined panties to the side. He groans, nearly growls when he notices how wet you are. Fuck. He’s so close to losing control.
He dips a single finger into your sopping heat, just barely. Moves the creamy juices around before pushing his finger fully inside, squeezing your tit hard in his other hand. Your hips buck up involuntarily and your head falls back against the couch. You fucking hate yourself for the desperate noise that claws out of your throat.
Namjoon is no better, the moment he feels how wet you truly are, he lets a sound that sounds no better than the one you just let out. His breathing picks up, his heart starts beating faster, and his cock is so hard at this point that it’s actually painful. God, you are just so tight. Your pussy is clenching around his finger as if it’s trying to swallow him whole.
“N-Namjoon— please. Fuck. Please.” You beg again, don’t even care how pathetic you sound. A single fucking finger isn’t enough for how badly you want him right now. Want to be filled up and fucked hard. He’s barely moving it too. Just lightly grazing your walls, and it’s so frustrating. You just want to cum. Get it all out.
Namjoons resolve finally breaks when he sees a trickle of creamy white drip out of your pussy and onto the couch, he can’t take it anymore. He genuinely wanted to tease you, make a fucking mess of you. Make you beg and cry for him because of how much you piss him off. But not even he is strong enough to stall, he needs you. Now.
One last slap to the tit, he pulls his hand away and hastily reaches over for his wallet on the side table next to the couch. He pulls a condom out, brings the wrapper up to his mouth, and tears it open. And fuck, that’s so sexy. Your pussy clenches his finger again at the sight, and then he jerks it out of your pussy with a grunt.
You whine at him, almost feeling offended. But Namjoon knows damn well he’s going a little crazy because he just got jealous. Jealous of his own fucking finger. Should be his cock, not his finger. What the fuck are you doing to him?
He doesn’t warn you before he stuffs the same finger, accompanied by another finger, into your mouth. Nearly making you choke just like you did on his cock. Then he tosses the wrapped condom onto your bare chest, “Put it on me. Quick.”
You don’t even hesitate, you grab the condom with shakey hands and fumble it out of the package, all while sucking his fingers clean of your own juices. It only turns you on more, tasting yourself on his skin.
You reach for his cock, grab it with one shaky hand and his hips buck into it a bit. He lets out a little hiss through his teeth because of how sensitive it is, neglected for too long. That’s how it feels, anyway.
You roll the condom onto his cock snuggly and then look up at him expectantly with a desperate but wrecked look. Give him the best ‘fuck me’ eyes you can muster up. He keeps his fingers in your mouth. Doesn’t even move. Again, drawing it out. Attempting to, anyway.
You whine against his fingers, and would probably be begging him if you could talk. But Namjoon can’t take it anymore, lucky for you. He moves his hips forward and uses his free hand to position his cock at your entrance.
The moment the tip is sucked into your tight hole, he snaps. Literally, he snaps his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt. You cry out even with your mouth around his fingers, sounding muffled and wet. Your back arched obscenely because fuck you didn’t expect him to just go in like that.
You’re not complaining though, fuck no.
His head falls back like yours, and he stays like that for a moment, his teeth grit and eyes clenched shut. He removes his fingers from your mouth and grabs your face with one hand, smooshing your cheeks, the other hand coming back up to your tit and squeezing it harshly, as if he just can’t help himself. Squeezing so hard that it kinda hurts. But fuck, it feels so good. You’re starting to realize maybe you have a thing for shit like this.
Doesn’t help when you feel his cock twitching inside of you. It’s just enough stimulation to make your pussy start throbbing around him.
It’s pathetic how close you already are. But god, it feels like he edged you for hours. Even though he barely did anything. You guess you just kinda forgot what actual dick felt like compared to your fingers or a toy.
He starts moving his hips slowly, trying to be patient while your pussy adjusts to his size. But your patience left the moment he entered you.
“Fuck. Go faster, please.”
Your voice sounds high-pitched and a bit loud which you don’t even realize. You can’t control it. He clicks his tongue at this, gives your face a little shake as he says, “Thought I told you to shut the fuck up? Unless you want all of your coworkers to know you’re letting your boss fuck the shit out of you like a whore? That what you want?”
He pulls back out and then slams in again. You let out another cry, body jolting at the force. And he starts just pounding into you.
You asked for this.
How the fuck are you supposed to be quiet when he goes from 0 to 100 like that? Holy fuck.
“Oh, so you do? You want them all to know I’m making you my slut after humiliating you for your shitty writing? C’mon, speak up. Can’t hear you. Use your fucking words.”
All while snapping his hips harshly into yours, out one moment, deep inside the next. You can barely take it. You swear you can feel him in your fucking stomach. Hardly even register his degrading words because you can’t think, can’t speak, can’t even control the loud noises coming out of your mouth, although you desperately try.
Tears prickle your eyes, not because it hurts but because you’re overwhelmed. He’s so hard to figure out. Acting like he’s gonna tease you one moment, and then fucking you like he’s trying to split you in half the next.
He lets out a grunt at your lack of response and ends up squishing your cheeks harder, forcing your mouth open. He leans down slightly and fucking spits in your mouth and then stuffs his fingers back in your mouth, “Actually, just shut the fuck up. Keep your mouth busy and shut the fuck— ah, fuck— the fuck up.”
Fucking disgusting. Fucking hot.
The way his words falter and he loses train of thought for a second makes your pussy clench deliciously around him. Because it’s confirmation that he is just as affected as you are. Just as fucked up right now.
You both look a mess. Your shirt is torn open, your skirt all crooked and pushed up to your waist, and your panties aren’t even fully off. His shirt is still damp with spit, his pants only halfway pulled down and now there’s a creamy white stain on the front of them from your juices dripping down his dick.
It’s heaven, honestly. Or maybe hell. You aren’t sure. But it feels so fucking good.
His hips piston into your cunt hard and fast, and you do your best to focus on sucking his fingers, but the pressure is building fast. You can feel your pussy start to flutter, your clit throbbing, begging to be paid attention to. He can feel it too, it’s making him go crazy because of how responsive you are.
He slams home one more time before staying there, swiveling his hips in a circle so that his pelvis brushes against your clit each time, giving it the minimal amount of attention that has you nearly seeing stars, almost there, but not quite.
“Need more?” He pants out.
You nod your head quickly, his fingers covered in your saliva at this point. Dripping in the essence of you just like his cock. He nods back, removes his other hand from your hip, and settles it at the bottom of your belly, pushing down and placing his thumb over your clit. He starts flicking it fast and starts fucking into you again, picking up the pace so that the room fills with wet squelching noises and skin slapping.
The way he’s pushing onto your tummy while rubbing your clit, Jesus fuck… it’s intense. Makes it feel like he is inside of your stomach. So fucking deep.
Yup. That does it. The stagnant pressure starts building rapidly, he can feel it too. Your pussy starts tightening and fluttering beautifully around his girth. You’re making the prettiest noises, still quiet thanks to his fingers stuffed in your mouth but he can hear you the perfect amount.
God, it’s so perfect, he thinks.
You, you’re not thinking at all. He really is fucking you stupid. Your eyes are continuously rolling back and your hips buck into his thrusts desperately, quickly approaching your climax.
He flicks your clit back and forth, fast but precisely, “C’mon baby, give it to me. Fucking cum all over me. Make a mess. Ungh— god you’re such a fucking slut.”
And that sends you. Out of everything, something about Namjoon calling you a slut just fucking does it for you. You let out a muffled moan, that would be a scream most likely if his fingers weren’t sheathed into your mouth. Your legs tremble and your body shudders through the force of your orgasm.
Your pussy throbs violently, walls rippling around his cock as you finally see those stars. It feels fucking amazing, makes tears fall down your cheek. You can barely breathe because of the force of how fucking good it feels to cum on his cock.
This is his end too. He simply can’t hold back when he feels the vice grip of your pussy desperately trying to keep his cock in place, the rippling of your walls nearly feels like vibrations. He lets out another groan, but it almost comes out like a whine. Very subtly. His face is scrunched up and his mouth open as his hips stutter, his cock spilling and filling up the condom.
It goes on and on. Neither of you thinking about how much you hate each other, only thinking about how good it feels to be together like this. He swears he’s never had sex better than this. You feel the same.
The reality of it all is hate sex is unmatched. Especially when tensions build for so long and you both act as if you can’t stand each other… who knew a fuck could’ve helped with that?
At the last twitch of his cock, when your pussy becomes overstimulated and sore, he collapses on top of you. Both of you panting harshly, catching your breaths as your hearts beat in unison.
He removes his spit-covered fingers from your mouth, and he places lazy little kisses on your skin. He isn’t even sure where, too fucked out to pay attention, just anywhere he can reach while he rests on top of you. It’s an oddly tender gesture. A little sweet, even.
It’s silent for a few minutes. And you both start to realize what you’ve done. You just fucked your technical boss… he just fucked one of his co-writers.
Definitely shouldn’t have happened.
He can’t find himself regretting it though. He feels so light, that he could almost smile. As much of an excuse as it was at first, it genuinely helped with the tension. He’s not quite as irritated with you. Does he like you now? Fuck no.
But the more post-nut clarity comes to fruition… the more he thinks he can tolerate you. Maybe even work with you, compromise with you.
You on the other hand… you don’t know how to feel. You don’t regret it, because fuck, it did help with the tension. You feel lighter too. Not as sensitive. Not as hateful.
Maybe it was for the best. It’s not like anyone has to know, anyway. It’s like couples counseling sort of… except you’re definitely not a couple, and you both still cannot stand each other.
But you can tolerate each other now that most of the tension is gone for the time being.
“You good?”
He tears you away from your thoughts, and you look up at him with bleary eyes. It makes you feel sort of warm and fuzzy inside knowing despite his dislike for you, he’s still checking to make sure he didn’t cross any lines.
Well, he crossed several lines. But, you aren’t complaining. You’re glad he did. Glad he reduced you to this.
“I’m fucking great.”
That earns you a little chuckle. He sighs a breath of relief, was worried he went a bit too hard or did too much, especially since you didn’t set any boundaries beforehand. But you took what he gave you and you took it like a fucking champ, he thinks.
He reluctantly gets off of you because now that you’re both a bit more clear-headed, the couch feels a little too small, and he doesn’t wanna crush you.
His softening cock is still inside of you, so he braces a hand on the couch and slowly pulls out, both of you hissing at the feeling. He watches in awe as your juices flow freely out of you. God, what a pretty pussy, he thinks.
He dips a finger back into your heat, causing you to let out a little noise of surprise. But he removes it quickly, brings his finger up to his mouth and sucks it clean.
“Mmm. Yummy.” He says, wiggling his brows.
Ugh.
He pats your thigh before getting off of the couch, taking the condom off, and tying it up to chuck it in the trash. He stuffs his soft and sensitive cock back into his underwear and pulls up his pants, feeling utterly satiated now. Bubbly and light, even though he won’t show it. He makes his way to the little fridge in his studio and he grabs two bottles of water, tosses you one which you barely catch.
You gulp down the water gratefully, parched considering he stole most of your fucking spit. Asshole.
He begins walking into the bathroom attached to his studio as he says, “C’mon let’s go get cleaned up. Then we can look at those lyrics again and see if it still sounds like kids bop now that I’ve fucked you stupid.”
At your immediate glare, he lets out a laugh, and shrugs innocently, “What? Pussy is magic, can change a man’s mind about a lot of things. Now hurry up, you’re a fucking mess.”
And with that, he’s stepping into the bathroom.
Yeah. Fuck him. Still insufferable.
But god, you really do hope to fuck him again.
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deadsetobsessions · 2 months
Text
Listen, I know it’s not my usual thing, but I just re-read Dark Matter by mysterycyclone (iconic, so good, incredible, I’ve reread this at least ten times) and this newer work, Help Me, I Don’t Feel Like Myself Anymore by Astra_Nova_Kat (it’s off to a really good and fleshed out, very long start- it’s like 20k for the first chapter omg).
I just. Love?? Them??? They’re both, urg, so good. The writing style, the way the story moves, the natural progression of plot and their usage of tropes are so well done that rarely does it feel awkward. Amazing. Anyways, they inspired me to put my two cents into the proverbial offering hat and while this might not ever be a realized fanfic, here it is? This will have multiple parts.
Uh, I’m basing Peter’s personality off of the really tired millennial energy Tobey Maguire gives, the awkward but well meaning disaster vibes of Andrew Garfield, and the sassy acrobatic chaos gremlin of Tom Holland. All kind of mushed together with the hyper competence and maturity of both the PS4 spidey and pretty much most spider people. He’s 22, or something but that doesn’t really matter?? Background doesn’t really matter because I’m basically making my own spider-verse. Spider… past? Eh. New Peter!
Spider in Gotham AU- Pt.1
[Pt.2]
——
Spider-Man swung through the skyscrapers of his city, enjoying the winds and sounds of New York as he kept a sharp eye out for crime.
He remembered doing this without any of the fancy tech his suit had now, when he was dressed in less protective clothing. God, 100% cotton while crime fighting? The spandex was better but god ugly.
His spider-sense blared. Spider-man quickly shot a web to the top of the building, going towards the danger instead of away from it.
He goes in feet first, years of knocking common thugs to legitimate gods to the ground making short work of the people on the roof top. He flips out of the way, dodging a blast of crackling green energy.
“Heyyyy, common robbers! What’s up with shiny lasers, huh? Breaking and entering not doing enough for ya?”
Spider-Man dodges a couple more shots, flipping again to knee a guy in the face, gently. The man goes down in one shot.
“Stay still, you motherfucker!”
“Does that actually work for you guys?? Like I’m down to get killed but, man, I’m not gonna stay still to get downed by some two bit thugs?” Spider-Man kept his words light and mocking, webbing up a laser gun and yanking it out of the woman’s hands. He punches her in the face and knocks her out, using the laser gun like a mildly bulky baton.
“Eat shit, Spider-bitch!”
“Ouch! Oh no, my feelings! You’ve hurt them!” Spider-Man shoots a web at the lady who’d shouted and yanked, before smacking her straight down to the concrete of the rooftop. His hearing picked up two people coming up the stairway and Spider-Man tossed two web bombs, the metal mechanism attached itself to the wall, waiting for their unknowing victims.
Spider-Man ducked and weaved, downing goons as they piled on him while shooting bullets, lasers, and just charging at him with a bat or a crowbar. After eight years of pretty much this exact thing, Spider-Man had gotten the science of breaking up goon dog piles without hurting them too much to an exact measurement. He quipped at them until they got annoyed, which made them sloppy. Spider-Man sighed as another guy came at him with a crow bar and a gun that he was pretty sure was still stuck on safety. He crouched, kicking out their legs and dodging a swipe of a bat where his ribs would have been and webbed the guy to the floor. Yeah, he’ll wrap this up and end patrol. Maybe he still had Mac n’ Cheese at home, or he could stop by Angelo’s for a sub?
Huh. His options for dinner was limited.
“Take this!”
Even without the forewarning of his spidey-sense, Spider-Man would have ducked out of the way regardless.
“Shouting your sneak attacks isn’t actually all that sneaky, you know!” Spider-Man kept his voice cheery and mocking.
“Get him!”
God, why were there so many people trying to break into an insurance company? This definitely doesn’t smell like a regular B&E. With the shit he’s seen in New York, if it smells like a plot, acts like a plot, then it’s probably a villain with a tragic backstory with big, annoying plans.
Great.
Oh, speak of the devil!
“Spider-Man.” His senses blared.
He couldn’t move out of the way fast enough, not without risking the life of the goon he was currently fighting, so Spider-Man took the blast the punched the breath out of his lungs. The wide eyes of the goon made up for some of the pain.
“Ugh!” Spider-Man slammed into an HVAC, denting the metal. His suit, made special polymer blend from Wakanda that he saved for months to get, absorbed some of the shock. Shit, he hoped it didn’t tear. It would be a bitch and a half to dip into the back up stock he had in his hammer space.
The goons left standing quickly rushed him and held him down to face the new boss.
“You’ve been getting on my nerves, Spider.”
“Yeah,” Spider-Man coughed out, letting the two goons think they could hold him down on his knees as he recovered his breath. “I have that effect on people.”
“But you could be an asset, if you’d join me?”
“Uh, I don’t join or sign things without knowing what I’m joining or signing, my guy. My lawyer said so.”
The villain paused, helmeted head cocking to the side.
“You have a lawyer?”
“Yeah. Kind of? He does pro-bono work for the helpless cases. You know, like, a well meaning, crime fighting vigilante?”
“…Does he do cases against insurance companies?”
“Oh man, you too? Dude, this place sucks,” Spider-Man sighed.
“You’ve had trouble too? Then you must see why I’m doing this!”
This was a bit weird, but if there’s anything that brings people together, it’d be corrupt insurance companies. He’s almost tempted to let them break in, just to be extra petty.
“Nah, my neighbor? Sweet old lady. They’re screwing her out of her entire place. I totally get it, man. Hey, if you need a referral, you can tell my lawyer that Spider sent you. He’s real good.”
“How good?” The goons release him and Spider-Man stood up, stretching his limbs.
“Like, Dare Devil good.”
“You know Matt Murdock??”
“Sure do.”
“He… he’ll take on our cases?”
“Dang, all of you?”
“Yes. We can pool enough money to pay him for one or two.”
“Nah, I’m pretty sure he’ll take you guys on for free. But it wouldn’t hurt if you all went to meet him, just so he can decide which one of you has a higher chance to win in court?”
“We will. Uh.” The villain paused sheepishly. Well, not a villain, more like an unfortunately angry and poor decision making citizen. “Sorry about… you know, the blast.”
“It’s cool. I mean,” Spider-Man gestured to the rooftop, the bodies of unconscious people kind of laying around where he knocked them down. “You guys might wanna check on them, yeah? I’ll let you go for now, but if you commit a B&E again, I’ll leave you webbed up for GCPD to find.”
“Got it. Sorry.”
Feeling good about himself, and plotting corporate espionage, Spider-Man went to help pry some people from his webs.
And of course, because Parker Luck kicks in only when Spider-Man felt like life was looking up for himself, Spider-Man’s senses blared once more as he knelt down to pull at some webbing.
“Oh, shit!” He heard, right before a cold blast of something slammed right into his head, knocking him out.
And Spider-Man
F
E
L
L.
——
Larry looked at the the empty space where Spider-Man, the guy who took a hit from his boss’ blaster so he wouldn’t get hurt, used to be.
He twisted.
“Boss, what the fuck?!”
“Shit! That was accident!” Boss pulled herself up from the concrete, where she just ate dirt.
“Where did he go?”
“I don’t know, Larry! That was the experimental warped mode! Crap!” His boss scrambled with the controls, desperately trying to see if the magic gun her magician friend had handed her years ago had a reverse button. It didn’t.
“Why would you bring a test weapon into the field?!”
“I gave you all of my other ones!” She threw up her hands. “Fuck, I feel so bad.”
Larry paled. “Dude, Dare Devil’s gonna kill us.”
“He doesn’t kill!” His boss hesitated. “I think.”
Larry pointed to the empty space. “Yeah? He might start with us. Spidey was a cool guy and you just disappeared him!”
“I know!”
Larry buried his head into his hands and tried not to hate himself for the entire situation.
——
Spider-man woke up, laid flat on the grimy ground of an alleyway.
“Ugh. Just my luck.” He kept his eyes closed for just a beat longer to allow himself time before having to pull his shit together. Why was his voice high? And a bit squeaky? He pulled himself together.
“Okay.” He whispered to himself, before sitting up and taking stock of the situation.
First thing that hit him was that it stunk to high heavens. Gagging, Spider-Man looked to the right and- yeah, that’ll do it. He stood up on wobbly legs to try to move away from the overflowing dumpster.
That’s when the second, more important and decidedly more troublesome, observation hit him.
He’s short. Shorter. And his suit was hanging off of him.
He could tell he still had his normal by now physiology, with the speeding heartbeat and the feeling of super strength. But he’s shorter. With a mounting sense of equal parts dread and resignation, he pulled at the hidden seam by his nape, relying on his both his enhanced senses and spidey-sense to tell if anyone was nearby or looking at him. He pulled the Spider-Man suit off, blankly folding it neatly as he stared dumbly at his hands. They’re small too. Shit. He stumbled to a nearby mud puddle and stared down, seeing his younger face in the contaminated water. Double shit.
He’s starting to loose his composure. He’d gone through a lot of bizarre things over the last eight years. But getting accidentally Detective Conan’ed by a person he just helped was a new low.
The black under layer of his suit, a slash proof and fire resistant polymer Peter had designed himself in MIT’s lab, was in a similar state.
With one hand, Peter Parker numbly rolled up his sleeves and pant hems. Great. Okay. Now what?
Ah. Shoes. He did not want to walk around in his too-big Spider-Man boots. He looked around. Well, there’s the laces of what looked to be like a pair of dumpster shoes. “Yeah, no.”
Shit. Does he still have access to his hammer space?
Peter reached into his pocket, and tried to reach for a pair of normal sneakers. His shoulder slumped as he produced a pair. Fuck yes. He still has access! And shoes! They’re ones he took off of a power line for a well off kid who didn’t want it anymore. He was going to donate them to F. E. A. S. T. but he’s thanking the stars he procrastinated a bit on swinging by the center. He put them on. They’re a bit big, but it’s better than the giant-in-comparison ones he normally wears. You know, as an adult.
He hesitated with his mask. He should at least figure out where he is. He hoped it was still in the states. His mask blinked, the HUD in his lenses informing him that it was trying to find a connection. “That’s weird.” He paused, grimacing at the sound of his voice. But it is weird, because he had his mask automatically connected to the world wide satellites Tony Stark had sent circling the globe for citizens without internet access as a back up option. So either he was somewhere even the Stark Satellites couldn’t reach or…
Peter swallowed, his mask pinging as it found a connection to piggy back on. He clicked his tongue twice to activate the voice controls.
“Connect to the local maps. Where am I?”
His masked followed the order. [Gotham. New Jersey.]
Peter stared at the words, gut churning.
Good news, he was still in the States. Bad news? He’s shrunk, in a totally different state, and possibly in a different world because he’s not connected to the Stark Satellites he knew operated in New Jersey.
Peter Parker tilted his head back and allowed himself one verbal, panic level six and up, curse word.
“Fuck.”
He took off his mask and leaned against a slightly cleaner part of the wall before hyperventilating.
——
Half an hour later, Peter smacked himself on the cheeks and pulled himself together.
“You’re Spider-Man,” he hissed to himself. “Have a mental breakdown somewhere warm, you dumbass.”
Peter Parker was a champion, world class expert at compartmentalization.
He slipped his mask back on, and pulled up his “So You’re Stuck in an Alternate Universe” list he had made with Ned so many years ago when they were high school kids and going through comic books to make contingencies because Peter was a little idiot vigilante hero.
“I didn’t think I’d actually ever need this kind of thing.” Peter muttered. He slipped his black back up gloves on to connect to his mask’s display in order to type.
“Okay,” he glanced at the side by side screens in his lenses. “Money.”
Five things.
1) The emergency cash he’d stashed on him thankfull matched the pictures of cash he’d found on this world’s internet. Yay!
2) He had $1000 tucked away. Not yay. Not if this might be a long term stay before he got back to his own dimension. Not if he wanted a place to sleep.
3) Luckily, thanks to his earlier search of where the hell he was, Peter figured out that due to the high crime rates- “Dang, that’s worse than New York on New Year’s Eve,” he had marveled- Gotham was dirt cheap and that that meant 1k dollars could actually last him a while and he could afford a room for a month on $250. A whole ass apartment for $550. Peter seriously considered staying in this universe just for the rent prices. So what if there’s rampant crimes? He’d deal with it if the rent was that cheap.
4) Problem? He’s fucking tiny. Who would rent to a person that looked like child? Not anyone upstanding, that’s for sure. He’s more likely to get mugged. Counterpoint: he’s in a city where apparently shady people are all around. Also? He doesn’t have an identity.
5) If the fact that he couldn’t connect to the Stark Satellites didn’t convince him he was either in another universe or an alternate dimension, the visual graphics of the websites he visited would. It was like looking at Windows in the early way before Stark Co. bought them out and improved the design. Nauseating.
Okay, so, money’s not too urgent of an issue. Next on Ned’s list: Places of Interest.
Namely, libraries, homeless shelters, crime hotspots, and the like.
Peter snorted when he came across an opinions article talking about how Park Row became Crime Alley. And then he frowned, because that story was not painting this place to be even remotely nice. Then again, considering the crime rates and the various Rogues this place seemed to have in spades, that wasn’t much of a surprise. Peter marks the place in his new mental map of Gotham as a potential area he could either disappear to or get a new identity at. He then marked the libraries, Gotham City Public Library and its many branches all funded by generous donations from a Bruce Wayne, the Martha Wayne foundations’ shelters and charities, two supermarkets near the library, and a coffee shop he thought looked warm and cozy from the shitty pictures they have uploaded online. He needed coffee, dammit, and he needed it hours ago. Alas, he probably wouldn’t get to go to one until he secured his finances.
Well, it’s not like he doesn’t have practice being poor.
3) Which brings him up to Ned’s next, surprisingly reasonable for a teenager hoped up on a mountain load of sugar, point. Level of Tech.
Peter hid next to the dumpster, melding in with the shadows, as he continued his research.
Tech here was… well, he probably wouldn’t have to worry. The thought of not having a Starkphone, even his older model, was painful considering the new versions of these WaynePhones were really… behind. Peter doesn’t remember the last time he had buttons on his phone or let alone a touch screen that didn’t use facial tracking and biometrics or even have a holographic display mode.
“Ugh. Okay. Not the end of the world, Parker.” Peter muttered.
Now… People of Interest.
This was underlined three times with Ned’s red pens, with extensive subcategories.
Subcategory A? Villains, because “what if they put out a warning for a known villain and you get your butt kicked because you didn’t know about them, Peter? Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?”
He had replied, half focused on the list and the other on savoring the Millennium Falcon Lego set May had saved up for months to get him for his birthday, “I feel like if I was getting my butt kicked by a villain, I’d probably have better things to worry about than my utter humiliation, Ned.”
“True that,” Ned had snicked and jotted it down anyways.
And… well, Gotham had a lot of villains. The Joker (ew, that’s a crusty man in crustier face paint. This guy could learn so much from the cool mimes busking in Central Park. Like, how to do face paint. Or how not to be a massive murderous jerk. There’s Clayface, Two-Face, a bald guy in “Metropolis” (a name Peter couldn’t help but snort at because a city named city? That’s like na’an bread being bread bread. Or chai tea being tea tea) named Lex Luthor, and Scarecrow. He tabbed all of them and marked them for further perusal at a later date. From experience, he knew villains with a prominent M.O. and themes usually did more damage. Case in point: Rhino, and the million dollars of property damage the guy did everytime he escaped the Raft. Peter was seriously considering petitioning for the Raft to be placed further out just so he could have more warning the next time some assholes decided to free the prisoners and helped them escape.
He narrowed his eyes at the screen, his mask’s lenses following the movement. He’ll have to pick up a gas mask. Apparently bio-weapons are just a regular thing here and he really didn’t want to get dosed with this “fear toxin.” It’d be dangerous for everyone involved. Maybe if he gets his hands on a sample, he could build up tolerance and see how his immune system and metabolic rates affected the normal progression of the toxin. Ah, off topic. He’s gotta focus.
Subcategory B: Local celebrities.
“Why would I need to know local celebrities?” He’d asked.
“If someone came up to you and asked “Who’s Tony Stark?”, wouldn’t you clock that as super weird? You gotta blend in, Peter. Plus, you gotta keep up with the pop culture, dude. It’s important.”
“You just want alternate universe memes,” Peter grinned.
“That too. If you ever go to an alternate universe and come back, you’d better bring me a truckload of memes or I’ll never forgive you.”
Yeah. So. Wayne? Super important. Like Tony Stark levels of important. He found threads about them and the local vigilantes and their charity works. Peter’s brain instantly catalogued the info, all but memorizing the deluge of pictures he found of Bruce Wayne and his kids. Maybe the man had an adoption problem? Conspiracy threads and memes popped up alongside his research. He tabbed one on secret societies, because as Spiderman, he had fought a disturbing amount of secret societies that, on hindsight, had been theorized about on threads he’s read on his free time. Somehow, somewhere, somewhen, a conspiracy theorist could be right. Peter’s not about to dismiss that. He also saved like thirty different memes to send to Ned when he got back. If he got back.
