#it took me a while to actually find who to email to ask and how to go about it too.

[sparklehoard]

Aaah. So it's neverending huh.

[gyuuberryy]

clause one: don't leave me!

pairing: yearning ceo!jay x secretary!reader

genre: rom-com, slight e2l, fluff

synopsis: jay had taken you for granted—he knew you would always be there to clean up his mess and help him out with every aspect of his life. but when you resign, only then does he understand how much of a mess he is without you. and now he will go to any and all lengths to get you back.

warnings: kissing, some angst, not proofread

note: this ceo!jay fic was requested by @evandsolo! inspired by what’s wrong with secretary kim and entirely fueled by the belief that a man who yearns is a man who earns<3 enjoyy!

word count: 4.4k

If you liked it please reblog or comment to give me your feedback! <3

it was supposed to be a perfectly ordinary morning. you’d walked into jay’s office a thousand times before, but this time was different. this time, the envelope in your hands carried the weight of five years of your life, pressed into a single sheet of paper.

you placed it on his desk with deliberate precision, right in the centre of his polished mahogany workspace, where he couldn’t miss it. where he’d have to acknowledge it.

he didn’t look up.

of course he didn’t.

his fingers were already flying across his keyboard, his attention locked onto some deal worth more than your annual salary. he barely registered your presence, just flicked his fingers in a vague gesture without lifting his eyes. 

“leave it there,” he muttered, already reaching for his coffee.

you almost laughed.

how fitting. how painfully, perfectly fitting. you were leaving—actually leaving—and he still couldn’t spare you a glance.

but then he opened it.

you watched his face, the way his brows pulled together just slightly, the way his lips parted as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. his fingers tightened around the paper, crinkling the edges. for a long moment, he just stared at it, like he was waiting for the letters to rearrange themselves into something that made sense.

when he finally looked up at you, his expression was something you’d never seen before—something raw and unguarded, like you’d just handed him a grenade with the pin already pulled.

“this is a joke,” he said, voice flat.

you didn’t flinch at that. you’d rehearsed this moment in your head a hundred times. “no,” you said, calm as ever. “i’m serious.”

jay pushed back from his desk so fast his chair rolled back and slammed into the wall with a sharp thud. “you can’t just—no. this is… no.”

you blinked at him. “i can. and i am.”

“why?” he demanded, like the concept of you leaving was incomprehensible, like you’d just announced you were quitting oxygen.

five years.

five years of memorising his schedule better than your own. five years of knowing he took his coffee with exactly one and a half sugars, of remembering his dry cleaning when he forgot, of smoothing over his temper with clients who didn’t deserve it. five years of your life shrinking to fit the margins of his world, until you weren’t sure where he ended and you began.

and what had you gotten in return?

a paycheck, sure. a fancy title that meant nothing when he still called you at midnight to ask where he’d left his charger. not a single genuine thank you, not once.

you could’ve told him the truth—that you were tired of being an extension of his life instead of living your own. that you’d spent the last six months quietly training your replacement while he barely noticed the shift. that you’d sent him resignation emails he’d ignored, brushed off, left unanswered because he couldn’t fathom a world where you weren’t at his beck and call.

but the truth felt too heavy, too raw. so you smiled, sweet and practised, the way you always did when you were biting back words you knew he wouldn’t hear anyway. 

“i’ve done everything i can here. it’s time to move on.”

jay scoffed, loud and disbelieving. “move on? from me?”

the second the words left his mouth, he froze. realisation flickered across his face, followed by something almost like panic.

you couldn’t help it as you rolled your eyes at him. “did you not read all the resignation emails i sent you?.”

his jaw clenched. for a moment, he just stared at you, his mind clearly racing, scrambling for footing in a conversation he hadn’t seen coming. then he was pacing, his fingers dragging through his hair, messing up the perfectly styled strands in a way that would’ve bothered him any other day.

“this is—no. i would’ve remembered if you’d tried to quit before.”

