#so fucking tired of it that it almost makes me miss retail

[milo-melon]

Been really exhausted from work lately hense much more reblogs than anything else will likely continue through the holiday season till drivers ed starts and there's even more kicking my ass so rip to anyone who followed for my rare original content (long venting in tags)

#My work isn't that bad hot topic tends to have much less shitty customers than most retail but man do I already want out of retail #Once I have my license I can start trying to get crew work at my local mid sized theater but after that I honestly have no clue what next #Everything I am somewhat good at either isn't a career or I hate doing but what I love doing is either too unreliable and pays shit or I am #Just not good enough at to have people want me for so I don't fucking know #I love theater having left it from school is killing me I don't want to leave it behind I felt like I actually belonged and was wanted #Somewhere by my senior year but now that's gone #Yeah my work is fine but my heart isnt in it and yeah I'm needed but because I do probably more than I should for minimum wage #I'm just really tired of waiting around for shit to happen just pacing around being almost helpless to making any progress #I need to move out as soon as I can so I can actually do real shit to deal with dysphoria and get some independence but I'm stuck till #At least another year and a half with braces so I can't move out till at earliest then financially so stuck #My hairs getting longer again and i can't get a haircut without my mom trying again to kick me out so that isn't helping my #Dysphoria and mess of a mental space #I just really miss feeling like a part of something where I was needed and shit didn't run without me sounds kind of selfish but it felt #Good to be needed and to pull off something people enjoyed #I know a theater job will far from fix everything but it's a start and I don't exactly have many other options #If I do get a job there it will still be months till I'd even get to start and yeah I'll last that long I'll just be decaying inside till #Then and thats even if I get the job #I am so fucking tired mentally and physically

[whatthefishh]

Hi Mona <33

You're so cooool (and im proud of you in case you havent heard yet!!!)

Okay so exams are killing me even though they actually haven't STARTED yet its just the prep and the stress yknow!!! Anyway you also know I'm very much a slut for Rydal and the way you write him bc uhh he's just so fcuking fine and I love your writing!!

I know you aren't doing drabbles right now but would you spare this desperate and tired soul a few cutie pie Ryda hcs. Just a few smol cute ones abt his soft caring and hnghgnghgng during the high stress school seasons (yeah im projecting whatever.)

ANYWAY!! I LOVE YOU!!!!!

-Clem <333

Hi cutie

Thank you 🥺 and WDYM COOL LMAOO

Exams and exam prep can be super stressful, hope you’re taking care of yourself sweetie. I can definitely spare some Rydal HCs, and I know @campingwiththecharmings @xbellaxcarolinax and @melodygatesauthor have been asking me to drop stuff for our fave nepo baby hehehe

Random Rydal HCs:

Going out for something as simple as a drive isn’t just going for a drive with Rydal. The man puts on cologne and special sunglasses that he says work better for driving but you know it’s bullshit, he just thinks he looks cooler with them on in his vintage and unnecessarily expensive car.

Is the boyfriend that puts his hand on your thigh while driving. Buys you a drinkie drink and critiques your DJ skills loudly and rudely.

A trip to the mall usually means you have to block off a whole afternoon for it. Rydal tries on more clothes than you thought was possible, requesting certain cuts from the retail workers that you don’t even recognize. He definitely tries to fuck you in the changing rooms when the staff leaves you alone, claiming he could make it worth it for you to sit through his little fashion show.

You let him.

The first time you take Rydal thrift shopping he refuses to touch anything in the store. You think he’s mad at you for how little he speaks and how he glared at you when you ask him if the top you’re holding up would look good on you.

To make up for it, he forces you to get a pedicure with him. You thought he was joking but he’s dead serious, his face growing more irritated when you tell him you’ve never had one, opting to save your money and take care of them yourself. He scoffs and essentially drags you by the wrist (why does that action alone have your knees knocking together—) to the salon and picking out your colour for you. You feel quite pretty after you can’t deny but the memory of his face dropping never fails to make you laugh.

Playing board games with Rydal meant screaming matches that ended with the board game toppled over and his lips pressed against yours angrily

Movie nights found you both ripping on the movie choice of the night, commenting almost through the whole thing and making claims of what you’d change, what he thinks would’ve been a smarter decision of the main characters, taking sides and arguing them whole heartedly as if the people in the films and their actions had a direct connection to your lives

Sometimes Rydal would come over while you were in the shower. Sometimes he’d join you, finding it hilarious that you thought he was a serial killer but soon distracting you by dropping to his knees for you.

Sleepovers found you either on opposite sides of the bed or breathing in each other’s skin, arms holding the other close, legs tangled. The nights you spent laying with him were usually the sweetest mornings. Sometimes he’d wake you up with kisses, borderline ticklish movements, not letting up even while you squealed for him to stop. He didn’t let up until he pulled peals and peals of laughter from you, sharing syrupy kisses after and causing early morning butterflies to stir as your heart swelled with affection.

These were extremely random and scatter brained and I’m sorry because I really should be sleeping but I love him so much and I miss him and I promise I’ll work on my WIP soon ❤️ love ya

#inbox 💌 #Clem tag #yes this is about rydal keener #rydal keener fanfiction #rydal keener x you #rydal keener x reader #rydal keener #rydal keener fluff #mona’s 1k #stay awake with me #oxford comma fic

[m1sssan]

I'm Exhausted

Day in day out I'm just tired all the time. There is rarely a day when I feel normal. It is a truly rare occasion where I feel like I have energy and I'm able to think clearly. Where I don't feel bogged down or overwhelmed. Where getting up and doing something isn't a battle of the self. When I have a day where I have energy, it's like I breathe better. It's like everything looks clearer. It's like color's look brighter and the world feels more richer. I haven't had a day like that in over six months.

Sometimes I worry about the small things that don't matter. I work in retail and my job entails the care of showrooms. I think about tile and carpet samples and displays. Sometimes I obsess over a missing display to the point where not being able to resolve it means it's something I'm taking home. By that I mean I think about Lisola Wilsonart display I'm missing. I would prefer it leave my mind but there I am 2 a.m. in bed thinking about Lisola from Wilsonart.

Sometimes I worry about the big things almost entirely out of my power. I think about how shitty the economy is. How I feel hopeless about climbing out to meet the standards my parents where able to achieve with no education. How groceries and food is so fucking expensive. How I couldn't get an education anyway because I genuinely don't think I can get through school and work. Forget about student loans. Sometimes my partner makes it seem affording a house is in our ability but the reality is much harsher than that.

Sometimes I worry about the bigger things that are almost entirely out of my power. Our government. The censorship. The tracking of personal data. How everything is being centered around making already wealthy elite assholes into bigger wealthier assholes. People who don't have the capacity to care about the small fries at the bottom of the barrel so far removed from their circle.

I vote and I believe that is all the power I am able to commit to. As little as it is, it is a fundamental right I feel everyone should exercise. And I get frustrated when my peers don't understand that. I argued with a coworker for two hours before she understood what the right to vote means. She's eight years younger than me. She's supposed to be the new hope for our country. And she doesn't believe in voting. I hope I delivered the message more clearer.

I'm overwhelmed with the small drama people expect me to play. I don't play third games I can't read your fucking mind. Just speak to me bluntly and I'll do the same. I don't have the energy to play mind games at work. I want so badly to be able to fit in but I think its just better I don't. I get I stick out from any group I'm put in but if blending in requires me to play mind games I'll pass. I've had to make peace all my life that I can't fit in. So I'll just have to keep making peace with for the rest of my life I won't be able to fit in.

I was abused as a kid. I didn't know it was abuse. It's the quite kind I guess if you can call it that. The kind that isn't always physical but the threat of corporal punishment was always loomed over. And I don't blame my folks. How can I? To them my upbringing was better than theirs. And I guess to some degree maybe it was. I mean I guess at least as shitty as my step dad was he wasn't an abusive alcoholic who laid his hands on everyone in the family. But it's hard to say what he put us through was anything much better.

I was a punching bag for my folks anytime they felt stressed, which was often. I was an emotional punching bag and it was exhausting. It was like living on egg shells. You made a single mistake and it would ruin everything for everyone for the whole day and they'd let you know it was you. I forgot to put towels in the dryer one time. And instead of working around finding a solution, I was the problem. Our day of going out having fun was cancelled. Instead the entire day was focused on how shitty a fucking dumb ass child I was for forgetting to put towels in the dryer at age 14.

I don't know what the worst parts where. It's tied between talking mom out of suicide when I was 16 and being helpless to do so (She's still alive). And having her call me a stupid bitch for not being able to find her socks in the morning. Or her yelling at me for an hour straight about maybe being gay at around 11 years old because I liked drawing digimon. The rest of it I can't really put a clear picture on it.

I was an alcoholic through out my twenties. I drank the pain away as much as I could. Tried to forget as much as I could. I didn't think I was an alcoholic. It was around covid when I made new online friends. They helped point out my drinking was out of control. I started to try quitting. But it was hard. I made an important friend some two years ago and I realized I couldn't remember our conversations because of my drinking habit. I was getting blackout twice a week at that point.

That's when I finally put it down for good. I drink occasionally but not so much anymore. Like once in a blue moon three beers max. I don't enjoy being extremely drunk anymore. It's not a great feeling. It makes me feel violently sick when I drink like that.

I recently found out I might have ADHD or I might be on the spectrum. It's more likely I have ADHD. It would explain a lot of issues I have. I want to get an official diagnosis. It costs a lot of money. Money I can't just spend but at the same time I'd prefer to know. Either way I guess it doesn't make much a difference. I'd just prefer to know I'm a donkey in a world of horses than a really fucked up horse.

I don't know where I was going with this. I just wanted to get some things off my chest. Things that are bothering me. Things that keep me up at all hours of the night. I just want peace. Yell into a nothingness void that's still on the edge of tangibility. Like maybe I can come back to the rant, re-read it and evaluate myself. Evaluate how am I doing later than yesterday.

I'm so fucking tired. What am I doing here? What is this all for? I don't expect answers. I don't think I want answers. I just want to live as simply as I can. If I can live day in day out giving my love where it is needed maybe that's all I need to put out in the world. It's hard for me to look hopeful in a hopeless world but it's better do what is in your power, and ability than it is to quit. To take all the hurts in the world laying down. I'm done taking all the hurts laying down. If I get knocked on my ass again I just need to pick myself up. Do it all over again. It's easy to quit anyone can do that. It's harder to try. It's more worthwhile to try even if there was nothing really gained, at least you gained something small in yourself.

#really long post #long post #very long post #rant #self #self post #me #ignore this please #not important

[radioactivedelorean]

one thing that's only just hit me about working retail is just how much of a knee-jerk reaction I've developed to ,,, any kind of customer complaint, even if the customer themself is just pointing something out like "hey this thing is marked at a different price on the shelf to what it comes up as on the tills" because of the amount of times I've had people massively overreact and blow up in my face about it. I've had customers shout at me and berate me for as little as a five pence difference in price for something before, telling me its "unacceptable" and "disgusting customer service" and how I should be ashamed of myself yadda yadda yadda.

my immediate reaction now to people even jokingly being like "oh means it must be free haha" to something scanning is just to tell them to fuck off, but of course I can't do that. I'm at work and telling a customer to go fuck themself would get me fired.

It's become especially apparent after becoming an assistant manager where price changes, promotion setups and whatnot has become part of my job cause sometimes I'm changing hundreds of paper labels at a time, I'm human, shit takes time and having customers point that stuff out grates on me so much. If they're nice about it, sure, I'll change the price and not say anything but it's the arrogant, rude ones that make me want to flip my lid.

Or something that's slipped through checks and gone out of date/it's damaged and nobody's noticed it. Customers are always rummaging through things looking for stuff with longer dates on it, so shit gets missed sometimes. I've had customers complain like "oh I'm always finding stuff out of date here" okay so shop somewhere else?? It's not that hard. It's not like big shops don't get stuff going out of date either. Almost like things expire

please just be nice to retail staff even if there's a price inconsistency or something it's not that hard, we're tired and doing our best.

#delorean talks #retail woes

[pearl-kite]

I manage to go a few days thinking that, yeah, it was just a rough start to the school year, I'll be fine given enough time, but then sit down to figure out what I'm doing for the week re:lessons and just want to die to get out of the responsibility

#kite rambles #was looking into possible other careers again today because I've been forced to think about work again #would really like to not deal with this dread on a weekly basis #the saddest is that I'm only mildly exaggerating how badly I want to get out of it #hate new schools hate new years I don't get to reuse any of the stuff I've made or done before #stuck making everything from scratch and I'm just so TIRED of having to be a first year teacher all the time #so fucking tired of it that it almost makes me miss retail #only almost #but that in itself is pretty fucking bad imo

[kurouzus]

obsessed w the new owners and managers coming in and being like jesus christ yall work like this??

#apparently we are Very disorganized and the chstomer service desk is a disaster #theyve also been completely reorganizing the lunch room #on friday i almost tripped over a box next to tje door 3 times bc normally there is nothing there. and it was little.. i djdnt see it #either way i will not be here much longer #which... is sad actually i will miss it #i do like this place its just so much. #on any given day there can be 20 people talking up at the feont all at once #pallet jacks being used and being Loud. #the .. fucking key maker the bane of my existence #its very loud! and not terribly clean #and it makes my autism go INSANE #wpuld love to be able to block some noisws out instead of all of them being there in my head equally as loud all at once #thw bargain shop though. i think will be a good fit #my role would change from day to day But. the owners son has autism and hes Very understanding of like thw everything #and hes willing to work with me and how i find really long hours overwhelming #pay probably wont be much. he said he can probably match canadian tire at 13 per hour which isnt bad #like. for retail thats decent. i only made 12.15 at walmart and my job was literally Everything at walmart. jack of all trades. it sucked #im anxious though #he did offer the job and said he would call monday but i didnt accept yet so im luke #twrrified hes gonna change his mind #abd i do plan to accept even if the pay is lower than canadian tjrw #bc i need a more . Chill job. that i migjt be able to do work more hours at without Going Insane. and also #i do not want to be at canadian tire come december that place is a fucking nightmare #just as big a crowd at walmart bht worse bc theres significantly less employees and only 4 cash registers other than the customer service 1 #MAN I ALSO LOVE THAT THE MANAGERA WERE LIKE #WHAT THW FUCJK.. WHAT THE FUCK JS THIS LAYOUT.. abt our cash registers #we know. we know. its awful . please change this

[neoheros]

moving in — seijoh 4 x gn! reader

it’s been exactly two weeks since you’ve made the decision of moving in with your best friends, and so far, everything’s been a bit better than you expected.

when the idea was first pitched to you, you admit, you thought it was a very poorly written out joke shared over a few beers and the pitiful nostalgia of graduating— you were wrong.

they were alarmingly serious about this.

“just a few months ‘til we all head off for college.” hanamaki told you, his arm casually over your shoulder and you’ve known him long enough to know that pushing him off is futile.

“then do it without me.” you said, a lazy smile on your face as you continued to walk. “i’ll visit literally every day.”

“no, you won’t,” matsukawa said, his words laced with a soft chuckle, “you don’t ever go anywhere without being physically dragged off.”

“you don’t understand,” you smiled, “i have such a lovely room.”

iwaizumi fell next to you, his voice blunt, “you can have the biggest room.”

“that’s not entirely better.” you shrugged.

“at least think about it,” oikawa told you, his charming smile coating his tone and you found a bit of warmth in the reserved gaze you realize he only had for you, “for me.”

“as if that’s the selling point, shittykawa!”

“i am always the selling point, iwa-chan!”

you ignored their usual banter, moving away from the four as you quickened your steps and you sighed. “i’ll think about it.”

you don’t miss the shared grins they all give each other, knowing you well enough to understand that they’ve successfully wore you down and before you knew it, you were signing a lease to a four bedroom loft that you were lucky enough to afford.

it didn’t feel weird or anything, you’ve known these guys since forever and more, really the only problem you’ve had with this was the fact that you knew how much of a slob they’d all be to live with — not that you were any better — but hey, surely you were neater than four sweaty athletes.

which brings you to where you are now; just a few weeks after graduating from aoba johsai and barely even a few days since getting comfortable in your new temporary apartment.

you figured it was better than you expected.

hanamaki’s nice to keep around. he’s almost always just lounging in front of the tv, sometimes a controller in his hands, most of the time, his fingers running through his short trimmed hair as he shifts over numerous college application essays.

you’ve found yourself waking up at three am a few times to get yourself a cup of water only to see him to have fallen asleep on the coffee table with folders and envelopes around him.

sometimes you’d sit with him, sometimes you’d wake him up to help him trudge to his bed. either way, he’d always end up pulling your head close, giving you a quick kiss on the temple as he sleepily mumbles something along the lines of “thank you” or “good night”.

iwaizumi’s somewhat the same; buried in college prep and sorting through plane tickets as he made the ever so impressive decision to take his future abroad. you’d told him numerous times how proud he made you and he’d always give you back the warm grin he seemed to have reserved just for you.

he isn’t the last one you see off to bed, but he’s always the first to get up in the morning. no matter what time you wake up, he’s already there in the kitchen brewing a pot of coffee (much to your dismay since his blend is a tad bit bitter to your liking but you’ve never had the heart to tell him that).