Peter smacked that thought away. He’ll get back to his city or die trying.
Subcategory C, underlined and starred: Other Superheroes and Vigilantes.
Yeah, Peter’s excited about this one too. After Matt stopped being Dare Devil (but did he actually ever stop?) and Wade dipping in and out of NY, Peter’s gotten lonely as Spider-Man. He missed training with them. Of course, the fantastic four were still operating, but he doesn’t actually interact with them or the Avengers at all. Miles hasn’t been cleared (by his mom) to go out as Spiderman with near as many hours as Peter cleared a night. Peter stood behind that because he remembered how horrible it was to work as Spiderman and try to balance school on top of it. Also, he was terrified of Mrs. Morales and would never endanger her son more than he already does. He did wave to Black Widow from a rooftop once, spider to spider, and that was pretty much the coolest moment of his life.
So. Uh. The amount of vigilantes and heroes in this world? Amazing. In Gotham? There’s like, a whole team of them.
Batman, Nightwing (who, Username: Draken Draken had theorized, was the first iteration of Batman’s sidekick Robin), Red Hood, Black Canary, Huntress, Red Robin, Spoiler, the “day vigilante” Signal, the current Robin, and whispers of a “Black Bat.”
And their unfortunate “No Meta” rule with the singular exception of Signal. Peter figured their term of Meta was essentially the same thing as his world’s mutants. He’s not sure which term he liked more. Eh, he’ll worry about that later.
And there’s a Justice League! Which, to Peter, is just a bigger Avengers. There’s aliens on this world too. Superman. Martian Manhunter.
Peter grinned from his place crouched next to the dumpster. Yeah, this is awesome. He quickly memorized everything he could find, cross referencing posts and picking out the nuggets of truth or at least popular truth from the posts he viewed. Like, Red Hood operated in Crime Alley and was a crime boss with morals. Cool.
He’ll go down the spiral later. He mentally thanked Ned who was the best guy in the chair a teenage vigilante could ask for. He should really text his friend when he got back.
For now, he’ll head to the library and see if he could use their computers. He might need a card though… Peter quickly pulled up the search engine and found an Internet cafe. Ah, 24 hour internet cafes, the savior of his college days. There first, and then library, Peter decided. He memorized the instructions and pulled his mask off, tucking it away in the hammer space.
He walked out the alley and turned left, only to double take at his reflection in a shop window that was partially boarded up. Holy shit, he’s a baby. He’s like. 10!
Oh my god.
Peter twitched, tearing himself away from the window before the shop owner decided he was less curious and more potential mugger before promptly remembering that he looked less of a threat than ever. Mixed feelings.
Peter hurried his way to the internet cafe, paying the guy at the front a little extra so he’d ignore the obvious minor without a guardian thing Peter hasn’t gotten used to. Ugh. That was going to be annoying. He only paid for two hours and pulled up as many listings for a room as possible. By the end of it, he came out with $1 worth of fliers printed out and having funneled some billionaire’s offshore accounts into a new bank account he’d made by hacking into the bank servers. Does he feel bad about stealing? Yeah. But Peter’s a vigilante. He’s done worse than nabbing a monthly sum of a couple of hundreds from Lex Luthor’s off shore accounts. He’s not gonna get caught, and considering the guy’s rants on meta humans, Peter’s not feeling particularly guilty about it. He’ll do something good later to make up for it. Once he gets his footholds and can prepare his way back, he’ll even return to the rest of the money. Probably.
Peter left the cafe with his sheaf of flyers, stopping by an informational stand with free tourist maps and plucked one quickly from its plastic holder. He’ll pick something up from the food vendors on his way to the apartments. Peter began walking, taking in the sights of the gargoyles and-
“Nope!” He caught the wrist of a pickpocket. It’s a kid and he immediately felt bad.
“Lemme go. I ain’t done nothing to ya, ya Yorker tourist.”
“Okay,” Peter shrugged. “Don’t get caught the next time?”
The kid gaped at him. “Shi’, you must be really good at it. I’ve never been caught before.”
Peter wisely refrained from telling the kid it was due to his spidey-sense. He let go of the kid’s wrist and let a bit more of his accent out. “Why’d you need money anyways?”
“Food, duh.”
“Dude, I’m starving. Tell you what. You show me the best sub shop nearby and I’ll pay for your food. Deal?”
The kid stared at him, wide eyed. “You’re fuckin’ nuts. Why’re you being nice?”
“I’m hungry? Do we have a deal, kid?”
“… Fuck it. Fine. And don’t call me kid, shrimp. You’re like what, eight?”
Oh. Yeah. Peter’s a kid now. He shrugged.
“I’m older than you. I’m twelve.”
Peter blinked, frowning at how thin the kid’s wrists were.
“I’m Peter!”
“… Frank.”
He let Frank lead the way. Stranger danger doesn’t apply to him, he’s a grown ass man. In the body of a ten year old him, but still. A couple of minutes, four sandwiches and a load of chips later, Frank was watching wide eyed as he demolished three four dollar subs.
“Holy shit. Where are you packing that away? You’re a stick!”
Peter took a big bite of the sandwich as an answer. Frank looked down at his meal.
“Uh. Hey.”
Peter made a muffled noise of question, mouth stuffed full of steak and cheese.
“Sorry about. Uh. Trynna nick from ya.”
Peter chewed faster.
Frank continued, looking like he hated himself. “I wouldn’t… normally steal from shrimps like you but I was desperate and… really hungry, so. My bad.”
Peter finished chewing. “All good, dude. Eat your sandwich.”
Peter had the sudden urge to adopt Frank. Unlike Wayne, he’s not a billionaire, so he smacked that urge down. He could use a friend though. Now… how to be friends with a literal child!
“If you feel that bad about it, you could… be my friend?”
Peter took in the wide eyed gaze from the twelve year old in front of him. Abort! Abort! That was too direct!
“You’re fucking weird. But… okay.”
“That was easy.”
Frank scowled, kicking Peter’s shin.
“Ow!”
“Whatever, shrimp.”
Peter scowled. On his baby face, it came out as a pout.
Do not start beef with a twelve year old, Peter. You’re a grown ass adult.
“Hey, you know I’m new here, right?”
“Duh.” Frank took a bite of his food.
“Can you tell me which one of these are legit?” Peter handed Frank the flyers. He took them, an odd look passing his face.
“You’re looking for a place?”
“Yeah? Why?”
Frank stared at him. Looked back down. He instantly got rid of four listings out of the ten. “These are too close to the Alley. They’re probably traffickers.”
Peter hummed in agreement. Frank paused.
“You’re just gonna trust me on that?”
“Yeah? I can tell when people are lying.” Well, his spidey sense could, when he cared enough about the subject.
“What the fuck.” Frank shoved the rest the papers at him and guiltily munched on his food. “Are Yorkers all just like you?”
“Dunno? Probably not.”
“… Whatever. The rest of the places should work. They probably won’t ask questions.” Frank flapped a hand at Peter’s new situation. Yeah, the shortness was getting to him too.
Peter nodded. Obviously, they were the more expensive places, but considering the new found resources he’d… acquired during his time at the cafe, it doesn’t really matter.
“Cool! Wanna go see it with me?”
Frank immediately took on a suspicious glare. “Why?”
“I dunno? You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought since you know your way around…”
“Ugh. Fine. But if there’s anything shady, I’m fucking dipping out.”
“Okay!” Peter grinned for the first time the couple of hours he’d been trapped in this new world.
——
They’d found an apartment with a landlord that got a weird, sad face when she was talking to them about the apartment. After like, an hour of walking around and Peter’s spidey sense screaming at him not to even go near the places Frank had left in the pile of maybe’s.
“We walked all the way here. Ya not even gonna go in?”
“The vibes are off. It’s a no.”
And because Peter’s a genius idiot with no self preservation, he’d marked the places to investigate later.
Frank had blinked at him, mildly offended and nonplussed. After a while of spluttering, he just gave up. Eventually, they got here.
“I don’t normally rent to kids,” the landlord lady said. Peter immediately liked her. “But I’ll make an exception if you’ve got the cash.”
“I’d like to see the unit first, please” Peter said. He’s not stupid, and Gotham’s renting scene is both easier and harder than New York.
They toured it. Peter? He’d seen worse. He’d lived worse. Also, it had two bedroom and was $620. Yeah, Peter was really considering just staying here full time and commuting to his New York when he wanted to be a vigilante.
“I’ll take it, ma’am.” The landlord and Frank both snorted, sharing a Gothamite look.
“It’s Georgie, to you, brat. You just need the first month’s rent, since I’ll wave the deposit for you shrimps. Utilities included. Your friend stayin’?”
“No-” Frank had started.
“Yep!” Peter beamed, interrupting his new friend.
“What?” Frank turned, gaping again at this weird little kid who had enough money to rent a place and then invited a whole ass street kid he just met to live with him. “Are you stupid?! What if I rob you? Huh? I don’t need charity!”
Peter slowly looked around the empty unit.
“Uh.”
“No, that’s not the point!” Frank pointed a finger at Peter. “That’s how you get yourself killed!”
“But that’s why you should stay! I don’t know my way around Gotham so…”
Peter looked up at Frank, using his shortness for maximum devastation. “Please?”
Georgie leaned back on the heels of her feet, silently laughing. It’s not every day she sees a Gothamite street kid get out stubborned by an outsider, but she knows better than anyone that Gotham is weak to genuine kindness. And this Peter kid, the one that reminds her so much of her own? He’s practically filled with it.
“Yeah, kid,” she said to Frank, snickering. “Look at him. He’s gonna get mugged two steps into the Alley. Or anywhere.”
Frank flailed, but eventually, Peter handed over the money to an amused Georgie who gave them two keys in return and a move in gift of a pot pie.
“I gotta. Uh. Go get my stuff.” Frank had mumbled, dazed at whatever the hell just happened.
“Okay! I’ll see if I can go get furniture!”
“And lift them with your shrimpy arm? You wish.”
“I can use a cart.”
And really, he could, because Gotham had a lot of abandoned carts laying around. Like a concerning amount.
“Can you even reach the handle?”
“I’m not that short!”
Frank snorted, Georgie’s own chuckles following a beat after. Peter scowled at them.
“Be right back,” Frank promised, holding the key like it was treasure. He had been homeless for two and a half years now, so in his eyes, that key was as good as gold. He had somewhere warm to stay. Trying to pickpocket Peter was the best mistake he’s ever made in his short life. But he didn’t want to take advantage of that, well, no, he did want to, but he doesn’t want to take the genuine kindness for granted so he’ll see if there’s any street furniture he could haul back on his way.
“Okay!”
Georgie watched him go and turned to Peter.
“If you need stuff, there’s a thrift store and a grocery store that way.” She gave him the directions.
——
As soon as Frank and Georgie left, Peter immediately left his new place (and holy shit, he really didn’t expect things to be this easy. In New York, he had to spend at least a week checking out places because he had to figure out whether the problem that cause subtle twinges with his spider sense was worth living with. Here? It’s too obvious.) to buy supplies. He had $400. Until his new card came in, at least. He’d put his new address into that bank account addressed to a “Anthony Benjamin” before ordering a “replacement card.”
Peter ran to the thrift store, hurrying before the last traces of the sun dipped below the smog of Gotham. A frankly absurd amount of blankets, towels, pillows, clothes, packaged boxers, socks and shoes around his size went into the cart. To his chagrin, Peter couldn’t actually see much over the cart. Why the hell was he such a short ten year old? He blasted through the store, also guesstimating Frank’s sizes. He tossed in curtains, a used set of glow in the dark stars, and a lamp.
He also grabbed mismatched mugs, bowls, a bundle of cutlery, and a dented microwave he casually pretended to struggle getting onto the bottom part of the cart. It’s like lifting grapes for him, but he looks like a ten year old so…
He, guiltily, bought a mildly fancy camera in a set, with two separate lenses, even if one was cracked.
Not bad, for $150 total. Peter is going to definitely seriously consider commuting to New York. They didn’t even care when he walked out with the cart! Well, that might be because of the cashier who gave him a pitying glance.
He stopped by a general store on the way back, parking his cart in a rapidly shadowy alleyway. He swung by the new section of the store that reminded him of a Dollar Tree and got cleaning supplies, toiletries, and two pans and a pot. He grabbed some canned food and a couple of frozen meals in the back. Seasonings, ramen, general pantry staples went in. A role of paper towel. Nice. Venom would have loved this store. With half of his budget blown for essentials, Peter quickly cut his spending off and
He quickly gathered his stuff and went back to the apartment, using his strength a bit to lift the full cart up the stairs at the front doors and into the elevator. It creaked like the first time they used it to go see the apartment, but it worked. Peter set everything up in the living room, pillow and blanket wise, and put everything in its proper place. The lamp was put up, giving more light than the old bulb in the ceiling light.
All Peter wanted to do was pass out, but since his dumbass took in a child, he couldn’t sleep until this place was relatively fit for a kid to live in. He also wanted to wait for
So, that’s what he did. Taking a sponge and the cleaning supplies he’d picked up earlier, Peter tackled the living room, scrubbing away at old stains and spraying mildew. He marked trouble spots- like that splinter worthy piece of floor next to the doorway leading to the hall between the bedrooms. Then the kitchen. By the time Frank cautiously peeked his head in from the front door, Peter had already finished scrubbing the over.
“Hey.”
Peter turned, grime on his face but grinning. “Hey!” I bought some stuff!”
Frank snorted at his face before glancing around the living room, eyeing the cart parked neatly on the side.
“So you did. Didn’t get mugged, did ya?”
“Rude. No, of course not.”
Frank gave him a… frankly… unimpressed look and dumped his bag next to the pile of blankets and pillows Peter had piled onto the floor. Sue hi’, they didn’t have beds yet.
“Got somethin’ for ya,” Frank said neutrally before dragging in…
“A coffee table!” Peter bounced towards Frank, hugging him before lugging in the heavy wooden table in. “You’re the best! Where’d you find it?!”
The tension, anxiety about Peter’s reaction, in Frank’s shoulders relaxed and the kid grinned. “Alley. Some asshole just left it there for anyone to hit with their car so I took it.”
“Nice! We can eat on this!”
——
When they were getting ready for bed, Peter insisting on showers for both of them, Frank had reared up at the clothes Peter bought for him. Peter pretended like he didn’t see anything and shove a whole tube of toothpaste and a new toothbrush at him.
“Ew. Do I have to?” Frank asked, wrinkling his nose but taking the items anyways.
“Yeah.” Peter said seriously. Frank gave a moment to wonder why he was taking orders from an eight year old before shrugging. He could brush his teeth in exchange for a roof over his head, food, and clothes. It’s not even a fair trade, for Peter, anyways. Frank was enough of an alley rat to take advantage of that.
——
When Frank passed out, Peter couldn’t sleep. He’s exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep.
So he took his new camera and climbed the fire escape to the roof top.
An hour later, he met his first vigilante.
“Hey, kiddo. I’m gonna need you to back away from the edge.”
“Woah!” Peter startled, jolting slightly off of the ledge he was balanced on. He twisted around to see Red Robin, hand outstretched and panicked look in his eyes.
“Dude. Warn a guy!” Peter said, even though his spider sense warned him of an approaching person that was actively watching him.
Red Robin held his hands up. “My bad. Would you- uh, not be on that ledge?”
“Yeah, sure. My bad, bro.” Peter obligingly stood up and stepped away from the ledge. Red Robin relaxed then did a double take. Peter frowned. Is there something on his face?
“What are you doing up here, kiddo? It’s late.”
Peter decided to scope out the vigilante. “Couldn’t sleep,” he held up his camera. “I’m taking pictures.”
“Oh. That’s cool! Can I see?” Red Robin approached warily, but relaxed when Peter didn’t spook and try to take a shortcut to ground floor.
“Sure! It’s a new, well, not new but new to me, camera so I haven’t had all that time to mess with the specs but the pictures turned out pretty good-”
“Oh, woah. This one’s great. That composition? Amazing. You caught the light perfectly,” Red Robin complimented. Peter brightened, knowing a photography fan when he hears one.
“Photography buddy!” He cheered.
They talked for an hour after that, but Red Robin quickly sent him to bed once he remembered the time.
“Ah, shi- crap. It’s like 2AM. You’ve gotta go to bed.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry if I interrupted your patrol, Mr. Red Robin!”
“No problem, kid.” Peter slipped back down the fire escape, not caring if the vigilante saw where he lived.
——
Up on the rooftop, Red Robin pressed a hand to his comm.
“Red Robin to Nightwing.”
“What’s up, Red?”
“Do you have a kid you don’t know about?” Tim said, bluntly.
“… What?”
“Oracle, can you share my cowl footage?”
“Copy. Oh, that kid…”
“Looks exactly like Wing?” Tim said, peering down at the empty fire escape. “Yeah. Talked like him too.”
“Oh my god, he’s adorable.” Oracle said. Tim agreed. That curly hair? Baby face? Adorable. A bean. “Did you get DNA?”
“Ah, shit, I knew I forgot something.”
“Do not break into his place and nab a hair,” Nightwing reprimanded, but his voice sounded distracted.
“Holy shit, you guys nerded out about camera placement and lighting for an hour?” Hood piped up.
“Get some rest, Red Robin. You’ve been working too hard,” Batman grunted through the comms. Awkward… but he’s been getting better at communicating his worry for his kids.
“Sure thing, B. Heading back to the main cave. Red Robin out.
——
Peter: lay low and get home
Also Peter: talks to a vigilante
None of them think Peter’s Nightwing’s yet. Peter will know before them… eventually. Once this world’s version of him gives up his memories to be absorbed by AU Peter.
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helsensm · 1 month
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Can’t remember what was the premise for this and I’m too lazy to make a decent comic out of it, so just have this poorly digitalized railao doodle I found in my sketchbook, y’all can add any context you want~
I posted some Kung Lao and mk1 Kung Jin headcanons earlier, so now I think I’ll drop railao thoughts too. Nothing too crazy - I prefer to read/hear about other’s hc more than to think about them myself afgHjHh
- Raiden fell first, but Kung Lao fell harder.
- Lao did confess first tho. After the mk1 events and some chill time together they both realized that they can't stand being separated and stressed about the other’s safety.
- They used to have these red-string “lucky bracelets” when they were kids but stopped wearing them in middle school (prob lost them or because it wasn’t “cool” anymore hah). Later, after mk1 when they officially started dating, they got a pair of matching ones, as a substitute for the wedding rings. 😊 (now go find all of them on my railao art 👀)
- Right now (mk1 and right after) Raiden’s hair is longer than Lao’s, but Lao is growing his hair out so in the future he’ll be rocking that one long-ass braid we all love. 🥰 Also he has no idea how to style hair besides the ponytail and a simple braid, so sometimes Raiden will do his hair for him as soon as it grows long enough.
- Since childhood Raiden collects cool rocks he found around the village and sometimes he gives them to Lao. I suspect that Raiden is a penguin.
- When Lao noticed that the flower petals have a strange tendency to follow him everywhere, he began collecting them and leaving in various places, including Raiden’s home and school desk. After they got together, the petals would follow Raiden on their own volition every time the two are separated. 🌸
- Lao began to pierce his ears right after the school graduation and Raiden thinks he looks cool, but he did only one piercing per ear for himself much later. Although I'm starting to dig Novice’s idea that he can’t wear them because of his lightning powers. 🤔
- Raiden calls Kung Lao just “Lao” or “my Lao” (but not in a “professional setting”, like on missions or in front of people who are not considered their friends). Kung Lao loves giving Raiden cheesy nicknames.
- Lao is so passionate in his affection, he’s borderline aggressive, he kisses and hugs like it’s their last time. Raiden is more sensual and a fan of prolonged physical touch, like holding hands for the whole day.
- Kung Lao is a professional shit talker and yapper, Raiden just nods and listens. He remembers everything tho, even if it’s something ridiculous that Lao himself will forget after five minutes.
- Lao actually can cook at a reasonable level. I also think he’s very creative and resourceful and can make a decent meal from a limited number of ingredients.
- A relatively new follow-up hc inspired by this tt and personal experience discussion with D3rpy: Kung Lao eats like a vacuum cleaner and can’t stand people wasting food because when he was a kid his family had a rough few years when they could barely afford enough food. And although things have changed for the better, it’s a habit now, he’s like a stray animal - you can’t waste food when you don’t know when you’ll eat next. Also this is when he got closer to Raiden’s family, hanging out in his house more often.
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b-o-e · 11 months
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paint me like one of your french girls
Wally Darling x Reader
Warnings: you aren’t very good at painting lol
although it is not necessary, I highly suggest reading my fics in their recommended order for the best experience! here is the link to all my silly lil wally fics in order. this is #2 :)
You weren’t the best painter, nor were you the best at picking up hints…
“... this is atrocious.”
You were not a painter. You were finding that much out right now.
“Well, don’t say that. It has me in it, so it can't be that bad, ha ha.” Wally jested.
Ehhh…
“Are you almost finished with it, neighbour?”
“I wouldn’t say I’m finished, but I’m almost ready to give up, yes,” you grumbled, the bristles of your brush carefully swiping some more paint onto the canvas. Yikes! Not carefully enough, it seems.
Wally noticed your grimace, laughing lightly. “It’s going to look good, I know it,” he claimed.
“You’re easily pleased, though,” you huffed, eyes flickering to him in a half-hearted glare. He giggled, shaking his head.
“I am honest,” he grinned, raising his right hand to swear on it. “Cross my heart, always and forever,” he promised, drawing the ‘x’ over his chest with a happy smile.
“At least I think I did Home some justice,” you snickered with a shrug. “You, not so much, Wally. I think you can still tell it’s you, though?”
“I’m sure I look amazing. Handsome!”
“I wouldn’t use that word for it, but the real you is?” You offered.
“Why, you’ll make me blush.”
You laughed lightly as you continued to paint, Wally remaining as still as a statue in his chosen position in front of home. His eyes never left you.
He loved the expressions you made. He just adored the twitch of your brow when you don’t quite approve of a detail, the silly grimace you wear when you’ve made a ‘mistake’, the way your tongue poked out a little when you were extra focussed... You were so entrancing!
“... going to start being a bit less uptight now,”
Wally hadn’t caught the first part, but figured out what you were saying.
“I guess I should probably give myself a little more credit than I am.” A little smile tugged at the corner of your lips. Oh! He enjoyed that expression most!
“I’m happy you say that,” Wally said, “I do mean it when I say I believe I will like it. Everyone has their own unique style. It’s nothing less than that,” he added, “plus, it’s made by you. That gives it extra special points!”
“Special, alright,” you joked quietly to yourself. It was definitely a unique piece, your painting.
“I just need to remind myself I don’t have much experience with this,” you sighed, “I need to cut myself some slack. I know practice is necessary to be as good as someone like you at this, and I haven’t put much of that in,”
“And if you were ever interested in such, I would always be around to offer my help if you so desire,” Wally assured.
“Thanks, Wally,” you tore your eyes away from your work, looking over at him. “I appreciate you. Always so sweet to me,” you sighed out dramatically. Unfortunately, your gaze didn't stick on him long enough to notice the redness growing on his cheeks from your compliments.
“Alas, I think I’m all done now,” you giggled, stepping back from your work. Now that you look it over, it really wasn’t too shabby, especially with your limited skill!
Wally stood up from his spot, starting his way over, as you turned the easel around so that he and Home could both see it. When Wally was close enough, he leaned forward a little, examining the painted canvas. Despite the knowledge that Wally would never judge you, your nerves twisted a little in your stomach as you watched his eyes study it with such intensity.
It was silent. He’s observed it for at least a minute now, not a word said.
“I know it’s-”
“It’s wonderful,” Wally cut you off, straightening his posture, his smile growing. “The absolute most, as is its creator,” he added as he looked at you. “Can I have it?” he asked, head tipping to the side.
“You… Want it?” you giggled sheepishly, peering over at your goofy little creation. Was it really nice enough for him to want to keep it?
“I love it, so of course I would like to have it. If you allow me to, of course,”
Your painting wasn’t much. To you, at least. To Wally on the other hand, it truly was extravagant.
It was cute. He and Home were nicely depicted together, Home painted quite well, and in his opinion, he himself had not looked nearly as bad as you’d been letting on.
His face had a cute, simple little smiley on it, as did the sun in the sky, two silly little features among others that you had added when you decided not to care so much anymore. It made him giggle. Overall, it was just yours, and that’s what really sealed the deal on his love for it.
“Hmm… where should I hang it, though? Maybe by the couch?” He wondered aloud, tapping his chin. “What do you think, Home?” He turned to face it, receiving quick excited waves and squeaks from the door. “Ha ha. I think that, too.”
“You actually want it?” You questioned,
“Of course,” Wally nodded. “Oh no! How impolite of me. I should be offering some sort of payment,” he realized.
“For this?” You laughed, looking back at the artwork. “I dont think it’s worth a whole lo–”
“Mwah!”
Huh?
You gaped at Wally, hand on your flushed cheek, right where his lips had been moments prior.
“Will that do?” He smiled.
You could only stare in disbelief, mind working overtime to process what had just happened.
“Neighbour?”
You laughed. You laughed, and you shook your head, hands covering your face. Oh, those silly little thoughts of yours!
“Oh my goodness, Wally,” you snickered. “Be careful with that! Someone might take it the wrong way,” you warned, a little giggle following.
“What do you mean, neighbour?” Wally questioned, brows furrowed. “Is kissing not a good thing?”
“I mean, it is, but there's two ways it can be perceived: platonically, or romantically,” you explained, rubbing at your face in an attempt to get rid of your blush with a cheeky smile.
“Think of it like this. Eddie and Frank kiss as a way to show their romantic love for each other. That's because they’re a couple,” you continued. “Are they who you learned it from?”
Wally stared at you for a moment, trying to comprehend all that you’ve said. Finally, his shoulders slumped slightly as he answered.
“... Yes,” he admitted, a bashful smile on his features.
“I figured,” you sniggered. “I mean, I’m not saying I didn’t like it or anything, but just keep what I said in mind,” you joked lightly with a playful wink, “but, we should find a place for this painting, shouldn’t we?” You placed your hands on your hips, looking between him and the piece.
“That sounds like a good idea, neighbour,” he agreed, carefully picking up the dried painting, grabbing the easel in his other hand.
“Let’s do that, then,”
“So, how did it go?” Eddie asked, placing a toasty mug of hot cocoa in front of a sulking Wally. “Not that great, I presume..?” He smiled sympathetically.
“They said to ‘be careful’ because ‘someone might get the wrong idea’...” he gave a gloomy smile. “But they also said they ‘didn’t dislike’ it?” He offered.
“So they thought the right idea, but brushed it off as being wrong,” Frank snickered, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the situation while he sipped on a mug of his own.
Eddie sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck with a chuckle. This was harder than the couple originally anticipated…
You two would be the death of this neighbourhood if you didn’t perceive your feelings for each other soon.
yyyello!! I hope you enjoyed reading this!
here is a link to my silly lil wally fics in their recommended order if you would like :) these can also be found on my ao3 B) I also have a ko-fi if you'd like to support me! likes and reblogs are very much so appreciated B) (again, gimme dopamine boost, RAHHHHH) until next time <3
Posted Tuesday, April 25, 2023 at 11:29 AM
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royallyprincesslilly · 6 months
Text
Title: Everyone Else Is No.2 {One-Shot}***
Tumblr media
Lewis Hamilton x Attorney Friend Reader
Warning: Cursing, NSFW, Mature 18+ Content, Angst, PLENTY OF WORDS, DIALOGUE HEAVY
Words: 15.2k
Summary: Again, nah.
Note: Inspired by that old August Alsina song "Kissing on My Tattoos". So sorry for how long it is and for the long sentences toward the end, it couldn't be any other way. Forgive the weird spacing throughout, Tumblr has a 1,000 block limit per post, and guess who reached it before correcting the spacing.
Note II: Really interested in hearing what you guys think about this one. Let me know.