“you didn’t,” you said simply. “i emailed you six times over the past two months.”

“those were—” he cut himself off, and you saw the exact moment it hit him. those emails he’d skimmed, the ones he’d marked as ‘handle later’ and then promptly forgotten about. the resignation notices he’d dismissed because, in his mind, you weren’t actually leaving. you couldn’t be.

his expression shifted, guilt flashing behind his eyes before he schooled it back into something more controlled.

“this was your last reminder,” you said, your voice softer than you’d intended. “that’s why it’s physical. and according to company policy, i’ve already served my notice period.”

his throat worked as he swallowed. you could practically see the gears turning in his head—the meetings only you knew how to handle, the clients who only trusted you, the way his entire routine would crumble without you there to prop it up.

then, like a switch had flipped, his desperation sharpened into something more strategic.

“i’ll allow a raise,” he said, like he was offering you a lifeline.

you shook your head.

“a bonus, then. a significant one.”

“no.”

“a company car.”

“not interested.” you turned toward the door, your hand already reaching for the handle.

his voice cracked behind you, just slightly, like he was fighting to keep it steady. “what if i let you rename the break room after yourself?!”

you didn’t stop. didn’t look back. but you smiled, just a little, as the door clicked shut behind you.

jay pretended he was fine.

the next morning, he strode into the office like nothing had changed, shoulders squared, chin high, the perfect image of unshakable composure. he even gave a company-wide speech about "embracing new changes" with a smile so forced it looked like his face might crack. 

the team clapped politely, but you would’ve known better. you would’ve seen the way his fingers tapped an uneven rhythm against his thigh, the way his voice hitched just slightly on the word "transition."

but you weren’t there.

day two was worse.

he showed up in mismatched socks and a tie that looked like it had been knotted during an earthquake. his hair was slightly tousled, not in the artfully messy way he usually cultivated, but like he’d forgotten to brush it entirely. the office buzzed with whispers, but no one dared say anything to his face.

your replacement—a perfectly competent woman named elise—handed him his schedule with a tentative smile. he glanced at it, then at her, and sighed. 

"thanks, not-y/n."

elise blinked. "…my name is elise."

"right," he said, already walking away.

she cried in the bathroom twice that day. you would’ve felt bad if you hadn’t spent five years biting your tongue in those same stalls.

day three was when things truly spiralled.

he scheduled a board meeting for 3 a.m. because he’d forgotten am and pm existed. when his assistant (not you, never you) timidly pointed it out, he stared at his calendar like it had personally betrayed him. 

"who designed this system?" he muttered. "it’s ridiculous."

you would’ve laughed. you would’ve reminded him that he’d approved the system himself last year. elise just nodded nervously and rescheduled the meeting, her fingers shaking slightly over the keyboard.

jay missed your laugh. he missed the way you’d roll your eyes at his terrible jokes, the way you’d hum under your breath when you were typing too fast to care who heard you. elise didn’t laugh. she didn’t hum. she just nodded and said "yes, mr. park"  at everuything like she was reading from a script.

it was unbearable.

by day four, he was a ghost of himself.

he spent an hour staring at his email drafts folder, which now contained 36 unsent messages to you. some were professional, clipped reminders about pending files. others were… not.

draft 12: "what if i said please?" draft 23: "are you allergic to yachts?" draft 36: "tell me how to replace you and i’ll do it. just tell me."

he deleted that last one immediately. then he reopened it from the trash. then he deleted it again.

at lunch, he went to your favourite coffee shop. he’d never gone without you before—had never even noticed the name of the place until he’d seen it on your credit card receipts. he stared at the menu like it was written in another language, then tried to order your usual.

"a vanilla latte with an extra shot, light foam, and—" he hesitated. "whatever sweetener she gets. the one that’s not too sweet."

the barista gave him a blank look. "…you mean sugar?"

jay’s eye twitched. "just—make it like you would for y/n. she used to come here every day."