(though truth be told, ever since iwaizumi found out you woke up at the crack of dawn, he’d begrudgingly fallen into the habit of waking up before you just so he could make you coffee before seeing you off for the day.

he hates waking up that early.

but he does like the smile you give him when you walk out the door.)

you spend the most time with matsukawa. his schedule was freer than the rest of the boys so if you ever needed to go anywhere, he’d already be there to insist that he came with you.

he’d pick you up from your day job, a lazy grin encasing his face the minute he sees you from the car window— you looked tired, worn out from the ruthless retail, and though he couldn’t say that to your face, he sure is glad he’d have an excuse to take you for coffee before heading home.

oikawa’s the busiest. his taxing schedule now so much worse after his decision to go to argentina. (you told him you’d miss him, he told you you didn’t have to, and begged you to try and fit in his luggage.) all that aside, you barely got to see him; you’d wake up finding him already gone for the day, and come home to him passed out on the couch.

some nights he’d come home later than you, too tired to know which is left or right, and more than once, he’d end up in your room, clocking out the second he crashes on your bed.

you don’t push him off, you never had the heart to. you missed him. not that you’d ever say it to his face, but he hasn’t even left for college and you were already missing him.

it’s a sunday morning— one of the few times a week all of you had a free day, and normally you’d all just end up sleeping in, most days you’d get up and enjoy breakfast with the other four, but when the bed felt too warm and too peaceful, you’d rather just waste the day away in your room.

a pair of arms pull you out of your sleep, your head softly falling against someone’s chest and you blink— you went to bed alone last night.

“what the hell, shittykawa!” you yell, sitting up and pushing him off of you.

oikawa groans, having just been brutally woken up, he pouts, “... you spend too much time with iwa-chan, you sound exactly like him.”

“go sleep in your own room!”

“but — you have the softest bed!”

“no?” matsukawa says, leaning on your door frame looking like he’d just woken up. his voice is groggy, almost annoyed, “i have the softest bed.”

oikawa pushes you away, ignoring your groans as he laid back on your mattress and he says, smile wide, “that’s not true— feel this.”

matsukawa narrows his eyes, walking up to him without even acknowledging your constant complaints of ‘no! do not feel this, go away!’

he sits on the edge of your bed, taking a second before falling on his back and taking in your white comforters.

“what the fuck?” he says, “what the hell, why do you have the softest bed?”

“because i’m me.” you tell them both, rolling your eyes as you realize that you probably won’t be getting your bed back anytime soon.

hanamaki walks in barely a moment later, his hand tiredly rubbing his left eye as he yawns away the last of his sleep.

he blinks, unsure what to make out of the scene in front of him. matsukawa and oikawa pulled on your duvet, pushing each other off every second as they fought on who got a bigger part of the blanket, and you, well — you had your head propped up on your headboard, muttering under your breath as you tried to push the two off your mattress.

“what’s going on?” he asks, a smile already forming on his face as he recognized the early morning chatter.

you look up, eyes brightening at the sight of hanamaki, he was going to help you.

“makki! my love!” you yelped, “get them out of my room, please.”

“no. makki will not.” matsukawa grins, “did you know this is the softest bed in the apartment?”

hanamaki frowns, “i have the softest bed in the apartment.”

oikawa grins, “feel this!”

you take it back. oikawa tooru might not make it to argentina after all, not when you were going to kill him in cold blood after this.

before you could even protest, oikawa pushes you more to the side, clearing some space for hanamaki who (so traitorously) plopped down on his side beside you.

“what the fuck,” he says, eyes widening as he moved around for a more comfortable position.

matsukawa nods, “that’s what i said too.”

“why do you have the softest bed?” oikawa groans, “we’re the ones who play volleyball— we’re basically sore all the time.”

you blink, “i was sleeping.”

they ignore you.

“you want the bed?” you ask, getting up from your mattress, and you glare. “fine. keep it.”

“wait, we were just joki—”

you ignore what they were going to say, slamming your door on your way out, and you curse under your breath every step of the way to the room right across from yours.

iwaizumi’s room. somewhere cold, peaceful, quiet. you ought to remind him to keep his door locked, but right now, as you stood by his doorway, drowsy and almost desperate to go back to sleep, you’re thankful he doesn’t.

you don’t say another word, walking directly up to his bedside and plopping down on the open space next to him.

he stirs, and you take his movement with a sigh.

“move.” you tell him, a pillow in hand and he looks up at you with sleep plastered on his face.

iwaizumi does as you say, moving deeper into his side and he yawns, “what’re you doing?”

“we are going to sleep.” you tell him, snuggling deeper in his covers as you got yourself comfortable.

you look at him, “unless you want to join those three idiots outside.”

iwaizumi ignores the warmth coming up on his face, pushing his pulsing heart aside, he shrugs, throwing an arm over you, and he mutters, “not even gonna ask what happened.”

(you fall back asleep quick after that, but that doesn’t last long as iwaizumi’s door opens again, oikawa going on and on with complaints about how iwaizumi was obviously your favorite, matsukawa barely caring as he pushes past him and just crashes in between you both and hanamaki declaring a dog pile as he so ruthlessly jumps on top of you.

it was horrible.

you wouldn’t have it any other way with them.)

#PART 1?????? MAYBE LOL #SEIJOH 4 I LOVE THEM #HANAMAKI MY KING #x reader #fluff #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #imagines #hq!! #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #seijoh 4 x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa #hanamaki takahiro #hanamaki #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi #matsukawa issei #matsukawa #oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #hanamaki takahiro x reader #hanamaki x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #matsukawa issei x reader #matsukawa x reader

[matthewtkachuk]

feel something pt 1 - jj

On the outside, you’re a kook princess with a seemingly perfect life and a perfect family. The expectations are suffocating you, to the point where the only thing you feel is numb. You’re chasing different coping mechanisms in order to feel something. Until a chance encounter with a certain blond pogue you know you’re supposed to hate gives rise to a different kind of feeling.

Warnings: angst, toxic behaviour, poor coping mechanisms, drug usage, mentions of sex, mentions of suicidal ideations (brief), Rafe being a grade a asshole, shitty parents

Pairings: JJ x reader (eventually), Rafe x reader (slight), Topper x reader (slight)

Words: 3.1k

A/N: I accidentally deleted this, ugh sorry if you see this again!! I started off wanting to write a supremely angsty one shot, turned into a supremely angsty multi-chapter fic. This is a slow burn, babyy. Here’s the set up, let me know what you think! :)

series masterlist

You stand teetering on the edge of the balcony railing, barefoot and facing the waves as they crash onto the beach. You’re not thinking about jumping. At least you’re pretty sure you won’t actually jump. Really you’re just looking for even a flicker of an emotion to stir up in your chest. Lately you haven’t felt anything more than mild annoyance at your parent’s constant bickering and pestering. You know you’re too young, but all you feel anymore is numb. You lift your left leg, balancing precariously on the right for a minute before lowering it and returning to the balcony and slipping your heels back on.

You don’t want to die, you just don’t want to live like this. Kook princess, paraded and practically pimped around by your parents, looking for you to find an advantageous marriage, have 2.5 kids and further accumulate your hoarded wealth. “Why don’t you date the Cameron boy? He’s quite good looking and your father would love it if you married his business partner’s son” and “The Thornton boy would be a good match, the family mansion is the largest” and “Jacob Kane’s father is a name partner at a successful law firm on the mainland”. Your mother’s incessant nagging about finding the perfect husband only further cements your lack of value as a human being, your usefulness tapped out at your ability to be someone’s wife.

You don’t understand the wealth accumulation thing, your trust fund probably equals the national budget of a small country already, and there’s no way anyone could blow through the entire family fortune in a single generation. At this point, it just feels like generating wealth for the sake of generating it. What good is money if it just sits in a bank account or investment portfolio, earning passive income and not being used for anything.

You recognize you’re very privileged, you’ve never once had to worry about where your next meal would come from, you have a closet full of designer handbags and red bottom shoes the value of which could feed several families on the Cut. But what’s the cost? You feel suffocated by the pressure bestowed upon you by your parents. You’re the eldest sibling, primary heiress to the Y/L/N family fortune and expected future successor of the family business. Truthfully, you couldn’t give less of a fuck about retail development or whatever it is that keeps your father so busy that he missed every single one of your piano and ballet recitals growing up. You like the idea of studying Shakespeare’s sonnets and soliloquies over learning about mergers and acquisitions and tax avoidance laws at college, but you know your father would sooner cut you off than let you pursue your own passions.

Sometimes you let yourself fantasize about leaving it all behind, running off to some college like Columbia, moving to New York and living in the city that never sleeps. With your 4.0 GPA and stellar extracurricular activities, you could probably get a pretty good scholarship. Or maybe Paris, where you would sit in a cute little café flirting with French boys and writing poetry by the Seine River. But it would be hard, and you’re too much of a coward to see if you could make it on your own without daddy’s money. Not to mention the little voice in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously like your mothers telling you that you’ll never amount to anything without their help.

Later, you’re wandering the party, both hands curled tightly around the cup you hold to your lips, eyes staring out at the crowd over the rim. Unfortunately, you catch Rafe Cameron’s eye as he’s sat around the coffee table with a freshly cut white line ready on the surface. He’s surrounded by the idiots he calls friends and more than one pretty little rich girl making eyes at him. The left corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk as he realizes you’ve sized up the company around him.

“Hey Y/L/N, want a line? First one’s on me, babe.” He calls out at you, but you just roll your eyes and keep moving forward. As desperate as you are to feel something, you’re not sure you can cross that line just yet. Partaking in the occasional joint or bong rip is one thing, but hard drugs is another. You don’t think trading in the empty feeling in your chest for an addiction is worth it. Seeing the blown out pupils of some of your peers, and the way they not-so-discreetly sniff and wipe at their noses you realize you’re likely alone in that assessment. “Your loss!” he calls out at your retreating form, and you don’t even bother to look over your shoulder. You know he’s not really interested in you beyond making you a customer and maybe a quick fuck.

You snort to yourself, wondering what your mother would think about the boy she wanted you to pursue offering you a line of coke at a party. Knowing her, she would focus on the fact that you had gained his attention and ignore the illicit substance.

Making your way through the cluster of bodies is harder than you had initially thought, everyone was on everyone. Every kook party ends up this way, a certain subset of the group coked out and the rest so drunk they can’t function, and you begin to wonder why you even bothered coming.

You’re not totally sure what you’re looking for, your best friend and Rafe’s younger sister Sarah doesn’t really associate with this crowd anymore ever since she started spending all her time with the less fortunate side of the island. Rafe had called it ‘slumming with those dirty fucking pogues’ the last time Sarah had partied with you. Maybe it isn’t right to call her your best friend anymore because not only does she not associate with this crowd, she doesn’t really associate with you either.

You know she’s hanging with Kie again, there are a lot of watchful eyes on the island and even more flapping lips. It’s kind of ironic, Sarah was the one who convinced you to drop Kie, and you had let her. Now the two of them were spending all their time together on some dilapidated boat named after the inhabitants of the Cut and you were alone at some lame party with a heavy weight on your chest and under your eyes.

Sighing deeply, you down the rest of the contents of your cup and grab a refill before turning your attention back to the crowd of people in the middle of the living room. As your brain starts to fog further with the familiar feeling four vodka crans give you, you let Topper put his hands on your hips and pull your bodies close together, your back to his front. A voice in the back of your mind wonders if you’re supposed to feel guilt over Sarah’s ex’s hands all over your body, but you don’t feel anything and Sarah clearly doesn’t give a fuck about you either.

The next morning you wake up with Topper’s hands around your bare waist. There’s a pain radiating against your skull and you have cotton mouth, but you quietly gather your clothes and sneak out of the room before the sleeping blonde can wake up and give you that regretful look he gets in his eyes every time you hook up. You know he still loves Sarah, in his own fucked up way and though you don’t regret where you woke up, you know you’ll just be annoyed if you have to deal with his issues this early in the morning with this bad of a hangover.

You’ve almost successfully left the large mansion, quietly walking through the living room to the front door when a voice remarks dryly, “Really, y/n? I thought you were better than my sister’s leftovers.”

Inhaling through your nose and out your mouth sharply, you spin on your heel to face Rafe with a blank expression on your face. He sits at the kitchen island, bare-chested with his hat on backwards, casually eating a bowl of cereal. The thought of why exactly Rafe is sitting half naked in Topper’s kitchen, eating Topper’s cereal briefly flashes through your mind but you decide you don’t care. “What do you care Rafe?” you ask, only half interested in his response. There’s a moment of silence, and you pick at your fingernails rather than meet his gaze.

“I’m just saying, I thought you were better than that,” he shrugs, bringing another spoonful to his mouth.

You roll your eyes, already tired of the conversation, “And who, pray tell, is better for me?”

“Me of course,” he smirks at you, and you huff out an annoyed laugh and raise an eyebrow silently asking him to explain. “Come on princess, I know your parents want you to marry up. ‘m your best option on this island”.

Mildly annoyed, you roll your eyes and turn back towards the front door, eager to leave this conversation behind. “C’mon baby, we both know how this thing ends, with you on my arm as the perfect trophy wife.”

There was a time those words might have brought butterflies in your stomach. Growing up best friends with Sarah meant you also grew up with Rafe, and you used to have the biggest crush on him. Forbidden by Sarah after a late night game of truth or dare, you didn’t use to mind when your mother would spout off about Rafe being the perfect boy for you. He used to look out for you like he did for Sarah. But that was a long time ago, and he no longer cared about either of you anymore and you had to admit you couldn’t remember why you had ever thought him anything but repulsive. That was before the drugs and the untethered rage that always rests just under the surface of his skin, ready to be unleashed at the smallest slight. You might have married the little boy with the gap toothed smile who once punched Jacob Kane when you were in the second grade and he wouldn’t stop bothering you, but this Rafe wasn’t good for anything beyond a quick meeting in the dark.

If you had been able to feel anything, you might have snapped back at him, but you had no energy and honestly all you wanted was to shower in your own shower and collapse in your own bed, so you ignored his comment and slipped out the door.

It was a quick walk back to your house, and you snuck in quietly through the front door hoping no one was home and your dreams of slumbering until the early afternoon could be realized. Unfortunately, your mother sat on the cream colored chaise in the sitting room, clearly anticipating your arrival. Her eyes quickly scanned your appearance, your manolos held by the straps in your right hand, your sex hair and décolletage you were sure was covered in bites and bruises caused by overeager lips, before sighing.

“Y/n, darling, you have to stop this silly behaviour and settle down. Boys aren’t going to want to lock you down if they’ve already had you.” She criticizes, effectively slut-shaming you. You roll your eyes at that, briefly wondering if the old wives tale was true and you’d end up with your eyes stuck like that. You decide you don’t mind, it would save you some time as your base reaction to most interactions is to roll them.

“I had a rough night mom, I’d like to go back to bed,” you tell her as you try to slip past her. A cold hand circles your wrist, stiletto tipped manicure digging slightly into the skin stopping you from moving any further.

“I’m serious, y/n, you’re better than this.” She throws the same words Rafe had at you. Exasperated and exhausted you rip your wrist from her grasp and head to the stairs. “We’re not done talking about this!” she shouts but you ignore her and continue towards your nice shower and bed.

Rolling over to an empty bed several hours later, you grumble as you try to identify the source of your wakeup call. Cursing as you smack your arm against your side table, you finally manage to grab your ringing cell phone. Seeing RC flash as the contact calling, you groan loudly, before hitting the decline button and rolling back over. A minute later your phone chimes again, indicating a voice mail.

You figure there’s no point in drawing out the inevitable, so you unlock the phone and listen the voicemail Rafe left. He’s invited you to hang out with him and his friends on his dad’s yacht. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’ve sent him a text to say you’d be there in an hour. Despite there being no love lost between you and Rafe, you really don’t have any better options and maybe if you tell your mom who you’re hanging out with she’ll get off your back and not subject you to The Lecture. You and Sarah used to laugh and joke about The Lecture, about how being a Y/L/N means being perfect and obtaining a perfect husband. The two of you would mock your mother, exaggerating her southern drawl that slipped out as she lectured you on the importance of propriety and ‘leaving something to the imagination’.

As you slip on a navy sundress with a deep neckline, you laugh, thinking to yourself that there’s not much left to leave to the imagination. You take the time to curl the ends of your hair to create a bouncy wave and apply a few coats of waterproof mascara and lip gloss. The humid heat of the OBX keeps your makeup routine light in the summer.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Shit. Your dad’s home, he knows you stayed out all night, and he’s pissed. You don’t think your mom told him the full story, because he’s not frothing at the mouth mad, just his typical disappointed mad.