As always, thank you guys for reading! I appreciate it. I hope you enjoy this.
If you did enjoy this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!!
***NOT Edited/Proofread***
-Y/N-
"You're beautiful you know that right?"
You smiled and took a sip of your drink.
"Thanks."
The man sitting across from you, Darius, nodded and before he looked down to his plate you caught his eyes drop to your cleavage. Of course, you thought. This was your 2nd date with him. The first went smoothly though you'd went with little to no expectations for it to be so. Tonight, he said the right things, did the right things, and was the perfect gentleman.
He'd even chosen a great restaurant. The ambiance was perfect for a second date. So far you had only counted 2 things that were less than satisfactory, everything was on point. He was so on point that you wondered if he was acting and not being his genuine self.
You hated the dating scene. Everyone held their cards too close to their chest. No one was ever real about anything. Everyone liked to waste people's time all in the name of fun and sex. These days you only treated dating as a pastime and a way to relieve stress after long hours of working on briefs and reviewing case files.
"A woman with your track record in law. Wheeew. Was it hard?"
You shrugged then wiped the corner of your mouth, "It definitely wasn't easy. I still remember the sleepless nights, and times when I only had 1 meal a day. My parents still remember not seeing me for 3 months because of the bar and my first major case that came nearly right behind the other. They won't let me forget it."
"It looks like it paid off. You're on the partner track. Shit, you'd be the first woman under 35 to make that happen at Halsey Boyd and Crenshaw," Darius said.
You bristled, but politely smiled and took another sip of your wine.
"I'm sorry I don’t mean to make this weird I'm just in awe of you."
You studied him for a few moments but found no lie. You could always tell a lie. No matter what the case, no matter who it was. It was your secret weapon and it served you well as a lawyer.
"Thank you, but enough about me. What about you? Tell me about Darius Forrester."
He smiled, licked his lips then looked you directly in the eye.
"I'm pretty much a what you see you get kind of guy. I've been at Berry & Clark for the last 6 years as a criminal attorney. The work is challenging but I do alright for myself.
You nodded. He did. From what you heard his win ratio was nearly 92% and he took upstanding cases. He was a good attorney. Normally you wouldn’t shit where you ate because mess was not your style. You did not want to walk into a courtroom or boardroom and see the opposing counsel was an ex. That one thing gave you nightmares.
So dating lawyers was out of the question. You dipped in every other career field, playing it safe. The further they were from a law career the better. However, after a conversation with your other lawyer girlfriends about limiting oneself in the already limited dating pool, something clicked, and you decided to try it once but only if they weren't in your firm. Darius was your first attempt.
As he continued to tell you facts about himself you listened, but he didn't have your full attention. There was another person who held your attention, a person who though was usually out of sight was never really out of mind.
You heard your phone sound from your clutch resting on the table and both your eyes shot to it. Darius spoke before you moved.
"Go ahead please."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm an attorney as well, Y/N I know you come attached to it."
You smiled, held up your finger to him silently promising it would be quick, then took your phone in hand. You expected it to be Kemi, your paralegal, with files you were expecting, but it wasn't her name on your screen.
MSG Lewis: What're you doing tonight? Going over an endless to-do list of contracts and briefs?
You smirked.
MSG: Not even close.
MSG Lewis: Wow did someone finally decide to live a little and cut loose?
MSG: This sounds an awful lot like the pot calling the kettle black.
MSG Lewis: Plead the 5th.
MSG: The Lewis Hamilton out maneuvered. Say it ain't so.
MSG: I'm close to your place. Just got back in town. Can you be ready in 10?
Your eyes flitted to Darius across from you who was taking the time to check his messages as well. You looked over him slowly, noting again how great he looked in his suit and how you liked the effort he had put in the last 2 dates down to the flowers he brought you and the activities you'd done. Things could progress if you chose to allow them to.
MSG Lewis: Is that a no?
MSG: I'm not home.
MSG Lewis: Okay. Where you at, the office? I can come pick you up.
MSG: I'm not at the office. I'm actually on a date.
You waited a few seconds, but he didn’t reply. Why didn't he reply?
"Everything ok?"
Caught off guard, you looked back up to Darius whose eyes were already on you. His brows were knitted with concern.
"Uh--yeah. I uh--I think so."
"A case?"
You thought about it and technically he was right. You were Lewis' entertainment lawyer. You were his personal attorney who reviewed the contracts after the company attorney said they had. You gave it to him between the eyes, never sugarcoating, and told him what was made with his best interest and what was made to capitalize off of him. However, when your services weren’t needed you were friends. Had been for practically a decade now.
Sometimes you couldn’t believe you’d known each other that long. You’d known him since he was just another F1 driver rather than the greatest. He knew you when you were going through school always on an empty tank all in the hopes of rising above the tax bracket you were born into. A decade later and he was dominating F1 and you’d more than risen yourself several levels past the tax bracket you’d been born into.
You were on the partner track at one of the largest firms in Europe. You brought in more revenue than most of the attorneys at the firm thanks to your high-class clientele. You'd both worked your asses off to get to this level and enjoyed the spoils of your labor often. You clubbed together, went to dinner, and sometimes did the vacation vibe together. You enjoyed one another’s company. ��
"A client."
"Oh. Everything cool or---," Darius said.
Another message came in just then. "Everything is cool."
Darius smiled. "Good. I'll be right back, men’s room."
"Yeah."
Darius stood then walked off leaving you with the perfect opportunity to check your phone.
MSG Lewis: Is that right?
MSG: Yeah. 2nd date. Well technically 3rd if you can have 2 dates in one day.
MSG Lewis: Cool. Is it going well?
MSG: Yeah. He's made it this far.
MSG Lewis: Cool.
MSG: When he drops me home Ill text you. Come get me then.
Several moments passed before he replied. Again, you wondered why.
MSG Lewis: Cool.
The remainder of dinner you were distracted. Darius played all his cards right, even scoring himself the green light on a little hand-holding action. You had to admit he was smooth. When he pulled up to your condo building he walked you to your door then went in for a kiss. You hadn’t expected it, but rather than pull away, you allowed it to play out. It wasn’t a bad kiss. He hadn’t been too overzealous, only slipped you a little tongue, and had kept his hands respectful. All in all, for a first kiss it was a solid 8.
With a promise to call to set date number 4 sometime next week, you went inside and allowed yourself to come down. The dating scene was not something you enjoyed often. You always felt like you were performing, like men wanted a certain kind of woman, the perfect woman who they could prance around on their arm to make other men envious and that took its toll.
You never felt you had to perform with Lewis. Never felt like he wanted the perfect you. He made fun of you whenever you were perfectly put together for work meetings and said many times he liked you out of the makeup and heels. After another sigh, you took your phone out and texted him.
~~~~~~
-Lewis-
The ceiling looked like every other ceiling he’d ever seen but that didn’t stop him from focusing most of his attention on it like it was the most interesting piece of construction ever. His eyes should have been focused elsewhere but they weren’t. A loud 'slurp' echoed in the mostly quiet room reminding him again that he wasn’t alone.
"Mm. Why are you so distracted tonight, bae?"
Julissa's voice was as smooth as honey and as seductive as ever. He lowered his eyes to where she was kneeling between his legs and took her in. Her lips and chin were wet as she gave him her bedroom eyes. This was not the first time between them. Usually, it would work but not tonight. Tonight he was struggling to even keep his head in the room.
He watched her tip her tongue out and lick from the base of his dick to the glistening tip. Once there she swirled her tongue around him then sucked his head into her mouth. He’d have to be dead for it not to feel nice but that’s all it was--nice.
He sighed then brought his attention back to the ceiling. "Work."
"Aw babe, when you’re with me work should be the last thing on your mind," Julissa said before lowering her mouth down his shaft. When he felt her tonsils he groaned. His body wanted to like this wanted to give her the reaction she was working so hard for, but something was holding him back. Julissa's mouth bobbed up and down his cock sucking and slurping to her heart’s content trying to get him off, but he knew she had her work cut out for her.
He thought back to your text from 2 hours ago. You were on a date. Well shit, he hadn’t seen that coming. That was the last thing he had expected you to be doing tonight. It wasn’t because you weren’t desirable, or he thought no man would want you. For fuck's sake, you were beyond desirable, you were gorgeous and so damn intelligent. He couldn’t figure out which of those made you more beautiful, your looks or your brains. You also worked hard to be where you were, and you deserved all the praise and attention you got wherever you went.
However, sometimes he wished you got a little less male attention--x that, a lot less male attention. He sighed again. This had been going on for 10 years now. Your friendship had only strengthened but along with a strengthening friendship came a lot of other stuff. Stuff like him taking notice of the fullness of your hips or being tempted to peek when you’d been changing in the backseat of his car, or being painfully aware of how your breasts felt against his chest when you hugged.
That coupled with things he had picked up from you, made the unspoken and ignored things that much more—confusing. There were times when the way you stared at him when you thought he wasn’t looking spoke volumes or the way your hand always lingered on him for a few seconds longer than necessary but not long enough for it to be inappropriate, or the time you'd fallen asleep together on the couch and he'd woken to you wrapped around him using him as your personal body pillow and mumbling his name in your sleep.
Yeah, there was a lot of extra stuff, stuff neither of you ever addressed. The only ones who assessed it were his friends. Miles told him on several occasions that he should be careful before he or you fucked around, and someone ended up hurt. That stuck with him, but not in the way Miles had probably meant it. Rather than taking it the way Miles meant, he used it as a means to keep himself in check, a form of prevention from him crossing the line. He knew if he did, neither of you would be able to go back. It would be impossible and was one fuck up worth a decades-long friendship?
So friends were where you stayed until he added another facet--professional. Years passed, dates passed, flings, non-labeled encounters on both your parts passed and through it all your friendship remained, and nothing changed. Except today there was even more extra stuff.
The feel of Julissa’s lips wrapped around his balls sent his hips jerking upward as a curse left his lips. Julissa moaned and giggled.
“Daddy likes that?”
He knew how he would like it more. As quickly as he revved to that thought he steered away from it. That was when his phone sounded.
MSG Y/N: I’m home. Whatdaya you wanna do? Should I change?
His eye caught the time. 1am. Almost 3 hours from your last text and you were only now getting home. Clenching his jaw he took a deep breath. He had no right to be mad or annoyed right now. He knew where this was coming from. You’d been on a date, and you said it was going well. A date going well had a chance of making it upstairs. He closed his eyes squeezing them tightly. He hoped to God that you hadn’t just gotten it in.
MSG Y/N: Hello?
MSG: You don’t have to change. How about some treats and a view?
MSG Y/N: Okay. Still 10?
MSG: Make it 15.
Pulling himself up he reached down to stop Julissa. She looked confused.
“I gotta go J.”
Now she looked even more confused. He didn’t owe her an explanation, that’s not how this worked between them.
“With your dick out?”
He scoffed then fixed himself as he stood.
“Lewis this’s never happened before. Are--,” she began before he cut her off.
“All good, just—not in the mood I guess.”
She looked offended now. “I’m sorry J. We’ll talk.”
He walked to the door then left her apartment without a glance back. He didn’t feel any way about it because both of them knew what their relationship was and wasn’t. She’d agreed. Once he was in his car, he zipped through the London streets maneuvering the quickest route to your place. Thanks to the time it was an easy drive with minimal traffic. 15 minutes on the dot he swerved around to the front of your luxury condo building then sent you a text letting you know he was there.
A few minutes later, he peeped you from the corner of his eye. You walked off the elevator in a short and tight black dress, impossibly high strappy black heels, and a flowy robe-like jacket that danced behind you as you walked.
“Fuck.”
You were beautiful. Just then the thought that you’d gone on a date dressed like this rubbed him wrong. Some other man had seen this view, a view you gave willingly. Clenching his jaw, he looked through his windshield as he tried to push all those thoughts—all that other stuff to the side as he’d done countless times before. He looked back just in time to see you open the door of his car then climb in. His eyes dropped to your legs but seconds later he corrected that.
“Hi!”
Your smile was bright as if you really were as happy to see him as your voice indicated.
“Hey.”
You reached over and pressed your cheek to his for a bougie kiss. The only thing he could think was that you smelled like a treat all by yourself.
“How are you?”
“Good. You?”
“Good. Wow, what’s it been? 2 months?”
He shrugged as he shifted gears and took off. “Something like that.”
“Mercedes sure knows how to keep you busy,” you teased.
He tried to focus on the road but from his peripheral, he could see you crossing your legs displaying even more skin.
“What were you doing? You smell like fruits.”
He chastised himself because he hadn’t done a bit of cleaning up before he came. His only thought was you. Julissa’s fruity lip gloss still stained his dick that he couldn’t manage to get hard for her.
“Nowhere special. Just kickin’ it.”
You didn’t press further which said you knew just what he was doing. He clenched his jaw again, this time annoyed with himself. As he drove to the dessert place you told him about what was going on in your life while he shared some bits of his with you. Like always conversation flowed like a calm river. It was something he loved. It didn’t take long for him to pull up to the drive-thru of the vegan dessert shop. When it was his turn at the window he tipped his hat lower and left the ordering to you.
You ordered damn near everything on the menu. You didn’t care if it was cake, cupcake, ice cream, brownie, or whipped cream. You ordered at least 2 of everything. It took the staff a good 5 minutes to prepare it all and when he loaded them in the backseat it was completely filled. When he looked at you with an “are you serious right now” look, all you did was giggle. Fuck, he thought. There went all that extra stuff again.
“There is no way we can finish all this,” he said looking at the bags they’d moved to the front since parking at their destination.
“Speak for yourself. I always have room for sugar, sugar.”
He snorted then shook his head. “Mad whack.”
Your jaw dropped as you gaped at him, and you looked too fucking adorable. You sifted through the bags until you found the dessert you wanted—the vanilla bean cheesecake. Your eyes lit up as you gawked at the large slice that was topped with white chocolate shavings. “It's so pretty,” you gushed.
He watched you snap picture after picture of the treat before you took your first forkful. When you did, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you let out a completely indulgent, hearty, and dick-hardening moan. The fuck, he thought as his dick spasmed to life. Quickly he moved one of the bags to his lap and looked out the window.
“This is so good,” you obliviously said still munching on cake.
He pulled out the vegan chocolate truffle cake and took a bite. It too was good.
“That looks good. Is it?”
“Try it,” he said holding out a forkful to your mouth.
You paused for a split second then cut off a piece of your cheesecake before you held your fork to his mouth.
“You try too.”
The image that came to mind was that of a new husband and wife feeding each other wedding cake and with it, his throat went dry. He knew if he tried to speak he’d sound like a pre-pubescent boy, so he wrapped his lips around your fork taking the piece of cake then fed you his. Your eyes lingered on one another for a few moments nut when you moaned again his dick spasmed again. with that he turned his head so fast that he was surprised he hadn’t snapped his own neck in the process.
“So good,” you repeated.
The two of you sat there commenting on the desserts you went through in record time. He didn’t indulge in sweets often but when he did he found it was usually with your sugar-addicted ass. You said there were 4 things in life you would never give up, sugar, your favorite perfume, your favorite underwear set, and sex. He believed you on all points. When there were only a few pieces of cake left the silence in the car stretched.
“So—a date huh.”
“A date.”
“I thought you gave up dating.”
You took a deep breath then slowly released it before turning your body at an angle facing him. The hem of your dress hiked a little higher and he forced himself to look away.
“I did. Then I got bored and he asked.”
“What does he do?”
You didn’t answer automatically, instead, you took another forkful or 2 of cake, then you spoke.
“He’s an attorney.”
“I thought you didn’t date attorneys.”
“I don’t but me and the girls were talking, and it clicked that by x-ing out a whole career field greatly decreased me finding someone who could stick around.”
He paused. Stick around? This was new.
“Stick around? Are you—are you looking for something—serious?”
You took a beat then shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought the other day, I have everything I have ever wanted. I am on this partner track, I make very high 6 figures, I have a great condo, my mental health is amazing, I have no debt, no baby daddies or drama, I—I’m kinda a catch but I go to sleep alone 98% of my nights. I come home to an empty place, I have no meaningful text exchanges, there is—nothing fulfilling in my life. I began to wonder if it was time to change all of that last bit.”
Silence stretched again as he thought over your words while studying you. This was the first time he’d heard you speak like this. Usually, you changed the subject or downplayed having any other thoughts than fun, sex, and work. Now hearing the vulnerability in your voice he knew you’d come to a point where all of this, intention-free dating, pastime sex, stress-busting flirting and all the meaningless interactions were unfulfilling and empty. You wanted more, you wanted love, a life, a husband, kids, vacation homes, and retirement funds, you wanted the quintessential definition of it all. He also noted you now found everything he was currently partaking in meaningless and unfulfilling.
Dropping his head, he stabbed the cake still in his hands. The more puncture holes it picked up the less and less he wanted it.
“Fuck, maybe I’m just bored and need a really, really, good fuck.”
He snorted but it was humorless.
“Don’t downplay what you feel, Y/N. Don’t—make what you feel insignificant, so you feel less vulnerable. It’s okay to be vulnerable. It’s you and me here.”
“It’s just—you—I know those are things you don’t necessarily want and you’re happy with the--.”
“Who said I don’t want those things?”
His tone was sharp and defensive though he hadn’t meant for it to be.
“Uh—you did.”
“No. I said it’s not something I can afford right now with my schedule and my contract extension. I didn’t say I never wanted it.”
You looked away from him to out the window. “Yeah, but your actions say a lot different,” you mumble.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Y/N, look at me. What does that mean?”
You sat quietly for a few moments then just when he was about to ask again you blurted.
“There is a difference between I don’t want it now and I don’t want it ever. Someone who wants it someday would leave themselves open to it rather than boxing every interaction they have into--other things.”
“What if I don’t want to open myself to it?”
“That’s clear Lew.”
“No. You don’t get it. What if I don’t want to open myself to it because I don’t want to find the perfect thing—the perfect woman and then be fucked because it’s too soon and too hard to keep her in my world to wait until I can make those commitments because my world is fucked—I’m fucked because I want the world and will actually keep going until I get it anyone else be damned.”
He could feel your eyes on him, and it was his turn to feel vulnerable and exposed.
“You think because you put everyone in one box it stops what’s meant to be from—being?”
He glanced at you with a pained expression, he knew it. He was actually feeling pain.
“Also—you’re not fucked because you want the world. I want the fucking world. Am I fucked?”
“To be determined.”
You both busted out laughing then. You laughed for a good minute then smiled as it tapered off.
“Aren’t you the tiniest bit lonely in the other side of your life—away from F1?”
He didn’t need to think about that. He knew the answer, but he didn’t want to tell you. The facts were that he was lonely more times than not. That was when he called someone to come distract him or make him feel good. He’d become an expert in the art of distraction. In his life, he only had time and the capacity for low stress and no mess. He had enough of both already.
He felt your hand creep into his and squeeze gently. Suddenly, there was all this other stuff again. The feel of your smaller hand in his larger one was something he really liked. Usually, when either of you took the other’s hand it was in passing or for a second, but the moment lingered and stretched, and still you kept your hand in his swirling your fingers against his palm and other fingers. He liked this too much.
“You can tell me. I won’t judge you. In fact—I’m lonely.”
His eyes slipped to you. Your head was down staring at your hands. It had now moved to trace the tattoos on his hand with the point of your nail as if his flesh were an adult coloring book. He watched you trace the rose on his pinky, then the planets on his ring finger. When you got to the lined arrow down his middle, he was having trouble swallowing again. Slowly, you traced the spaceship then went up across the sword until you reached his wrist.
He didn’t know if there was rhyme or reason to your movements or if you were just absently doing it. Goosebumps peppered his skin when you went up his forearm. He looked at you just before your eyes met his.
“You are?”
You nodded. “I am,” you whispered.
The air was on but inside the car easily felt like a sweltering 99 degrees. He didn’t know if it was from your touch or if it was the shift in the air between you. Did you notice it too?
“I think it’s okay to be lonely especially looking at how we live. We’re always working, always pushing ourselves to and through glass ceilings and when we do there is no one really there to share it with, not really, not in the way that fulfills,” you said.
Your face was closer to his now. Had he moved closer or was it you? Your eyes met again, and the temperature kicked up again. Fuck, he thought as his dick recklessly spasmed, begging for attention.
“I’m never lonely with you,” he said before his brain could stop his mouth.
A small smile lit your face, “Me too. Never with you.”
The smile slipped. “Well—not always.”
He turned to you more now, curiosity filling him. “What do you mean?”
You stayed quiet for a few moments but kept tracing his skin with your nail.
“There are times I can’t—guess what you’re thinking. Times I can’t—figure you out.”
“Then ask me.”
“Would you really tell me?”
He leaned closer. “I’d tell you anything.”
You searched his eyes, but you didn’t move back.
“Anything?”
He nodded slowly. His head felt hazy like you had him under some sort of spell with nothing more than your presence and the tip of your finger and all he truly wanted was to touch you in return. So he did. Reaching across to your exposed knee, he circled his finger around the smooth skin there. You sucked in a breath the moment his finger touched you and that one action nearly had him pulling you across the partition right onto his lap. Nearly.
So there on a hill that overlooked London, in his car, sitting near enough to a lone road light, you trailed your finger across his forearm while he did the same to your knee. The low light that illuminated the car bathed your skin in amber making him feel like you were on a whole different plane of existence rather than this real proven and tangible one. Your eyes held him in place to the point where he felt like he couldn’t move though he wanted to.
Without even realizing it you were mere inches from him. In fact, you were so close he could make out the hidden colors in your eyes, so close he could smell the fragrance on your skin that went deeper than perfume. This was your essence and by God he was intoxicated. Unable to stop himself, he inched his hand higher gripping your inner thigh. A soft moan fell from your lips and that was all it took for him to press his forehead to yours like the sound was tethered to his very core.
“Y/N,” he groaned.
The sheer might it was taking to keep himself restrained was becoming too much. At this point, it wouldn’t take much for him to abandon those restraints and give in.
“Lewis,” you whispered.
Your voice was raspy and dripping with what he dared label as desire. Fuck, he thought as he squeezed your thigh. He was so close, mere inches and it wouldn’t take much to close the gap between his fingers and your core but still, he fought himself. He was so wrapped up in his own battle for control within himself that he didn’t even realize when your hand rested on his upper thigh. You were dangerously close to kicking the lid off the box of other stuff that he’d worked years to keep shut. Half of him silently begged for you to keep going and kick it off so everything would be out in the open and it would be do or die but the other half of him hesitated still. The unknown was a powerful and sobering drug.
Your hand inched higher, then closer to what was the rock-hard physical evidence that deep down, now closer to the surface than ever before, he felt more, wanted more than what was. He wanted more than he could possibly afford. Still, his hand persisted, it inched higher making your hips jerk forward. The knowledge that he’d hit a sensitive spot sent his system into overdrive making a deep moan from his lips fill the car.
On cue in response, your legs opened a few inches more, making way for his hand. Jesus Christ he thought. There was his consent, you wanted him as he wanted you. There would be nothing wrong with him slipping his fingers underneath whatever underwear you wore. Fuck, he hoped they were lacy and strappy. There would be nothing wrong with him letting your hand slide to the aching dick straining against his pants begging for your attention. Shit, he bet your hands would feel incredible wrapped around him. There would be nothing wrong with him moving closer and finally claiming your lips as his. Damn, he just knew they were as sweet as they looked, that they felt amazing. There would be nothing wrong with him pulling your body against his for more than a clothed hug. There would be nothing wrong with him cupping your breasts and swirling his thumb across your nipple just to see the reaction it elicited. God damn it, he knew your moans would destroy him. There would be nothing wrong with him finally learning what you tasted like, nothing wrong with him finally smearing your wetness across his lips. Holy fuck, he knew you had to taste like pure sugar and cream.
His cock spasmed again then your hand made the move for him. In the same breath with his eyes squeezed tight, he lurched for your hand, gripping you by your wrist stopping you just before you touched him. As he did that his jaw clenched, the only thing he could do to stifle the moan at the tip of his tongue. It came out as a half groan and growl instead. The strangled whine that left you said you liked it, and he knew he had to end this here. It took him some time to find the smallest bit of control to open his eyes, but he didn’t possess enough control to look at you. There was no way he could.
“I’ll take you home,” he said, voice low and so close to a whisper.
He tried to keep the longing, regret, and hope from it. Slowly he removed his hand from your thigh hoping with everything in him that you grabbed it and nudged it higher. You didn’t though, so he turned forward readying himself to drive. You didn’t move for several long moments; you remained there half facing him with your thighs still tempting him to go back and take things further. With his hands on the steering wheel, he trained his eyes forward. He could feel all the antsy energy bouncing off every cell of his body, he could feel all the need in him wreaking havoc on him telling him to stop being a pussy and do what he really wanted to, say what he wanted to, take what he wanted.
His hands squeezed so tightly that the creaking of the leather echoed in the intense silence in the car. Just when he was about to say fuck it, you turned away from him. You softly cleared your throat then buckled yourself in. Sighing, he pushed started the ignition then swerved out of the parked spot they were in taking the route back to the city. As he drove you didn’t speak, you didn’t even move. You kept your head turned away from him looking out the passenger window with your legs crossed away from him. Your body language sent a completely different message now. Before you were open and so close to him. Now, you were so far he wondered if he’d turned Miles’ words into truths.
~~~~~
-Y/N- 8 Months Later-
The loud ‘pop’ of a champagne cork echoed just behind you making you spin in that direction. A group was just behind you laughing and toasting to something you guessed was momentous. You sighed then turned back to the painting you were currently studying. The abstract lines and swoops looked so similar to the slopes of a body. The longer you stared at it the more it felt like an erotic image than some random lines and swirls. There was something about it that stirred something in you, something that you’d ignored and buried so deep, something you hadn’t felt for 8 months.
You drained your champagne glass then squeezed your eyes shut. It had been a long 8 months. You’d worked your ass off times ten taking on more and more clients than before. You brought on 12 celebrity clients and 4 major corporate ones which brought Halsey, Boyd, and Crenshaw to the top of the field in revenue. You brought in so much money that you’d gotten 7 poaching offers from firms in different parts of the country.
Thanks to those offers that you hadn’t necessarily kept confidential, the interest in you for partner rose to unbeatable levels. Anyone you were competing against for the position paled in comparison. Those 8 months of ass-busting work led to your name being signed on the paperwork titling you as the new partner at Halsey Boyd and Crenshaw. It was so much of a done deal that your bank account proudly embraced your new status.
With that new status came an increase in the events you had to make an appearance at as thee number 1 entertainment and criminal attorney in London. Your calendar quickly filled with meetings, speeches, appearances, court appearances, dinners, and more. You were so booked that the next time you had any schedule free time was 6 months away. You’d catapulted so far out of your original tax bracket that you’d shattered the glass ceiling that tried to confine you and now you wondered if you’d aimed too high.
“Looks like I’m right on time.”
You looked to your right and found Darius holding another glass of champagne for you. Smiling, you took it.
“That you are, thank you.”
“Of course. To you, the youngest and newest partner at Halsey Boyd and Crenshaw and in the greater London area.”
You smiled as the man who’d stuck around through your insane schedule, your hot and cold behavior, your pull you close one minute, push you away the next, your disappearing acts, your reluctance to place a label on your interactions, your give me sex then get gone rule, and more for the last 8 months.
“Thank you, Darius,” you said leaning toward him and pressing your lips against his.
Darius moaned and reciprocated the kiss, snaking his hand around your waist and pulling you close. You felt like you were thanking him for much more than the toast and the fresh glass of champagne. You felt like you were thanking him for taking your bare minimum and it made you feel like shit.
Darius pressed his forehead to yours and instantly you had a flash back to the last man who’d done that to you. In a split second, your heart rate spiked, and an intense feeling gripped you.
“You don’t have to thank me, love.”
Your reaction to the action ricocheted through you making you pull away from Darius. Turning back to the painting, you gulped down the champagne.
“It’s crazy that your firm has so many celebrity clients and that this many are here to welcome you as partner,” Darius said in hushed tones.
“It is crazy.”