"we get hundreds of customers, sir."

in the end, he walked out with a triple-shot matcha latte with oat milk and three pumps of caramel. it was disgusting. he drank it anyway, wincing with every sip. 

"she would’ve ordered it right," he muttered to no one.

that night, at 1:13 a.m, his pride finally lost the battle against his desperation.

JAY (1:13 AM): "how do i order printer ink?"

three minutes passed. yet there was no response from you.

JAY (1:14 AM): "not for now. just in general. i miss you."

he stared at the screen, his stomach twisting. too much. that was too much.

JAY (1:16 AM): "ignore that last one. also the ink thing."

his phone stayed silent. he told himself he didn’t care.

(oh but he did. he cared too much.)

the next day after pestering your ex-subordinates for your new phone number, jay convinced you to meet for coffee under the flimsiest of pretenses, just to catch up, as if the two of you were old college friends and not former coworkers who had spent five years locked in a dance of unspoken tension and quiet resentment. 

you almost said no. you should have said no. but there was something in his voice when he called, a crack in his usual polished demeanuor that made you pause just long enough for him to pounce. 

"one hour," he’d bargained, already sensing your hesitation. "just one hour, and if you still hate me after, i’ll never bother you again." you hadn’t corrected his use of the word hate.

so now here you were, sitting in the corner booth of that little café three blocks from your new office, watching as jay walked in looking like he’d stepped out of a gq spread that had been styled specifically to ruin your resolve. his hair was perfectly tousled, his crisp white shirt rolled up to the elbows just enough to show off the faint tan lines from his stupidly expensive watch. 

and the tie. god, the tie. that navy blue silk one with the subtle geometric pattern you’d complimented exactly once, nearly a year ago, when he’d worn it to close the wilson account. you hadn’t even been looking at him when you said it, too busy typing up meeting minutes, but you remembered how his fingers had frozen mid-air, how his voice had hitched just slightly before continuing his sentence. 

and now here it was, pressed within an inch of its life, the dim café lighting catching the threads like he’d spent hours making sure it would look perfect under this exact wattage.

"hi," he said, hovering awkwardly by the table. for a man who commanded boardrooms without breaking a sweat, he suddenly looked like a teenager on his first date. "you look... you look good."

"you sound surprised," you said, just to watch his ears turn pink.

"no! i mean—" he exhaled sharply through his nose, the way he always did when resetting his thoughts. "can i sit?"

you nodded, watching as he practically collapsed into the chair across from you. his fingers tapped an uneven rhythm against the tabletop, that telltale sign you'd learnt to read years ago—jongseong park was nervous.

"i've been thinking," he started, then immediately winced at his own words.

"well that's dangerous," you deadpanned, stirring your latte just to have something to do with your hands. the familiar banter slipped out before you could stop it, muscle memory from five years of this dance.

he huffed a laugh, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "yeah, yeah." his thumb rubbed along the rim of his coffee cup, avoiding your gaze. "you were the best thing about that office." his voice got softer then, like the words were being dragged out of him: "about my life, actually."

the admission hung between you, fragile as soap bubbles. you watched his throat work as he swallowed, his fingers now gripping the cup like a lifeline. "you organised everything. my schedule. my sanity. my—"

"jay," you cut in, raising an eyebrow. "if you say heart, i'm leaving."

he made a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan, dragging a hand down his face. 

"fine. but just know i thought it." when he looked up again, his eyes were brighter than you'd ever seen them. "look, i—" he cut himself off, clearly abandoning whatever speech he'd rehearsed. instead, he reached for his wallet with slightly shaking hands.

what emerged was absurd. a tiny, carefully folded square of paper—the doodle of a cat you'd drawn during that endless quarterly meeting last year. and it was laminated.

"you laminated it?" the words burst out of you before you could stop them.

"it's important," he said defensively, his ears now fully pink. "do you know how many people have drawn me cats? one. you. that's statistically significant."

a laugh escaped you, sudden and bright, the sound startling both of you. jay's entire face transformed, his eyes lighting up like you'd handed him the keys to the city. in that moment, he looked younger, softer—the man behind the ceo mask you'd only glimpsed in rare, unguarded moments.