“Rafe invited a couple of friends to hang out on his dad’s yacht, daddy,” you reply back, not meeting his eyes.

You can tell your dad disapproves, because the lines between his eyebrows are more pronounced with his narrowed eyes. As he starts to give you what you’re sure is an impassioned lecture, your mother pops up out of nowhere, gushing, “Rafe? Well of course you can go sweetie, isn’t that right hon?” she turns to your dad, a single eyebrow raised daring him to defy her. Your parents are the ultimate power couple, wielding power and guilt over each other almost as easily as they try to do to you.

He sighs, realizing the fight with his vengeful wife isn’t worth the lesson you’re not going to learn anyway and nods, “Alright, just be back for supper, we’re going to sit down as a family tonight. And tell Sarah we said hi.”

If either parent noticed your stiffened back, they don’t comment on it. You hadn’t told them that Sarah dumped you like yesterday’s news just yet. Why blow a perfect cover story? Again, the lack of guilt should probably concern you, but you’re more focused on the very expensive, very good quality wine that you know is waiting for you on the Cameron’s yacht.

An hour later, you’re sitting between a very uncomfortable Topper and a disinterested Kelce with a full wineglass in your left hand. Your right hand slides your sunglasses back onto your eyes to shield them from the harsh sunlight that beats down directly on your face.

You can’t find the energy to strike up a conversation with either of them, and they don’t seem very inclined to start one either, so you turn your head to the side and look out at the water until you see a familiar beat up boat approaching. You visibly tense as your eyes lock on your blonde former best friend laughing with her arm around John B as their stupid friends talk and laugh around them. “You okay, y/n?” Kelce finally speaks, noticing your change in posture.

“Never better,” you drily reply moving to turn your head back to the other side of the yacht, as if the other boat on the water didn’t exist at all. Your eyes briefly flicker to the other blond on the boat, taut muscles on display beyond the ratty cut-off tank top as the pogue known as JJ attempts to wrestle with his friend Pope. You feel a drop in your stomach that perplexes you as your eyes scan his sunkissed skin. Startled, you turn your head quickly and take a huge sip of your wine.

You anticipated some sort of confrontation, maybe a thrown insult, but their boat simply eclipsed the yacht and they continued on their way. You were annoyed by the concerned look that Kelce threw your way after they had left, so you downed your glass and grabbed Rafe’s hand and all but dragged him inside the cabin.

The second the door shuts behind you, you’re on him, mouths mashing in a hungry kiss. He smirks against your mouth and leads you into the bathroom and proceeds to rid you of your clothes.

As you’re letting Rafe Cameron fuck you in the bathroom of his yacht, your mind can’t help but think you’re fucking over Sarah, too.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” he praises in your ear as he thrusts into you from behind. You don’t even have the energy to fake a moan, you just lean your head back against his shoulder.

When he’s finished, you simply slip your dress back on, refill your glass and sit back between Topper and Kelce as if they didn’t just hear you hook up with their best friend.

You go to bed early that night after a “nice family dinner” that consists of back-handed compliments and your mother fishing for details about your time on the yacht. You don’t think she’d be too pleased about letting Rafe ‘have you’ before ‘locking you down’, so you keep it to a minimum. Both parents drill it into your head that as a Y/L/N, you’re held to a higher standard than your peers. Perfect grades, perfect life, perfect daughter. You don’t know how to tell them you don’t even feel human anymore, so you smile and nod as they pester and nag. Your little sister sits quietly the whole time, looking at you with an emotion you can’t quite decipher.

#slow burn #obx #outerbanks #obx netflix #obx fanfic #obx fanfiction #jj obx #jj x you #jj x reader #jj imagine #jj fanfiction #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank x you fanfiction #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #angst #diverdcwn writes

[snowieluna]

So in the summer, I twisted my ankle. It hurt like hell and was puffy, but I could put a little weight on it. It's "healed" now, but if I use it too much it gets sore and tight. It's less flexible than it used to be.

I have bad knees from standing and crouching doing retail. One gave out and I went for physical therapy. I use them too much, and they feel like rubber bands that want to snap, or just sore.

I can't stand for a long time anymore without my feet throbbing, going almost numb, or alternating between.

If Iift too much, stand too much, sit too much on hard chairs or benches - my back will spasm.

I get tightness and pain in my wrists. Numbness in my hands and fingers.

I'm always catching myself clenching my jaw.

Everything else isn't constant, but I worry about it. It's gym class all over again but with real life. Worrying that I'm just not trying hard enough. No one else gets this sweaty or sore or tired this easily.

I bought a pretty cane for a cosplay before I hurt my ankle. I tried using it once during my trip to Chicago because everything fucking hurt so much, but hey everyone is sore, too, so suck it up. I felt awkward and put it away.

Is it weird to feel scared of using one? I wanted to bring it to the concert I went to today because I was 85% sure there'd be standing room only. But I chickened out and just wore braces. By the end, I was leaned up against a ledge because my feet went all throbby numb on me. Ankle's been super sore since I got home, but worth it since I got to see my boy Miyavi. He was hot like 15 years ago and he's still hot now 🔥

I guess I'm just worried whether I'm blowing my issues out of proportion, or if I'm downplaying them. I felt similarly when I realised I had depression. Worried that what I was feeling wasn't strong or important enough to need help for. If I was really depressed, I wouldn't be able to smile once in a while. That I'd self harm in a more legit way. If I really had ADHD, I would've been diagnosed as a kid. That I wouldn't have done so well in school (up until college.) If my stomach problems were that bad, maybe I'd lose some weight at least.

(I'm still mad about that one appointment. Back when I had stomach aches from what I now think is anxiety and a lack of probiotics, I went to the doctor. Said there were a lot of things I ate that would give me stomach aches. "Okay, so just stop eating them." Dude you don't get it. I get so worried that eating will make me sick, or my digesting sounds will be loud and disgusting, or I'll be gassy, that I make myself sick. I missed school because of this. I dismissed a potential career path because of this. It sucks.)

I'm tired. Thinking too much.

#text #body pain #mental health #stomach problems

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Treat You Better

Warnings: non/dubcon sex, questionable relationship lines (kinda cuckold-ish).

This is dark!Bucky Barnes and explicit. 18+ only.

Summary: Bucky wants what Peter has.

Note: Okay, so I mean, this fic doesn’t involve technical cheating but if you’re sensitive to it, I wouldn’t recommend reading. Also we got a very calculating Bucky and very clueless Peter. I hope y’all enjoy!

Let me know what you think!

You hated waiting. Worse, you hated waiting for Peter. Without fail he was always late. When you planned something, you always expected to do it at least a half hour later. Tonight, you had planned to go out for drinks after a long week apart. Classes and your respective obligations had kept you away from each other. Admittedly, his were more pressing.

Still, the semester started to drag by the more you were alone and you had fewer reprieves from the endless studying and inherent chaos of your dormitory. You had flagged the day in your phone and it had gotten you through the midterm stress.

But he was late. Not just a few minutes, but a whole hour. It didn’t matter, right? Drinks could wait. The bars would be open well past midnight. It was only...9:17! Mark that; an hour and fifteen minutes late.

You sighed and unlocked your phone as you leaned back on metal and leather chair. You re-read the text for dozenth time. ‘See ya at 8.’ He had sent you that. You had confirmed with a ‘can’t wait’ and heart emoji. He had sent you five hearts in return. Yet here you were, waiting on him.

You set your phone down a little harder than you intended. The spark of anger drew the eye of the only other person in the room. It was easy to forget Bucky, even when he was right beside you. He was quiet, unassuming. 

When you entered he had muttered a greeting and you had returned it. You asked him how he was; he shrugged and returned a courteous but unconcerned ‘you?’ You echoed his sentiment and began your vigil.

“Sorry…” You gave a meek smile. “I…”

“It’s fine,” He assured you. His facade didn’t crack as he went back to swiping back and forth on the tablet. He had been poring over a briefing since you arrived. It didn’t seem very brief. He yawned and shifted on the leather couch.

You leaned on your elbow and stared down at the small font of your textbook. Medieval and Renaissance Art: Themes and Narratives. You rubbed your eyes and tried not to yawn yourself. You had taken the book out about half an hour into your wait. Studying was preferable to staring at your lifeless phone.

You huffed again and tapped your fingers on the table. Where was he? There was only so much you could read about the Sistine Chapel before you found yourself staring out the window and plotting your fateful descent.

“Just call him,” Bucky’s voice surprised you. His arm was stretched across the couch as he looked over his shoulder. “Kid probably forgot...almost forgot his damn suit the last time we worked together.”

“Sounds like him,” You grumbled.

“Do it,” He said, “Really. I can’t take you moping over...whatever it is your reading.”

You lifted a brow and his lips curved slightly. He was amused with himself. You picked up your phone and stood. You waved it at him with a tilt of your head and turned away. You hit Peter’s picture and waited for it to dial.

It took two tries. He picked up as you expected to be forwarded again to his voicemail and you stuttered on your greeting. 

“Hey,” He answered nervously, “What’s up?”

“Um, I’m waiting...for our drinks,” You leaned on the table and tried to keep your voice down. “It’s almost 9:30.”

“Shit,” Peter cursed on the other end. You glanced over your shoulder at Bucky who was once again focused on his confidential files. “I’m so sorry, I thought I texted you.”

“Texted me?” You wondered.

“Yeah, uh, something came up,” The inflection made it sound more a question than a statement. “You know…business.” 

You nodded. You didn’t miss the crack in his voice or the poorly muffled whisper from Ned. When those two were together, it was rarely business.

“I came all the way down here, Peter,” You hissed, “Now I gotta take the subway back. At night. Thanks for the heads up.”

“I swear, I thought I hit send.” He explained thinly. You frowned.

“Sure,” You didn’t feel like arguing. Maybe you were just tired. Frustrated. It didn’t matter. “Fine, I’ll see you...Monday?”

“Tomorrow!” He said sharply, as if surprised. “Promise, babe.”

“Tomorrow,” You replied unconvinced. “Sure….love ya.”

“You too, babe.” He returned, “I...gotta go.”

The line died before you could give your own farewell. You shook your head and tucked your phone in your pocket. You turned and rounded the table to close your textbook. 

“You were right, he forgot,” You muttered as you shoved the book in your tote. “Good thing I didn’t sit here for an hour and a half waiting for nothing.” You said dryly. “Now that would be stupid.”

“Ah, fuck,” Bucky leaned forward and set down his tablet. You glanced over at him as you pulled on your canvas jacket. “Now, I don’t think I could forget something as important as you.”

“Please, don’t try to make it better,” You moaned, “Really. I’m just going to go home and write that stupid paper on Titian. What an exciting Friday night.”

“You want a ride?” He offered casually as he stood and stretched. He turned with his arms over his head, his lower stomach peeked out from beneath his tee. You tried not to notice the lines of his pelvis above his jeans. 

“I appreciate it but I can manage myself.” You slung your bag over your shoulder. “I got a pass.”

“Come on, let me drive you,” He insisted though his voice was as detached as ever. “I got nothing better to do.”

“I don’t know, you seemed pretty entranced,” You kidded.

“It’ll be a nice break,” He said, “And hey, a step up from the subway. Instead of a train full of strange men, you’ll only have to deal with one.”

You scoffed and shook your head. “Alright, fine. You’ve twisted my arm.”

-

Bucky’s car was nice. You guessed it was a perk of working for Stark Industries. And saving the world. It was much preferable to the subway. You sank into the seat with your bag on your lap. You almost felt like a child as he turned the engine. 

“So, where am I going?” He unlocked the gps on his console and brought up the address bar, “Type it in, will ya?” He steered with one hand as he pulled out. “Not the greatest without this thing...as much I don’t trust robots.”

You squinted at him but shrugged off the comment. His metal hand would’ve made you think he had a natural kinship with more mechanical. And his demeanour. The street lights flashed through the windows and lit up the lines of his face as he drove out onto the street. You keyed in your address and turned to watch the city pass through your window.

“So...never asked but you study science or whatever, too?” He prompted. You looked to him slowly. You were almost stunned by the question. Not the content, merely the speaker. You almost preferred his disinterest. You guessed he was merely making small talk.

“No,” You laughed, “I suck at science. Art. Yeah, I know, I’ll make a great barista.”

“Art, eh?” He nodded. “I like art. God, that sounds like I’m stupid.” He chuckled. “You know, during the war, there was lots of stolen art. Some hidden away to prevent that. Some never found.” He cleared his throat as he turned the wheel. 

“We were on our way to Germany. We’d clear towns along the way. Some of them’d be blown out so bad you couldn’t step inside for fear of it all falling on your head.” His eyes searched the road as if he was seeing another city entirely. “Others, totally untouched. Towns just empty. The people fled to avoid the same carnage...or they were dragged out by their invaders.”

You nodded. You didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t ever spoken so much in your presence. Even with Peter around.

“Anyway, we found this one apartment. It must’ve been locked up for well over a year. Place was covered in dust but...paintings everywhere. On the couches, in the kitchen sink, just dozens of them. We had them taken back to headquarters...I knew this one CO though, had him send a Monet to my ma. She loved flowers, you know?”

“Monet?” You were stunned. You’d only ever seen the famous paintings in your textbooks and on the walls of museums. “Wow. I…”

“Don’t know if it ever got to her though,” He said. “I never did.”

You bit the inside of your lip. What could you say that wouldn’t seem entirely obtuse?

“Ah, don’t worry so much.” He shrugged. “Sorry, I get a bit heavy. That’s the past though…” He stopped at a light and looked over at you. “So, you’re an artist?”

“I guess,” You said. “I like to paint and my portfolio got me into the program so...for now, I am. Until I’m off into the world of corporate desk jobs and retail gigs.”

“Ah, I see why Peter likes you. You’re a hell of an optimist,” He joked as he hit the gas and looked back to the road.

Your phone vibrated and you reached into your pocket. “No use running from the…” Your screen lit up and you swiped up to view the snap. Your voice died as you watched the video in awe and anger. “I knew it!”

You hit lock and the screen went black. Your nostrils flared and you clamped your mouth shut in a scowl. You squeezed your phone and shook your head. Bucky’s eyes flicked to the rear view than you and back through the windscreen. He laughed again.

“What?” You couldn’t help the growl.

“You,” He smirked, “You’re...cute when you’re angry. Like a little chipmunk.” You frowned deeper. “I mean...you’re fiery. It’s...I always wondered how a girl like you got mixed up with the Spider-man but I’m starting to think you might be more formidable than him.” You narrowed your eyes and he peeked over at you again. “Look, it’s a compliment. I’m not very good at them but take it for what it’s worth.”

“Gee, thanks,” You crossed your arms over your tote, “I’m flattered.”

He pulled into your dormitory parking lot and brought the car to a stop as the gps announced your arrival. “Look, try not to stress about it. He’s young, stupid. You got your whole life to be mad at him.” He said. “Or to explore your options. Who knows?”

“My type of optimism,” You chided. You grabbed the handle and inched the door open. “Thanks. Really. You didn’t have to.”

“No problem. It gave me an excuse to get off the couch,” He leaned his arm against your seat, “Hit me up if he does it again. Can’t have a girl like you on the subway so late.”

You couldn’t help the smile and you opened the door all the way as you stepped out. “Thanks. Have a good night, Bucky.”

“You too, doll.” His vibranium fingers tightened on the wheel. “Take care of yourself. Don’t let the boy get you down.”

You closed the door and stepped back. He pulled out and around the lot. You watched him leave, his headlights disappeared into the city haze and you retreated to the gate of your dorm. What an odd night. Not exactly the end you were expecting.

-

Bucky lifted the bar, a small breath escaped him. The muscles in his right arm strained and a shock surged at the base of his vibranium arm. While he could lift the weight with his left arm alone, he worked to keep his right as strong as he could. He may have only one arm but he didn’t want to fight like it.

His time in the gym was his alone time. A sort of meditation. He could forget about everything and just be. His body was intuitive. He moved from machine to machine with ease. His body fell easily into the patterns; running, push-ups, lifting. 

He set down the bar and sat up as he rubbed his right hand. The metal of his left was warm. He stretched his vibranium fingers and watched the plates slide back into place. He moved his head from side to side to work out the kink along his shoulders. 

The door opened and closed. He was rarely caught off-guard but his head wasn’t as clear as usual. It hadn’t been lately. Two nights ago he had drove her home and ever since she hadn’t left his mind. When she got out of his car, he could still smell her. She smelled of strawberries. Good enough to eat.

He stood as he turned to the intruder. Peter smiled at him and Bucky had to keep from scowling. When he thought of her, he couldn’t help but think of the boy. He was a kid truly, not to see what he had right in front of him. It filled Bucky with resent. She was so sweet, so devoted to the flaky college kid, and Peter was entirely oblivious.