All night you’d been rubbing elbows with actors, musicians, models, athletes, and more. All of them congratulated you on your promotion and wished you greater success in the future. It was touching but a little bit overwhelming. You couldn’t let on though, so for the entire night you’d been performing, and you were nearing the limits of your stamina for it. You’d been performing for the last 8 months. Shit, you’d even been performing with Darius. You’d been performing ever since you were dropped off in those early morning hours those 8 months ago.
“Y/N,”
To your left, your paralegal now turned assistant, Kemi touched your elbow drawing your attention to her.
“Hey, girl.”
“Hey, you look incredible,” she said.
“Stop saying that please, you’re gonna blow my head up so big I just might start thinking I deserve a higher position.”
She giggled but gave you a look that said “well ya’ do.”
“The big wigs are asking for you, although you’re now one of them so--.”
You snorted while rolling your eyes. “Then doesn’t that make you the big wig assistant?”
She posed then making you laugh.
“I’ll be right back,” you said to Darius as you walked off to find those big wigs.
It didn’t take long before you found them surrounded by a group of about 10 people. When they saw you they waved you over with large smiles on their faces. You took a deep breath and approached them with an equally large smile.
“There she is ladies and gentlemen!”
The group smiled, patted your back, and welcomed you with friendly banter.
“Everyone!”
The music died down and someone handed Malcolm Boyd a microphone. He was your biggest fan, a black man who’d made unfathomable feats in the field and became an incredible mentor and second father to you. He put his arm around your shoulder as he always did.
“I am filled with great happiness and pride calling this woman the new partner here at Halsey, Boyd, and Crenshaw!”
Everyone began applauding then, drowning out his next words so he paused and allowed them a few moments before continuing.
“She has been with us for 6 years now and in those 6 years she has accomplished incredible things and when she was done with those incredible things she moved on to outstanding things. Y/N has reminded many of us of what it means to be determined and persistent. She tackles every case with poise, confidence, and grace and that confidence has given her that 99% win record.”
Again everyone clapped. You softly smiled at them half embarrassed by the praise but half so damn proud of yourself and happy that your accomplishments were being recognized.
“Just as Malcome said, “Patrick Halsey began placing his hand on Malcom’s shoulder, “Y/N more than deserves this promotion and I expect her to blow all of our minds in the coming months and years. We just might have to add another name to the plague.”
Many in the audience hollered and hooted at that and you couldn’t lie that the greedy ambition within you salivated at that possibility. You still wanted more. You exchanged a look with Malcome who gave you an all-knowing look. You just found your next accomplishment. The founding partners took turns praising you and giving reasons why you’d earned this promotion then raised their glasses to you for the ultimate toast of congratulations. You humbly thanked them and gave a quick appreciative speech before lifting your glass to the audience.
As you drank down the tart liquid, your eye caught sight of a figure you hadn’t seen in person for almost 2 months—Lewis. He stood at the back in a black suit that clearly was made for him. His braids were pulled back in the way he liked when he was tackling more professional events. He looked as good as ever. He lifted his glass of water to you and in response you gave him a tight smile.
The same thing happened that always happened when you met one another ever since that night. Your body went through this strange cycle of reaction, excitement, confusion, hurt, anger, annoyance, and disappointment. It was exhausting. Because of these feelings, you regretted that night. You regretted allowing your thoughts to go so astray that you opened up your ‘what if’ box. You regretted every whisper, every lean in, every almost touch, every lingering look, everything. You even regretted getting out of his car when he pulled up to your condo instead of pulling him by his hair to you and telling him to go upstairs with you. you didn’t know what you regretted more.
The worst part was that you had to continue on like always. Normally it wouldn’t be a problem because that night was not the first night there had been many ‘what if’ nights over your decade-long friendship. The common factor was that both of you moved on and slinked back into the basics of your relationship—comfort and friendship. This time is difficult, so difficult you contemplated passing his case off to another attorney. If it hadn’t been for Malcome talking you out of it he would have been someone else’s responsibility. Instead, you put on your big girl panties and a mask and did something you never thought you’d ever do with him—performed.
When the crowd thinned out and everyone returned to what they were doing you began making your way back to Darius in the opposite direction. You were ready to leave. Before you got far Lewis stepped in front of you stopping you in your tracks.
“Congratulations, Y/N.”
Smiling, you thanked him.
“You look--,” his words stalled as his eyes roamed your body. You noted the conflicted look on his face before it disappeared. “Incredible,” Lewis finished.
His compliment made your body warm and something like hope filled you. Chastising yourself you swallowed the lump in your throat. “Thank you. You look nice too.”
Lewis scoffed softly then nodded. You then tried to slip by him, however, Lewis wasn’t having it. Again, he stepped in front of you.
“In a rush to get away from me?”
“Why would you say that? Have you done anything to me for me to want that?”
Silence stretched and Lewis studied you his jaw clenched tightly. Instead of speaking, he looked down, an act of defeat.
“Can we talk, Y/N?”
“We’re talking right now.”
He gave you an unamused look, but you kept your nonchalant, innocent one. Unexpectedly Miles approached then.
“There she is--partner lady. Congratulations Y/N.”
You smiled then hugged Miles. “Thank you!”
“This is incredible news, Y/N. So happy for you.”
“I appreciate that. Thank you for coming,” you replied.
“You know me, always this fool’s plus one.”
You smiled then the silence returned for a few seconds before Lewis spoke again.
“Maybe we can go somewhere—quiet after this?”
“Unfortunately I don’t think I can.”
“Why?”
Just then Darius approached and wrapped his arm around your waist resting his hand on your hip. You watched Lewis’ eyes drop to that hand and continued to watch as his jaw turned tight as if it filled with cement.
“Oh wow. Lewis Hamilton,” Darius said turning to you, his voice awestricken. “Babe it’s Lewis Hamilton.”
You nodded as a soft smile played on your lips. “Let me introduce you. Darius, this is one of my clients, Lewis Hamilton, and his best friend Miles Chamley-Watson fencing champion and Olympian. Miles, Lewis this is my—.”
You hesitated and in the same second, you felt Darius’ eyes on you filled with hope. Two other pairs of eyes were on you--one giving complete double eyeball emoji and the other searing you almost daring you to continue. The longer you didn’t speak, you watched Darius’ hope turn to disappointment. Glancing back at Lewis you found his eyebrow up with a curious and confrontational look while Miles was the epitome of if ‘well this is awkward’ was a person.
“This is Darius Forrester.”
You felt even more like shit now. Darius shook Lewis’ hand first then Miles’. While he did Lewis looked him over sizing him up. You knew he was wondering if he was the same man from those months ago when you’d told him you were on a date.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m a fan,” Darius said to Lewis.
“Thank you. I appreciate that. I can sign something for you if you want.”
You rolled your eyes at his underhanded jab while a half chortle escaped Miles. Darius on the other hand leapt at the opportunity, handing Lewis the only thing he had, an art bidding ballot. Lewis signed the back but kept his eyes on Darius’ hand on your hip.
“Bidding on some art tonight?”
“I am. There is a piece this gorgeous angel has been staring at all night, it’ll be my gift to her for her promotion,” Darius explained rubbing your hip.
You smiled at him then kissed his cheek. Lewis now looked entertained while Miles’ eyes widened as he finished the drink in his hand.
“Ehm, anyway. So I’m sorry I can’t pencil you in tonight but if you call Kemi and make an appointment she’ll get you on the calendar for a different day for that talk,” you said.
“Plans tonight,” Miles guessed looking between you and Darius.
“Absolutely. I’ve had way too much to drink and plan on taking advantage of that.”
You leaned closer to Darius kicking up your performance another notch. Lewis smirked but also clenched his jaw to that. Miles whistled while nodding his head.
“Go on then Ms. Partner, fly by the seat of your panties or no panties,” Miles teased making you and Darius chuckle while Lewis gave him an unamused look.
“Well, enjoy your evening gentlemen. Thank you again for coming by,” you said before you made a move to walk off with Darius.
As you walked away you placed your hand over Darius’ and slyly slipped it lower to rest on your ass. You knew Lewis was watching and decided to deliver the last blow. Was it petty? Yes. Was it fair to Daius? Not at all.
The next hour or so passed with you roaming around the gallery looking at the art while Darius flirted with you. As you roamed, no matter where you went you saw Lewis from the corner of your eye and no matter how much space was between you, your skin reacted as if Darius’ touch was his. The more you felt that way the reality that Darius’ touch was in fact all his own annoyed you making you feel even worse. You knew what needed to be done and knew it had to be done soon.
The only way you could distract yourself was with glass after glass of champagne. As you emerged from one of your countless trips to the bathroom you bumped into Miles.
“Funny bumping into you here.”
You smiled warmly, “Still here? I thought you and Lewis left hours ago.”
“You knew we were still here,” he accused.
You tried to give an affronted look but failed. He was right. Sighing, your act fell for the first time that night.
“Wow. Feels good to not perform huh.”
You looked at Miles and wondered just how much he knew. He didn’t keep you in suspense long.
“What a twisted web we weave when we practice to deceive.” He scoffed, shook his head then continued, look, I am going to tell you the same thing I told Lewis.”
You perked up then but tried to play it off.
“You better stop playing before somebody gets hurt and by the looks of it, it’s gonna be your homeboy Darius if not all three of you.”
You took in his words then put your mask back in place. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah you do, just like Lewis knew what I was talking about all those years ago, but he still decided to keep playing, and now look where we are.”
Your curiosity peaked then. “What are you talking about Miles? What do you think you know?”
He scoffed. “I’m a straightforward kinda guy so I’ll say I know everything. As the neutral 3rd party who is both on the outside looking in and the inside watching this train wreck, I know everything. I know what he tells me and what he doesn’t tell me, and I know what you don’t tell him.”
Your eyes lingered and the longer they did the more you got his meaning. Glancing away you tried to pretend like his words meant nothing, but you knew you were failing.
“I get it, I really do; 10 years is a long time to put at risk but are you really putting it at risk knowing all you know? You have 10 years of proof. Man up.”
Miles leaned in, kissed your cheek, and whispered, “Let homeboy go so he can find someone who really loves him, someone who can love him. Your corner is full.”
With that, he walked away leaving you speechless and confused. Your corner was full? You had no idea whatsoever what that meant, and you were tempted to follow Miles and get some clarification, but you decided against it remembering the last time you chased down the rabbit hole. When you found Darius again his expression was somber when he told you that the painting he’d been bidding on was outbid and that he didn’t have it to gift you. After assuring him you were fine, you decided you were more than ready to leave.
Darius got the car as you waited outside allowing the cold air to cool your skin. You didn’t care that you were risking illness because it served as a needed distraction. When you felt a fabric drape over your shoulders you bristled at first but then Lewis’ scent circled you and your body relaxed. Even that annoyed you.
“I don’t need this. Darius will be back soon anyway.”
Lewis snorted. “8 months, is that a record?”
“I think it’s a record for you, but I’ve gone longer.”
He scoffed then shook his head. “No doubt, remember Y/N. I will be here long after you get bored with them all. I’m always here.”
Your eyes locked and his should have been radiating cockiness that matched his words, but instead, they were gentle, open, and vulnerable.
“Will you?”
There was no time to reply because a car horn blared drawing your attention. Darius waved at you as he got out of the car to walk around to the passenger side.
“Good night Lewis.”
You walked away from him then slipped into the passenger side. As you waited for Darius to get in and drive off, you stared at Lewis who hadn’t budged from the curb where you left him. Miles’ words echoed back to you then.
“Just like Lewis knew what I was talking about all those years ago, but he still decided to keep playing, and now look where we are.”
“You have 10 years of proof.”
“Your corner is full.”
The word ‘full’ echoed over and over as Darius pulled off. Bullshit, you said to yourself in disbelief.
When Darius pulled up to your condo you sat there marinating in all your thoughts throughout the nearly thirty-minute drive. It wasn’t until you felt Darius’ hand on your exposed knee did you realize he was still there.
“Are you okay? Want me to come up?”
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “We need to talk Darius.”
When you looked at him his expression said he knew just what you were about to say. Being as gentle as you could, you ended things. Although the old “it’s not you it’s me” line fit the situation perfectly. You dug a little deeper and gave him and heartfelt reason without revealing you were and had been in love with your best friend for 10 years and didn’t realize it until his feelings were already on the line. When you finished, Darius remained the good guy he was and told you he understood and that he’d expected this sooner or later. You thanked him for being good to you then began making your way to the elevators.
Halfway there you dug into the pocket of the jacket you wore and froze. When you took your hand out you held a note with your name sprawled on the front in Lewis’ handwriting.
-Y/N-
I’ve thought for months about what to say to you because there is so much to say, so much that has gone unsaid for so long that I don’t know where to start—how to start. 10 years is a long time especially when neither of us has been 100% honest with the other. I want to end that. Please.
-Lewis
You read then reread the note over and over hoping you would know what to do next but no matter how many times you did, you had nothing. So you walked back and forth in the lobby. When your phone sounded, you found a message from Lewis.
MSG Lewis: Ball’s in your court. I’m outside your building.
You froze then slowly turned and saw his car. It had been months since you’d been in a car with him and the thought of doing it again freaked you out a little. Your eyes met at that moment, but he didn’t move. He was giving you the time to decide for yourself. You turned your back to him then walked to the elevators but stopped halfway. After a few moments, you turned back around and walked to the doors only to stop halfway again and repeat the whole cycle. Still, Lewis didn’t budge. He just watched as your internal debate played out physically.
After ten minutes you stooped down and put your down, completely exhausted by your indecisiveness. Taking a deep breath, you held it and allowed your lungs to adjust. It was an action you often did to help you think and calm down. As your oxygen levels decreased your heartbeat would slow and as it did, there was always one particular beat where you figured it all out. It usually came right in the nick of time.
So you allowed your heartbeat to slow and though you should have panicked you didn’t. You thought clearer than you’d ever thought before.
“I know what he tells me and what he doesn’t tell me, and I know what you don’t tell him.”
Miles’ words came back to you again and it was then you gasped filling your lungs with air. After a few breaths, you stood then turned to the doors. It worked all the time. With your head high and back straight you walked toward them then climbed inside Lewis’ car. Without a word, he pulled off then turned back onto the streets.
~~~~~~
Thirty minutes later you walked into a penthouse suite right behind Lewis.
“Why here?”
“Thought neutral ground would make you more comfortable.”
You scoffed and beelined right to the bar, tossing his suit jacket over the back of one of the bar stools. As you mixed yourself a drink you tried not to focus on him, but you did. No matter where he went you knew. You were hypersensitive to him at this point. You’d only meant to make a glass but ended up making a whole shaker cup. You kicked off your heels, climbed onto the bar stool then plopped yourself on the countertop. Once comfortable you crossed your legs and sipped your drink.
“Where’s Darius?”
“Not here obviously.”
“You and I are so alike it’s insane,” he said as he approached you, but he didn’t come close. He stopped at the sectional couches in the middle of the large living area and then sat.
The silence in the room was thick for such a long time you began thinking about leaving altogether.
“Congratulations again. I’m so fucking proud of you. You saw something you wanted and didn’t stop until you got it. You deserve this.”
Your stomach flipped hearing his praise. More than anyone he knew what you’d gone through to get here. It touched you. Looking away from him, you cleared your throat. “Thanks.”
His eyes remained on you as if daring you to look back at him. It was a dare you had to accept. Your eyes locked and you instantly felt it. There was so much to say. Just behind him, you saw something familiar. Squinting, you made out the painting you’d been staring at all night, the painting Darius wanted to bid on for you. It clicked then, the reason why Darius couldn’t win it was because Lewis claimed it first. You scoffed, the man was competitive and dominant to a fault. You couldn’t help but be touched by the gesture though.
Lewis sighed bringing your eyes back to him, “I don’t even know where to start,” groaned, rubbed his eyes then spoke again. “Maybe I’m sorry is a good place.”
You studied him for a few moments then took a mouthful of your drink. “For what?”
“You know for what.”
That night.
Those words hung in the air, and you did your best to remain aloof. Scoffing, you shook your head. “It’s all good Lewis.”
“You’re lying and you know it. I thought attorneys believed in the truth.”
“Who are you to tell me what my truth is?!”
You hadn’t meant to shout it, but you did.
“Because more times than not our truths match up and I am sure that what happened was not all good to you because it wasn’t to me.”
“And what exactly wasn’t all good to you?”
“The way we—I left things,” he quietly said.
You waited for him to continue because there was no way in hell you were going to make this easy for him. He wanted to talk so he’d talk. Lewis shook his head then hung it backward. He sat there staring into the ceiling for almost a full minute before he looked back at you.
“I just—flipped when we were—you were—you wanted--,” he stuttered.
You scoffed again, “Don’t flatter yourself, Lewis,” you said slipping into the barstool and spinning it around so your back faced him.
“What?”
“You and I both know that none of that meant anything to you. It’s all good.”
“Now who’s telling who what their truth is?”
You didn’t take the bait, instead, you kept your back to him and finished your glass.
“You forget, I know you, Lewis. 10 years of friendship and I know you so well that it was my own damn fault that night.”
“Whatdaya know?”
After refilling your glass you turned back around then hopped off the stool and walked toward the large floor-to-ceiling window. “I know that that you were with one of your rotation chicks before you came to pick me up. I smelled her on you. That fruity aroma was all her. I know that because of that tidbit of info, none of it meant anything.”
Leaning against the window you stared down at the view of London. Lights glistened down below, and you imagined everyone scurrying to where they had to go so wrapped up in their own thoughts or existence to even suspect that it all was fleeting.
“Okay, I’ll own that bit. Yeah, I was with one of them but that was only after I found out you were on a date.”
“So it’s my fault. I was on a date living my life, so you decided to get your dick wet. Okay.”
You took another sip from your glass not liking the direction of this little talk he wanted to have.
“I never said it was your fault. It’s just a fact. I texted you because I wanted to see you, wanted to spend time with you and you were spending time with someone else, someone you probably did God knows what with hours before you saw me.”
And with that, you were done here. Finishing the glass you turned and walked to the door.
“Good night Lewis.”
He scurried in front of you blocking your path. “Wait, please. Shit! I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Two sorries in the span of twenty minutes, cool. Get out of my way.”
“No, Y/N, please wait.”
You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “I’m sick and tired of waiting. I’ve waited 10 years!”
“You’ve waited? I’ve—.”
Lewis threw his hands up then walked away grunting and talking to himself. He looked insane and it kind of made you pleased seeing it. He always appeared so in control, so aware of himself and his actions at all times. It had all gone to shit now. You stood there debating if you should just leave and let things remain how they were until the day you both just stopped talking and checking in and it ended up going on for another 10 years until you were just people who used to know one another, people who’d missed out on something. It was then you realized you weren’t wearing shoes.
“Shit,” you whispered.
“I wanted you that night. I wanted you more than I had ever wanted anyone, including anyone in the rotation. Do you know what I was doing while you were on your date?”
“Getting your dick wet. I know.”
“I was lying on Julissa’s bed as she gave me head.”
You scoffed, “Of course you were.”
“She’d been going for 40 minutes and still I was barely hard. No matter what she did, no matter the tricks, no matter how nice it felt, barely hard. I was lying on her bed with my dick in her mouth thinking about you on your fucking date.”
You looked at him then. Those were words you hadn’t expected.
“My mind went crazy thinking what was happening. The longer that went by without you texting me the thoughts killed me. As soon as I got your message I left. No other thought, just you. I prayed to God that the date didn’t go well enough for you to let him upstairs. Then I saw what you were wearing, and I couldn’t believe I was jealous. I was jealous.”
“Why?”
Lewis looked at you then. “Because he got to see you like that. You’d dressed up for him, wanted to turn him on with that outfit. He’d spent the entire night with you. He’d had what I wanted.”
Well shit, you thought before walking back to the bar. Rather than making another drink, you took up a bottle of champagne and brought it to your lips.
“Do you know what it feels like to want someone so bad that it fucks with you and everything you do? To want someone more than you’ve wanted anything. To want someone in a way that is new to you, so new that it scares you. Do you know what it feels to have this crippling fear every time that someone is in your grasp, but not being able to resist the temptation, the desire to make them yours? Do you know what it feels like to know that you only burn this bright, this hot, this dangerous with one person, and the burn is all-consuming?”
He looked almost hysterical now. “Do you know what it feels like to want the perfect someone for you? I’m talking molded for you in every way while knowing it’s not the right time for you because you both want too much from the world and because you know that because you burn so hot, so bright that you’ll burn each other if either of you ever let go and let it happen? To know you are so similar that you will either destroy each other or ruin one another for anyone else.”
The look on his face was so damn relatable. He’d just said everything you’d thought over the last 10 years. Everything.
“I know what he tells me and what he doesn’t tell me.”
He was practically ranting now. Spewing every single thing that he’d ever thought, confessing it all.
“So because of all that you try to keep up pretenses that you’re friends and nothing more though you have countless moments where you slip up and stare at them too long, or hold them in your arms from a hug for half a minute too long, or let your hand linger in theirs or around their waist to test boundaries because you just can’t not touch them, or even find reasons to do every single thing together. You take those 2 steps forward not realizing you do because the pull is too strong, then you freak out and leap back 5 steps. You do this for weeks, months, years until 10 of them have passed and you have this huge box you’d filled with all the other stuff between you that you can’t express or fess up to until that box just gets stirred by one action, one moment--one night.”
His eyes were locked on yours. Somehow he’d traveled across the room to the bar and was standing right in front of you. Somehow he’d locked you in the frame of his arms leaving you nowhere to run. Somehow he’d managed to inflate your chest with hope right beside your thundering heart.
“Then suddenly—everything has changed, and nothing can be the same ever again,” he finished, his voice a whisper in the completely silent room.
You watched his eyes lower to your lips and your gut flipped again.
“Do you know what any of that feels like, Y/N?”
There were only mere inches between you now and the sheer proximity of his body to yours made you shiver.
“H—how long—have you—felt this way?”
Your voice quivered in a way that made it obvious to him what his nearness was doing to you.
“10--fucking years,” Lewis replied eyes glued to yours.
He took one step to you, “I’ve spent the last 8 months cleaning my life, cleaning my circle because I’ve gotten to the point where I could no longer ignore that everyone else is number 2 for me. You’re number one, Y/N.”
You were frozen in place, unsure what to say, and even more unsure what to do. He was right, your truths usually did line up and this was no different.
“And I know it scares you, shit it scares me too. All of this does. I know my life is insane and yours is about to be even more so, I get you still have things you want to accomplish; I saw your face when Halsey mentioned adding your name to the plaque. You want it and I want it for you as well as the world for both of us. Our timing can’t be any worse, but something has got to give, love, because I can’t take another year let alone 10 of this.”
You took a deep, ragged breath.
“Where--,” Lewis began before stopping and chewing his top lip.
It was a nervous tick. “Where do I—stand—with you?”
For 10 years he’d been so hard to read, so nearly impossible to gauge, and here right now in the darkness of the room you could see him as clear as day. He was oh so transparent and scared you’d reject him. Scared you’d decide he was more trouble than he was worth. Scared he’d just showed you his heart and ruined your friendship in the process. Without realizing it you were crying; you felt a tear roll down your cheek.
Sniffling, you wiped it away, “Ehm, I broke up with Darius tonight.”
Lewis looked shocked. Clearly, he thought you were still together.
“Why?”
You wiped the other tear that fell from your eye then looked away from him. All of a sudden the room felt smaller than it was, it felt as if the walls were closing in on you. Lewis cupped the back of your head cradling your skull in his palm making you look him in the eyes.
“Why?”
“For the last 8 months, I’ve been hot and cold with him, I pulled him close one minute then the next pushed him away, I disappeared a lot always using work as the excuse. I was busy, yeah, but it wasn’t work. I was always so reluctant to put a label on what we were doing, every time he brought it up I changed the subject never giving him the answer he wanted. Even when we had sex--.”
Lewis took a deep breath, dropped his head, and harshly released it, clearly displeased with confirmation that he’d had you that way, but you continued.
“Even then it was usually always on my terms, and I always wanted him to leave right after. I was—I was always thinking about someone else, something else instead of him, and for 8 months I never felt anything remotely close to what I felt that night with him. over the months every time I saw you it hacked at whatever was going on between me and him until tonight seeing you again it just--.”
You flicked your five fingers indicating an explosion. I’ve become hypersensitive to you, and I don’t know when it happened. It dawned on me that—I was using Darius and it wasn’t fair.”
Lewis searched your eyes not hiding the hurt in his. You took a step towards him. “You’re right about a few things. Our timing couldn’t be any worse.”
He nodded.
“Our truths usually always line up.”
Lewis looked hopeful then.
“Your life is insane.”
The hope faltered.
“I do want my name on that plaque, and I will get it.”
A small smile crooked his lips.
Another tear rolled down your cheek and again you wiped it away, “I can also no longer ignore that everyone else is number 2 for me. Always has been because you’re my number one.”
He clenched his jaw then and the emotion that washed over his face rocked you. Like an earthquake rocking the Earth’s surface.
“I am scared.”
As this tear rolled, Lewis was the one to reach out and gently wipe it with the pad of his thumb. Your lip quivered.
“I’m so scared.”
Lewis pushed forward then, crashing his lips to yours in one swift move. Once your lips met neither of you went slow. The kiss was frenzied from the beginning, both of you wanting it all and not wanting to waste any more time taking it. As his tongue rolled with yours you closed the space between you pressing your body against him. Lewis softly moaned, wrapping his arms around you. When you bit down on his bottom lip he groaned then walked you backward until your back collided with the edge of the bar. Trapping you there once again, he kissed you without holding a thing back and your body responded to him instantaneously.
In a matter of seconds, you both were moaning against each other and completely wrapped up in the new feelings that were consuming you. Lewis cupped your face as he kissed you then ran his hands down to your neck. You couldn’t deny that this felt even better than you imagined. Moaning, you clutched his waist but when that didn’t suffice, you slowly slid your hands up along his toned abs, over his chest taking in the bulge of muscle there. When you wrapped them around his neck, Lewis pressed more persistently against you.
“Mmmm!”
Lewis tore his lips from you and put his forehead to yours. “Fuck, I don’t want to get too carried away. I’m sorry I should have asked first.”
“Consent fucking given,” you said before you crashed your lips to his.
This time you took control. Swirling your tongue with his you didn’t give him time to react or gain the upper hand. You wanted to taste him, and you refused to wait any longer. Teasing his lips, you nibbled his bottom one, taking your time to sensually suck on it until he moaned against you. The vibration shot through you making you feel like you’d only now just begun to truly feel. Lewis’ hands roughly gripped your hips, holding you steady so you could feel that you weren’t the only one finally feeling for the first time.
Heightening both if your pleasure, you sucked his tongue until he groaned. The next thing you knew Lewis’ had you by the hips lifting you onto the bar top. You wrapped your thighs around him and nearly came when you felt his hands pry your legs apart. The heat radiating off of his hand on your bare thigh reminded you of the night in his car and you prayed he didn’t stop again.
As if reading your mind, Lewis met your eyes while he slid his hand higher and higher and higher until his fingers crawled to your inner thigh. Softly he raked his manicured nails against your skin forcing a whimper from you. You bit down on your bottom lip and silently willed yourself not to cum from the anticipation. Suddenly the back of Lewis’ fingers brushed against your sex. Your gasp was loud, breathy, and stretched out as he took his time moving centimeter by centimeter until he’d trapped your clit between his pointer and middle finger. Your jaw dropped all the while he held your gaze.
When he tightened his fingers and rubbed against you, your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You knew then he was dangerous, and you were going to cum.
“F—ha—fu-huck!”
Your back arched, head fell back as your body moved like it were possessed. Each spasm of pleasure had you bucking against his fingers until you could hardly breathe.
“My god you’re so fucking beautiful when you cum, love.”
You giggled and moaned as the tremors worked their way through you. “Mmm, orgasms and compliments, a girl could get used to this,” you cooed.
“Good. This is your future.”
Lewis moved his hand, brought them to your thighs then lifted them. As he planted your heels at the edge of the bar, you knew what he wanted. Your eyes dropped to his lips then you moaned. Pulling your dress away from your legs you allowed them to fall back to the bar showing him not only gymnasts were flexible.
“Oh fuck,” Lewis groaned.