"jay..." you started, but he was already leaning forward, his elbows knocking into the table with enough force to make the silverware rattle. his gaze burned with an intensity that made your breath catch, all pretense stripped away.

"you left because i didn't say it," he said, voice rough. "so i'm saying it now. i want you back. not as my secretary. just... back."

the air between you thickened, heavy with five years of unsaid things. you studied his face—the faint crease between his brows that appeared when he was trying too hard, the way his lips pressed together like he was physically holding back a flood of words. part of you wanted to reach across the table and smooth that crease away. the other part wanted to bolt for the door.

"i'll have to see," you said finally, watching as his entire body tensed like a coiled spring.

inside, jay was doing backflips. progress. it was progress! he nodded, trying and failing to suppress the hope blooming across his face. 

"okay. that's... okay." he cleared his throat, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his placemat. "can i at least get your new number? since you changed yours. which was rude, by the way."

"you had hr call me twelve times about the printer."

"that was an emergency!"

"it was not."

he opened his mouth to argue, then seemed to think better of it. instead, he slid his phone across the table with exaggerated care, like he was handling a priceless artifact. 

"please," he added, softer.

you took it, typing in your number with deliberate slowness just to watch him fidget. when you handed it back, his fingers brushed yours, lingering just a second too long. the contact sent a spark up your arm, familiar and terrifying all at once.

jay was equal parts horrified and reluctantly satisfied by the new development in him. he was slowly starting to turn into the cliche rom-com characters he had always made fun of.

he sent you roses first—vulgar, overpriced long-stemmed monsters that barely fit through your apartment door. 

the deliveryman had looked at you with pity as you struggled to push in the absurd arrangement through your door. "if you think these are cliché," the note read in jay's messy scrawl, "i'll send a tiger next time." 

you'd snorted but still spent twenty minutes rearranging your bathroom to accommodate them, their heavy perfume making your apartment smell like heavenly.

the next day he sent you a fruit basket which was an artisanal monstrosity with fruits you didn't even recognise, arranged like some renaissance still life. 

"i'm bananas for you," declared the gold-foiled card, complete with a hand-drawn banana that looked suspiciously like it was flipping you off. you ate the chocolate covered strawberries first, trying not to wonder how much this nonsense was costing him.

by the third day you were starting to suspect jay had lost his mind entirely. a cat shaped floral arrangement arrived at your new office with its ridiculous "affecting company profits" sign, drawing your co-workers like moths to a flame. 

"is that... is that a cat made of carnations holding a sign?" your deskmate maria asked, poking at the display. 

"it's a cry for help," you muttered, but still took three separate pictures when no one was looking.

the gifts kept escalating in both extravagance and specificity. a luxury snack box containing that exact brand of german gummy bears you liked, the particular sea salt caramel chocolates you'd mentioned once in passing, even those disgusting licorice candies you pretended to hate but secretly enjoyed. this time the note attached simply said "bribery attempt #4" in jay's familiar handwriting, the same slant you'd seen on countless memos over the years.

then came the video that nearly broke you.

it arrived late on a tuesday night, a vertical clip that immediately revealed jay's complete lack of filming skills. the camera showed half his face and most of his ceiling as he stood in what was clearly his kitchen, wearing an apron that said "ceo of cooking" in what looked like sharpie. behind him, something suspiciously smoky wafted from a pan.