“Sorry, Mr. Bucky, I was just comin’ to train,” For god’s sake, the kid still called him mister.

He shook his head and shrugged as he dropped and began another set of push-ups. “Thought there was a gym at the school.” He grunted.

“Yeah…” Peter let his voice trail off as he set his gym bag on the bench. “It’s too crowded there.”

“Mmm,” Bucky lost count after ten. 

He couldn’t concentrate on the numbers as his mind strayed once more. As he lifted himself up and down, he couldn’t help but think of her. Picture her below him. He felt a stir in his shorts and held back a groan. Fuck. The things he’d do to her. 

She was so delicate. He could only imagine the ways he could break her with his iron touch. She’d wilt like a flow. The juices would flow from the sweet berry and fill his mouth. He sniffed and brought himself to a halt. 

He rolled onto his back and stretched out each leg. His cool down exercises would help him calm down. He was getting far too worked up over Peter’s girl. Yes, Peter’s girl. He shouldn’t have to remind himself of that.

He stood and stretched out his arms. “So, how’d your little date go with the girl?”

Peter looked at him curiously as he began to warm up. “How’d you know about that?” His voice was higher than usual.

“She was here all night waiting for you,” He replied, “Friday, that is.”

“Oh,” Peter blinked and frowned. “Well, I kinda forgot we were supposed to meet.”

“And yesterday?” Bucky prodded. He should back off. It wasn’t his business.

“I, uh...we saw a movie,” Peter squinted at him. “Why are you so concerned?”

“No reason. Drove the girl back to her dorm. She seemed down,” He tried to seem nonchalant but could barely ignored the thrill it sent up his spin. “Just...I dunno, she’s a special one. You should treat her like she is.”

“You drove her home?” Peter stopped his own stretches as the thoughts wrinkled along his forehead. “Why?”

“Didn’t want her to take the subway that late,” Bucky said coolly. “Not safe, ya know?”

“Ya,” Peter nodded and bent an arm behind his head. “I guess you’re right.”

Bucky finished up and grabbed his hoodie from the bench. He drained the last of his water and watched the kid as he began a set of sit-ups. He made it halfway to the door before he turned back. He neared the kid and stood over him. He looked down as Peter fell flat.

“What?” Peter asked.

“You really upset the girl,” Bucky said, “I doubt whatever you were doing with that friend of yours was worth it.”

“What do you care?” Peter leaned on his hands as he sat up. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“Then start acting like it,” Bucky snapped.

“Hey,” Peter hopped up to his feet. He still had to look up at the super soldier. “I don’t appreciate you getting involved, Mister.”

“Mister?” Bucky scoffed. “Ah, kid, you need to grow up. Women get tired of boys. Quickly.”

“I’m not a boy,” Peter snarled. “You need to back off.”

“Tell your girl the same,” Bucky didn’t know why he said it. It just seemed right. A bit of revenge on her behalf. A little jealousy always put things into perspective. “She’s very talkative.” Bucky let his voice linger in the air. “...Very...friendly.”

“Leave her alone!” Bucky was surprised by the kid’s strength. He very nearly stepped back as Peter shoved him. 

“Oh don’t you worry. It was all innocent,” Bucky smirked. “She’s loyal, almost to a fault. But you’re pushing her to her limit. One of these days--”

“One of these days what?” Peter spat. “Why don’t you mind your own business, old man?”

“Key word being man,” Bucky countered. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Bucky patted his shoulder and backed away. He draped his hoodie over his shoulder as he pulled open the door and glanced at the kid as he stepped into the hall. Their eyes met in unspoken challenge. 

The door closed between them and Bucky chuckled. His chest fluttered wildly as he pictured her face. Imagined how her body would feel against his. He’d just have to wait until the kid slipped up again.

-

“How many times do I have to repeat myself until you hear me?” You pulled away from Peter. 

You had been entirely content until he spoiled it all. Nestled up together on the couch watching a movie on Netflix. The compound lounge was empty and peaceful. Or at least, it had been.

“I forgot,” Peter’s hand brushed your lower back as you stood and turned on him. “I’m sorry.”

“You forgot. Again. Big surprise. Anything to do with me, you always forget,” You evaded him as he rose and reached out to you. “Goddamn it, Peter. I told you about this two months ago. I’ve reminded you constantly and you just don’t even care.”

“I can tell Happy to reschedule the whole thing.” He pleaded as he followed you around the sofa.

“That’s not the point, Peter,” You growled and turned on him. He nearly tripped as you bore down on him, your finger in his face. “I’m tired of feeling like this. Ignored. A burden.”

“You’re not--”

“I am. Fuck, Pete, I don’t wanna be your biggest priority but I at least wanna be on the list,” You spat. “I mean, we both have our lives, our responsibilities. We knew that when we got into this but...you never treated my time like it was worth anything.” 

He tried to grab your hand and you shoved him away. His eyes rounded in hurt.

“Peter!” You exclaimed, exasperated, “Or should I call you the amazing Spider-man, hmm? Our greatest hero. You can’t do any wrong.”

“You can’t hold that against me,” Peter shook his head. 

“I don’t, Peter,” You lowered your voice. “I don’t expect you to drop everything for me, I just expect you to give me something. Anything.” You sighed and crossed your arms. “We’re on different roads, Peter. We can’t turn back now.”

“No, you...Please,” His face drained of colour. “You can’t mean it.”

“I can’t live like this. I can’t try anymore, not when you don’t.” You pressed your lips together and sniffed back your tears. “I might not be a hero but I can’t handle it all. School, you, work. I...You should enjoy it. College. We only get these years once and obviously I’m just an obstacle.”

“Don’t say that,” He neared and you hung your head. “I...can change.”

“People don’t change, Peter,” You let him hug you, his chin on your head. “Not for others. One day you’ll be ready for a relationship, I will too. But now…” You slowly drew away and hid your face. You grabbed your purse from the table. “I don’t think either of us are ready.”

“Please don’t leave,” Peter’s voice cracked as you pulled on your jacket. “Please…”

“Go save the world, Peter, it’s what your meant to do,” You opened the door and looked back at him. “But it’s not for me. This life...you’re much braver than me.”

You closed the door behind you. The hall was cold, it sent a shiver up your spine. Or was that the pit in your stomach. The twist of your insides as reality struck you across the face. It was over. Two years, done. Even if you had seen it coming, it still hurt. Inevitability was just as painful as chance.

The tears began to fall when you reached the elevator. You wiped your cheeks as you waited for the doors to ding. You were startled as a shadow appeared at the edge of your sight. You turned and brushed away the last of your tears with your sleeve. But it wasn’t Peter.

“Hey, you okay?” Bucky neared and you shied away. You sniffed again.

“I’m fine, I…” Your voice was nasally from crying. 

“What’s going on?” He asked kindly. He stared at you and his blue eyes sparkled. “What did he do?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” You looked past him. “It’s...stupid college kids, you know?”

“Youth is...dramatic,” Bucky said lightly. “Doesn’t mean you don’t have a right to feel the way you do.”

You looked at him. He wore a leather jacket over his tee and his usual combat boots. He was on his way out too. 

“What are you doing up?” You wondered. “It’s a bit late, isn’t it?”

“You telling me it’s late,” He scoffed as the elevator doors chimed and slid open. He waved you in ahead of him. “What about you, young lady? Out after dark?”

You laughed. “You got me,” You resigned. “I’m headed home. To sulk alone.”

He nodded and the elevator began its descent. You took out your phone and fiddled with it nervously. The silence that rose was tense. You were both thinking of what to say but neither could muster a word. You tucked your phone away and sighed as the elevator stopped.

“Hey,” He followed you out, “Wait, come on, it’s almost midnight. You need a ride?”

“I’ll be fine, really.” You assured him as he kept stride with you. “I’d hate to treat you like a chauffeur.”

“I don’t mind. Really.” He stepped ahead of you and blocked the door. “I wouldn’t feel right letting you take the subway this late. Alone.”

You squinted at him. Why did he care so much? While the gesture was nice, you weren’t so sure about his intent. Wait, this was Bucky. He was an Avenger. A hero just like Peter. Did you really prefer the underground creeps to him?

“I…” You bit your lip and peered through the glass doors on the other side of him. “...dunno.”

“Or maybe…” His lips twitched before he grasped his thought, “You wanna join me for a drink? I was just headed to this bar down the street. One drink in exchange for a ride. Fair trade, right?”

“A drink?” You raised a brow.

“Totally friendly, I promise. But you seem like you could use one,” He smiled, “I always heard it was bad to go to sleep angry.”

You stared at him as you thought. You dragged your tongue along your bottom lip as you weighed your options. You were on edge and you knew it would only get worse once you were home to stew in your self-pity.

“Alright, I suppose a drink is the least I can do,” You accepted. He turned and opened the door and waited for you to pass through. “But wait…” You stopped before the second door, “Should you be driving if you’re drinking?”

“Yeah, uh, my tolerance is...the serum kinda cancels out the alcohol.” He moved past you and grabbed the second door. 

“So you drink for the taste?” You stepped out onto the street and he followed. 

“It’s actually pretty sweet without the burn,” He shrugged. You walked side by side down the pavement. “And I like the bar. Small, quiet. As much as I hate crowds, it’s comforting, you know?”

“Ah,” You let him lead you to the corner and he stopped you at a small door under a plain wooden sign. “Oh, this place it cute.” You looked up at the simple moniker.

“Yeah, Peter said it was a hipster joint but I don’t really know what that means.” Bucky opened the door, once more gesturing you through. You frowned at the mention of your boyfriend. Ahem, ex-boyfriend. He noticed and winced. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s fine. It was my decision…” You shook off the sudden wave of gloom. “Look, let’s get that drink and forget about it. That’s all I wanna do.”

You entered and he followed closely behind. The bartender recognized him as you approached and Bucky greeted the woman as ‘Laura’. You smiled at her as she poured another customer’s drink. She turned to you as you dug out your wallet. 

“I’ll have a gin and soda,” You said above the low din, “A lime too, if you have it. And uh, whatever he drinks.”

“Actually, I’ll try that,” He intoned, “Sounds interesting.”

You waited for your drinks and handed over your cash. You left the change as a tip and Bucky led you to a table in the corner. He sat and you did the same, dribbling a little gin down your fingers. You sipped through the thin straw and shook the moisture from your hand.

“So, how’s school?” He asked before another deathly silence could rise. 

“Oh, it’s school,” You rolled your eyes, “Mostly papers and seminars. Nothing interesting. I mean, come on. You don’t wanna hear about the lameness that is the life of an art major.”

“Yeah? You’d be surprised how much paperwork is behind fighting the bad guys,” He replied, “Plus the mishap with Sam’s wings...that’s not going over well.”

“Mishap?” You prodded. “What exactly happened with the wings?”

“Well, airports don’t take well to unidentified air crafts in their zones,” Bucky chuckled, “We kind ran into some heat over Heathrow…”

-

One drink turned into two, which turned into a tequila shot and a third. Bucky was surprisingly good company. A nice distraction from the grief brewing at the back of your mind. You had thought of asking for that ride but the thought of being alone made you sick. Or was that the alcohol?

You giggled as you finished off your third gin and hid your mouth behind your hand as a belch threatened to rise. Bucky was entirely sober as he watched you lean back heavily in your chair. As a university student, you envied his tolerance.

“Another?” He offered as he looked to the bar.

“No, no,” You raised your hand, “No. I can’t handle anymore.”

“Lightweight,” He teased and you scowled. “There it is.”

“What?” You wiped the irritation from your face.

“That little furrow,” He pointed between his brows, “The chipmunk face.”

“Stop!” You whined and reached for your phone. 2:37 am. Holy shit! “Oh my god, it’s so late. Or early, I guess.”

“So it is,” He glanced over at your screen, “Last call already.”

“I should...go,” You stood with a wobble. You steadied yourself and untangled your purse from the back of the chair. 

“Yeah, we should probably head out,” He rose and stretched his arms and grabbed his leather jacket. 

“Urgh, I can’t wait to lay down,” You pulled on your canvas jacket as you followed him to the door. “What a long night?”

You yawned as you stumbled out onto the sidewalk. He was quick to catch you. His arm around your waist as he turned you in the right direction. “Careful,” He warned as he led you down the pavement. “Can’t have you messing up that pretty face of yours.”

Your cheeks burned and your lashes fluttered. You reached up to rub your neck as the heat spread. “Ha, you’re too sweet.”

“And you’re...drunk,” He chuckled as you leaned into him without thinking. He smelled of sandalwood and sweat. A hint of alcohol clung to him, too. “Come on, let’s get you back while you can still walk.”

“I’m not that bad,” You protested and elbowed him. 

“Sure,” He said dryly and you sneered at his doubt.

He turned you into Stark Tower, through the two glass doors, and towards the elevator. It wasn’t until you were in the rising box that you realized you were going in the wrong direction. 

“Wait…” You slurred as his arm slipped, “Why aren’t we...your car?”

He squeezed your ass and your squeaked in surprise. He turned to pin you against the elevator wall. His metal fingers pushed a stray hair back and you gasped. He leaned in as your heart hammered in your chest. 

“Bucky,” You grabbed his forearm as it snaked around your hip, his hand kneaded your ass hungrily.

“You’re so fucking sexy, you know that?” He pressed his lips to yours sloppily and crushed you against the wall. You froze as his metal hand drifted down and cupped your breast. He pulled away as the floors ticked closer to the top. “Peter’s a stupid boy...how could he ever let you go?”

“He...how do you know that?” You breathed.

“Not hard to guess,” He smirked, his arm once more around your waist as the elevator doors opened and he as good as dragged you out. “Don’t worry, baby, we’re gonna show him what he’s missing out on.”

“Bucky,” You said weakly. Your head spun and the warmth of his arm hypnotized you. You felt safe; wanted. “We shouldn’t…”

“It’s okay, baby,” He pulled you around the next corner, “It’s just a little bit of fun. I know you uni girls…”

Another corner and another. He spun you against a door and his mouth was on yours again. He turned the handle as he held your hip with one hand. He devoured you as he urged you backwards into the room and kicked the door closed behind him. You clung to him to keep from stumbling, your lips working against his.

He reached up to slide your jacket down your shoulders. You let him as a small voice told you not to. His touch was hot. Intoxicating. Your jacket fell to the floor with your purse. He bunched the hem of your shirt up with his fingers. Up along your stomach and chest. He pulled away as he tugged it over your head, his eyes intent on your lacy black bra.

“Jesus,” He whispered. 

Your mind was hazy, his broad shoulders blurred as he nudged you back. Your legs hit something and you fell onto the bed with a gasp. You felt him pull off your shoes, then your socks. His fingers worked deftly at the fly of your jeans as you lifted your head to watch him. This had to be a dream.

You giggled as he lifted your pelvis and glided your jeans down your legs. He stood and your vision cleared for a second as his eyes met yours. You glanced down at your body, the lacy bra and panties were all that were left to you.

“Stay there, baby,” He purred and you dropped your head. You couldn’t have moved if you tried.

You heard him moving around. You looked over as he emptied his pockets on the dresser and peeled off his leather jacket. He turned back to you and winked. His tongue poked out as he came nearer and pulled off his tee. He bent to unlace his boots and quickly kicked them off. He circled the bed as he undressed, watching you like a scavenger.

Your head lolled back and forth as you tried to keep track of him. The shadows blurred in your eyes and you closed them to still the ripple in your vision. You flinched when he touched you. His metal fingers were cold along your thighs as they crawled along the flesh. His other hand was warmer but rougher as it slid around your waist.

He lifted you and held you against him as he climbed up on the bed. He walked on his knees across the mattress and laid you down beneath him. His kiss was even more fervent than before. His tongue desperate as it slid past your lips. He ground his pelvis into you and you felt his erection through you sheer panties.

He parted and sat back on his heels. His hands explored your body as his eyes followed them. You looked down and gaped at his naked body. His cock was slightly curved but large. Your eyes rolled back as you wriggled beneath his touch.

"You're so precious, baby," He whispered as he reached around and popped open your bra with a flick. 

You pouted as he tugged your bra from your arms. You caught it and he pulled it away easily. It dropped over the side of the bed and you shivered at the touch of his fingers along your hips. He guided the lace down your thighs and past your feet. 

He tossed the panties away and bent over you. His lips trailed along your neck, shoulders, chest, and stomach. He hummed as the tip of his nose traced the line of your pelvis and you squirmed. His dark hair hung around his head and tickled you.

"Bucky," You breathed. "What are--" 

You gulped as he kissed just above your pussy. He pushed your legs apart and bent them over his shoulders. The muscles of his shoulders rippled against your calves as he bent closer. 