You watched his eyes drop to your sex and the look on his face was unlike any you’d ever seen. No one had looked at you like this before. He stared where your thighs met like it was the most mesmerizing thing he’d ever seen, the first of its kind and something he wanted to completely destroy. You now felt like prey spread before him like this, like at any moment he was going to pounce on you.
“Mmm.”
Lewis came closer and closer until he rested on his elbows and was just inches from your sex. The anticipation was killing, and he had to know it.
“I knew you were a lacy knickers kind of woman,” he muttered.
“I take it you’re a lacy knickers kind of man.”
“On you, fuck yes.”
With that, Lewis hooked his thumbs in your underwear and pulled them to the side. He blew out a breath in reaction to seeing you bare for the first time and that breath fucked you up all over again. You threw your head back trying to calm your anxieties, but just when you met his eyes again you found his tongue out sliding against your wet folds.
Oh—my—goooood!”
Lewis moaned and did it again and again until he circled your clit with the tip of his tongue. “Mmmm.”
Lewis pressed your thighs back keeping them spread then went to town. If you’d ever doubted before that his mouth game was incredible you didn’t now. He licked, flicked, and sucked along your flesh making your back remain in a prolonged arch. Within seconds you were whining and writhing as his tongue worked literal fucking magic. The sound of Lewis’ slurping echoed in the living room and that was when your hands grabbed his head. Pulling his hair free you held on and bucked against his mouth.
“Mmm.”
He stuck his tongue out and let you take over. With every buck against his tongue, you called his name and the more the tip of his tongue flicked your clit the more out of control you felt. Your release was so close your body moved more wildly needing it at all costs.
“I’m gonna cum Lewis.”
“Cum for me, Y/N!”
You didn’t need to be told more than once and when you were right on the precipice you felt Lewis slid two digits inside of you. Just like that, your orgasm morphed from a toe-curling release to soul snatching one. You screeched as your body convulsed but he didn’t stop then, he pumped his fingers in and out of you then added a third finger stretching you wide.
“Uuuugh fuck!”
You barely finished your words before Lewis threw you over his shoulder, keeping his fingers inside of you. As he walked through the suite his fingers kept fucking you, readying you for him. When your back met the soft sheets of the mattress, Lewis still hadn’t broken contact. He watched you now as you lay there unable to control your body.
“You’re so beautiful.”
Pulling his fingers free he cleaned two of them off before you sprang to your knees to claim the third. As you sucked his finger you kept your eyes on his. You could see how badly he wanted you, how much he wanted from you, and you couldn’t believe he’d held back all this time. You took your time sliding each button through its slot until his shit was wide open. When you pushed it off of him you took in a sight you’d seen plenty of times only now it was different.
You brought your hands to feel across his torso marveling at each defined ab muscle and each tattoo. When you intentionally rubbed against his beaded nipple you noted the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. How had you never noticed your effect on him? How had you never taken it seriously? Bringing your hands back to his waist you undid his pants. You brushed your palm against the protruding mass straining against his pants which made him shiver as he grunted.
“Oops.”
Lewis scoffed then licked his lips and that was all it took for him to claim back some of the control you possessed over this exchange.
“Of course, you’re a fucking tease.”
You innocently smiled. “I haven’t even begun to tease you.”
“I bet.”
Lewis snuck forward kissing you one peck at a time, over and over.
“Mm, can you take it?”
“Any other night my answer would be yes, hell in an hour my answer will be yes but right now--.”
He cupped your sex with on hand and the back of your neck with the other.
“Mmm.”
“Right now, I have no control left. I’ve remained in control around you for 10 years and right now I just want to let it all go. I want to bury myself so deep inside of you there is no mistake that we belong to each other bad timing or not. It’s you and me, Y/N.”
You groaned as his words only increased the wetness between your legs. You kissed him again, then you turned your back to him and swayed your body against him. Lewis dropped a kiss to your shoulder as his hand crept around to cup the underside of your breast. You leaned forward getting on all fours with your ass poking out to him.
“Undo me?”
He didn’t move for a few moments, and you waited for him to enjoy the view. When you felt his hand rub against your ass you dipped your back lower which only made your ass poke out more. Lewis trailed his hand along your spine that the backless gown proudly showed off. Then he went to your tailbone and lowered the zipper of the dress. Peeping over your shoulder, your eyes locked as you allowed the dress to fall away from your body.
His groan was low—primal. It was all you needed to hear to know he liked the strappy number you wore that was made of fine lace. You expected him to take his time but instead, you felt him peel off the garment leaving you completely naked before him for the first time ever.
“You’re so wet for me, Y/N. So wet and so fucking perfect.”
You spread your legs further then stretched your arms over your head using your head to hold you up. As expected, Lewis flipped you onto your back making you giggle. You roamed your hands over your body, cupping your breasts then sliding them down your abdomen to your dripping core. The entire time, Lewis kept his eyes on every move you made while he pulled his pants and underwear off.
When he stood bare before you, your surprise could not be masked. You didn’t know what you’d expected in your late-night thoughts about what he was packing but you had no way of expecting this. Lewis gripped his length then slowly stroked it as he pressed a knee onto the mattress.
“Scared?”
You bit your bottom lip as you gawked at what the good lord blessed him with. It was unfair and completely intimidating.
“Now I see why everyone in the rotation was so happy being one of many.”
He snorted, bringing his other knee to the mattress between. Slowly he stalked closer like a predator with a deadly weapon in hand.
“There is no rotation anymore.”
“Oh yeah. The LH44 Harem has been disbanded?”
As he crept closer, you slid backward.
“You’re not funny.”
“So am I the first to usher in a new era—a new harem?”
Lewis grabbed your ankle then pulled you back to him making the backs of your thighs slam into the fronts of his. He then hovered over you before dropping an opened mouth kiss on your nipple. Sucking the peak into his mouth he sucked raising your back off of the bed.
“You’re in no harem. I told you, it’s you—and me,” he said nibbling your flesh.
Stared at him letting it all sink in. You brought your hand to his bearded cheek and rested it there.
“Are we really doing this? Like—for real?”
Lewis boxed your face in with his muscular arms and stared into your eyes. “I’ve told you where I stand, Y/N. I’ve told you everything that’s in here.”
He took your hand and placed it over the roaring lion etched on his skin keeping his hand over yours.
“It’s time you tell me what’s in here,” he finished placing his other hand over your left breast.
“You,” you whispered.
“I love you, Y/N.”
Before you could react or even respond Lewis thrust forward sending the tip of his hardness inside of you, stealing your breath, and every thought. A breathy gasp filled the air. Slowly he pushed forward, leisurely filling you giving you time to adjust to his size.
“Haaaa.”
Lewis kept his hand over your heart while holding yours over his as he filled you inch by tortuous inch never taking his eyes off yours. Your entire being was on fire like he was pouring molten lava inside of you with every inch he gave you.  
“Oh fu—Lewis,” you panted.
From the way his jaw was clenched, and eyes focused intently on you, you could tell he was feeling everything you were.
“How are you so tight?”
Digging your nails into his chest you tightened your leg around his waist and as if that was his last straw, Lewis flicked his hips forward filling you completely and tearing a scream from both of your lips. Neither of you moved for several moments but with every second that passed by your body blazed. Bucking against him, you slid your hand up to his throat and then gripped it.
“I love you. Fuck me. Now!”
Those words would be your ruin because he did just that without mercy and complete recklessness. Your moans and whimpers melded together rising in decibel and power until the entire room shook with the power of your screams for one another. As he plowed inside of you he didn’t go slow, he followed his basal instincts that were imprinted in his DNA, a need to claim, and dominate.
You’d never felt so out of control in your life. No matter how he fucked you, you couldn’t get enough. No matter how deep he went you wanted him deeper. No matter how he called your name you wanted him to scream it. You wanted every fucking thing he had. You wanted to leave him in shambles. When he flipped you onto your stomach like you weighed nothing, he held your ass in the air and fucked you so thoroughly you’d lost track of how many times you came. It didn’t matter because you wanted more.
He must have been able to read your mind because there was no way he could tell what you needed this soon, you thought to yourself as he grabbed your wrists and pulled you back, so he had your upper body hovering above the mattress.
“Oh my god, I’m cumming Lewis! Ooh shiiiiiit!”
He took advantage of this new angle and circled his hips as he jackhammered into you, fucking you as you did something you’d never done before—squirted. You screamed from the force of your release, but Lewis didn’t stop, he fucked you through it then torpedoed you into another one that you knew would tear you apart. Racing for it, you slammed yourself back into him relishing the mix of pain and pleasure that only intensified when Lewis bit down on your shoulder.
“You got one more for me, darlin? Cum for me. Soak this dick, pretty girl, drench me so I can fill that pretty pussy up.”
“Aaah!”
You clenched around him as you lost yourself and fell off the cliff and into an endless pit of pleasure. You felt Lewis spasm inside of you before he cursed and shouted his release doing just what he promised. Filling your pretty pussy up.
When the two of you finally collapsed on the bed Lewis held you to him spooning you while still being nestled inside of you. Bit by bit you came back to your body and slowly your body went from violent shakes to subtle tremors and a hazy feeling washed over you. Lewis peppered kisses along your neck and shoulder nipping your skin every now and then.
“Mmm. Oh my god!”
He snorted. “You good?”
“Good? Am I good? Are you—at the risk of swelling your head even more than it already is that was--.”
“Was?”
You searched for the words but couldn’t find the right ones. “It was,” you settled on making him laugh as he held you tighter.
“Naw, I was alright, you—you were,” he said making you snort.
“Shut up.”
“No, I’m being for real for real. It’s a miracle I held on that long, you feel unbelievable, so good, too good. You—are!”
You giggled then moaned, sleepiness creeping up on you.
“Don’t you dare fall asleep, I’m nowhere near done with you.”
His manhood inside of you lurched nudging your g-spot and just like that your eyes snapped wide open.
“Watch yourself, I know your weakness now.”
“You?”
“Nope, this pussy.”
Lewis snorted then flipped you onto your stomach again. This time he straddled you as he slowly pulled out of you only to plunge right back in.
“Mmm.”
“Still so damn tight,” Lewis groaned.
“You’re welcome to try stretching me out.”
Lewis jerked his hips forward delivering a bruising thrust as punishment for your your sassy mouth. It was a thrust that took your breath and made you go cross-eyed.
“Mmm, yes!”
“Oh, aren’t you full of surprises. Pretty girl likes it rough and hard.”
He did it again and again, making you hit the bed each time as you buried your face in the sheet to muffle your screams.
“God yes, Lewis!”
“So fucking alike,” Lewis said before lowering his lips to your ear. “Remember I love you 'cause I’m about to fuck you like I don’t.”
Not waiting for a reply he held your arms to the bed then delivered on his promise. Everyone else was number 2 compared to you being each other’s number 1. Nothing else mattered.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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teecupangel · 9 months
Note
Here's an idea I think you might enjoy: animus but Des is in their head, controlling them. They can feel it and talk to him and everything, ratatouille style.
……………… You know what would be funny, nonny?
If Desmond sucks at controlling them.
Like, we’ve heard the rites of passage in AC games:
We make them jump instead of doing a leap of faith
We accidentally make them climb the wrong high building and the actual viewpoint is the tower next to it
We miscalculate a jump and fall into the waters below or into an unsuspecting civilian
And there’s the game specific problems I refuse to believe I’m the only one who suffered thru it.
So just imagine Desmond trying to control them in the Animus and they know they’re being controlled.
There’s this… change in the air around them. It feels more charged. More… mysterious.
And they also become clumsier for some goddamn reason.
Incidents include:
Altaïr falling into the waters in the docks of Acre for the fifteenth time and he just hisses under his breath, “What is wrong with you?! Do you enjoy seeing me wet?!” and Desmond’s just “Dude, your control sucks!” which leads to Altaïr having an argument with Desmond under his breath about how his ‘control’ (whatever that means) does not suck, Desmond just sucks at this thing he likes to call ‘platforming’ and they both just agreed that, yeah, okay, they’re gonna assassinate Sibrand by going around instead even if it meant Altaïr had to walk slowly and pretend to be praying the entire time.
Altaïr breathing heavily as he glared at the ten (nope, five more guards found him in open combat, damn it) guards trying to kill him. One of them stepped forward and raised his sword. Altaïr readied himself and he still got hit, “(Growl)! Desmond! Get your timing right!” “Your Hidden Blade counter timing is too fast, Altaïr! Let’s just use your swor-” “No! You will learn how to counter using the hidden blade or, I swear, I will find a way to control you and drill it to your body myself!” (Guards just glance at each other, thinking “oh shit, he’s insane”)
Ezio just staring into the sky as he places his hands on his waist as he called out, “Desmond! How about we try this again later?” “No! I almost got it!” “……… It’s been an hour, Desmond. Let’s try clearing this tomb after-” “No! We’re gonna get that Armor today if it’s the last thing we do! Just… this goddamn time limit is annoying! Time limit sucks!” Ezio who is already used to the mysterious voice (who calls himself Desmond)’s strange words: “………… (sigh)”
“I can take them out. Desmond, please, I’m begging you, let me take them out. I can do-” (Desmond takes control and Ezio watches as his recruits take down the targets) The recruits looking at Ezio for approval. Ezio: Bene, that was a good takedown. (inside, Ezio is just tired because Desmond is enjoying all this ‘summoning’ thing too much…)
“Why can’t we have different lethal bombs?! You have the ingredients for it!” “I don’t know, Desmond. Could we just please finish preparing all the bombs?” “Dude, wouldn’t it be better if we have, like, all of these bombs?” “… I don’t think I have enough space in belt for all of them…” “You should get a bag.” “(Sigh) Desmond, we already talked about this. This Animus of yours don’t allow more ‘inventory’, right?” (inside, Ezio is wondering what his life has become that he sorta kinda understand the words leaving his mouth)
“Desmond… I’m imploring you to not mess this up.” “I’m trying, man, this is hard.” “Who are you talking to, Haytham?” “Ziio! No… no one.” “…” “… sigghhh… Desmond say hello to Ziio.” “Hi, Ziio.” “… is this a curse placed upon you white men?” “…” “…” “…” “Perhaps.” “Sorta?”
“You are a Templar. May the Father of Understanding guide us.” “May the Father of Understanding guide us.” “Wait, what?!” “…” “…” “Master Kenway, is something the matter?” “… no, Charles. I simply… remembered something foul.”
“It’s okay, Desmond. You’ll get this soon enough. Just take a deep breath and………… Desmond. Desmond. Please stop doing whatever you’re doing right now. My head is starting to hurt.” “It’s not me! The cameras of these tree view points sucks ass!”
“How is it you came to captain a ship, given the way you sail?” “Oh, screw you, Haytham! You wanna talk shit, why don’t you try doing this shit yourself, huh?!” “…” “…” “…” “… Apologies, father. Desmond was out of line.” “No, I’m not, fuck you, Haytham!” “I can say with absolute delight I have not missed you one bit, Desmond.” “Bite me, tacohead.” “I still do not know what that means.”
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leslovesfatties · 6 months
Text
Pt. 1: first flight
Idk I was feeling super mushy so I wrote this in like 3 hours lol soft BHM/FFA fiction…should I continue it?
First time flying in two years…and back then it was a squeeze. Determined not to embarrass myself, I called ahead.
“TWO tickets?”
“Yes, sir. But there’s no guarantee the second seat won’t be sold if it’s a particularly full flight.”
I gulped and hesitated. “Okay…so that means I’m paying for a seat I might not get?”
“That’s correct.” Not a hint of sympathy in her voice.
What other choice did I have? “Okay, then. I guess I’ll take the window and middle seat. Oh, and I’ll probably need a seatbelt extender.” Even saying the words made my face flush. I can’t believe I’d let myself get like this. The voice on the other end of the phone either sighed, coughed, or stifled a laugh. I couldn’t be sure which, and I didn’t exactly want to know.
My alarm fades out as I desperately want to hit snooze. I get up, wash my face, and try to keep my anxiety at bay. It’s going to be fine. I got TWO seats. I won’t bother anyone. I put on a little extra deodorant in between my folds and under my moobs. A little cologne for good measure and a crisp shirt. I don’t want people to think I’m some sort of lazy, unkempt slob. I actually really care about my appearance. My face stays neatly shaven, my hair styled, and clothes - when I can find them in my size - are reasonably tasteful. My glasses frames are updated each year in an attempt to elevate my look, or at least take people’s glances away from other parts.
At the airport, I grab a bagel and a coffee, then wait as close to the line as I can to board. Don’t panic. You’re going to fit. Everything’s going to be fine. It’s a short flight, anyways. A mantra I’ve begun to chant in my head as the boarding process begins. I offer a smile to the man who scans my barcode for two tickets and he looks up for the second passenger.
“Oh, uh, it’s just for me.” He acknowledges by nodding me over to continue boarding. I practically hold my breath as I wedge myself between the aisle. Most people brace their carry ons, but I have to brace myself.
Thankfully, no one is in my row, otherwise they’d have to get up to let me through. I plop down and immediately appreciate the forethought to buy two seats. I’m positively squished between the plane wall and armrest.
“Um, excuse me?” Fuck. I look up.
“Are those your bags? Do you want me to put them up here?
“Uh, I’m actually supposed to have this seat.” I try to speak just loud enough for her to hear and no other passengers. She glances down at her phone and back up.
“23 B?” My face flushes as I realize what’s happened. They’ve given up my seat.
“I-I’m so sorry,” I stutter, utterly embarrassed. “I was supposed to…They weren’t supposed to -“ The line behind her grew and we were drawing attention.
“That’s okay! Here,” she reached for my bag and in a daze, I handed it to her. She was so short she couldn’t get it in the overhead compartment all the way and I wanted to disappear. She scooted in and I tried leaning as far as I could into the wall, my side squishing into her armrest. At that moment, I realized I forgot to ask for the seatbelt extender. My ears started ringing and I desperately wanted to get off this flight.
“I’m so sorry…” I began, but she cut me off.
“For what? Don’t apologize.” She finished shoving her bag under her seat and smiled at me.
An older gentleman plopped down next to her and scowled at me. I looked down as he muttered something I was grateful I couldn’t understand. Fuck. How am I going to get the extender now?
“Um, excuse me?” I leaned over slightly to look at the man who’d just joined our row. I’d just about rather die than have to move. He looked up.
“I’m sorry, but I have to get up.”
The man scowled. “Ugh, shouldn’t they have weight limits on these things?” My heart dropped.
“Wow, that was rude.” The girl beside me said pointedly and the man scoffed. I tried to sink down and away into my chair, my face hot with embarrassment.
“I tried to buy two seats…” I began and the girl cut me off.
“You don’t owe him an explanation. He just wants an excuse to be miserable,” the girl turned and whispered to me. I tried to smile but felt like my lip might quiver, so I mouthed “thank you.”
“Everything okay over here?” A slim flight attendant asked, primarily to me.
“Uh, yeah. I-I think I need a…” I tried gesturing to the seatbelt so I wouldn’t have to say it out loud, but she looked puzzled. I gulped, feeling my heart rate rise and willing myself to stop sweating.
“An extender” it was barely audible, but the guy two seats away looked at me with disgust and shook his head. The flight attendant nodded and retreated to find one. I looked out the window so I could get my emotions in check.
“You okay?” The girl whispered. Thank God she was small, otherwise I’d be squishing her.
I nodded, fearing my voice might crack, and swallowed hard. “Thank you.”
“People can be so unkind.” The tenderness in her voice allowed me to look up and I offered her the best smile I could muster up.
The flight attendant came back with the extender and explained how to connect it. I did it as quickly as possible and willed the plane to take off.
The girl made polite conversation with me which calmed my nerves a bit.
“Are you on the connecting flight or stopping at Atlanta?”
“Connecting flight.”
“Cool. I’m sorry they gave up your seat.”
“It’s okay. It sucks that I’m out of the money, though.” I admitted.
“That’s so fucked up. Sorry, messed up. So you paid for two seats but only got one?”
“Yeah…”
“Well, if you get stuck in the same position next flight, I’d be happy to be your seat buddy again.”
I shook my head, “oh, no. That’s very kind of you, but I don’t want you to be uncomfortable the whole trip.” Secretly, I was terrified of getting sat next to someone who wasn’t as kind as her.
“I’m not uncomfortable at all. Plus, you’d be doing me a favor. I get nervous on planes sometimes and it’s nice to talk to someone.” She smiled reassuringly and I almost believed her.
“Sorry, what was your name?”
“Oh, Leslie! Nice to meet you…?”
“Ian,” I smiled, a bit more sincerely this time.
We kept talking and I tried not making it obvious how squished I was between her armrest, but you could easily tell.
“Do you want to move that?” She asked after I’d wiggled around a bit.
“Oh, no. It’s fine.”
“It won’t bother me, but I can’t promise I won’t fall asleep on you.” I felt my face flush and let out a laugh.
“Are you sure?”
“Here,” she raised it for me and my fat immediately pooled out. I looked away, embarrassed. Thank God it still wasn’t touching her, by some miracle. I glanced at her and she had looked away as well. Fuck.
“Sorry” I muttered.
“It’s okay.” She placed her hand on my thigh just above my knee and I felt my breath hitch. She was just being nice.
“Thanks,” I looked out the window and she moved her hand away.
Several minutes later, she had fallen asleep on me. She wasn’t kidding. I tried not to move as I rummaged through my bag for my AirPods. She stirred and jerked up.
“I’m sorry!”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind. I was trying not to wake you.”
“I’m sure you don’t mind a random stranger sleeping on you,” she chuckled and I grinned in response. “If I fall asleep again, can you wake me when they come by with the snacks?”
“Of course.”
In about 30 minutes, the snack carts came out so I gently nudged Leslie who’d fallen asleep on me again.
“Sorry,” she yawned sleepily. “Thanks for waking me.”
“No problem.”
“Hey, want to get a wine with me?”
“Won’t that make you sleepier?”
“Maybe! Who knows?”
“Two cabernets, please.” She held out her card and I protested.
“No, I got it.” I fumbled for my wallet.
“I insist,” and she handed her card to the flight attendant.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to. I invited you to day drink with me. Cheers.”
“Cheers.” I couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you.”
The plane lands and most people eagerly stand up. I wait behind, definitely not eager to bump into anyone. Leslie stands and asks if we can walk to the gate together so we can board the connecting flight together, and I’m extremely grateful.
“Sure.” When most of the people have left, Leslie scoots out and waits for me. I don’t want her to see me struggle to get out of my seat, but it’s inevitable. “I gotta lose some weight,” I try to laugh it off, but I must be a pretty pathetic sight, wobbling and shifting myself over the seats in order to get into the aisle.
She doesn’t respond and I regret pointing out my size, but she still waits as I reach for my bag. Before slinging it down, I notice her staring where my shirt should be covering my stomach, but considering the reaching, it might have ridden up. My face flushes and I throw my bag over my shoulder as quickly as I can, letting Leslie go first.
“Hungry?”
“Oh, no…I just had a bagel.” But I was hungry, and I would be before the next flight.
“We have about an hour before boarding. Maybe we should get something to go for the plane?”
I considered it. “Sure, whatever you want.”
The only respectable restaurant was a shitty Ruby Tuesdays and we decided to eat in. I was able to wedge myself into the booth but it was tight.
“Here, why don’t we move to the bar?” Leslie asked, noticing the tight space.
“Oh no, I don’t mind…”
“You don’t have to be uncomfortable.” She stated.
I thought over my words carefully and explained “I’m just not sure I’ll fit there, either.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. Do you want to try? I’ll keep our seat here.”
“Um, sure.” I hefted my weight and tried to keep my cool. The bar stools didn’t have armrests which was a blessing. It was still difficult to fit, but it was better than the booth. I came back to grab our bags and she thanked me, following me to the bar.
“You know, you don’t have to do this. I really appreciate it but I’m okay.” She frowned.
“I like this. I like getting to know you. I’d rather hang out with you than wait alone.” She was so sweet. “Want another drink?”
“Sure.”
We continued talking and I forgot why I was ever anxious in the first place. We ordered another round and I could tell she was starting to feel it. I was getting a little uncomfortable when her glances started going towards my body, so I reached into my bag and pulled over a hoodie. Did she…frown?
“You’re really hard to read,” I confessed.
“How so?” She propped herself up on her elbow and looked at me quizzically.
“I don’t know,” I shook my head. “I just don’t get you.” She smiled coyly.
“I’m an enigma,” she stated with jazz hands for added flair.
“Well, I’m enjoying myself a lot more than I was earlier, so thank you.”
“You don’t have to keep thanking me and apologizing. I’m equally enjoying it.” She placed her hand on my thigh and I realized I’d been bouncing my leg anxiously for who knows how long. I didn’t know what to make of her. Friendly, sweet, kind, adorable. Now I have another reason for not wanting to get on the plane…I don’t want this to end.
Leslie orders some appetizers to share and an entree for herself. I try to choose something moderately healthy, so I stick to the grilled chicken sandwich.
“Here, try” she pushes over her appetizer plates to me and I take small bites.
“They’re good.”
“Have more,” she begins forking them onto my plate.
“Whoa, no, that’s okay,” I try to protest but she’s in the middle of loading up my plate.
“I won’t finish them,” she counters, and I oblige, trying not to make a pig of myself.
I try not to eat everything to save face, despite my obvious physique that says I likely have never turned down food before. I order another drink and Leslie is practically staring at me now. I shift uncomfortably in my seat and try sucking in my belly.
“You’re full?”
“Oh, um yeah.”
“We shouldn’t let it go to waste.”
“You ordered them,” I remind her.
“Pleaseeeee,” she’s tipsy now and there’s something in her eyes I can’t quite pinpoint.
“Really?” I laugh. “Why do you want me to finish these? Why not just save them for later?”
“Because you’ll be hungry later, too.”
“Bold of you to assume.” I counter.
“Is it though?” I don’t think she intended malice, but the words sting a little.
“I’m sorry, I just…I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I’m sorry, that was dumb.” She covered her face with her hands.
“It’s okay.“ I pause. She doesn’t say anything. It’s quiet besides her fork scraping against the plate.
“I just, I’m sorry I’m so awkward,” she sighed. “I think you’re really cute.”
I stop mid-bite. “What?” Garbled by the food in my mouth.
She covers her face with her hands again.
I finish swallowing, heart pounding in my chest. “Really?”
“Yes really. I thought I’d made it obvious. I was so nervous.” She confessed.
It took me a second to compute. It made sense. The quick glances, an excuse to put her hand on my leg, insisting on buying my wine.
“It’s so cute when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“You blush.” I could feel my cheeks burning even brighter. We were sitting so close to each other I could smell the sweet rosé on her breath.
She leaned in closer. “You’re seriously so handsome.” I think my heart leapt into my throat and I had to swallow it down. Was this happening?
The bartender interrupted and asked if we wanted to close out, which we did. It gave me a moment to gain my composure.
“You don’t think I’m too…big?” I was afraid to ask. She shook her head and barely audibly answered “I like bigger guys.” Holy shit.
We had to run to our gate and we were both giddy. I offered her my hand and she took it, two wildly different strangers running through an airport together. “I booked two seats…” I explained as they checked my boarding pass and Leslie chimed in “I don’t mind sitting next to him if it’s a full flight. I’m 18 A.”
“Thanks, looks like you might have to. Hang tight.”
“You can give my seat to someone else.” She insisted and the boarding director looked at me and I shrugged.
“Alright, miss,” and he scanned all three tickets.
“I’ll go first to make sure there’s enough room.” Wow. My anxiety was no match for her.
“Excuse me, ‘scuse us,” she’d loudly announce when people’s bags were in my way. I was beyond grateful. We took our seats and I thanked her.
“No more thanking me!” And she pulled her armrest up.
“I’m so cold.”
“Here,” I peeled off my hoodie and felt the cool air hit my stomach when my shirt rode up. “I’m sure it’s way too big, but -“
“Thank you.” She eagerly accepted it and draped it over her, cuddling into me. My heart thudded obnoxiously in my chest.
“Is this okay?” She asked timidly.
“Of course,” I placed an arm around her. Whoever gets sat next to us would probably think we’re a couple on vacation, and I loved that. It was an older, middle aged woman with a smug expression on her face. She first looked at me and practically grimaced. Leslie noticed and placed her arm around my stomach where my waistline would be if it wasn’t covered in fat. I got chills.