His slipped his tongue along the curve of your lips and pushed deeper. It was cool and sent a tingle along your thighs. You squeezed his head between your legs without thinking. His fingers danced along your ass and edged around your pussy.

He delved between your folds and you trilled. The sound was startling. Was it really you? His tongue moved from your clit to your entrance and back again. He swirled around your bud and suckled. He didn't let up, each flick of his tongue had you trembling.

You reached down to push away his head as the heat built. Instead your fingers buried in his dark hair and urged him deeper. He tickled your folds with his finger and circled your entrance. He pushed inside and you arched your back beneath him.

He drew his finger in and out before adding another. His mouth continued to play with your clit as he worked his hand. The pressure mounted and you moaned through your teeth.

His tongue and fingers moved faster. You could hear your wetness, feel it as he lapped it up. The knot unwound and you disassembled all at once. You whined as your orgasm radiated through you.

You twisted beneath him as he slowly parted from you. He looked down at you as you pressed your legs together and your hands fluttered over your torso. You closed your eyes and the after waves swept you away.

He chuckled and stroked his cock as he pulled your legs apart and dragged you closer. He rubbed his tip along your folds and it sent a shiver through you. You opened your eyes and watched as he pressed himself past your entrance. His head stretched you as he leaned over you.

He held himself up with his elbow beside your head as he slid into you. You gasped as he filled you to your limit. Your eyes went wide at the storm of lust and pain. He smiled down at your tortured delight.

"Yeah, baby," He pulled back slowly and eased back in. "You like that?"

You bit your lip and he cradled your head in his hand as he moved carefully. You shyly touched his hips; nudged him weakly as he worked against you.

"I can tell you like it." He whispered, "A girl like you needs a real man, eh?" He sped up just a little, "He can't fuck you like I can." He picked up again and you let out a mewl. "That's it, baby."

Your legs bent around him and your nails dug into his skin. Once more you felt the spring winding. His mouth smushed against yours and he nibbled your bottom lip as he parted and kissed along your cheek.

"Say my name, baby," His hips rose and fell in rhythm. "Say it."

"Bucky," You breathed.

"Again," He sped up.

"Bucky," You rasped as the heat licked at your skin.

"Louder," He urged as he rocked into you harder and harder. "Louder."

"Bucky," You raised your voice and he pushed himself up. 

He grasped your hips as he sat back, his thighs against yours. His flesh clapped loudly against yours as he crashed into you. "Keep going," He hissed.

"Bucky!" You exclaimed as the tide rose higher. "Oh, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky…"

You yiped as the swell burst and you came with a violent shudder. He kept going until you were weak and breathless. Your fingers knotted in your hair.

He slowed and lingered in you. He wiggled his hips and you twitched.

"Turn over, baby," He rubbed along the back of your thigh. "I wanna see that pretty little ass."

He pulled out of you and you trembled as you struggled to move. You rolled over and raised yourself up on your knees. Your arms shook as you struggled to stay up.

He slapped your ass and you nearly fell forward. He seized your hips again and pulled you back against him. He entered you in a single motion. Your pussy squelched around him and you moaned.

All pretense was gone. He pounded into you and you fell down to your elbows. His pelvis crashed against your ass and he bent over you to fondle your tits. You purred and pushed back into him, longing for more.

His metal hand went to your throat and he sat up. He took you with him, your back against his muscled torso. His grip tightened as he fucked you without pause. His other hand found your pussy and his fingers twirled around your clit.

"Are you gonna cum again, baby?" He growled in your ear. You nodded and his fingers slackened just a little. "Let me hear it." His breath was hot along your temple. "Let me hear you cum."

"Ah, ah, ah," You panted and closed your eyes as another orgasm broke through. "I'm cum--cumming."

You shook and he caressed you through your climax before dragging his wet fingers along your stomach. His metal hand choked you as his other hooked around your shoulder and he forced you down harder onto his cock.

"Fuck, baby, can I cum in you? I'm gonna cum," His lips brushed over your hair.

"N-n-no," You wheezed and clawed at his hand. "N-not inside."

"Inside?" He snarled and sank into you completely. His hips twitched and he gave several long thrusts. He came as you batted helplessly at his metal hand. "God, baby, you feel so good." 

He slowed and lowered your bodies together so that he was on top of you. He pushed inside as deep as he could and you cried out as he hit your cervix.

"You like it when I fill you up?" He ran his nose along your ear. "Hmm?"

You buried your face in the mattress and steadied your breath. He kissed the back of your head and pulled out of you carefully. You felt the stream of his cum and yours as it leaked between your thighs. You shook your head and the cloud grew thicker.

You rolled over as the bed shifted and you watched as Bucky's vague figure walked to the dresser. You sat up and squinted at him as he turned back with something in his hand. His phone was pointed at you as he neared.

"Bucky?" You blinked in confusion, "What--"

"Say hi," He smirked as he moved the lens up and down your body. Your mouth fell open as he turned the camera back on him. "Who's an old man now, Petey boy?"

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #fic #au #one shot #captain america #mcu #marvel #peter parker #spider-man #dark!fic #darkverse #dark!verse

[sinagrace]

As Pride Month comes to a close, it’s time I spoke candidly about my experience at Marvel Comics.

To date, I’ve always been honest about the joy of writing Iceman’s journey as an out gay superhero, but I’ve skirted around the challenges that came along with it. This is partially because I prefer to give off an upbeat vibe, and there’s also a fear that my truth will affect my career. With more corporations patting themselves on the back for profit-led partnerships wherein celebrities take selfies in rainbow apparel, and with buzz that Marvel Studios is preparing to debut their first gay character in the upcoming Eternals movie, there is an urgency to discuss the realities of creating queer pop culture in a hostile or ambivalent environment. Hopefully, my takeaways will serve as a guide for people in positions of power to consider when advocating for more nuanced and rich representation. In an ideal world, embracing our stories and empowering us to tell them will yield far more profitable (and way less messy) results than what I encountered while writing Iceman.

Stand by your people

It’s no surprise that I got the attention of trolls and irate fans for taking on this job. There was already backlash around the manner in which Bobby Drake aka Iceman came out, and Marvel needed to smooth that landing and put a “so what” to the decision. After a point, I could almost laugh off people making light of my death, saying they have "cancerous AIDS" from my book, or insinuating I’m capable of sexual assault… almost. Between Iceman’s cancellation and its subsequent revival, Marvel reached out and said they noticed threatening behavior on my Twitter account (only after asking me to send proof of all the nasty shit popping up online). An editor called, these conversations always happen over the phone, offering to provide “tips and tricks” to deal with the cyber bullying. I cut him off. All he was going to do was tell me how to fend for myself. I needed Marvel to stand by me with more work opportunities to show the trolls that I was more than a diversity hire. “We’ll keep you in mind.” I got so tired of that sentence. 

Even after a year of the new editor-in-chief saying I was talented and needed to be on a book that wasn’t “the gay character,” the only assignment I got outside of Iceman was six pages along, about a version of Wolverine where he had diamond claws. Fabulous, yes. Heterosexual, yes. Still kind of the gay character, though.

We as creators are strongly encouraged to build a platform on social media and use it to promote work-for-hire projects owned by massive corporations… but when the going gets tough, these dudes get going real quick. 

Believe in the work

You may be asking if my Iceman book was any good, or if I’m just being sour grapes over a bad work experience. Believe me, I asked that, too. From the get-go, my first editor asserted that Iceman would be DOA if it were “too gay,” while also telling me to prepare for a cancellation anyway, given that most solo X-Men titles don’t last beyond a year. Never mind that my work on Iceman had gotten positive press in the New York Times (in-print), or that in spite of (since-deleted) critical sandbagging, the series nets glowing reviews on Amazon… Marvel still treated me as someone to be contained, and the book as something to be nervous about. Do you know how hard it is to not argue with a publicist when he’s explaining the value of announcing Iceman’s revival via the Marvel homepage? Sis, that’s a burial. Instead of clapping back, I just went and got myself more press from the New York Times. From there, they tightened my leash. I had to get all opportunities pre-approved, and all interviews pre-reviewed. This would be fine if it was the standard, but I assure you: none of my straight male colleagues seek permission to go on podcasts promoting their books. 

What Marvel should have done is assign me a special projects editor. They should have worked with a specialty PR firm, rather than repeat a tiresome cycle of treating the book like a square peg, and getting confused when it’s a hit. 

Give us a real seat at the table

There was a moment before Iceman was cancelled where I wrote then-editor-in-chief Axel Alonso an email, pleading for a Hail Mary arc. I explained that Iceman was landing with a newer generation of readers who focused more on binge-reading than month-to-month periodicals. The series needed time in the book market before its true strength could be assessed. To Axel’s credit, he was warm to the idea and even gave me an extra month, but when he left Marvel that idea got brushed away. Of course I was right. The first two volumes sold like gangbusters thanks to word-of-mouth, librarian love, and support from retailers big and small. 

When the series returned, no one at Marvel asked me: “What do you think landed with readers?” Nor did they ask the question that Axel did: “What matters to your community?” So when I wrote what I thought the fans would be into, a story about a man learning to be a better ally in the war against hate, editorial totally missed its value.

Seat at the table pt II: The Shade of it all

All of the weird drama I put up with crystallized when I created a drag queen mutant, first called Shade, now called Darkveil. I told my editor that Shade would be a big deal for X-Fans, and asked how we should promote her. He said: “leave it up to the reader’s interpretation.” Everyone at Marvel shrugged off two years of goodwill and acted like I’d coordinated behind their backs on an announcement that made headlines. Beyond mentioning on Instagram the queens who inspired the character, I didn’t coordinate shit. Of course, their head publicist can’t admit that my quotes were pre-approved from an unreleased interview. At this point, I stopped believing that there’d be any more work for me. There were so many shady moves on their end that I’m still having trouble putting into language, but it all aligned with an experience I had in retail where a corrupt manager kept lying and moving the goal posts in order to keep me selling in a department I didn’t want to work in. I offered to give Darkveil a proper character bio, and I walked away.  

I recognize that some of my complaints can be filed under “this is freelance life.” I am aware that it was not a queer person of color who joked to me that “it’s not a matter of if Marvel fucks you over, it’s a matter of when.” That came from a cis white male. The same-day turn-arounds without warning, the work emails on Christmas week… that’s the freelance bullshit. Truly, I don’t even think of this as discrimination, I call it general ineptness. It is my belief that if we are telling stories about heroes doing the right thing in the face of adversity, wouldn’t the hope be to embody those ideals as individuals? Instead of feeling like I worked with some of the most inspiring and brave people in comics, I was surrounded by cowards. 

Truly, I hate writing this. In keeping with Pride Month, I am proud of the work I did on Iceman... I love the book! It sucks that I may be tarnishing its legacy going public about how the cookies were made. That said, the time for self-congratulating is over, and folks should be earnestly listening when they ask: what could we have done better? 

[floralseokjin]

;sleepy (m)

FIRST LOVE, LAST LOVE

Jungkook’s never too sleepy for sex...

pairing; jeon jungkook x reader genre/warnings; domesticated goodness in the form of smut and fluff, morning sex, sleepy jungkook, established relationship words; 2,254

more﹆chapter index

“Morning,” Jungkook’s sleep laden voice vibrated in your ear, his arms slinking around your waist as he pressed his body into the back of yours. “How long have you been awake?” 

You pushed back against him. He sounded groggy and hoarse, barely awake. Made you want to stay in bed some more. In the warmth of your boyfriend’s arms. But there was something beginning to distract you... 

“Are we just going to ignore the boner against my ass?” 

There was a beat of silence and then he chuckled brokenly, wiggling his pelvis, his dick conveniently snug between the cheeks of your butt. 

“We might have to,” he croaked. “My eyes are practically glued shut.” 

He was so sleepy he probably hadn’t even noticed the morning wood he’d been sporting until you’d pointed it out. But now that you had he couldn’t help but keep messing around, nudging you with his hips. There was something about the comfort of your boyfriend’s boner against your ass. You probably couldn’t voice it out loud to anyone else, but it was a special kind of intimacy that you shared. If didn’t even have to be sexual. You just liked how complete and warm it made you feel. 

“What time did you get home last night?” You asked, wide awake, despite your eyes being closed. You were just enjoying the feeling of this lovely lazy Sunday morning. 

Jungkook nuzzled into the crook of your neck. His breath hot, tickling you almost as he replied. “No clue... 2...3am?” 

“Jungkooook.” 

“It’s the weekend,” he protested against your whining, “and you left me to hang out with the girls so of course I had to meet up with the guys. Not gonna stay inside on my own, am I?” 

You could hear the pout in his voice. “You big baby.” He grunted, pressing a kiss behind your ear. “Are you hungover?” 

You’d arrived home around 8pm after your day of retail therapy and cocktails with your friends and had hit the hay quite early, maybe 11pm, the house too quiet and boring without your boyfriend. You’d vaguely remembered stirring momentarily in the middle of the night, feeling Jungkook’s weight on his side of the bed, signalling he’d arrived back home, but other than that you hadn’t heard a peep. The beauty of being such a deep sleeper. 

Jungkook shook his head. “Didn’t drink much.” 

“You smell like you did.” You wrinkled your nose as you spoke, the smell enough to rouse memories from your college days. 

“I’ll shower in a min’,” he mumbled into your skin, the timbre of his voice in your ear setting you alight a little. 

As much as you liked to romanticise his morning surprises, you were only human, and your boyfriend still managed to affect you in ways unimaginable, even after all these years together. You snapped your eyes open, determination and mischief deep in your bones. 

“Please don’t do that,” he groaned pretty much immediately when you started backing up on him, because apparently when you started playing too, he couldn’t handle it. “I have no energy to fuck you right now.” 

“I do,” you quipped, wiggling into him and feeling his dick just about twitch. 

A pause and then– “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you repeated. You felt his arms loosen their grip as you twisted around. “Can’t say no to that,” he grinned. You didn’t even need to ask him to get on his back, he was already moving, fluffing up his pillow for the ultimate comfort. 

You settled yourself on his lap, legs either side and took a moment to stare down at him. It had been a little less than 24 hours since you’d last saw his face, sue you. He looked just as tired as he sounded, hair bouncy and in his eyes which were barely open. Face swollen, lips a little chapped. A long sleeved sweatshirt on and just his boxers. He looked so cosy you almost just wanted to cuddle him, but the lump pressing against your underwear reminded you ever so impatiently why you were straddling him. 

You bent, mouth against his neck, trying to ignore the light stench of alcohol on his skin. His hands reached for the back of your head, trying to pull you back, eager for your lips on his. “Kiss me, woman,” he demanded as you fought it. 

You squealed, hands bracing yourself against his chest. “Nooo.” You could handle the smell of stale alcohol, just not the taste.  

“I brushed my teeth when I got home.” He was adamant, whining against your cheek. “Honest.” 

You pulled back slowly, expression judging. “You’re such a weirdo.” 

“What? I needed to get rid of the taste. Yoongi made me drink something disgusting.” 

You laughed at his upturned nose. “Just admit you hate the taste of alcohol, Jungkook.” 

He went to argue with you, for some reason, always having to fight you on that one, but you cut him off. With your mouth. He was telling the truth. He had brushed his teeth. You mean, his breath was a little musky but so was yours after sleep, and love does that to a person, you didn’t really care. 

His hands fell down your back and then to your ass, slowly rocking you against his crotch. Things got hot soon after that but as you pulled away to catch your breath you couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “Your hair is so floofy!” You exclaimed, unable to stop yourself from combing your fingers through the bouncy strands. “What the hell did the hair salon do to you?” 

“It’s a mess right now. Looked better yesterday. You wouldn’t know...” He was grumbling, but his eyes were slightly more awake now, a little bit glassy, jaw relaxed as his breathing continued to shallow. He wanted you bad. 

“Shut up. You sent me a snap.” You dismissed, unable to stop brushing through it. “I love it.” A quick kiss to his mouth ended up lingering. “I love you. You’re so cute.” 

He pushed his head further back into the pillow, hips rising into yours as he grunted. “My dick’s so hard right now, I don’t want to be cute.” 

“Too bad,” you shrugged, but you couldn’t ignore the infuriating burn between your legs any longer. Sitting up you popped his dick out of his boxers, gripping him firmly around the base. He inhaled sharply but stayed silent, gaze locked between your bodies as you pulled your underwear to the side to rub him against your heat. 

You were wet but could probably do with a touch of warming up before you let him dive right on in. However, you didn’t have the patience for that right now, not when you were desperate to feel him inside you. 

Hastily, you went to shimmy your underwear down your hips but a hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. “Shit, noo, keep them on.” Jungkook almost begged, and you complied because well, whatever he asked, he got. If he found it hot, then so did you.  

Aligning him with your entrance you began to push down, popping over the bulbous head of his cock, biting down on your lip with a groan at the sudden fill. You let go of the delicate fabric, his dick now able to hold it back for you and attempted to sink lower, supporting yourself with a palm flat against his pelvis, knees digging into the mattress. 