It was the tiny nuances that she noticed. How I could use some help maneuvering the aisle, when someone made a comment or just gave a look of disapproval. She was trying to offset it, remind me that I’m not as despicable as they act like I am. Like I’m not a huge waste of space, an eyesore, an inconvenience.
“This is nice.” She sighed into me, arm still wrapped around me.
“So nice,” I agree. She rhythmically rubs her thumb over my stomach and I get goosebumps. I don’t think I’ve ever been touched like this. Sure, I’ve been in relationships and had a couple hookups, but no one ever wanted to touch my body. It was a foreign feeling to have someone actually want to. She looked so small, especially next to me.
“We barely know each other and look at us,” I whispered. She looked up at me excitedly.
“Let’s get to know each other. What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue, yours?”
“Mine too! Favorite food?”
“Anything,” I snickered. “Can you tell?”
“Ha, ha. Alright, how tall are you?”
“Six foot, you?”
“Holy shit. Guess.”
“Hmm, 5’2?”
“Nope. Five foot.”
“Five feet?! That’s it?”
She nodded, stifling a laugh. We were quiet for a little, the hum of the plane and alcohol making us sleepy.
“I really like this.”
“Me too.” I couldn’t believe this was happening. I didn’t want the plane to take off. I wanted to sit with her like this forever.
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gucciwins · 1 year
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it’s a date...maybe 
Word count: 1975
A/N: hi!!! so the talk show blurb got a bit of love and some of you wanted a part two so here it is. I hope you like it, please let me know if you do. it would mean so much to me. happy reading, amores!
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You were nervous.
Your time in London will be limited for now. There were interviews you had to do, the job of promoting was never short. Having a new film debuting soon and doing interviews with the cast of The White Lotus, your schedule was booked and busy that does not mean you didn’t have time for coffee.
After the surprise facetime call on Jimmy Fallon with Harry Styles, they stayed in communication. We sent a few texts back and forth until Harry confessed he felt he wasn’t the best at texting, so we resorted to talking on the phone. It felt juvenile, but you liked the intimacy it brought you. Harry’s voice was soothing, and you found yourself hanging onto his every word. When there were moments of silence, you’d ask him another question because you loved hearing him talk. Harry seemed to catch on after a bit.
“Not that I don’t like telling you about myself, but I want to hear from you,” he told her over facetime, having finished a story about the secret present they got his mum, and he, of course, spoiled minutes before she could open the gift.
You look away bashfully from the screen, “I like your voice,” you confess. “I find it soothing, could listen to you all day.”
Harry giggles, “that’s a relief, means I’m on the right career path.”
You chuckle. He was so smooth; it all seemed to come easy to Harry. When Harry asked you a question, your mind went blank because he still made you nervous. You’re not sure if you had that effect on him. It didn’t seem so.
Talking on the phone was less intimidating than meeting in person. Harry had proposed a date to meet for coffee in a shop near his house. Dinner was what he had initially proposed, but it seemed your schedules were booked in the evenings. So, Harry proposed coffee and promised it wasn’t one of those chain coffee shops and that there would be good coffee and pastries.
He hadn’t called it a date, but why did it feel like one. He simply wanted to meet you, that is all. You were mutual fans of each other and would be getting coffee, that simple. Yet, your hands could not stop sweating. Having lived in London for a few years, you were thankful you listened to your mom when she said to get your license. It made getting around from place to place more accessible and allowed you not to rely on anyone.
Walking into the coffee shop, you walked in and instantly relaxed. Only two people were inside the shop, not counting the employees; one was Harry. He was sitting at a corner table with a view of the garden of flowers the shop had out front. He was quick to stand up when he realized you had walked in.
“Y/N, hi.” He greeted you and raised his hand for you to shake while you opened your arms for a hug. You both froze for a second, and he laughed when he saw the panic on your face.
“I’m sorry, that was so rude of me.” You run a hand down your face, embarrassed, hoping the ground would open up and swallow you. “My mom’s a hugger, and it seems I am too.”
“I could go for a hug,” Harry answered generously.
You allowed yourself to meet his eye and saw he was telling the truth. He opens his arms for you to walk into, and after double-checking, you wrap your arms around his waist while his hands settle on your back. It’s a warm embrace, and you quickly find yourself sinking into him. You aren’t sure how long the hug lasts, but you break it when you feel you’ve invaded his space for too long.
“It’s nice to officially meet you, Harry.” You tell him, taking a seat across from him.
Harry grins, and you melt in your seat when you get a flash of his dimple. He had a perfect smile, and it made you wonder what his lips could possibly taste like. You pushed away those thoughts because here you were, meeting Harry for the first time, and were thinking of kissing him.
“You as well, Y/N. It has been lovely getting to know you,” he shares.
You nod in agreement, “it’s all thanks to you for saying yes to surprise me.”
Harry scratched his eyebrow, and it’s then you noticed a red tint take over his face. He was blushing. “To be honest, I did it hoping to meet you.”
You bite back a smile. Harry has you feeling like a teenage girl wanting to squeal at his every word. “Well, it seems you succeeded.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask if you wanted a drink.”
“Think introductions were more important.”
He taps his fingers against the table, his rings glimmering through the bit of sunshine peeking in. “Do you trust me to choose a drink for you?”
“Hmm…” you ponder it for a second. “Yeah, I trust you.”
Harry gets up, promising he’ll be a few minutes. You take the time to get a look at him. He’s dressed casually. In laid-back ripped jeans, a white top, and a pale yellow cardigan. His large green jacket hanging off the back of his chair. You see him chat with the barista, sharing a shy grin, waving goodbye, and leaving a tip in the half-full tip jar.
“Madam, this is for you,” he places a cup in front of you and one for him. Then places two pastries on the table, a cranberry score and a brownie. “Both treats are vegan. Hope that’s okay.”
You thank Harry as he settles back down across from you. You hide a smile as you see Harry observing you, taking a sip of the coffee he got for you. You hum in appreciation. It’s perfect, exactly how you take it. He seemed to remember what you liked when you mentioned having coffee with a friend, it was one of your earliest conversations.
“It’s perfect. Thank you, Harry. How much do I owe you?”
Harry waves you off, “my treat.”
You raise your coffee as a cheers to Harry. “Thank you.”
You don’t let the fact that he paid for coffee go to your head. You’ve treated your friends to coffee and never considered it a date. It’s fine you’ll enjoy coffee with Harry, and then both go your separate ways.
Harry offers you the first bite of the brownie, and you let out a quiet moan at the taste filling your mouth. You feel your face flush, knowing that Harry heard you, his cheeks now red as he takes a piece of the scone. Before you can apologize, Harry asks how your stay in London has been and where you’re planning to go next.
Conversation with him flows effortlessly. It is as if you were reuniting with an old friend and not meeting for the first time. Harry told you how close he is to his mother and sister and how he doesn’t go home as much as he wishes but makes sure to call them once a day. He shared about his growing car collection. You share about having an older brother, and Harry laughs, saying you both can relate to being the younger sibling. You go on to tell him about the first time you got a tattoo, drunk with your best friend but don’t dare tell him the placement, just that the morning after was something you laughed at for the longest time.
Being with Harry is a nice reminder that you can be the biggest fan of someone and sometimes forget to see them as a person or expect something from them. Harry, when he’s on stage, he’s this charismatic, sexy rockstar that has you dying for a moment with them, but that’s Harry Styles. The Harry sitting in front of you is shy, kind, and beautiful. He gives you his undivided attention, always staring into your eyes. It’s the safest place you could be. You’re thankful he reached out to give you a chance to get to know him.
You don’t know much he knows about you or if he’s read tabloids on you. The fact that you’re constantly seen going out with people from men to women but never confirm anything because most times it’s you with a friend or a family member, but the tabloids don’t care. They sell the story they want, not the truth. The fact is that you don’t play into tabloids. You live your authentic life because it’s tiring hiding from cameras all the time. You rather keep being yourself every day because you’re already someone else when you’re in front of a camera acting.
“You’re really funny, Harry,” you tell him after sobering up from the joke he just told.
Harry’s grin widens, “wish you could tell my sister that.”
“Call her up, tell her right now,” you joke.
He giggles, shaking his head. His phone rings signs that he just received a text message, and it’s the first time he glances at his phone and catches a look at the time. He sighs. It’s clear the bubble the two of you were in has popped, and you now have to go back into the world.
“I had the loveliest time with you, Y/N. Don’t think I’ve spent two hours in a coffee shop since my time in Japan.” He shares as you both get up and put your coats on. The workers had stopped earlier and cleared your table.
“Oh, Japan,” you raise an eyebrow in question. “You’ll have to tell me about that sometime.”
Harry blushes, but you’re not sure why he only nods, promising he will. You walk in front of him, Harry right behind you. His hand hovers over the small of your back, and you find it sweet that he’s considerate enough to help but respect boundaries. You give the workers a quick goodbye, and Harry follows you to your car.
He stands in front of you with his hands tucked in his pocket as you both wait for one of you to begin the goodbye.
“I had a nice time with you as well, Harry.” You remembered you didn’t repeat the sentiment inside, too intrigued by Japan.
“It was a nice first date, I think,” his face is quick to flush red, but his eyes remain locked on yours.
He was smooth.
Thank goodness you’re an actress because you’re able to hide the shock of him calling your time together a date. You take a step closer to Harry and give him a sweet smile, “it was really nice,” you promise him.
“I hope we can do a second date before you leave at the end of the week.”
You think about it for a second, not wanting to seem eager, but know you fail when Harry catches the smile that bloomed on your face. “I’d like that.”
“We could do dinner?” He suggests.
“Are you cooking?”
Harry laughs; he runs his hand down your arm until he reaches your fingers he gives you a light squeeze. “If that’s what you’d like.”
“I could bring dessert,” you offer. “Oh, and wine.”
“Can’t forget the wine.”
Harry leaned in, giving you a kiss on your cheek. You felt warm inside, god he was smooth. “I’ll call you tonight.” He promises.
You hum in acknowledgment, still lost in the haze of his lingering kiss.
“Drive safe, Y/N darling.”
“Have a nice walk home, Harry.”
They walk away from each other with large smiles on their faces. They’re so lost in their heads they fail to notice the paparazzi snapping photos of them from across the street.
It seemed they’d have something else to navigate together.
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feel free to send me a message of what you loved, what was your favorite part and if you want to see more of them 💜
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whatbigotspost · 2 months
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Guys. If you follow me you well know 1) I can be petty as hell and 2) I am always happy to write extremely long and thorough take downs when needed and 3) I love sourcing things and know no limits to spending my time on BEING RIGHT 😂
Well today I brought all of this at work, cranked to an 11. Some technology service we pay for tried to claim they’re taking us to collections for lack of payment when both myself and one of my fave coworkers has spent the past year trying over and over to get them to correctly link the payment we 100% did pay (and we have provided ample evidence of doing so) to our account. We have asked their customer service to help us a dozen times and when prodded, their staff has admitted more than once that we did pay and the outstanding balance is wrong. But they just. don’t. CLEAR THE GODDAMN BALANCE ON OUR ACCOUNT ONCE AND FOR ALL.
And like…WE are the customers here! And nonprofit customers at that! It’s so unhinged for a megacorp to treat us this way when our resources are so limited. Like you’re really threatening a charity with collections?? for?? something?? we?? did?? pay??
When said beloved coworker first saw the collections threat email earlier today, I think a little piece of her soul died, as did mine…and when she asked me what we do now that I was like friend leave it to me, this is where I shine!!!
And I went full on me. Professional me but like me writing as many words as I wanted to. Pulling historical proof, asking why we’re being treated like this when we’re a small nonprofit who they could be donating this stuff to anyway, instead of taking up our time to waste because they don’t know how to run their business or comport themselves professionally. I had proof of payment in not one but 2 forms, email threads with 6 people in company who had contacted me and I attempted to get help me but who ultimately did not.
Like I’ll be the first to admit it was overkill in the most deliciously “how fucking dare you” way BUT ultra restrained and like appropriate corporate speak style where it’s a “your company is a pack of assholes” but more like…
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(Ugh ignore typos!)
Like I’m not kidding when I acknowledge my own ridiculousness here but you can only be treated terribly by someone YOU HAVE PAID before you snap, ya know? 😂 and I snapped.
Well after I hit send, I was like “oh god will beloved coworker think I am fully off my rocker…”
BUTTTTTT I got this lil gem on slack
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waywardxwords · 6 months
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Healing Wounds
Summary: Sequel to Empty - It had been close to a year since your run-in with Sam Winchester. You had spent the time hunting recklessly, which landed you in a predicament you didn’t think you could escape from. This tells the story of seeing Sam once more after his soul has been restored. 
Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female Reader
Word Count: ~4k
Warnings: Swearing, mention of vomit/nausea (no description), blood, Supernatural-y things (vamps), heartbreak (but fixing it with fluff), angsty, very limited talk about mental health and personal struggles
A/N: There may be one final part in this. I felt like there was too much to cover in one part. But this also wraps up all of the angst from Empty. Let me know what you think! And if you'd like to see this storyline continue at all :) Thanks in advance!
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The first phone call came about eight months after you had seen Sam.
“Hello?” You answered, unsure of the number that had called you. But in the world of hunting, you always answered. Hunters were known to work their way through cell phones or have burners as back-up.
But this was a voice you had willed yourself to forget over the last eight months. Your name fell in a gentle murmur from his lips, but it sounded bitter to your ear. “It’s, uh, it’s Sam,” he cleared his throat in a way that told you he was uncomfortable making this phone call.
“Sam,” you said curtly. Your friend and hunting partner, Alicia McCaffrey, looked at you with wide eyes.
“Hang up that damn phone,” she muttered through gritted teeth as she followed you into the motel room and closed the door behind her.
You wanted to, really–you did. But somehow you couldn’t bring yourself to do it just yet. “Are you and Dean alright?” You asked firmly. You had learned that just a few months after your run-in with Sam, Dean had gotten back in the game. Bobby had filled you in on a call he had made to ask you about a hunt you had been on. Dean had tried to reach out twice to see you, but he could tell by the sound of your voice and shortness of your responses, you weren’t willing to come back to hunt with the Winchester duo.
“Y-Yeah,” he stumbled over his words–and here again, he sounded different. But you knew better. You had witnessed it for yourself. “We’re fine, we’re okay,” you were able to breathe a little easier. There was a pause on his end, and you didn’t understand why. “God, this is so hard to explain over the phone. There’s…there’s so much I wanna say…” his voice fell off again. 
“Sam, I don’t really have time for this–” your heart raced against your sternum.
“I know, I know I don’t deserve it. Please, just let me explain–” it was your turn to cut him off.
“Sam, all I want is for you to lose my number,” the words felt angry as they left your mouth. As much as it still hurt, you pulled the phone from your ear and hit ‘End’.
It had been months since you had heard from Sam Winchester. Months of reckless hunting, which wasn’t usually your style. But you had a hard time caring anymore. The heartache from your one night rendezvous with the youngest Winchester had wrecked you in ways you didn’t realize were possible. 
Alicia McCaffrey had become one of your closest friends, but even she had to take a step back. “You’re dangerous,” she had breathed one night after a hunt. “I can’t keep putting myself in life or death situations with you, kid.” You knew she was right–she didn’t deserve to be put in precarious circumstances because you had gotten your heart broken. Hell, she had even warned you that she thought it was a bad idea. Had you trusted your gut, even you knew it was the wrong decision. Sam wasn’t the same man you had known, and yet you went through with it anyway. You would be paying the price for the rest of your life, even if that would be a short time.
So you hunted alone now. It was for the best. You avoided the phone calls from Bobby, and anyone else you knew from that past life because you refused to open up the book of pain. You no longer cared if another hunter was calling you for help, the emotions were too overwhelming: hurt, pain, embarrassment…
With a quick shift of your wrist, your blade slashed through a vampire’s neck. You didn’t even flinch as his head rolled–eyes wide open as he had a moment to process his demise. 
“You bitch,” an older vampire spat in your direction as his body moved quicker than you could turn. He caught the spot on your neck in an instant. The shrill pain of his fangs as they gnawed through your warm flesh elicited a scream from your lips. Without hesitation, you reached in your back pocket and very quickly popped the plastic cap off before you smashed the syringe into the side of his neck. He pulled back from you with a shriek as he stumbled. 
“Dead man’s blood, asshole,” you grumbled as your fingertips pressed to the wet spot on your neck. It almost felt like you could feel your pulse through the blood and torn flesh. You shook the white spots from your vision and didn’t falter as you swung your machete across his neck. For a moment, you were disappointed. You could hear others coming down the hall of the abandoned estate–their chatter and growling echoed along the halls and bounced off of the marble floors.
You weren’t sure why you were disappointed. For months now, you had been living life on the edge–like Alicia had said before she left, “You have a death wish, kid. And I’m not stickin’ around for you to see it through.” So wasn’t this it? Wasn’t this what you had wanted? You thought the answer was yes, so why did it feel so wrong now that you were practically staring Death in the face?
With a quick breath, you tried to swallow past the lump of emotion bubbling in your throat. You pulled your fingers from the spot on your neck that leaked with more blood every time your heart reverberated against your chest. With narrowed eyes, you stared down the hallway where the other vamps were swiftly approaching. After a few rotations of your machete, you took one last breath. “Come and get me!” The words fell from your lips in a hasty yell.
But then, something happened. Just beyond the heavy double doors made of a dark wood, you heard screaming; slashing. You gulped once, then twice…and then the doors opened.
In your heart, you had a sinking idea who stood behind those doors. But at the same time, you didn’t think they cared enough. Or maybe that he cared enough. 
Even beyond the spots in your eyes and the darkness of the room around you, you noticed Sam’s jaw tighten as his eyes moved over your frame. From the distant look across your face–the one that told him you weren’t happy to see him–to the blood still dripping from the crook of your neck just above your collarbone. Without thinking, he moved forward towards you. He didn’t miss the way your body flinched as he moved, but he forced it out of his head as his machete clanked to the ground and echoed around your bodies.
“Don’t,” you muttered through gritted teeth. He stopped, only for a moment. “Don’t touch me.” You managed once more as his large hands moved fallen strands of hair away from your neck so he could get a better look at your open wound.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed with furrowed brows and a look in his eyes that took you by surprise. The way his eyes moved between yours, it made you pause–was that…was that the light that you were so desperately searching for the last time you encountered Sam? “I have to look at it, okay?” His voice was just above a whisper.
Anger rumbled in the pit of your stomach, but seemed to quiet down at the specks of glint you saw all of a sudden. You knew he was right; you had been seeing spots ever since that vamp snacked on your jugular, or so it felt. You managed a small nod.
With maybe a second passing, he moved. One hand cradled the side of your face while the other tilted your head a bit, so it relaxed in the feeling of his hand. His eyes moved over the injury as he quickly reached away with both hands to take off his flannel covering a sweat-stained gray undershirt. You wanted to vomit when his hands left your skin, and that made you angry again. “How dare you just waltz in here like a fucking knight in shining armor,” you hadn’t realized your mouth had picked up on your brain’s thoughts and instead of having an internal dialogue, you had spoken them out loud. Oh well…at least he knew how you felt now, if he hadn’t already.
Sam’s eyes moved to yours swiftly. He nodded once, then twice before he ducked his head to look at the ground. “Sorry will never be enough,” he murmured. His head moved back so he could look at you once more. He didn’t say anything before he took his flannel and pressed it to your neck with a pressure that made you hiss in pain and squeeze your eyes closed. “I know,” he continued. “We gotta keep pressure on it…” his voice trailed off as Dean spoke up.
“I know there’s a lotta shit happening right now,” he said as he looked around the abandoned space. “But we gotta keep moving. I don’t think that’s the last of the nest and we’re fightin’ an uphill battle. We’ll come back later, but let’s get you cleaned up.” He nodded to you–Dean’s way of saying ‘hello’. 
Going with the Winchesters was the last thing you would ever decide to do at this moment–well, maybe not the last thing. It was settled on the list just above getting eaten by a vamp. But your options were limited, and you felt yourself feeling more and more lightheaded the longer your neck bled. 
“Fine,” you managed as you followed them back to the Impala. Sam kept his distance, and you were thankful for that. As you climbed into the backseat, Sam hesitated by the door but got the message when you pulled it closed behind you. He settled for the front seat while Dean drove.
As you headed to whatever motel they were staying in, you repeated in your head: Get in, get cleaned up, have Dean take you back to your motel. Get in, get out. Get in…get out… 
Your eyes watched as the yellow light from street poles moved past the car on the drive. Tears and emotion prickled the back of your eyes and throat, but you pushed them away. You’d be damned if you let Sam Winchester get under your skin again. Fool you once, shame on him. But fool you twice…
It was only a few minutes before the Impala shifted into park in the lot of a seedy highway motel. You internally groaned when you realized you recognized this seedy highway motel–it was the same one you had been crashing at for the last two nights. They must’ve gotten in that day, because there was no way you wouldn’t have noticed the Impala.
The ride had been silent, which made you realize that Dean must also know about what happened between you and Sam all those nights ago. That made your stomach flip flop even more than before–embarrassment crept up into your chest and face. Trying to brush it off was useless, but you still attempted. You pulled the car door handle open before Sam could try to help and brushed by him.
“Assuming you guys have a med kit here?” The bleeding had slowed to a stop, which you were thankful for because it meant the damage was mostly cosmetic and everything important was still intact. 
“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Dean chuckled as he closed the driver side door. “We got you covered. It’s, uh…it’s good to see you.” He nodded as his eyes lingered over you–you couldn’t be sure what he was looking for, or maybe even seeing. But you felt like his eyes were full of pity and sympathy, which made you nauseous again.
“Yeah,” you nodded, not able to return the sentiment. “If we could get this over with, that’d be great. I have things to do.”
Dean led the way to the door of their motel room. Sam kept his distance, but you could feel his gaze again. His hands shoved into the front pockets of his dark jeans. 
“Where ya staying?” Dean asked nonchalantly as he put the key card in the slot to unlock their door. 
You took a moment before answering. “Here. Just down the hall,” your words were soft. You didn’t really want to share that information with them. 
Dean nodded but didn’t seem surprised. There weren’t too many motels just off the highway, which was what the Winchesters always booked. In that realization, you wanted to kick yourself. Even though you hadn’t meant to, you were still following their rules of hunting. “Stay just off the highway so you can peel out quick if shit hits the fan,” Dean’s words echoed through your brain. 
Dean nodded as the door opened and you followed him inside, Sam just behind you. “I gotta go pick something up,” you knew Dean was just trying to find an excuse to leave. Before you could argue, he tossed the med kit from the small bathroom onto one of the beds and hurried back to the door. “I’ll be back a bit later. Sammy will get you cleaned up.”
Before a word could flow from your brain to your lips, Dean was out the door. You closed your eyes for a minute and bit down hard on the inside of your lip—so hard, you thought you tasted blood. 
He had the audacity to utter your name, and it made you want to scream. 
“Don’t you dare say my name like that,” you gritted through the words. “You don’t get to talk to me anymore. Seriously.” You glanced around the room in his silence, and headed back for the door. “I have my own med kit, I can do it myself.” You muttered. 
“Please, don’t go,” while everything inside of you told you to keep walking, the conviction and pain in his voice made your feet stop moving. “Please. I’m begging you. I just need a few minutes to explain. Let me take care of you and explain everything from the last year and a half, and then if you still want to leave, I won’t stand in your way.” 
Against your better judgment, your feet moved to turn back to face him. You could see the same emotions on his face—the anguish, in typical Sam Winchester fashion. “Let me take care of you,” his words echoed internally and stung almost as much as the cool air that was about to hit the gash on your neck.
“You have five minutes,” you said carefully as you walked to the edge of the bed and pulled Sam’s flannel away from your skin. You winced as the fabric pulled at the already drying wound. 
If you had blinked, you would have missed the way Sam’s jaw tightened and how his eyes traced a path from the wound on your neck to your eyes and back. 
His hands opened the med kit; as he began to work, he spoke softly. “Cas pulled me out of Lucifer’s cage. But when he got me out, my soul got left behind,” your eyes darted to his face as he poured antiseptic onto a cotton pad. 
“Your soul?” You asked, his eyes glued to the cotton pad as he focused on working. 
He nodded once as he brought the pad to your neck. He hesitated for a second. “Yeah, my soul. This is gonna sting, okay?” He asked carefully. He waited for you to nod before he placed the pad, cool from the antiseptic, onto your skin. Your face contorted for a minute and you swallowed the hiss that threatened to escape. “I knew something was wrong but I didn’t know what. I didn’t know how I got out of the cage or what was wrong with me. I just felt…numb.” 
So far, nothing Sam had said swayed your judgment or how you felt. Sam understood that by your silence. Nevertheless, he continued working on your wound. 
“Dean got back in, and then Cas…and that’s when we realized my soul was just gone,” he moved on to unwrap some packing gauze and broke his train of thought. “It doesn’t look like it needs stitches, just a surface wound. You okay if I pack it and tape it up?”
You managed a nod and looked down a bit so your hair fell into your face. Sam’s fingers grazed your chin so gently, you weren’t sure you felt it until you saw his hand. 
“Sorry, gotta get the right angle,” he cleared his throat. He brushed your hair over your shoulder and went back to work. “I remember everything now,” he started again and pulled his gaze away from your eyes. He busied his fingers with the packing gauze, but you could tell it was so he wouldn’t have to look directly into your eyes. “I didn’t right away…it’s kind of a long story. But I would get glimpses of memories and things that happened when I didn’t have my soul. And I saw you…and that night…” his voice trailed off. 
“Alright, that’s enough,” you cut him off before your words were swallowed by emotions—emotions you had tried so hard not to feel for all of these months. You were on your feet pushing past his broad frame before he could say another word. “I’m not doing this, Sam. I’m not going to sit here and have some bullshit heart to heart about what happened. I can’t.” 
Sam stood immediately but he didn’t approach—he knew better than that. “I know I don’t deserve it. God, I know…”
“Do you?” You spat back. This time, the emotion broke through. Everything you had fought so hard to swallow came tumbling back. “Do you know how hard it was when I watched you jump into the cage? Or how I mourned you and the loss of the person I considered my best friend? Or how about how the entire time I hunted with you I wanted so desperately for you to want me the way I wanted you?” You wondered if you would regret the words, but you couldn’t stop them. Nor could you stop the angry tears that began to pool in your eyes and spill just over the edge. The look on his face remained the same—pained. “How amazing it was when I saw you standing in the bar that night? And then how hurt I was when I realized you had been back for ten months and didn’t call? But then you wanted me…and you had me,” your voice fell and you could no longer look into his eyes. “And then you left.” Your voice was so low, you weren’t sure if he had heard you. 
Sam couldn’t stand in one spot anymore. He moved to you so quickly, it took you by surprise. You could tell by the way he moved his arms he wanted to touch you, but he refrained. 
“I know that saying sorry means absolutely nothing right now,” he said slowly, carefully. “But I am so incredibly sorry. I don’t think I’ve ever been more sorry about anything before in my life.” His words dripped with an emotion you had never heard from him before. You thought he might cry—and you had never seen Sam Winchester cry. “If I could change it—”
“I know,” you cut him off with your eyes closed, only allowing more tears to slip through the cracks. “You would take it back. I know. It was a mistake, Sam.”
There was a moment of silence before he spoke again. “The only mistake I made that night was not showing you how much I care about you.” 
Through blurry blinks you looked back at him, and it was then that you saw what you couldn’t see the last time you and Sam Winchester were in a motel room together–the light. There was still pain, but the emptiness was gone, filled again with what had been missing all along. He moved so slowly, cautiously as he brought his palm up to cup your cheek. The pad of his thumb swept under your eye to wipe at the tears that had settled there.
“You were the last person in the world I would ever want to hurt…I am so sorry I hurt you,” his eyes connected with yours to show you he meant it. “My feelings were real, I was just so screwed up…I had zero emotional connection to what was happening.”