Jungkook’s hands slipped under your tank top, holding your hips as he watched you slowly take him inch by glorious inch. “This looks so fucking hot,” he croaked. You couldn’t tell if he was still tired or just coming undone quicker than usual. 

You huffed, nearly there. Nearly filled whole. “Y’know maybe if your dick wasn’t so thick I’d be able to take it better.” 

Laughing loudly, he folded his arms behind his head cockily. “Keep inflating my ego, babe. Makes me happyy–umfph.”

He choked on the last syllable, eyes bulging as you swallowed the last inch and rocked forward. You smirked. “What was that?” 

He groaned as you began to move forward and back, warming yourself up, getting used to the stretch, fists bunched in his sweatshirt. “Shit.” He was chuckling breathlessly, dick so snug inside your walls that pure pleasure was etched all across his face. 

He raised on his elbows, hands flat to the bed as he watched you begin to bounce lightly and that’s when he began tugging at his shirt. “Want me to take it off?” Maybe he was getting too hot, maybe he wanted to see better... Whatever the reason you nodded eagerly, desperate to feel his skin under your fingertips. 

You bounced a little harder as he stretched awkwardly, garment over his head and you could hear his muffled groaning underneath the fabric. When he finally got free and threw it to the floor, his hair was even more fluffy, bouncing about as you rode him, his cheeks tinged red. Definitely awake now. 

He was breathing heavy as he grabbed your hips, holding you steady to back you both a little further up the bed, his head propped up against the headboard. You flattened your hands to his stomach, needing the leverage as you continued to fuck down on him, feeling his muscles contract along the way. 

“That’s it, ride my dick,” he moaned, grasping a hold of your middle tightly, helping you bounce. You took him easily now. Could hear how wet you were as he slid in and out. “God. I missed you.”

You rolled your eyes, which was actually a lot harder than it seemed when you were riding dick. “You literally fucked me Thursday night.” 

“That’s a whole 3 days ago.” He had an answer for everything, but before you could think to tell him that he started thrusting his hips up into you. Jiggling you about in an extremely unflattering way, the straps of your tank top falling down your arms. 

“W-what are you doing?” You managed to squeal out, body collapsing into his as you grasped onto his shoulders as he kept going. 

“Trying to make your boobs fall out.” 

How old was he? His plan wasn’t working anyway because now your chest was hidden from view. “You’re lame.” He just kissed the comment from your lips. 

“And you’re weak.” 

“Hey.” You warned, but he was right. You were out of breath and your thighs ached. Riding dick had never really been your forte unless he was helping you, and right on cue–

“Keep still. I’ll help.” 

He held your hips down as he began to thrust and the pleasure was so amazing and instant you couldn’t help but moan loudly. “You were supposed to be sleepy.” Your voice was weak, shaky. 

“I was.” He grinned. “I just got woken up because there’s an insanely pretty girl sat on my dick.” 

Lame ass. You would tell him again but you were now at a loss of words. He was fucking into you pretty hard. Harder than he’d done in a long, long time. Determination and concentration set in his expression as he grunted every now and then. You were sensitive, each stroke of his dick setting you on fire, and if you could feel an impending orgasm, so could he. He squeezed out his question. “You gonna cum?” 

“Maybe,” you gasped. You didn’t want to jinx it. “Keep going.” 

He grunted in exertion, voice so low it ripped straight through you. Just like his dick. “Faster?” You nodded crazily, unable to do much else, a moan tearing at your throat. He obliged. “That’s it. Squeezing my dick so hard because you’re gonna cum all over it.” 

You whined, at this point burying your face into his neck, folded into him, because everything just felt so good. “Fffuck, Jungkook.” 

You were holding your breath, dangling over the edge as you concentrated on each thrust he gave you, and then there were tears in your eyes as you urged the final push. Successful, because Jungkook could quite literally fuck like no tomorrow, red hot pleasure exploding through your body with a cry. 

He came too along the way. You were a little bit dazed but could hear the sigh of bliss leaving him through the blood rushing in your ears. His body relaxed instantly, grip on your body loosening as his thrusts turned shallow, fucking you lazily through the waves of pleasure before you both had enough, slowly coming to a standstill but still slightly breathless. 

“Good morning to me,” he beamed up at the ceiling. 

You slid off him, settling on his thighs and groaned, your eyes feeling heavy now as sleep tried to pull you back. Oh, how the tables had turned. Your underwear snapped back into place over your heat, blocking any spillages for now, but it wouldn’t be long before his cum started seeping out and potentially threatening to soil anything in its path. 

You grabbed both his hands, attempting to tug him forward. “Come onnn.” You tugged harder. “Get up! Shower time!” 

It was a big fat fail. Jungkook was one big lump of muscle, freakishly strong. He ended up humouring you and sitting up himself with a chuckle, pretending like you were victorious.

“So strong, baby. Have you been working out?” He folded his dick back into his boxers with a goofy smile your way, and you kissed it off, unable to help yourself, despite the displeasure of his sarcasm. 

He just looked so cute.

Written 2019. Reworked/Edited 2020 Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2019

#jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #floralseokjin:writings #fic:flll

[leverage-ot3]

notable moments from The 12 Step Job

leverage 1.10

Hardison (brings up map on monitors): That look like a pattern to you?

Parker: It's like Billy from "The Family Circus," If Billy was a drunken sex fiend.

eliot straight up looked at her like ?????

- - - - -

Nate: Actually, it does. He's an addict, under stress. So he's not gonna be doing a lot of exploring. He's gonna stay well within his comfort zone. He's still in LA. Oh, yeah. All right, we're gonna do this old-school. Ah, Parker, you break into his condo, see what you can find. Sophie and I will hit the retail spots. You guys go to his favorite haunts. But don't spook him, just follow him. Let him lead us to the money.

Hardison: All right?

Eliot (to Hardison): Strip Joint.

Hardison: Mmm. (to Nate) You know, I'm - I'm gonna need change for $100... in singles.

Nate: I'm sorry. What? Y-you think I have 100 singles on me?

(Eliot and Hardison walk out)

they looked at each other giddily that the con was going to take them to a strip joint and immediately asked their dad nate for money

they’re children, your honor

- - - - -

Hardison: This dude, you see him trying to force his keys onto that girl?

Eliot: Yeah. It should be the other way around, huh?

(Hurley gets into the car and starts it)

Eliot: Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot. You don't know nothing about that.

Hardison: Really? I almost had it in me to wash this car. Almost.

Eliot: Ten bucks says you're washing the car.

Hardison: I know it ain’t

Eliot: I guaran- (he is cut off when a car pulls up behind Hurley as he’s backing up, and he hits it. Men get out of the car and run around to where Hurley is getting out of his car)

CHILDREN

also as soon as hardison spilled that slushie he was Dead™

(also when did they stop to get slushies ??? like did hardison beg eliot to stop at some place to get one ??? did eliot begrudgingly to it, complaining all the way but secretly not actually minding it that much ???)

- - - - -

eliot and hardison fighting goons in the parking lot ? two words: 🥰 crime boyfriends 🥰

- - - - -

Hardison: I got a gun. I got a gun.

Man: All right, man, hey, hey.

(the men back away. Hardison points the gun and shoots. The bullet goes into the engine of the men’s car, disabling it. Eliot pulls Hardison toward their car)

Eliot: Nice job blowing out the engine block.

Hardison: I was aiming for his leg.

(Eliot grabs the gun)

Eliot: Yeah give me the gun, Hardison

hardison can’t shoot for shit and it’s hilarious

- - - - -

Parker: Hi. My name is Rose. I'm a kleptomaniac. My parents are rich, but I shoplift anyway... (looks at notes on her wrist) because I hate myself.

HER NOTES ON HER WRIST LMFAO

- - - - -

making parker take the drugs without explaining the process or making her sign anything etc is unethical

- - - - -

Hardison: It-It's, uh, a computer bomb. I-I-I know computers. Computer bomb, um. We-we-we got to reboot the system. Yeah.

Eliot (stands up): You want me to kick it?

Hardison: God, I’m gonna die. No, just, look. (reaches under dash)

Eliot: Wh-wh-wh-whoa.

Hardison: J-just, no. Duck up under the hood and just tell me how it's attached to the electrical system. (pops hood)

I’ve seen meta for this scene where eliot actually obviously knows not to kick it, he’s just saying that to jumpstart hardison’s brain since he’s freaking the fuck out. and I believe that wholeheartedly.

- - - - -

Eliot: What's our margin for error here?

Hardison: About half a second.

Eliot: Run the bag of bricks by me again.

Hardison: You ready?

Eliot: No.

Hardison: Are you ready?

(Eliot reaches under the hood with a shaking hand and grabs the wires)

Eliot: Yeah

ELIOT! COULD! HAVE! JUST! LEFT!

they were a newly formed team and if worst came to worst, he could have just gotten himself to safety and have that be it. except he would NEVER do that. he’d never leave any of his team behind (especially hardison). in this scene and the one before it his hands were SHAKING because he was so scared for hardison and that hardison wouldn’t make it. eliot is the retrieval specialist and he’s the one that is supposed to get everyone home safe. he needed hardison to be safe.

- - - - -

Receptionists: Can I help you?

Eliot: You sure can. Here to see a patient of yours, Mr. Tom Baker.

Receptionists: What's your relationship?

Eliot: Why?

Receptionists: Second Act has a strict policy. Only family members can see patients. We want to make sure outside influences don't hamper our clients' recoveries.

Eliot: I think that's an excellent policy. I'm Tom's brother. Hi. Mark.

(Eliot kisses the receptionists hand. She looks at Hardison)

Hardison: I'm-I'm with him.

Receptionists: So, you're a friend of…

Hardison: No, no, I am—

(Hardison puts his arm through Eliot’s. Eliot stiffens)

Hardison: I am with him. See, he thinks the flirting makes me jealous, but it doesn't. You know, but if you was, like, Brad Pitt or Denzel or somebody, oh, girl, it would be on, seriously. (rings the bell) Bring your ass. Bring your ass. (pulls Eliot away from the desk)

ot3 foreshadowing in season one- we love to see it

(also what a fucking nerd, hardison, tom baker? you live to base aliases off of doctor who)

- - - - -

Parker: I thought my foster parents just wanted me so they could get money from the state, but now I realize they didn't love each other. They just wanted someone to love them.

Hurley: Like they need you to fill in the gaps for their relationship.

Parker: Exactly. But when that didn't happen, they just withdrew

Hurley: Yeah.

Parker: Which led me to steal.

Hurley: Yeah.

Parker: It's all so clear to me now

I’m not sure how much of this was true from her origin story but I’m keeping it as meta just in case

- - - - -

Hardison: He's not all bad. He did give some of the money to people in need.

Eliot: You ever notice how all bad guys know at least one stripper?

Sophie (answering phone): Hello?

Hardison: And you know at least a hundred, so what does that say about you?

Eliot: Hey, I’m a bad guy

stfu eliot you know you’re not a bad guy anymore

- - - - -

parker walking around all happy

- - - - -

Parker: Okay, Parker, get into the air vent, out to the front gate.

Parker: No.

Nate: No?

Parker: No, I feel like I’m making real progress here.

Nate (puts his hands on her shoulders): Listen, I need you to focus, okay?

(Parker smiles and looks down at Nate’s arms)

Nate: What?

Parker: You don't usually touch me, or any of us, really. It's the hole in your heart, Tom. It doesn't allow you to get close to people.

Hurley: She's right

parker got so insightful in this episode. like it was because of the drugs but it gave an interesting look into her mind and into her past

- - - - -

Hurley: Dr. Tanner?

Sophie: Hurley, jump on. Let's go. Now!

(Sophie is pulled away, but another creeper comes out from beneath the car. Hurley gets out of the car. Eliot is pulling on the rope from behind another car. Hurley is pulled away to safety. Eliot covers Sophie)

Eliot: Keep your head down. Keep your head down.

eliot covered sophie with his body and we love to see eliot protecting his family with whatever he’s got

- - - - -

Eliot: Ooh.

Hurley: Steel-Belted radials.

(Eliot pulls a knife and cuts open the tire, revealing the inside full of money)

Eliot: Ohhh.

Hurley: What do you think?

(Eliot hands Hardison a handful of money)

Sophie: I think you might have a knack for this.

that was actually really smart ??? tagging this as something useful for a fic maybe ???

- - - - -

Nate: Just-just take the win. Take the win. (grabs an envelope from Hardison and hands it to Hurley) Here you go.

Hurley: What's this?

Nate: That's your new identity. It's a driver's license, a passport, birth certificate.

Hardison: Your library card, Netflix membership, Sam’s club. Oh, I got you three months free at 24-Hour fitness. Maybe work off some of those tacos.

Hurley: You guys didn't have to do all this.

Nate: Yeah, well, actually, uh, we did. Uh, Jack Hurley is dead. We killed him. So this is your chance to kind of start over.

Hurley: Wow. Hey, d-do you think Michelle will forgive me when she gets the payout from my life-insurance policy?

Nate: Yeah, why don't we just, uh, go with the win? (escorts him toward the door) We're giving you a second chance, so don't screw it up. If you do, I promise we'll know. (hands Hurley tickets) Train ticket.

Hurley: Don't worry about me.

Nate: Yeah.

Hurley: I'm playing it straight from now on. In fact, as soon as I get to, uh... (looks at ticket) Rosarito, I’m gonna find the nearest support group. I promise. Thanks for everything, Tom. (shakes hand)

when the team has someone “die”, they take CARE of them

- - - - -

Dr. Frank: You're sure this is for the best?

Sophie: Absolutely. Second Act isn't the right place for her.

(Parker smells marker. Sam comes and takes it away from her)

Sophie: No, she needs to be around people who better understand the issues she's struggling with. People more like her.

parker sniffing a marker and smiling snjdnssjsj

also SHE NEEDS HER FAMILY. HER FAMILY UNDERSTANDS HER.

- - - - -

(Parker walks out of the building, laughing)

Parker: Hi. (runs up to the group, who are waiting for her) Hey! I missed you guys!

(Parker throws her bag at Nate and jumps into Eliot’s arms)

Eliot: Oh! (to Sophie) When do the happy pills wear off?

Nate: Usually about 24 hours.

Parker (hugging Hardison): I missed you.

Hardison: That's too bad. I kind of like this Parker.

(Parker puts an arm around both Eliot and Hardison and they start walking away)

Nate: Uh, Eliot?

(Nate throws Parker’s bag, Eliot catches it)

OT3 OT3 OT3

also PLEASE give me a fic of them watching over her while she comes down from the meds just in case she needs anything. fuck, I might have to write this if no one else does.

- - - - -

eliot and hardison having a mini argument in the background getting parker in the car

#leverage 1.10 #leverage 1x10 #the 12 step job #the twelve step job #leverage season 1 #season 1 #notable moments #mine #im going to stop tagging these posts as meta because it clogs up the character meta and leverage meta tags #so just assume all the notable moments posts have meta in them #leverage

[atomicpugs]

The Gift

happy birthday to one smug boi~

and endless thanks to @pdrrook​ for this amazing game! ✧ﾟ*ヽ(◕ヮ◕ヽ)

(ao3) 

⬫

Not even a tier-five gift of allure can relieve you of the torment of retail.

Despite completing your runs for the week, you’ve been inordinately busy at the perfumery. A big holiday approaches, bringing with it an irregular influx of customers. The day had flown right past you, and you feel exhausted after being on your feet all day, greeting and serving one customer right after the next.

With a tired nod, you bid Dia goodbye as she locks up the shop. She’s quiet, but returns your goodbye with a quick nod of her own before stomping away towards her car. Clearly, she’s just as tired as you are and equally ready to go home.

Unfortunately for you, you’re not heading home just yet.

As you approach Alan’s bar, you could already feel the thumping music under your feet. You stop before the doors to rub your jaw, sore from giving your best customer service smile nonstop the entire day, and you take a deep breath.

The city air is stale but it’s daisy fresh compared to the bar, and your olfactory nerves are burning and dull from sampling perfume all day. With a slight grimace, you open the doors and feel the music immediately flood your senses. You’re not at all a fan of the placement of the speakers right by the door. Alan said it was good for drawing people into the bar. You always thought it was a stupid idea.

Your eardrums are throbbing, but it’s not the worst of it. The bar is completely packed tonight with patrons. Like the music, they’re too loud and too boisterous for you right now. From the state of the sticky floor, the bar appears to have been busy for a while. You feel submerged in the smells of alcohol and sweat and other things you’d rather not think about.

A voice sounds in your mind, as warm and inviting as the day’s first cup of coffee. “Ah, cara, I’m in the back.”