You pulled back from his touch as your eyes found the multicolored carpet below your feet. While you had already spilled so many feelings to him that you hadn’t planned for, you couldn’t hold his gaze while you told him this one. “I wanted to die, Sam. I gave up. Being with you that night…it left a wound I couldn’t figure out how to heal. The pain was so bad, I didn’t care about anyone or anything anymore…”
This time, you knew you could see Sam’s eyes glass over. He was hurting because he knew his actions had left a scar deep within you and caused you so much anguish. 
It was then that you realized—Sam hadn’t asked to be brought back without his soul. Hell, he hadn’t been asked to be brought back at all. When you had run into Sam that night, he didn’t even realize his soul was missing. 
“But it’s not your fault,” suddenly, your heart fluttered. Since that night all those months ago, you hadn’t felt that flutter for anything or anyone. The feeling of emptiness was replaced with a flutter of hope. “You didn’t know, Sam.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered with a shake of his head, his eyes still on yours. “It doesn’t make it okay.” 
“It doesn’t,” you breathed, your tears slowing. “But it isn’t fair for me to hold something against you that you didn’t even know was happening…” as he heard your words, you saw a gleam of hope in his eyes that matched the feeling in your chest. 
His brows furrowed as he closed his eyes and dropped his head a bit. “Thank you,” the words fell in a breath. 
“I’m sorry it took me so long to hear you out,” your fingers instinctively reached to touch the palms of his hands. His head jerked back up so his eyes were on you, his brows still knitted together in a frown. He grasped your hands tightly in his, and a feeling of warmth washed over you.
“Do not apologize to me,” he said firmly. “You don’t owe me anything, you hear me? I hurt you. I would do anything in the world to fix it.”
Your throat suddenly felt dry, so you swallowed so you could try to get the words out. “I don’t really know what that looks like, but I’m willing to work on it together…”
For the first time that night, you saw a smile tug at the corners of Sam’s lips. He gave your hands another squeeze. “Thank you…” his words trailed away before he cleared his throat. “Now, can I please finish packing that gash on your neck? We really need to get it covered.” 
You managed a nod and allowed him to hold your hand as he led you back to the bed. 
“I’ll do everything I can to help you heal,” he breathed as his eyes focused on yours again once you were on the edge of the bed. You wanted to tell him it was a superficial wound and would heal just fine, but you knew he was talking about more than just the spot the vampire had bitten. And you were willing to let him try. 
---------
Tag List: @lacilou
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universe-friday · 2 months
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EXCERPT #16:
Hello. I hope somebody is listening…
Ok, no, I know what you’re thinking.
You think I sound weird.
Well, not weird, I hope but… New! A little different…?
I’m trying something out here, and it feels pretty right. It still feels like me, it still sounds like me.
Thalia has been trying to teach me to step a little more out of my comfort zone… And, she already got me to do that when I searched the clubs for her, so why not listen?
We have been hanging out a lot recently, not much else to do in the City, especially being alone.
I’ve just been inspired by her, old sport.
Her voice just sounds like falling asleep on fresh, new bed sheets for the first time… Sinking more and more into the mattress with every word…
I wanted to sound like that. So, I hope you’re feeling comfortable, old sport…!
It can be harder sometimes though, days where I sink into that mattress… But I start to dream about you again, February, as her voice fades into yours.
Your voice is the one I ultimately fall asleep to February, but I can’t stand to only hear you in my dreams anymore. I just want to truly hear your voice again, with your comfort and touch as a package deal… It’s been so, so long.
[…]
You would really like Thalia, February.
You’d just love her. She’s really helping me open up, something you always wanted me to do. But, I suppose, the City is a better place to do so. We would never want me to burn as bright as you ever did; to steal your spotlight. Thank you for hiding me in your shadow… if only you would turn around now, February.
While I got to explore the City day by day, discovering its secrets so few people know of… I never seemed to do the one thing I could do in the City… explore who I am. So many people don’t know me… But do I even know me?
I have a funny little anecdote for you, February.
Thalia has so many variations of this dress - a floral dress, of different colours, lengths and styles.
[Chuckles softly] Perhaps I should be taking notes with my suits…
She showed me so many different ones, yet I had my eyes fixed on this beautiful white dress with blue flowers… it had these frilly, long sleeves and the skirt would flow all the way down to your ankles.
She insisted I try it on.
I won’t lie, I felt a little silly. Not because I’m used to my suit, no… but I did have my gloves on still, of course. They did not match the dress.
You would've been proud of me though, February. Right? I don’t know why I did it though… I swore to myself no one would’ve ever been able to get me out of my usual style. I like my style! But there’s something so liberating about twirling around in a dress, a sense of freedom. Just how a suit gives me that boost of confidence.
You always did care about your clothes, February. You were right, I get it now. You’re always right.
Do you feel free, February? Up there, in the sky, with all of those other shining stars. They do say the sky is the limit… But when you’re there, what else is there to stop you?
You know what’s funny? People say the sky is full of freedom, and they say the same about the City… yet, have you ever noticed that the places said to be full of freedom seem to feel the least free? Perhaps the idea of ‘being free’ is just having too many options. And no one is ever going to agree with every single one.
While no one in the City would ever care enough to judge, the freedom almost feels too free… do you understand me, February? You have the opportunity to do anything you ever wanted to do, but no one to praise you. No one to care. Is it worth it…?
If only you could see me too, February. Would you think of me as pretty? Handsome?
Or am I just me?
[...]
NOTE: as inspired by the week #1 prompts of february friday events as organised by @februaryfridayevents! this week's themes were voice / freedom / expression ... these were super fun to explore!
if you are curious as to how i interpreted these into this week's excerpt, i have posted a behind the scenes here on @friday-answers! go check it out!
as always, see you next week!
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puppy-pie · 1 month
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Hello! :3
I'm unsure if I should really even be asking this, but I am personally curious about petplay? I have been leaning towards getting into it, and I feel ashamed of myself about it, and I was looking to see if someone could possibly just give a little intel on it and stumbled across your blog!
-⚰️🪷 anon (if anyone hasn't claimed it already)
Omg hiiii! First of all I just wanna tell you love, you’re my first claimed anon! So congrats!!
Second off, I wanna say that pet play is such a BROAD kink there’s no “correct” way to answer your question! I highly advise you to do more research than what I answer :] if you’d like more specifics just let me know! I’ll post something more in depth!!
So, to break it down more simply, pet play is just another form of dominant/submissive kink (doesn’t always have to be, but commonly is! It’s totally alright to have dom on dom or sub on sub stuff as well!) It’s a type of relationship where one (or more) partners will take on a more animalistic role/trait abt themselves! Most relationships will take on an owner/pet relationship, where the owner has a more dominant role over their submissive pet. Like I said, there are variants of pet play relationships though, so research up!
Pet play comes in varying degrees of…hm I guess intensity? Some people are more strict in their versions, whereas other people prefer a relaxed style. Since pet play is a ROLE there isn’t really a limit to what is and isn’t allowed in it. Popular pet roles include puppies, kittens, bunnies, ponies, and even cows! To some, simplistic dominant/submissive roleplay with pet like terms is good, to others dressing as full leather/latex adorned puppies is their schtick. It’s all up to personal opinion! There’s plenty of costumes, gear, and accessories to help aspiring pet players find what they wish to engage in. Me personally, I consider myself about a mid-level pet player. I like tails and ears, I like leashes and muzzles, and I absolutely adore being called and treated as a puppy. Many pet players will also use real pet items, such as food dishes or crates/kennels, to enhance their experience.
Another thing abt it is that pet play can be paired with other kinks! I myself have quite a few tacked on there, they’re listed in my pinned post if you’d like to see! Behavior and reward/punishment are common in pet play, so is praise, lots of stuff really! Once again it’s just a matter of preference!!
Now, let’s get to what pet play is NOT:
- Pet Play is not beastiality
- Pet Play is not inherently furry centered (though you can be both!!)
- Pet Play is not gross
All scenes and relationships within pet play should be consensual, of age, and made with firm expression of boundaries and limits. Please remember that you have the right to change your mind when experimenting with pet play AT ANY TIME. Your consent is YOURS. It is important. And don’t feel ashamed honey! It’s perfectly natural to explore kink and to explore a more…how you say….carnal side of yourself! The community is wide and accepting, I’m sure you’ll find something to fit you!
Please let me know if you’d like a further in depth explanation from my end on any of the above topics, or if you need any help! Love you hun! Happy exploring 💖
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abloomingperiod · 9 months
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him | kim namjoon
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"hey, you listening?" you ask as you make your way out of the bathroom and into the room your fiancé was situated.
"yes" he simply answers, voice calm and eyes and hands leaving his book to look at you.
when your eyes find his, you stop - on your tracks and your train of thought - to drink on the sight.
there he was, the reason you’re even planning and thinking about what is supposed to be the biggest and best day of your life for the last three months, since he dropped on one knee to ask for your hand - and later, to give you a glimpse of why you’ll need more than a week for your honeymoon.
there he was, hair growing over his neck - less than a mullet, just like you asked him to grow it into -, bare and pretty face, big and buff limbs glowing as the warm, small light from your lampshade illuminated them. sharp eyes, yet so calm and serene gaze expecting your next words.
speaking of them,
where exactly did they go?
“honey?” his deep voice asks with a small side grin, which you want to slap him for. does he thinks he’s helping you and your reasoning, when all you can think about is how remarkably low it is?
him, him, him. everything about him. all about him. him.
“right” you come back to earth, hands on your hips, “so... about our wedding”, you start, but can’t help and feel funny under his gaze, shrugging it off with an old, stupid joke of yours, “let’s end it off- nah i’m joking, but for real-”
as dumb as it is, it never fails to rip a small chuckle out of your sweet soon-to-be husband, and you swear to god it’s the prettiest sound in the world.
if it was possible to fall in love twice with the same person without even falling out of the first time, you’re sure his laughter would be responsible for it.
and once again, you’re standing there like an idiot, watching the other idiot that knows exactly what he’s doing when his lower lip gets pulled back by his teeth, and you feel like a teenager for the tenth time in the last 3 minutes. “...you okay, babe?”
just let your thoughts win and grab him, for god’s sake.
“i can’t keep my hands off of you” you confess, arms giving up, sighing and faking a frustrated face that could never be convincing. not when your legs are already folding and making their way onto his lap, slowly crawling with your knees to the only place you never get sick of in the world.
him, him, him. his skin, his warmth, his embrace.
everything about him. all about him.
“now why would i ever want you to do that?” he asks smoothly, hands immediately finding your waist and burning up your skin. his eyes held such a welcoming stare, you wish you could just say ‘i do’ right now and have him all for yourself ‘til your last day on earth.
“no but i do have something to say” you remember yourself and him, hands finding his waist and caressing around it - waist, tummy, chest, bones, everything you could find and paint with your own touch. “i was thinking, and maybe, we should throw a little something before the actual wedding, you know? like a pre-wedding thing”
he observes you, head slightly hanging to the side as his curiosity get to him.
“not that i don’t think it’s enough or anything!” you assure him, fingers going through his small silver chain that held your proposal ring in. “you’re gonna like this, hear me out: we probably want to drink our asses off. that’s just how we roll, right? but i know myself, and i know my limits... i’ll be straight up with you: i don’t think my insides can take cake, korean food and alcohol the way i wish it would.”
and there it is, one more laughing sound of his, but this time, a louder, bigger one.
the dumbass is laughing at your costs, now.
“you really can’t function outside of the ‘8 or 80′ style, can you?” his right hand flicks your forehead lightly “dumbass.”
“pardon? i didn’t ask for a funny tummy and i certainly don’t want it messed up at my own wedding. that’s a huge ass reason to throw a small something a few days before!” you interject, quickly pinching his sides, earning a cute squirm from him. “plus, i don’t wanna be bloated when i’m wearing my wedding dress.”
with that, he just stares at you for a second, and lets out a fair question as his eyes narrow at your intentions, “you’re not plotting this just because of that, are you?”
another thing you could easily hold accountable for a second fall for him: his caring.
handling and watching you more intently than yourself, sometimes.
god, it’s almost embarrassing how much you love this in him.
“no. and you know that. i really do have a suck ass stomach, you’ve seen how bad it gets” you say, easing his sudden seriousness, and with that you smile at him “plus, i want other korean stuff turning my insides out...”
he interrupts you with most delicious laugh you’ve heard in a long time - since the last time he laughed this hard (last than a day before). “ “god, you’re gross! okay, i see your point.”
“i knew you would. now, this can be very s-small,” you get into the details of your plan and his hands betray his incredulous gaze, as they travel down to the small of your back and rest on your ass, softly caressing it an earning a small tremble in your voice. “less than 20 people, your closest friends, my closes friends, a bar with at least 5 of the 10 drink options we’re having in the menu... we can bring the same flavor of cake...” your eyes keep scanning his beautiful face and the loving eyes he gives you, admiring the thought you put behind your little plan. “we can even wear a tie and a small veil! so everybody knows about it! who knows? maybe we even get a free drink. gotta milk our options out, baby.”
at that, you expect him to give you one more nice chuckle, or even a light slap on the butt, but he decides not to. instead his hands press you against his own lower body, and his plump lips attach themselves to the side of your neck. you let out a small sigh followed by a light chuckle “i’m serious!”
“i know you are” he defends himself, lips travelling north to your jaw and cheek, leaving hard pecks, making you smile like you’re high “you’re irresistible, that’s all”
you know for a fact he felt your pulse stumbling, fumbling and failing as his lips kept kissing you.
“enough for you to say yes?” you take advantage of his sweet words.
“i’m marrying you, isn’t that enough of an answer?” he asks, facing you with the most whipped out smile you’ve ever seen. “sure. anything for you.” you smile wildly at him, heart throbbing and lips mumbling a small ‘thanks’ as you peck his lips. “i can search for that bar, too.”
god, why is he so freaking him?
of course he can.
“yeah?”
“yeah.” he responds, smile never leaving his mouth, cheekily giving you his trademark wink along with it.
“you..... ugh!” your hands tangle ins his hair and your lips attack his just like you did when he proposed to you. your kiss is urgent, desperate even, and still, he manages to laugh against it. he pulls you flush against him, chest to chest and heart to heart, hands dancing around your ass.
you could never get sick of this place.
“fucking love you. can’t wait to put this ring on your finger” you pull back and confess, lips ghosting his as you watch your hands travel back to his chain.
“you and i both” he agrees, eyes and hand mirroring yours, gasping a bit. “can’t wait to see you in that dress” fingers caressing your whole torso: spectrum, under-boob, ribcage, waist, “and take it off.”
oh, are you longing for that honeymoon.
“and you will” you peck him again, “‘cause now i don’t need to care about my tummy”
his laughs fills your room and your eardrums with the most beautiful sound you can point out. his head fall back to the wall behind and his eyes close, and you wish you could have this sight and this sight only for the rest of your life.
“yes, your tummy is well taken care of”
“and that’s for you, too. i need my newly husband a hundred percent conscious and collected for the after party”
he lightly tsks at you "if i were you, i’d wish the opposite” he slowly grabs your ass and kisses the back of your ear. god, he feels like a delicious poison. “plus, i don’t think i can stay collected after watching you down that aisle.”
“you and i both” you repeat his words, head resting on his shoulder. “thank you, i owe you one.” and leaving a small kiss on his jaw.
“show me the dress?”
“never.”
“but i’ll search for the bar.”
“you did that on yourself.”
he jokingly scoffs and mumbles a small ‘fine’, and you fall in love with him all over again.
“but i’ll give you a hint. it’s white.”
“shut up.”
“make me.”
and he looks down at you, small smirk painting his face.
“yeah? wanna pay it back now?” he asks mischievously, as his finger trace your lower lip.
“i just might” you respond, kissing his thumb. his eyes hold a darker tone, and as your bodies almost mold into one with the proximity you’re in, you can feel just how much he might want it.
“...still wanted to see that dress, though.” he jokes, and you return to your position facing him, lightly slapping his rigid chest. he catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, softly kissing it, and travelling to the back of your hand.
“that gives bad luck, dumbass.”
as he keeps kissing your knuckles, his other hand ghost over your thigh, enticing you and making you shiver deliciously.
because that’s what he does. namjoon makes you stumble, tremble, flutter, shiver and fall.
him, him, him.
everything about him. all about him.
“you’re all the luck i need.”
him, him, him.
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dressed-euphoric · 9 months
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The Induction
By. Euphoric Dressed
A college student attempts to infiltrate a group. The photo is used as an inspiration. Word Count: 7600
“You’ve got to be kidding me…” my friend exclaimed, his eyes reflecting a lingering sense of letdown. 
“It’ll be fun!” I playfully nudged my friend while extending the pamphlet before him. “Don’t you want to see what goes behind these meetings?”
I could immediately sense he was nowhere as piqued as I was. He rolled his eyes dismissively when I took the pamphlet from a random man a while ago. The man was unusual and everyone could tell he was not your average Joe. 
The man exuded an air of immaculateness. His black hair neatly combed in a conservative manner. He had on a dark charcoal suit that draped on perfectly. His black leather shoes, devoid of any blemishes, gleamed of a mirror shine. His shirt boasted a starched precision, his tie formed a formulated dimple, and his pants displayed razor sharp creases. How would I be if I were to be in his position? The mere thought made me recoil. Could I ever envision myself dressed as he was? Absolutely not. It was out of the question. 
"I'm not that insane," my friend dismissed the invitation.
I lowered my gaze to the paper and observed the intricate details. My eyes scanned across the displayed photos of the individual men. They too were dressed in suits.
"Discover more about our essence and enrich your life today," I read aloud.
He groaned, echoing the reservation swirling in my mind. “That’s how they lure you in, and make you apart of them.”
"Where's your faith in me?" I asked him, seriousness etched on my face. "You know I won't fall for this stuff!”
"Well, I won't be going," he replied firmly.
"Oh, come on!" I whined. "You can't leave me hanging!"
"I'm not going anywhere near that stuff," he persisted.
"You're abandoning me?"
"It was your idea!" he shot back.
"Fine. You'll miss out.”
"Yeah, let me know how it goes," he smirked at me.
I rolled my eyes and looked at him. "It's going to be an epic tale of my infiltration."
------------
The following day, I stood before the mirror. As I examined my t-shirt and jeans, my thoughts drifted to the suited stranger I had encountered on the street. Would I appear out of place?
I laughed. Why should I even care? It was just one meeting, and all I had to do was step inside and witness the nonsense being propagated. With a smile playing on my lips, I gathered the last remnants of my courage. This was it. I was going to infiltrate them. 
As I arrived, the building appeared ordinary, with only a handful of individuals gathered at the entrance. Just as I had anticipated, the attendees had an air of refinement, dressed in dress shirts and ties, trousers, and well polished leather shoes. 
I approached them, and they regarded me with a peculiar stare. I had assumed that I wouldn't blend in, yet they greeted me with smiles. Their eyes revealed a hidden excitement, as if they believed a lost soul like me would willingly join their cause. But there was no chance of that happening.
The entrance led to a corridor, guarded by two suited men. The number of people visiting the place seemed limited. Those who did attend stood out, much like myself, among the established members of the organization.
I observed their interaction with the two men, then they proceeded further down the hallway. I followed suit and approached the man stationed behind a desk. 
He was engrossed in scribbling notes on a piece of paper, but as he glanced up, our eyes met. His neatly combed brown hair was meticulously styled to the side, accentuated by a precise part. His short brown beard was flawlessly groomed. Then there was his dark suit that highlighted his physique. My gaze lingered upon his navy striped tie. How could anyone wear such a thing around their neck!?
“Mr. Porter.” He extended his hands. I reciprocated, but his firm was heavier than mine. 
"We don't often see many young folks around here," he smiled and then glanced down at his logbook. "What's your name and phone number?"
"Mike," my voice squeaked out filled with nerves. Then, I provided him with a fictitious phone number. 
He moistened his finger and turned the pages, scanning for my name.
"You're not on the list," he informed me. "Did you register?"
"I have to register?" A lump formed in my throat.
"Don't worry. Let me check if there's anyone on the list who will be willing to take you in," he searched through the papers again.
"What do you mean?" I asked, fearing the implications of his statement.
“Oh, we have a mentorship program where we pair young men like you with a member. It’s meant to facilitate your transition.” 
"No, I won't need that," I interjected hastily, realizing immediately that it was something to avoid.
He continued without a care to my response. Did he even hear me? Or did he choose to ignore me? 
"Here we go," he tapped on the paper, presumably the person he had found. "Mr. Burton will be pleased to take you under his wing."
"Wait," I tried to stop him, but he raised his hands and reached out to his phone to dial. The phone connected and my heart sank as he mentioned me.
"He will be here shortly," he acknowledged, giving me a nod.
I simply nodded in return and stepped aside, deciding it was better not to arouse suspicion. My gaze fixated on the approaching bystanders. Some were dressed, while others were like me. 
Those who were in suits headed towards a separate entrance, guided by two individuals donning charcoal suits. The rest of them made their way through the main entrance. 
After a few moments, a voice announced itself.
"You must be Mike?" it asked.
Startled from my reverie, I turned to face an older gentleman. His brown hair was neatly trimmed, and a partially white scruffy beard adorned his face. Round eyeglasses complemented his facial features. Like the others, he was no exception when it came to attire. He sported an exquisite gray suit, tailored impeccably to his frame, along with a white dress shirt and a yellow striped tie.
This was it. Heat began to radiate through my body as I extended my hand for a handshake. "Mr. Burton?"
There was no turning back now.
"That's me," he grinned, reciprocating the gesture. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"Like…Likewise," I managed to choke out.
His handshake was firm, in stark contrast to my own lackluster grip. It surely didn't leave the best impression, but I couldn't dwell on it too much. He stood there with an air of distinction, while I felt insignificant in comparison. I wouldn't say I was scared of him, but he certainly was daunting. 
"Come this way," he motioned for me to follow him into a separate hallway. I glanced around, noticing that no one else seemed to be heading in our direction.
"Are we going the right way?" My voice quivered. 
He chuckled warmly, "it seems like you're familiar with this place."
"Oh. No," I quickly retracted my statement, feeling ashamed of my comment. There must be a reason why Mr. Burton was deviating from the standard protocol. I didn't know what to expect, but I followed him obediently, like a lamb.
"We don't often see many young people here. How old are you, boy?" he inquired.
"Yeah, Mr. Porter mentioned it. I'm 21," I replied, slightly taken aback by being referred to as a "boy." "Young man" would have sufficed.
"As Mr. Porter may have mentioned, we have a mentorship program in place to help young individuals like yourself transition into the group," he explained.
I nodded nervously, acknowledging his words.
"As you know, young people can be more resistant to these kinds of ideals," he commented, hinting at the challenges of acceptance within the organization.
I couldn’t help but laugh inside. He was right. There was absolutely no way I would ever be interested in any of this. Did he seriously think I would consider joining their group? Not to mention how they were all dressed, there was no way I could be like that! I shook my head in disbelief, wondering how people could become so trapped and revolve their lives around such things.
"So, what will we be doing?" I asked, attempting to extract more information from him.
"I thought I'd give you a warm welcome," he replied kindly, as he began approaching a door.
"Right this way," he said, opening the door and extending his arms to invite me in.
I stepped into the dark room, dimly lit by a single lightbulb, with two foldable chairs positioned in the center. The door closed behind me as he entered the room. I glanced back at the door, then shifted my gaze back to the man standing before me.
He chuckled, breaking the silence. "I know how this may appear, but the door isn't locked."
"Okay..." I let out a nervous laugh.
"I thought I could bring you here, so I can get to know you better," he confessed, settling into one of the chairs. As he crossed his legs, I noticed his gray socks peeking out from underneath his trousers. It was the first time I truly took notice of his black dress shoes, polished to a high degree of shine.
He extended his hands towards the vacant chair in front of him. "Come, have a seat."
Following his guidance, I sat across from him. My throat felt heavy, and my nerves were on edge. He wanted to know more about me... Then, the realization hit me hard—I didn't have a story.
"So, boy, tell me about yourself," he said casually.
I flinched at his words, feeling his gaze penetrating into me. Would I slip up? What if he discovered the true reason for my presence here?
"I..." My voice croaked, my mind racing for something to say.
He noticed my hesitation and offered a comforting smile. "I apologize if it feels like an interview. It's natural to be nervous in a situation like this."
If there was one thing remarkable about Mr. Burton, it was his smile. A grinning eminence of warmth and ease. There was a man like this, here. 
"I don't mind," I blurted out, trying to sound confident.
And so, I began to weave a tale about myself—a fabricated version of me.
I introduced myself as Mike, a 21-year-old college student nearing the end of my studies. I mentioned my uncertain future, lacking prospects for a job or a clear path in life, which ultimately led me to this place.
I sprinkled in a mix of fake hobbies along with a few genuine ones, embellishing the lie to make it more convincing.
Mr. Burton sat there, his smile unwavering. He listened attentively, occasionally offering a comment or two. It was easy to forget that he was a man in a suit; he seemed so genuine and down-to-earth. There was something about him that drew me in.
He leaned forward, displaying a genuine interest in what I had to say. He laughed at my jokes and sang with agreement.
As I continued to weave my tale, a part of me longed for him to know the real me. I had to admit, he wasn't at all what I had expected. There was a gentle charm about him that assuaged my worries. If he weren't a part of this group, perhaps I would have genuinely enjoyed getting to know him better.
"Tell me about your family. Do your parents know that you're here?" 
I chuckled and shook my head. "No, my mom is working hard back at home, and, well..."
I didn’t know why but my mind conjured what seemed plausible, “my dad passed away when I was little, so I had a harder time growing up. So you know, without a figure in life, I was a bit rebellious growing up.” 
Mr. Burton nodded empathetically, his eyes filled with understanding. What was it about those eyes that captivated me as the lies spilled out of my lips.
"That must have been challenging for you," his soft voice melded with compassion. 
"Yeah... it was," I replied, lowering my voice as if sharing a deeply personal secret.
In reality, I hadn't lost my father. In fact, my family was ordinary and happy. My parents were well-off, and I had a bright future ahead of me, following in their footsteps—school, job, and eventually starting a family of my own.
But as Mr. Burton expressed his understanding, a pang of guilt tugged at my conscience. Somehow, my words had convinced him that I was on a journey of self-discovery.
"If I had to guess, you're here because you're seeking a new sense of direction," he commented perceptively.
"Yeah," I affirmed, trying to match his understanding tone. Definitely. I definitely came here for a new sense of direction. 
He rose from his chair, his arms outstretched in a welcoming gesture. Confusion filled me as he approached me suddenly, his embrace engulfing me, drawing me close to his chest.
A rush of warmth enveloped me, evoking a sense of safety and comfort that felt foreign in this context. No. No… this wasn’t what I came here for. My heart pounded against his chest as his hand rhythmically patted and rubbed my back.
"You don't have to worry anymore, Mike. I'm here for you," he reassured me with a sincerity that caught me off guard.
His presence surrounded me like a soothing breeze, and his warmth washed over me like gentle waves lapping at the shore. At that moment, I caught a glimpse of an idyllic sunset, its hues reflecting upon the tranquil ocean. Strangely, a part of me wanted to hold onto this feeling.
Though I knew his sympathy was directed towards the fabricated version of me, I couldn't shield myself from the genuine comfort he provided.
"We can help you here," his voice broke the silence, brushing against my ear. "I can help you."
I stood in silence, caught between the allure of his offer and the realization of my ulterior motives. Yet, he drew me even closer, holding me tightly. My face pressed against his soft, gentle dress shirt as my arms instinctively wrapped around his back. The earthy scent of pine trees mixed with a subtle hint of leather filled my senses.
I hadn't anticipated this intimate encounter. What was this? I was perfectly normal… but to be embraced by him made my gut scream in anticipation. This wasn't part of the plan. This was not it. I should start focusing on… what… was… this smell? His smell was heavenly intoxicating. 
All the tension in my muscles melted away as he pulled back slightly, meeting my gaze with his deep blue eyes. "You've made the right choice, boy," he affirmed.
"I..." My words trailed off, captivated by the mesmerizing depth of his eyes. They seemed to hold the secrets of the vast ocean, yet the surface waves were so soothing. If Mr. Burton deemed it the right choice, then perhaps it truly was. What was I here for again?
"I know what you need," he stated with confidence.
"Which is...?" I asked, my voice barely audible.