You’re holding your breath as you squeeze yourself between half-drunk dancing patrons, making your way to the back of the bar. Your oldest friend－Reed, as he calls himself now－is seated at a high top, thankfully the farthest away from the blasted speakers. Normally his natural charisma attracts attention, but tonight, he sits alone. You envy his ability to maintain a dignified space from the crowd.

“Evening, carina,” Reed calls out, espresso in hand. An odd choice for a bar, but it doesn’t surprise you one bit. You simply nod in return.

His brow lifts as he takes stock of your appearance. “You look beat.”

“Uh huh,” you reply bluntly, eager to get to business.

Earlier that day, Reed had dropped by the shop, but you were so busy, you barely gave him a second glance. So he scribbled a cryptic note for you: Meet me at Alan’s after work. He wouldn’t make such an effort if it wasn’t important.

You don’t take a seat, choosing instead to stand close to Reed as casually as you can to hear him over the booming music.

“So?” You ready yourself for anything.

For his part, however, Reed is calm, relaxed even, as he finishes his espresso. He dabs his lips with a napkin. It’s either very, very good news… or possibly the worst.

Reed’s eyes center on you, their previous warmth draining away as quickly as he drained his espresso.

You feel your heart drop. This is bad.

“Fuck, what happened?” Your heart beats almost as fast as the music banging in your ears. His brows furrow as a distinct look of disappointment shadows over his features. Oddly, though, his scent remains unchanged. The dissonance confuses you.

His eyes burn into you, and he finally answers.

“You completely forgot my birthday yesterday.”

Oh. Oh no.

Your heart sinks further. This is really bad.

Shit. How the hell did you forget? You've never forgotten his birthday. Never. After all these years, you’d learned that Reed took these things seriously, so you always made an effort to celebrate it with him.

The knots in your stomach tighten. Time to grovel.

“Reed, I－”

Then it hits you.

“Wait…” you whisper.

You’re incredulous.

“I did not forget your birthday!” you exclaim. “Your birthday is months from now!”

In an instant, Reed’s bitter frown suddenly melts into a pout. A fucking pout.

“I wasn’t talking about my real birthday.” He’s whining.

No way.

Is he really referring to the completely, absolutely fake birthdate on his phony papers? Is he really that petty enough to be upset at you for missing it?

Of course he is. This is Reed.

The realization hits you like a bulldozer, and Reed has the nerve to knowingly grin at you. You’re pissed, but a tiny involuntary ripple of guilt runs through your brow and instantly he looks more smug, victorious even. The shithead.

You snarl. “You’re a fucking brat.”

“And you owe me a gift,” he declares and slowly eyes you up and down. “Seeing as you’re empty-handed.”

Reed pouts but a quiver of a grin remains.

“Okay, alright already!” You throw your hands up, nearly knocking over someone’s beer nearby, but you couldn’t care less. You want this over and done with so you can finally go home. If you hadn’t been friends for so long, you would’ve been out the door by now.

In the most caustic singsong voice you can muster, you ask, “Reed, what would you like for your birthday?”

Your irritation clearly fuels him. Reed smirks widely, tapping his chin and making an exaggerated show of deep thought.

“Hm...”

The constant thumping in your ears halts as the music changes. This new song is a much, much slower tempo, it’s melody practically delicate in comparison to the previous one.

Nonchalantly, Reed leaps from his barstool. “I love this song.”

You don’t recognize it, but the change is a welcome respite for your ears. Suddenly, Reed grabs your hand and leads you to the center of the bar where the other patrons are coupling up to dance.

In a swift and graceful movement, Reed whips you around and pulls you close. You let out a haggard breath as if you were holding it this whole time. With him so close, the scent of the bar promptly dissipates, leaving only Reed. His sweet, smoky scent fills your senses. It is so familiar to you now that your body immediately relaxes in the comfort of it. The fight in you fades. The warmth of him is welcome amidst the chaos of the bar.

His hand grips yours tightly, but you feel his other hand graze your waist in surprisingly careful manner. Absentmindedly, you rest your forehead on Reed’s shoulder. For just a moment, he stiffens, then immediately relaxes and leads you in a slow dance. You let out a long, drawn-out breath into his jacket.

Reed switches the conversation to your mind. “Long day today?”

With a sigh, you nod wordlessly. As you inhale, you immediately detect something astringent coloring Reed’s scent. Bitterness and worry echo in the aftertaste.

“Look, I’m sorry for scaring you,” he says, sincerely.

“Sure you are, asshole.” You can’t help but bite back still. To this, Reed chuckles so deeply, you can feel it vibrating through you.

“I am,” he whispers, despite speaking telepathically. His tone turns serious. “You know, you’re working too hard.”

You’re unsure how to respond. “I guess.”

“You are working too hard.”

Reed’s words haunt you. Without thinking, you lean harder into this shoulder, and he instinctively holds you closer. No one knows better than him what little choice you have in the matter.

“You don’t need to worry about me so much,” you say, with some finality to your words.

You feel his grip on your waist tighten just a bit, his thumb tracing you slowly.

His voice echoes heavily in your mind. “I will always worry about you.”

When the two of you are speaking like this, it’s easy to drown out the sounds of the bar. For a spell, you’re both silent, swaying to the music and basking in the comfort of each other’s presence.

You feel safe, almost perfectly at ease. A foreign feeling, these days.

Reed breaks the silence, his chin brushing against your hair. “You know, I still remember the first gift you ever gave me.”

“I bet,” you attempt to snark, but your voice is timid. Reed remembers it more clearly than you do. A small smile curves on your lips as the memory of it gradually comes back to you.

Strangely, Reed releases you, and though your heart should know better, it instantly sinks, craving his embrace. The feeling stuns you. You look up, and Reed is gazing at you with a curiously unfamiliar expression. It’s intense, his amber eyes are burning into you. The two of you are still, almost frozen.

Reed wants to say something. Something important, you know that for sure. It’s his hesitation that alarms you. His full lips part, and he takes a deep breath.

But the song comes to an end. Heavy beats of the next track immediately invade your senses.

You almost dread letting him go. But when you look down, you find that Reed is still holding your hand, though limply this time.

“So for my gift,” Reed’s voice calls out in your mind, full of mischief. His signature smirk returns, quickly replacing whatever was there before.

“Gift?”

“Technically,” he shrugs, his smirk widening. “I never answered your question.”

“Wait, what?” you gawk.

“You owe me a birthday gift. The dance was a nice bonus though.”

Reed laughs. It’s exuberant but rings hollow.

“Are you fu－”

He pulls on your hand, leading you towards the exit. “But first, dinner. Dancing with someone so pretty really works up the appetite.”

“Oh, for the love of…” you mutter, unable to roll your eyes any harder.

“I’m thinking that one place by the square!” he giggles.

“I can’t afford that place, Reed!” you haggle as he continues to lead you towards the exit. The music gets louder as you get closer to the speakers. Earlier you struggled to navigate through the crowd, but Reed cuts through it effortlessly.

His laugh cuts through the crowd just as easily. “It’s on me, of course! Can’t discuss the important matter of my birthday gift on an empty stomach.”

Of all the things, Reed is an excellent negotiator. He knows you well enough to see that you’re starving before you’re even aware of it. You’re wracking your brain on what you could possibly give the guy. The infamous Reed, with his bank account much deeper than yours, typically wants for nothing.

“Reed!” you try to shout over the music, out loud this time. “What else could you possibly want?”

Without looking back, Reed pushes the doors open, and you feel the cold air pour in from outside. He squeezes your hand, and you hear him mutter something out loud instead of in your mind.

But your hearing is overwhelmed by those damn speakers.

⬫

#happy birthday reed #ugh i guess #the brat #gemini boi #uwu #pfm #perfumare #my writing #fanfiction #one shot #sfw #except for swearing LOL #i swear i starting writing this before realizing his bday was coming up #e.e #what is time??? #reed x mc #gender neutral #had to fix some stuff #don't post things late at night pugs #@.@

[genuflectx]

4th Dimensional Being/OC - CH3

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 

Full Length: 19,543 Chapter Length:  2,218

Main Themes: Other dimensions, tentacles, confinement, nsfw Other Warnings: politics,  "godly" behaviors, vomit, feeling of loss of autonomy, comparison to a toy

(all images in aesthetic board are labeled for reuse with modification or are mine)

The next chapter gets nasty...

The 4DB Chapter 3: The Virus

They were all chattering like cicadas, a loud distant drone in the back of her head. Chris missed her phone. She missed Vincent. She even missed Mildred's occasional snarky comment. Instead she was here, the beginnings of a headache blooming, listening to the test subjects debate the pros and cons of their situation. Chris absently and quietly picked at her food.

John was grumpy. He complained that he shouldn't even be here. “Whatever this thing is it's keeping me from my job,” but he secretly thought that perhaps he'd be revered for his 'sacrifice,' assuming he was allowed to even talk about it after it ended.

“What do you do again?” Asked Cole at Chris’s side smartly.

John became red in the face but kept his composure. “Very funny.”

Aaron, nearly slumped over the cold metal table, shrugged and snorted. “Why's a ~mystical being~ need any of us anywho? A security guard, an energy-guy, a mayor, a fucking clerk for God's sake,” he gestured towards Chris.

“Well I know why he'd want me!” Boasted Nathan. “Must of saw me on the field and thought wow, I need him in my soon-to-be-cult!” His laugh was so loud. John sneered when he elbowed him.

The conversation just felt so shallow. Chris should have opted to sit with her roommate Morgan, but she had looked out of it ever since she'd first spoken with Gabriel the day before.

“So uh, what did it say to you guys?” Cole changed the subject suddenly.

Chris looked up, glancing around. Some of the men looked rather uncomfortable.

“Fucker wanted me to describe war to him,” Nathan answered quickly, his expression confused but vaguely amused. “Apparently they've had no wars. Not one. I think he's a liar, what a load of shit.”

John shrugged, leaning back a bit. “I was asked about my job. It was very tame.”

“Hey Chris, what did it ask you?” Cole nudged her from her thoughts.

The security guard chuckled. “How to send a letter?”

She ignored him. God, some of these guys were obnoxious. “It asked me about our government and how it treated me,” she shrugged, looking back at her food.

“I wonder what the eggheads will do with those recordings,” Nathan interjected. “Not like they can hear the bastard. It'll just be a bunch of government losers ranting about their jobs. Oh, and then me having to explain every damn World War like I was a school teacher. Whatever that thing is... it knows nothing about us.”

At least Chris could agree with that.

The experiments continued. The scientists began to fill out; the building became more abuzz with life than it had at the start. Suddenly the subjects felt surrounded. There was always some straight-laced woman or expressionless man beside them. Tailor, Sparrow, Rock, Dove, they all came with some codename. And, even in the reports of which the subjects could not access, Chris and her comrades were coded as well. Like they were trying to hide who they were, what they were doing, to keep their discoveries a secret from the rest of the world.

Regardless, a week had gone by and the only thing they'd discovered was that the 4DB was communicating directly inside of the subjects' heads. They tried to figure out a way to at least record the brain readings of the subjects' during sessions, and indeed found ample evidence that the auditory system was being stimulated. It was telepathy. Unfortunately they were having difficulty figuring out how to translate the brain's signals into actual words. They would have to stick with word of mouth.

“Have you learned anything about us?” Chris asked, walking around the pink square casually.

“Much. You are each individuals, like us. However, you are perhaps more individually inclined than I estimated,” they admitted curiously.

“I hope that helps you re-consider exterminating us. Cause... ya know, I sorta wanna live.”

Gabriel paused. “All things want to live. Even a virus wants to live.”

She scrunched her brows, angry. “We are not a virus, Gabriel. Grow up.”

“...No, I suppose you are not.” Gabriel went quiet for a while.

Chris calmed a bit and finished her circle. She leaned against the wall. “I wish I could go back home. I miss my friends. The people here- they're... I don't know. Not my sort. I'm tired.”

That was almost enough to make Gabriel feel some guilt, but if they had not plucked Chris from her home they'd have plucked someone else. “I do see the way you look.”

She rose a brow, confused. “Huh? What's that supposed to mean?”

“The way you look. When they speak.”

For a moment she was beside herself, believing they were saying some sort of gibberish. But then it clicked. Her brows shot up and her head went light. “You watch us when we're not in the chamber?”

“Of course I do. I am not confined to one spot,” they shook their heads.

She paled. Then she reddened. “Nooo no no, do you...” her voice got quiet. “...see us when we... pee? And shower?”

Apparently that was funny because they laughed strangely. “Yes. Now I see you are embarrassed. Do not be embarrassed, for I can see any part of you at any time if I wished. I can see all your organs. Like now, your heart has sped up.”

Chris placed her hand to her heart as if she could hide it. It was sort of cute. “Y-yeah? Well can you see I'm going to vomit?”

They looked to the right, down the vague rivers of time. “Maybe. A long, long time from now.”

She sighed, sort of sick. “Well Gabriel, nice knowin' ya. I'm out for the day.” Chris absconded from the chamber five minutes early. The scientists were not pleased.

As days ticked on Chris could see how the results of these studies were wearing away at the morale of the scientists. Some were exhausted, some were disappointed, some were scared and angry. They grew impatient with the 4DB. It still only spoke to them to issue commands. Then, one day, when a particularly irritable scientist got cocky, the 4DB actually laughed and shoved them. Right in front of their colleagues. None of the subjects saw it, but of course they heard about it through the grape vine.

The scientists wanted to stop sending the subjects into the chamber to test the limits of the 4DBs relationship with the lab. However, too many feared some retaliation so such a test never came to fruition. Instead, they spitefully released one lesser subject's contracts and then started increasing the amount of time the remaining subjects would spend with the scientists. Gale began to meet with Chris once a day, though in a much more comfortable room than the one they'd first conversed in.

“How have you settled in?” Gale asked, leaning comfortably in her chair and crossing her long legs. “A week and a half far from home... you must miss your friends.”

At this point she was almost too nervous to voice her true feelings. “Yeah, it feels more like a month,” she answered instead, uncomfortable.

Gale nodded and drummed her fingers on the table between them, observing Chris. She changed the subject masterfully. “You know, your recordings are the most interesting.”

That made Chris perk up, a bit of adrenaline pushing into her veins. “What do you mean?”

The other smirked, entertained. “You're the only subject so far who sounds almost friendly with the 4DB. And don't think we didn't notice you named it, too.”

Chris didn't want to admit that hearing that made her feeling sort of... special. “I didn't know you listened to the recordings,” her cheeks tinted.

“Of course! And transcribe as well,” Gale explained. “You call it Gabriel. Like before it made its presence known to us, like Gabriel's Children. The other subjects... well. Gabriel seems to get something from them that we just don't.”

Chris glanced down at her hand fidgeting in her lap, embarrassed.

“But wow, does it talk to you. Maybe it's your time in retail. You just have a way with small talk,” she began to laugh. “So Chris, I have a proposal for you.”

She lifted her eyes. “Um... y-yeah?”

Gale leaned forward, face friendly and tone pleasant, but Chris could feel the strange aura emanating from her piercing eyes. “Get closer to it. Make it friendly. It obviously favors you and we need that. We are more then well aware- based off your recordings and reports- that the fate of the world, no, maybe the whole solar system, depends on Gabriel's opinion-”

“Well there are more than one 4DB,” you interrupted.

She looked only slightly aggravated at the interruption, then continued. “-And Gabriel's opinion might just fall on its opinion of you. Try to get it to talk to us more naturally. Not just commands. It's not working with us like we'd like. And in return? You'll get cell phone access again,” she winked. “Have some time to chat with those friends you miss so much.”

Chris agreed. That wouldn't be so hard. All she had to do was keep doing what she was doing. The world would learn more, she would get her cell phone back, and maybe with some luck Gabriel wouldn't vote to destroy the Earth.

But then, during the next session in the chamber with the pink square, she found a tense heaviness in the air like standing underwater.

“I heard your conversation,” Gabriel said immediately, emotionless.

Shocked and anxious, Chris tried to play it off as nothing. “That was just... it was just-”

Gabriel cut her off. “Quiet. You miss your human friends.”

She was uncertain if she was allowed to reply or not, stunned. Instead she just nodded stiffly and crossed her arms.

“And if I comply by being more 'cooperative' with your knowledge keepers they will allow you to speak with these friends,” they went on. After a pause they added: “I am indifferent to your plight.”

When Gabriel said nothing else Chris took it as her cue to respond. She was quiet, as if trying not to be picked up by the small microphone clipped to her shirt. “I... nothing would change. All we have to do is talk. Just like before. That's all they really want.”

“We shall see,” Gabriel said plainly.

The problem was that their plan began to work, despite Gabriel being aware of it. Though they didn't necessarily speak directly to the scientists they did grow warmer to Chris. Chris had a way about her that just made Gabriel so... interested in her. She didn't make cutting remarks (as if that would have hurt anyways), she didn't refuse to answer their questions, and she didn't make light of the atrocities of her country. She just talked. Like speaking with Gabriel was the most natural thing in the world. They didn't quite mind the nick-name anymore either, if they were honest. They hated that they were warm with Chris.