"What sizes do you wear?" he inquired, his tone gentle.
Without hesitation, I shared my shirt, pants, and shoe sizes, as if compelled to do so. There was an odd sense of surrender in that moment, as if I had relinquished control.
A smile curved on his lips. "Stay here, and I will be back shortly."
Anxious anticipation filled me as I nodded in response. I mustered a wry smile as he left the room. Deep down, I knew what awaited me if he was asking for my sizes. This was my chance to leave, to escape this place. I had gone too far, and it was not baring well for me.
But the thought of Mr. Burton leaked into my mind and suddenly a whirlpool of curiosity and intrigue opened up. It revealed an entirely new world beneath the surface. What would it be like to be mentored by him, to truly get to know him? Did it even matter if he was part of this group?
The mere idea of being under his guidance ignited a nervous tremor within me. Was I going mad? What was I thinking? Yet, a surge of excitement coursed through my body, heat flushing my face with warmth. What was this feeling?
The door swung open, extinguishing any flicker of hope for escape. I tried to reassure myself that everything would be alright, that I could still accomplish my mission.
In Mr. Burton's hand, he held a stack of garment bags, and dread washed over me. The sight of those bags could only mean one thing: I was about to be enveloped in the same attire worn by the rest of their members. Was I prepared for that? 
The thought of wearing their fine dress shirts and exquisite trousers seemed unimaginable. Me, in a suit? It felt like an absurd notion. Yet, there stood Mr. Burton, radiating warmth and confidence in his tailored suit. The way it accented his form was undeniably attractive. In that moment, I found myself longing to be like him, to be under his guidance.
"Thank goodness we have them in your size, isn't that great?" he exclaimed joyfully as he approached the center of the room.
I forced a smile, my heart pounding in my chest. "Yeah. What's in the bag?"
A part of me already knew the answer, but I had to ask. He gently placed the bag on the chair and turned his attention back to me, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.
“Just a simple initiation. Nothing too daunting.” He assured me as he reached into the bag and retrieved a package. 
He approached me with it, his voice assuring, “see, nothing bad.”
My gaze fixated on the package. As he opened it, revealing a pair of white undergarments, I couldn't help but feel a surge of apprehension. A nylon undershirt and a white underwear stared back at me.
He handed me the garments, and I held them in my hands, my body tense with uncertainty. Should I accept them? No, it felt like a surrender, a step towards becoming one of them.
I glanced back at him, and his expression shifted upon meeting my hesitant gaze. Has my body language betrayed my doubts?
"I understand what you're thinking," he sighed, his tone empathetic. "Here, let me show you something."
Time seemed to slow as my eyes widened, witnessing what unfolded before me. His hands gravitated towards his belt, the familiar sound of a buckle being undone filling the air. He removed his belt, and a mixture of curiosity and unease coursed through me.
What was he doing!? What was I seeing?
His hands reached towards his trousers, unclasping them. His attention then shifted to the zipper. The sound echoed in the room of his zipper being undone. 
I stared in horror as he dropped his trousers onto the ground. He stepped out of them nonchalantly, revealing his long gray socks that extended above his calves. My attention remained fixed as he slid his hands to his white shirt beneath the gray jacket. 
I couldn’t shift my gaze away from what he had revealed. His white briefs, the same pair he had given me, outlined an enlarged cock behind his brief. It was clearly for me to see.
"Don't worry, Mr. Burton wears them too," he reassured me.
I snapped out of it and refocused my attention on him. His tie still collared onto him. He had already unbuttoned some on his dress shirt and pulled it to the side, revealing the white nylon undershirt tucked into his white briefs. His chest was partially visible, displaying his muscular physique. His hardened nipples along with his fuzzy chest hair faintly visible through the fabric.
"Do you like them?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
I was at a loss for words. My mouth dried and empty. 
"I understand your hesitation. It's natural," he said, attempting to sway me. "But I assure you, you'll find them enjoyable."
I… will enjoy them? I tried to redirect my thoughts on Mr. Burton and not what he displayed in front of me. 
"Go ahead, feel the pair," he gestured, his hands in motion.
I couldn't believe I was engaging in this. My heart raced as I cautiously placed my hands on the garments he had given me. My gaze remained fixed on Mr. Burton as I explored the texture of the fabric. I didn’t hate it. Each touch of it sends a spark against my body. 
"Now, imagine yourself wearing them," he encouraged.
And so I did. I envisioned myself wearing the white nylon undershirt and underwear, picturing myself standing before him.
"Very good," he praised, acknowledging my visualization. "Now, I'd like to see how you would look in them."
I knew what he wanted before he asked. The words stirred a mixture of emotions with me. A sense of uncertainty and unknown. What can I do? What other options did I have?  
Approaching me with warmth emanating from him, he wore a genuine smile on his face. His body moved with poise and his eyes filled with ambition.
How could anyone resist his presence? His hands made contact with me as he visualized the transformation he had in mind.
"I'm going to get rid of this improper appearance," he informed me.
Suddenly, a desire emerged. I want him to get rid of my flaws. I watched as he reached out to my belt and tugged it.
“You’ll no longer be lost, my boy.” His words laced with a drug, pulling me in. 
What was I doing here? What am I doing? I glanced down at my chest as his other hand gently rested there. I observed his hands moving downward, reaching towards my belt.
His hands joined together, their synchronized movement gripping onto my belt. With a bit of fumbling and intertwining of fingers, my belt succumbed to his touch. He swiftly unlocked it.
"There we go," he exclaimed cheerfully as he removed my belt from my jeans, casually discarding it onto the ground. Then, both of his hands proceeded to the hem of my shirt. His touch radiated warmth, akin to the comforting embers of a fireplace.
"Good boy," his words of approval echoed, "good boy."
His hands moved deliberately, gently pulling my shirt outward. My body responded instinctively, allowing him to remove it.
"You just let me guide you," he whispered softly, his words hanging in the air. "I'll ensure you find the right path. Will you allow me to do that for you?"
I hesitated. Why was my body reacting this way? Why did his words hold such allure? My lips began to search for the word “yes.” No, I was perfectly normal. I needed to regain control. I don’t… I gazed into his eyes, searching for clarity, but words eluded me.
There I stood, partially naked in front of him, as his hands continued their purposeful movement. My jeans were eased down, revealing my briefs. Without hesitation, I stepped out of my pants.
His smile stirred something within me. This was my choice, my decision.
He didn't stop there. He wanted to see the holy grail. His gaze met mine once more, seeking permission. Slowly, he descended, removing my last layer of protection. I let him stripped it away.  
"That’s my boy,” his voice growled with approval. 
Never before had I allowed someone to see me completely exposed with my cock hanging out. Mr. Burton was the first to witness it, and he seemed to take pride in that fact, discerning it from a single glance into my eyes.
It was absurd, wasn't it? My original purpose had been to infiltrate their group, and now here I stood, utterly naked before Mr. Burton. I couldn't tear my gaze away from him, captivated by his presence.
His left hand rested gently on my shoulder, while his right hand delicately lifted my chin, directing my gaze towards him. The sensations coursing through my body felt palpable, like resounding drums. Once again, I found myself lost in his eyes, drawn to his white teeth gracing me with a smile.
"Don't be shy. Keep your head up. I promise you'll find pleasure in this," he reassured me, his hands offering a comforting massage to my shoulders.
Radiating with a sense of pride, he stepped away from me, retrieving the garments he had previously shown me. I knew what was to come, and yet my thoughts couldn't help but linger on it…
The allure of wearing their acclaimed garment consumed my thoughts. The vibrations within me intensified, synchronized with the rhythmic tapping of Mr. Burton's leather shoe on the floor.
"Remember, it's just a simple initiation. Nothing to worry about," he reassured, patting me gently on the shoulder. "You want to try them on, don't you?"
My desire to put on the garment was undeniable. I swallowed nervously. After all, it was merely a part of the initiation. Mr. Burton handed it to me with ease. Why did I accept it? Why did I now find it in my grasp? I examined it once more, realizing there were no valid reasons to resist.
It was too late for hesitation. The first piece presented was their white brief. My body seemed to move instinctively as my legs guided themselves into the garment. With each pull, I felt the fabric enveloping me, caressing my skin, and pulling me within them.
“That’s my boy.”
My hands smoothly pulled the garment over my cock, feeling the softness of the white briefs as they embraced me. A sigh of comfort escaped my lips as I relished in the soothing sensation.
Without delay, Mr. Burton handed me the undershirt, and I swiftly slipped it on. The fabric draped over me, and although slightly translucent, it provided a sense of coverage.
“Tuck it in.” He instructed.
Following his guidance, I obediently tucked the undershirt into my briefs. As I completed the task, a deep groan escaped me. I couldn't help but wonder about the unfamiliar emotions stirring within.
"You appear much more dignified now," Mr. Burton commended.
My gaze fixated on his hands as they reached out and rested on top of my bulge.
"How does it feel?" he inquired softly, his fingers tenderly caressing my balls through the fabric.
A faint whimper escaped my lips as his touch elicited a pleasurable response. His fingers moved with gentle strokes, caressing my balls.
“Does it feel good?” He whispered.
“Yes.” I gently bit my lips.
“Wonderful.” His eyes brimmed with pride. 
I couldn't stop looking down at myself at what I had done. The garments I had put on, his hands delicately placed on top of my covered bulge, arousing a newfound erection within me.
"You'll fit right in," he reassured me, a sense of belonging in his tone.
“Oooah…” A low moan escaped my lips as his fingers continued their mesmerizing touch, overpowering my ability to control my own body.
"But we're not finished yet," Mr. Burton grinned, pleased with the progress I had made. How far had I come? Did I even want to resist? Such thoughts escaped from me as my body reveled in the sensation of the garments and his touch. It felt right.
"You, my boy, deserve to embrace your best self every day," he promised, his words tinged with sincerity.
His words caused a blush to color my cheeks, and I looked up at him. Mr. Burton stood there, still partially dressed in his suit, oozing confidence.
"What you see here is what all men should wear," he declared proudly, his words echoed with conviction. 
He then dangled a pair of long black socks in his hands.
"Put these on," he commanded.
Complying with his orders, I slid my feet into the fabric... It was unlike anything I had ever felt before. It provided a comforting warmth against my skin as the sock extended beyond my calves.
At that moment, I was being dressed according to his vision. A sense of fear stirred within me—an apprehensive panic born out of the unknown.
"Now, for the rest of the ensemble," he declared.
With those words, I knew what was left and my body eagerly awaited it. He approached me, holding the next piece of the ensemble in his hands. The missing piece that will start to make me whole. A white dress shirt in his hands, calling for me. 
I couldn’t resist his gentle touches as he starts to enveloped me in a fragment of their uniform. His hands guided my arms into the sleeves. Then he starts to button up the shirt, the fabric delicately caressing me. He reached out to adjust my collar with a gentle touch. I can tell in his eyes how the white dress shirt was fitting for a young man like myself.
Why did everything feel so aligned? With every touch from Mr. Burton, it was no longer me wearing the shirt; instead, it was as if the shirt was embracing me, becoming an integral part of who I am. 
Mr. Burton completed dressing me in the shirt, a wide smile gracing his face. “You’ve started to come along nicely,” he acknowledge. 
I stared down at myself, the unfamiliar long black socks to my calves, the white dress shirt, the white nylon undershirt into the white briefs, some part of me knew I looked funny. This wasn’t me. These clothes weren’t me at all. It didn't fit me. But another part of me…
A spontaneous smile emerged on my face as I examined myself. Simultaneously, an unexpected feeling surfaced within me. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t nervousness. Why, I pondered? Why did excitement surge through my veins?
“I had mentioned earlier you’ll find it pleasurable and it seems I was correct.” He remarked. 
I swallowed uneasily, a swirl of foreign thoughts and feelings wrestling within me. I knew what was happening, yet I fought against it in my mind. I wasn’t going to fall for this. I wasn’t going to be swayed by this group. All I wanted was to go in and get out, enduring and revealing the nonsense meeting.
He wasn’t right. He wasn’t right at all. I can’t find these clothes… enjoyable. However, despite my resistance, I found myself inevitably drawing comparisons to Mr. Burton. I was becoming like him, wearing the same garments he wore. Now, starting to wear the same clothes as he does. I… I couldn’t help but admire him, even against my will.
Mr. Burton swiftly moved on to the next item. He draped a pair of charcoal trousers over his hands. I swallowed hard. I hated the implication of it. One step closer. One step closer to becoming one of them. 
“You are to wear the proper attire befitting of a man.” Mr. Burton extended his hands towards me, almost like he had sensed the oncoming distraught. 
Was Mr. Burton the embodiment of it all?
“Please rest assured, you don’t need to worry about anything. As your mentor, it is my duty to provide guidance and support. The decisions I make on your behalf are intended to help you, mold you, and reform you. You can trust that my choices will always be correct." His smile radiated warmth and reassurance.
His words resonated within me… he always had my best interests at heart… he… he was going to my mentor, leading me towards the path I needed to follow. 
“Put on these trousers and let go of all thoughts of the past. You will grow to appreciate them and only desire to wear of such.” He extended them towards me. 
I stared intently, but no resistance surfaced in my mind. Mr. Burton was here, surrounding me with his care. Without any more thoughts, I reached out and accepted the trousers. 
“That’s my boy,” he praised.
I wasn’t merely a young man anymore… I was now Mr. Burton’s boy, entrusted to his care. I couldn’t deny him. I had to wear the pants he had given me. Thus, I slipped into the trousers. His hands moved quickly, assisting in tucking my shirt neatly. 
“Good boy,” he uttered, zipping up my fly. 
His words stirred a flutter in my stomach. Just moments ago, his praises were unwarranted, even cringe-worthy. They were false. Thoughts of why I should care about a man like him praising me, and how being referred to as a “good boy” stung my pride, crossed my mind. I was not a boy; I was a man.
Yet, those thoughts faded away. I’m doing the right thing… I… I was a… a good boy. 
Me with them. Me with Mr. Burton. A strange sensation stirred within me at the thought, but it was not the end. Swiftly, I felt the presence of something around my neck—a red and black striped tie. I watched, allowing him to knot it around my collar.
His hands moved gently against my neck as he skillfully tied the knot. It took shape, and then he tugged it snugly against my neck, ensuring it was just tight.
"Now, that's what I want to see," he remarked, gripping onto my tie.
My thoughts froze in my head, shrouded in the mystery of my own feelings.
"Now, onto the final piece," he declared, walking over to a pair of black loafers.
A lump formed in my throat as he approached with the loafers. They were impeccably polished and shiny. I didn’t know how I would feel about wearing them. I had found them to be… worn by older generations.
Mr. Burton motioned for me to sit on the chair, waiting to give me a prized possession of their shoes. This was the final piece… my body complied.
I watched as he bent down, grasping my feet, and slipped on one loafer, followed by the other. Finally, he completed the ensemble with the second loafer. They fit perfectly on my feet. 
He tapped the black loafers on my feet, then looked up at me. "How do they feel? Do they fit?"
I nodded towards him. They fitted perfectly and it was scary. I had never worn a pair in my life and yet they snuggled me comfortably. All the men wore such beautiful pairs of leather shoes and now, one was on me.
Deep breaths escaped my lips as I sat there, allowing the moment to sink in. The gnawing sensation inside me grew stronger as I stood up, gazing down at my new pair of shoes.
My vision blurred momentarily, and my heart chimed loudly, resonating through the empty room. I could feel it coursing through me— the shoes, the shirt and pants, the knot. Breathe, I told myself. Breathe. But I couldn't help but steal glances at myself in their clothes. What would it do to me? Was I truly mad to crave it? I was. I was insane.
I looked like one of them. I looked like one of his own. Such a thought was welcomed. I want to be one of them. I want to be like Mr. Burton’s and now I stood there in their uniform. I stood there and looked like him. I was complete.
My lips broke the silence I had held so tightly within me. “Everything… feels…”
“Wonderful,” he finished my sentence, stealing my words.
I couldn’t help but found myself riveting to what he had put me in. I can see myself in their clothes. I can see myself wearing a suit walking amongst them. I can see myself always neatly dressed and proper. My hair conservatively like Mr. Burton’s. My ties knotted tightly and formulated. A dress shirt always worn by me accompanied by razor sharped creased trousers. Then at last, long socks and polished shoes of a man. 
His hands guided along my chest, up to my tie, as he grabbed the knot and pulled me closer.
"Don't you agree that this is a much better representation of who you are?" His hands traced the front of my dress shirt.
My voice croaked under his touch. "Yes."
His other hand found itself again on top of my bulge of my newly charcoal trousers.
“Ooooah!” My mouth opened wide in earnest, allowing him massaging it through my trousers. His hands had its touches, binding pleasure to him. 
His gaze steadfastly locked with mine, his hold on my tie unyielding, “it’s time to make you a member.”
I…it was finally time for me to be under him. I want to be a member. I want to be Mr. Burton’s. After all, I was already one of them dressed in their clothes.
“What… what do I do?” I silently panted, waiting to hear the secrets.
“Surrender yourself to me.” He whispered into my ears, as he tenderly gripped my hardened cock.
“Oooo.” I moaned upon hearing his voice. Surrender myself to Mr. Burton.
“Truly etched my words into your heart and soul. Make it a part of who you are.” He continued.
I needed to fully commit to his teaching… how can I not? 
He grabbed a hold of the back of my head and gently led it close to his chest. Then suddenly, his firm was hard and then he invited me to his hardened nipples. 
“Urgh… that’s my boy.” He groaned out loud as I opened my mouth upon his nipples.
My tongue lashed out into his nylon undershirt as it twirled and sucked on his nipples. I can taste his musk inside my mouth. It was a godsend. A heavenly taste that burnt itself into my memory. 
I want him. I want Mr. Burton. I couldn’t stop myself. He pushed me harder and I followed. His hands groped hard upon my hidden cock alluding me into him.
Surrender myself to Mr. Burton.
“Argh.” He growled in pleasure.
“Mmmm!” My mouth watered.
He pulled my head away with a wide grin on his face. His eyes were full of pride for me. 
"Listen carefully, Mike." His voice reverberated through the room.
I focused my gaze on him, attentively absorbing each word.
"You're about to become a member," he began.
My heart swelled with excitement. The thought of officially becoming one of them swells inside of me, waiting to burst. I was one of them in their uniforms. Next was the pledge.
"To proceed, there is something you must accept from me."
I was prepared to accept anything he offered.
“You will drink my seed that I will bestow on you. You will let it take root. You will let me watered it and nurture it. In return, you will adopt the Burton name as a symbol of your commitment.” His words commanded my attention. 
I accept. My body accepted. What was this overwhelming sensation of joy that surged within me when considering adopting his name as my own? Excitement coursed through me, flowing through every fiber of my being, longing for it. I want to embrace and etch it into me… Mike...
"Mike Burton." It effortlessly slipped off my tongue, solidifying its existence. The name suited me perfectly... I was destined to become a Burton...
"That's right, boy." His grin widened even further upon hearing me softly utter what he had desired from me. Once again, a sense of pride illuminated his eyes.
“Kneel.” He ordered me.
“Yes, Mr. Burton.” My lips moved involuntarily, submitting to his commands. His words carried a melody, and my body gladly followed his tunes. My knees sank to the ground before him.
"Yes, Father Burton," he instructed for the correction.
"Yes, Father Burton," I followed his commands.
“That’s my boy… good boy.” He praised with a whistle.
His words filled me with a sense of delight. A yearning to be a good boy. I longed to satisfy his desires. There was no shame within me, as he had trained me to seek his praises. 
I watched as his hands descended down to his white briefs. I watched again as his hands unveiled his Fatherhood right before me. I watched and wanted his seeds. I want to be Mike Burton. I want to be his.
I descended upon his Fatherhood. Oh! How I yearned for this! 
“Argh!” His moan raged against the room at the stroke of my mouth. 
His grunts were the epitome of happiness. My mouth watered and it soaked his Fatherhood, enveloped it all inside of my lips. 
“ARGH!!” He roughly grunted as he pushed his Fatherhood further in. My mouth was full of acceptance allowing him to prepare me for his seed.
“Goood…. Boy.” He huffed out loud as he gracefully thrust his hips.
The sound of the praises ushered me harder and faster. My eyes were drawn up to his and we locked gazes. He was so proud of me. I melted, becoming one with him.
“You’re… doing… so… good… boy.” Sweat drops on the side of his head as I continue loving his Fatherhood.
“ARGH!” He screamed out in ecstasy, motioning his hips against my mouth.
I can taste the beginning of his seeds. How tasteful and fulfilling it was to me. I want it. I want it all! My tongue mirrored his rhythmic movements, becoming one with his passionate drive. Together, we danced.
“OOOOOAH!” His moans louder and heavier.
I can taste his constant stream of his leaking nourishment, gently cascading me. It’s not enough.
“You want it badly, boy!” His voice commanded me.
“ARGHHHH!” He let out another roar.
“I hereby declare you Mike Burton!” He proclaimed.
Yes. Father Burton.
“OOOOOAH!” 
His Fatherhood bursted. Yes… yes! My mouth remains unyielding to his Fatherhood as his seed shoots out. I can taste him. I can taste the sweetness and saltiness of it all. 
His seed entered my throat and it dripped down, covering my walls. I could feel it entering through me, marking me as his. His seed was inside me, and my body accepted him.
“OOOOAH!” I moaned out as I let his seed soak me in. A wave crashed over me, and I found my cock bursting out.
“Let it out. Let it out, boy!” He shouts.
“ARRGHHH!” My eyes shut closed, embracing what he gave me. My cum seeps out into the nylon shirt, the white briefs, then out to my charcoal trousers. It seeped out, telling me the clothes were now mine.
“I… can’t… stop!” I groaned out loud as it continued bursting, “ooooooahhhh.”
“Good boy.” He praised me as I let myself out, and in its place was his seed.
“Ooooah…” I panted as the feeling fell down. I want more. I craved it. I can feel his seed taking root inside of me, pushing the last remnants of myself out. My body accepted it with open arms. I want his seed. I want it inside of me, overwhelming me. I was his vessel. 
My breaths labored heavily as my knees remained planted on the ground. With a gentle gesture, he lifted me up, his gaze filled with a newfound brightness.
"Welcome, my protege," he declared, his voice resonating with approval. His eyes twinkled with anticipation as he prompted, "Share with me what you have learned today."
I found myself lost in his presence, drowning in his appearance. Father Burton, my mentor, stood before me. His neatly trimmed brown hair set a standard for grooming that I aspired to achieve. His partially white, well-kept scruffy beard mirrored the same attention to detail. I felt compelled to emulate such facial grooming.
He wore a gray suit jacket that draped elegantly over him. I want a suit like his. Underneath, a white nylon undershirt was tucked into his white briefs. It truly is the  epitome of appropriate undergarments for a man. His white dress shirt, paired with a yellow striped tie, embodied sartorial excellence. His black, shiny shoes served as a constant reminder of proper footwear.
“I am the newest member under the teachings of Father Burton.” The words slipped out my tongue, “I will follow Father Burton and will always wear the proper garments of a white nylon undershirt tucked into my white briefs.”
I… this was me… this was who I will become.
"I will always wear a dress shirt, tie, and creased trousers befitting a young man. On my feet will always be long dress socks and polished leather shoes.”
That was an outfit befitting me.
"I… I am Mike Burton.” My voice declared.
"Marvelous!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands in approval.
"I..." my words struggled to find their place, a sense of trepidation filling me. However he being Mr. Burton, he had the hues of a sunset. He leaned in forward, listening attentively.
"Do you seek my praise?" he guessed.
I swallowed hard.
"Say yes, boy," he urged.
"Ye..." my lips strained to confess the words.
"Yes, Father Burton," I uttered, my lips giving voice to the truth.
He approached me, placing both hands on my shoulders.
"You... are an extraordinary young man," he uttered those magical words. "Make me proud."
My blood danced and leaped. My smile widened from cheeks to cheeks. I will make him proud. I will make Father Burton proud. 
His hands moved towards the wet spot on my trousers. Embarrassment flushed my cheeks as I had wet my trousers with my cum.
“Please don’t worry, boy.” He assured me, his tone comforting. “When others see this, they will know without a doubt that you belong to me.”  
Blushing forward, I slowly accepted what I had done to my trousers.
“I’m glad you came here today.” His eyes smiled.
“I… I am too.” I grinned back at him.
“We have much work ahead of us, you and I.”
“Yes, Father Burton.”
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orchidyoonkook · 2 months
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Do you have any tips for new writers/accounts to get popular???
Hello!!!!!
SO:
I was a shit writer for a very long time cuz I never wrote. But one day I wanted to change that so at 19 I made up a story and wrote down all my plot points and then did a DEEP DIVE on Pinterest of all things collecting every bit of advice I could. I’m talking ideas, how to do this, how to not use the word said, how to start sentences. How sentences should flow and their lengths, big uncommon words. EVERYTHING.
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Anything and everything I could get my hands on. 
And on top of that I’ve been a reader for forever. I have so many books I don’t even know how many I have. And so I use that knowledge when editing. I don’t read it from a writing POV after I write it. I turn into a reader and think about how I would feel about it from a readers POV and if something doesn’t work. I fix it.
I have a small background in script writing from my college days which definitely helped a bit. But if you’ve ever studied script writing you know it doesn’t really help creative writing outside of structure.
And when I write I’m someone who writes until I think the story is done. Not the arc. Not the characters. But the overall story of what I’m trying to portray. I don’t actively think about putting the climax of the story here or some foreshadowing there. I write intuitively if that makes sense. I try to sense out what feels right. And some of that comes naturally, some of it doesn’t and I have to work on it.
Me and @violetsiren90 were actually talking roughly about this last night. Our differences in how we write and how my advice from her last fic that I edited had already helped her with her new one cuz she can now see all of the little things that I pick up on from my style of writing versus the times where she tells me why she writes in that specific way and why she will be keeping it as is. Vi if you wanna add anything in the comments I’m forgetting, by all means feel free.
Most writers will tell you to practice. To tell you to write something even if it’s just a sentence everyday. But that didn’t help me. The stuff on my blog are the very first things I’ve written for myself ever. I didn’t write in highschool or college outside of what I was forced to write and my one story that the Pinterest board was initially for.
For me it was about researching style and reading posts like these from other writers, being confident in your style and learning what rules to break and when to break them. It was about reading over your work a hundred times and to be impartial when you read so you can fix the mistakes that won’t work.
The benefit of writing is you can go over something you’ve written a hundred times until you think it’s ready. A thousand times. I can go back and rewrite that first story if I want too. Nothing can stop me.
But don’t get me wrong. I go back and read all my works on here from time to time and I still constantly find things I would change now. Word changes. Phrasing changes. Everything. But that’s just another sign of improvement. Writing is a constantly improving art form. There is no limit. Only growth.
And the last thing I do is write down everything. I have a TERRIBLE memory. So I write down every single idea. On a scrap piece of paper. In my phone. On a computer. In a notebook. Cuz you never know when you’ll use it.
My most recent story, The Devil Wears Valentino, I got the idea for that name sometime in the immediate aftermath of Valentino Yoongi. I was in the shower after watching the devil wears Prada and my mind just connected the two. And then it sat unused in my notes all until the week before Halloween 2023. I would’ve forgotten had I not written it down. But there it was right when I needed it, a gift from past me. And here we are.
As for popularity, dude I have no goddamn idea. I don’t even think I count as a popular/big blog. I utilize the HELL out of aesthetics, formatting and tags and I’m nice. That’s my spiel on that. Aesthetic. Format. Tag. Kindness. Talent, sure. I guess. But writing is one of those things, ESPECIALLY in fic, where it doesn’t have to be the best cuz folks just wanna read their comfort character or person in the same scenarios over and over again. Source: I do that. And I’ve read stories that don’t have the best writing. But the story was good, or vice versa. People are way more forgiving on here.
I didn’t come on here(tumblr) with the intention of writing let alone giving writing and popularity advice. I just wanted to read and support people and then the community I’ve built for myself has just grown and grown and I’ve been so incredibly fortunate, which is where kindness comes in.
Leave reviews and like and reblog stuff. Tell people how much you love their work. Let them know you write too. Create friendships with people who wanna support you. And people who you wanna support. Community is the base of everything.
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