Gale was 'happy' the two of them were still getting along. Chris didn't tell her Gabriel knew about the plan, but they obviously suspected it. Everyday the scientist looked a little more intense. Gale continued to drill it into Chris's head to get Gabriel speaking with the scientists. Was it more cooperative today? No. How about now? No. Gale held back her irritation. At the end of each daily session she was led to her room feeling uncomfortable and alone. Chris still hadn't gotten her cell phone back. Her friends probably thought she was dead.

“Has it really been three weeks since this whole thing started?” Chris sighed, sitting on the cold floor. She fiddled with the rim of her shirt's neck, knowing full well that would cause sound disturbance in the recording. She'd get a mouthful about that.

Gabriel, who was sitting comfortably beyond the barrier, twirled their tentacles around one another absently. “For you.”

Chris nodded. She was quiet a moment. “Then how long is three weeks in your dimension?”

“For you it is sixty seconds to a minute, sixty minutes to an hour, twenty-four hours to a day, seven days to a week. For me it is... time functions differently,” they tried to explain. “I've only met you a few 'days' ago.”

That was hard for her to wrap her head around. “And are you really learning by doing this? Keeping us here in a box? Just talking?”

“Yes,” they replied simply.

They really were. They not only listened to word-of-mouth, they saw into the deep wrinkles of the subjects' brains, saw their bodily chemistry rise and fall. They watched for reactions to key words, how the subjects interacted with one another and their human 'captors.'

Chris shrugged, pursing her lips. She didn't seem to believe them. “Ooookay. Ya know this could go a lot faster if you also spoke to the scientists.” Of course they both knew what Chris was trying to do.

“So eager to hear your judgment.”

She shrugged again, somehow feeling rather fond of Gabriel in that moment. “Nah... just to hear my friends' voices again.”

Soon, Gabriel automatically thought, surprising themself.

Chapters 4, 5, and the epilogue will remain Patron-only content! However, eventually the full story will be edited more and added to Gumroad as an e-book as well. So if you’d like to get to the nsfw or read the rest, check out NSFWGenuflect on Patreon or wait for the Gumroad release :}

#terato #exophilia #monster romance #monster boyfriend #tentacles #writing

[theplumsoldier]

NO KISSES

Summary: y/n is a guest at the red sea diving resort and is down to fuck the hot guy in the reception. also again i tagged some sweet people that i thought might be interested—do let me know if you are not, i dont wish to inconvenience anyone. as always, feedback is most appreciated!:)

Pairing: ari levinson x reader

Word count: 3227

Warnings: smut, vulgar language.

Truly and in all certainty, the man behind the counter had to be created by the meticulous hands of God himself—hell, if that was not Jesus standing right there in trunks and a buttoned-down shirt you swore the Earth might as well be off and be flat. But then again, religion was ancient and so was that bird-brained belief, and the man you had come to know as Guy, he too appeared to belong to the ‘archaic’ variety of men who had caught your interest.

He was not old. You did not think so, at least, still, he certainly was the kind to age with grace, much like wine and although you never had found yourself able to appreciate a good glass, this man seemed to be the ideal type to drink a bottle with.

Chest hair peeked from behind his open shirt, a fine glow that the sun had left on his skin made the beads of sweat glisten so beautifully in the yellow light. The Magen David pendant hung in swaying motion from his neck and you had to curse yourself for imagining it jumping from his chest while he pounded into you. Undoubtedly this was a vacation and you were going to have fun now that you finally were single, only you could not imagine this was a vacation to him, this was work. As a woman working in a bar, you were widely familiar with those late-at-night-attempts to get some, and therefore you had more respect for both Guy and yourself than to hint towards the conspicuous sin.

The hour was late, and the resort deserted. You figured most had gone to sleep or were out by the beach for a late-night drink, considering there were few places in the vicinity providing leisure of that kind. The friends you were at the retreat with had retired to the bedrooms you shared. As the day had consisted of little besides ample writing, you were nowhere near tired enough to sleep and the humid weather did nothing but make you toss in the sheets.

And that was why you had yet to join your friend, thinking it better to leave her be to doze off while you could tire yourself out some. So, sitting in the foyer, you were leaned in over papers, some with and some without writing, a pen spinning between your fingers and half a bottle of exotic, combustible liquor.

Guy had been wandering about for some time, disappearing and reappearing every now and then, taking care of his late-night resort business, you supposed. The next time he was away was a little while longer than the last, making you wonder just what he was occupied with, missing the sight of his fine figure.

By the time he returned, you were too caught up in your paper to take notice of his approach. However, once he cleared his throat your head lifted and you could not help but smirk at the cocksure man, holding a pot of coffee and two cups.

You leaned back in your seat, pushing at the chair opposite you with your foot under the table, gesturing for him to take a seat. “I was wondering when you were going to stop playing hard to get.”

Guy let out a laugh on took you up on the invitation.

“I hope it’s that paper keeping you up this late and not your room,” said he and tilted his head curiously to the side, as if asking a question and you caught on.

“Oh, no the room is very accommodating. It’s really just my friend’s snores that are rather offensive.”

“Ah,” Guy chuckled as he got comfortable, pouring the coffee and speculated what it would feel like to have a large man such as himself to pin you down, or in good hap, pound you, even. “Mind my asking what you’re working on?”

“It’s an article. About the prosperous lands of the African savannah.”

“Really?” ticked he, nonplussed.

“No. At this point, this—” you held the smaller stack of papers into the air, “is just a bunch of zany scribblings of a drunk. You know, it was my friends that picked this place and planned the whole trip. Just, like, a getaway, ‘cause apparently their actuary- and retail jobs are so fucking stressing, and I got curious, you know? Of all the places in the world, they settled on Sudan. I mean, now that I’m here, this is nice, I guess, it’s nice! But they must have spelled something wrong somewhere and fortuitously got us shipped off to this desert, and—shit, I’m sorry, I’m maundering.”

Guy held out a cup for you. Accepting, you leaned over the table and you swore your heartrate increased the moment his fingers brushed yours. You almost knocked the bottle of liquor over when you pulled back, cheeks flushed.

“No, please—continue. I have been wondering what brings people so far out.”

“Well, to begin, your brochure was extremely tantalizing,” deadpanned you and inhaled the smell of the steaming java. “Also, I figured heck, so I did some research about Sudan and ended up on some wild goose chase, somehow stuck on fucking Mossad.”

Candidly, your words ignited a spark of fear in Ari, his azure composed eyes widening for a split-second, though you did not take notice of the change before he shifted and regained composure. Circumspect he observed you warily and shifted in his seat, trying to read you but you were not as much of an open book as he would have preferred. This made you interesting, yet perilous for a man of his taste.

“Anyway, I ended up with more questions than I had to begin with and decided it might be an interesting place to spend some time. Though I have to admit, I thought there would be more of a chance of getting a taste of the culture, but this is nice too.”

Coming to understand you were no threat, he soon relaxed in his place. You were no more than a tourist. He decided it was safe to let down his guard and be a nosy parker, asking where you got with “that Mossad story”.

“In retrospect, I can honestly say not far. I mean it was more of a conspiracy theory than anything. Still, I had the audacity to, on a whim—” you were chuckling by now, taunting yourself as you now could see why your boss had allowed you to take some time off, clear your mind. “—run it by my editor, but he turned me down. Our paper just made a deal to have a column-collab with CNN, which he wants me to be in charge of, so he’d rather have me go with something, said “more appropriate”, like a tribute to John Lennon or fucking post-its. Can you believe that? I didn’t get into journalism to gossip; I write to make people feel something; incite revolution; I wouldn’t mind that now.”

“Huh,” hummed he fairly entertained, curiously eyeing you as he lifted the cup to his lips. “Well, I have to admit, I’m a bit of a sucker for conspiracy theories myself, so, I mean, I’d love to read it sometime.”

You chuckled and shook your head, leaning over the table. “Oh no, I fed that garbage to a shredder long ago.”

Guy’s face dropped, seemingly contorting into a mix of disappointment and concentration as he was deep in thought.

“Trust me, you did not miss out,” said you and eyed the trepidation in his entangled fingers. “This piece, however, now that would be worth your while! Nothing that’s ever going to see the light of day but it’s a fine review of this corner of the world, complimenting your superlative resort here.”

“Is that so?” uttered he with a sly smirk and you nodded your head, taking a sip of the coffee.

“Aha! Also, I needed something to distract my mind with, seeing as I have been going at whatever the hell this is for hours now. I can assure you; a sleep-deprived drunken state is the circumstances a writer could ask for.”

He clicked his tongue and his head tilted back, mind going elsewhere. “Doesn’t sound very healthy, though. I could think of other sufficient ways if it’s a distraction you’re seeking.”

A coy smile curled your lip upward, needing no more to assimilate the overt hint and had it not been for the alcohol, your face would have been red as the sunburnt Germans on the tour.

“You know, if you want to fuck, all you have to do is say so.”

He seemed taken aback, but his pacific eyes flashed only a glimpse of surprise before he felt himself break from the daze. “And here I thought I was being bold.”

Humming in reply, you suppressed your smirk and wet your lips, trying to read his face.

Then he spoke up again, “it was Y/N, yeah?”

Nodding your head slowly, you felt your heartbeat increase and your legs’ position shifted as you struggled to tend to the tingle fluttering between your legs.

“Good.”

“And Guy?”

A short moment passed by in silence until he uttered a low “yeah” in reply. Then another passed, one where you took the time to wonder if you really were going to have sex with a complete stranger. The thought, although you never would have considered yourself so adventurous, was appealing to you and the heating sensation only stirred in you. You watched as Guy took you in and he hurriedly looked around him, the sound of his chair’s legs screeching against the floor.

“So, let’s do this.”

And Guy set marching.

His pace was moderate, something for you to keep up with, still, he did not walk five feet without casting a glance across his shoulder to make sure you still were at his tail. You were, of course, and like an eager dog following the food of that. In the end, he ended up reaching for your hand to pull you along, faster and you could not help but grin at the hurry he seemed to be in.

Finding yourself in his company, in his room, you looked around you, though he gave you little chance as he quickly had you caught against the shut door. Dipping down to connect your lips, Guy never got further than grazing your plump, soft lips, ever so slightly and he gave you a questioning look, a funny smirk tugging at his features and you explained, naming your one condition.

“No kissing.”

Guy pouted like a child finding coal rather than candy in his stocking on Christmas morning. “But that’s half the fun, darling.”

And you laughed at him, one hand teasingly sliding down his chest to unbutton the rest of his shirt. “Well, I’ll try my best to make up for it then.”

From excitement, Guy emitted a begging whine and his head dropped back, knowing all too well what you implied, and he had grown impatient even before you could rid him of his shorts. Reimbursing him with a teasing kiss just below his navel, you pulled down the cover. Springing free from strains, his cock stood tall and proud, saluting you and you gaped at the size and thickness of his girth. Surely, that was a mouthful, but you did not let yourself scare and rather blinked up at him, breaking a coy smile, before wrapping your hand around him. Feeling him, your fingers curled him and ran up his shaft, enjoying the sounds you pulled from him at the simple action. He was so responsive, and his cock twitched when your lips brushed his mushroom head. Darting out your tongue to teasingly swirl around him, you set at the base and licked along the prominent vein, humming a sweet sound for him as you complacently watched his blissed expression. Wetting your lips, you wrapped your lips around the tip, tasting the hint of salt he had to offer and for balance, your hands steadied you on his thighs while he moved the hair from your face. Taking a few inches, you dragged yourself up and down his cock, drawing back to spit on him and then fit more. While accustoming your throat to the considerable size of him, your one hand worked on what you had yet to fit, squeezing around him. Guy moaned your name as your tongue massaged against him, reveling in the pleasing sensation in which you provided.

Working on him for minutes, you could feel yourself wet at the very idea of him down your throat and you had to bring your hand down between your legs to take care of yourself all the while. The sound escaping you was almost pornographic, gagging around his cock as his hips bucked forward, fucking your face.

Hissing, Guy was ready to burst at any given time and urged you deeper on his cock, when you shifted. You received a questioning gaze through his daze when your lips left his cock and you merely grinned for yourself. Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought a man such as himself would so easily be wrapped around your finger, but here he was, wanting you more than anything, making you feel divine as you stood from your knees.

You never had been one to stride from an honest challenge in this time was no different, although it proved none at all when he so complaisantly fell under your curse. Thus it was nothing but nature for you to take what you wanted, and knowing you had to be dripping down your thighs by now, you reached to suck on his neck, pushing him onto the bed.

Feeling him rock hard against your clothed cunt, he elicited a moan from you the had him groan low in his chest. Desperately Guy wanted to take control of the moment and set a bruising pace, only he could not recall a time where he had felt so small, not to mention the part of him enjoying a woman in power.

Straddling him, your dress hiked up you fevered skin and his rough hands helped you pull it over your head, exposing your body for the humid air to embrace. Exploring hands admired your bare chest, tugged you down by your waist, grinding against him and his large hands fell to your bottom. Adroit fingers rid you off your garments in seconds and he hoisted you closer to him. It was then he got a sense of just how wet you were for him. All for him and he grunted, smirking to himself at the thought of how slippery you had gotten from sucking him off.

Driving yourself crazy by running your sex up and down his pulsing shaft, you spread your wetness across his cock and made a mess when you decided you had kept him waiting long enough. Steadying yourself with a hand flat on his heavily heaving chest, you lifted yourself and lined his head with your slick entrance, before sliding down.

Guy winced, pleasure engulfing him as your warmth swallowed him whole. Panting a faint moan, you heaved yourself unsteadily and the precariousness of a lady, eyes squinting shut at the all too missed feel of a man filling you.

Alleviating hands kneaded the soft spots of your body, holding you by the waist to guide you up and down him. His azure eyes were fixated on where you met, head craned out of comfort, pulled off the pillow to watch how well you took him. The sounds you made were hushed but pornographic and became more so when he pulled you down, close to his face and he could smell himself on you as you coveted climax.

“You hear that?” mutters he into your skin, voice husky and responsible for the shivers sparking through your bones. While your head was long gone in a state of ecstasy, the taunting slap of his balls on your skin echoed through your mind and you whined in response, nearly collapsing as you failed to keep up with him. Fucking up into your clenching cunt, Guy grunted against you, his one hand lifting your chin, forcing eye contact and you moaned at the sight. With all but his glorious, damp expression and the resonating, squelching sounds from between your thighs blocked out, you shuddered, hoping to God, not a soul had heard, for your frolic affairs could not be mistaken. “Fuck, you’re taking me so well, Y/N.”

And barely in the mental state to keep yourself composed; Guy stripped you from all chances of keeping quiet as his hand snaked between sweaty bodies to toy with your clit. Whimpering, you harshly bit down on your lip, your own hand tentatively, shakingly clasping against his and he can do nothing but watch keenly in wonderment as you came around his cock. Ponding you through your orgasm, he did not heed the thumping sound on a fist on the wall, refusing to let the face of Max ruin his orgasm. Squeezing around him, Guy felt himself unable to restrain any longer, and he pulled out, his thick load painting your stomach and pussy.

Moaning an elongated cry at the absence of his bruising thrusts, you ground out your fading orgasm on his stomach, his cock twitching beneath you, still spurting. Fragile as glass, you were collapsed on Guy, breath hitched in your hoarse throat, nuzzling your head in the crook of his neck as you attempted to pacify your rapid breathing. Moments passed, recalibrating your respiration and his soothing fingers kneading the spots where marks had been left.

Drawing in a deep breath, you gently lifted your head, shifting and leaning your cheek on your open palm. Simpering and with a hint of thoroughly-fucked in your kittenish eyes, you stole his half-lidded gaze, catching a peaceful smile.

“I should go,” breathed you, catching yourself lick your lips when your eyes darted to his.

Lips parted, Guy moved a little beneath you, hand resting on the small of your back while his thumb still drawing circled patterns.

“You don’t have to,” muttered he with a short pause, only after voiced, realizing his words may have sounded importunate. And that was the last thing he wanted to paint himself as, but he had scant to worry about—after all, he had just fucked a stunning stranger and not one of the two was in rue. “Not yet, at least.”

And you hummed with a smile, one that later would make an appearance in his deviant thoughts. Softly placing your hand on his chest, you leaned in close and ghosted your lips over his, hungry for more but tantalizing in essence.

“This was fun.” Lightly tapping his sturdy chest, you pecked him on his bearded cheek and cast him a smile before making your entrancing exit. “We should do it some other time.”

And just like that, you left him in his room with nothing but his mind to replay the previous scene of wanton happening, his cock hardening only at the notion of sweetest gasps and sinful pants you had offered him. He fucked his hand one last time before he drifted off, off into the deepest slumber he had had in a long time.

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