"okay so," his voice came through slightly muffled, "i got the recipe from that italian place you like. the chef owed me a favour after the... never mind that part." 

the camera wobbled violently as something in the pan flared up. "shit. was it two tablespoons of oil or—" the video cut off abruptly with a yelp. the caption simply read: "i'm in love and hungry. help."

you watched it four times. by the third viewing, you were pressing your face into a pillow to muffle your laughter. this was the man who'd once reduced a room full of executives to tears during a merger negotiation? who'd built an empire before thirty? he couldn't even film a cooking video without nearly burning down his kitchen.

the gifts kept coming with alarming regularity. day six brought a playlist titled "songs that remind me of you (don't laugh)" featuring everything from frank sinatra to that obscure folk song you'd hummed once in the elevator. day seven saw the arrival of a first edition copy of your favourite novel, the one you'd mentioned reading in college. day eight... you lost track somewhere between the custom star map showing the night sky from your birthday and the absurdly soft cashmere sweater in exactly your shade of blue.

your apartment was beginning to resemble a bizarre museum of jay's increasingly unhinged courtship attempts. the roses still dominated your bathroom (now joined by their own humidifier), the fruit basket had spawned several tupperwares of cut fruit in your fridge, and the cat bouquet was slowly shedding petals onto your coffee table. 

your neighbours had taken to giving you knowing looks in the hallway, once whispering "that boy's either crazy about you or needs psychiatric help" as you struggled with another delivery.

the final straw came two weeks in, when you opened your door to find jay himself standing there holding the saddest bouquet of wildflowers you'd ever seen—a lopsided collection of daisies, dandelions, and what might have been actual weeds, all tied together with what looked suspiciously like one of his own designer shoelaces. his normally impeccable hair was windswept, his dress shirt wrinkled, and there were suspicious green stains on his knees.

"i picked them myself," he announced, thrusting them toward you with the solemnity of a knight presenting a sacred relic. up close, you could see tiny scratches on his hands and a leaf stubbornly clinging to his collar. "they're all crooked but they reminded me of you."

you raised an eyebrow, accepting the sad little bundle. "crooked?"

he panicked immediately, hands flying up in surrender. "not you! the... the way they grow however they want. the unpredictability. the..." he floundered before landing on, "sexy chaos?"

"jay," you sighed, shaking your head as you turned to find something to put the flowers in. "stop digging."

"too late," he said with absolutely no shame, following you inside like a golden retriever who'd finally been let in from the rain. "i live in the hole now. it has your name on the mailbox and everything."

as you filled a mason jar with water for the pathetic little bouquet, you tried not to notice how his eyes wandered around your apartment —taking in the framed photos, the books on your shelves, the little trinket dish he'd given you three birthdays ago that you still used every day. when you turned back, he was standing awkwardly in the middle of your living room, looking more vulnerable than you'd ever seen him in five years of working together.

"so," you said, crossing your arms. "are you going to explain all of this?"

jay opened his mouth, closed it, then ran a hand through his already-messy hair—a gesture so familiar it made your chest ache. 

"i realised something," he said finally, meeting your eyes with startling sincerity. "all those times i ignored your resignation emails? it wasn't because i didn't take you seriously." 

he took a step closer, close enough that you could see the speck of light brown in his eyes. "it was because i couldn't imagine walking into that office without you there."

the raw honesty in his voice caught you off guard. you'd seen jay in every possible professional context—commanding boardrooms, charming clients, ruthlessly negotiating deals—but never like this. never this open, this vulnerable.

"you once told me i never said thank you," he continued, his voice softer now. "so. thank you. for putting up with me for five years. for remembering my dry cleaning when i forgot. for knowing how i take my coffee better than i do." his lips quirked in a half-smile. "for not calling the cops about the cooking video."

you swallowed around the sudden lump in your throat. "that was a close call."

"i know." he took another step forward, close enough that you could smell his cologne —that familiar citrus-and-sandalwood scent that had haunted your dreams more than you'd care to admit. "i want to ask you for a chance. to prove i can do better."

you observed him —the hopeful curve of his mouth, the nervous flutter of his pulse at his throat—and realised with startling clarity that despite everything, you wanted to give him that chance.

"so what's the plan next time then?" you teased, leaning against your kitchen counter. "another cat shaped flower arrangement? a billboard with my face on it? maybe skywriting?"

jay straightened his tie like that would save him, his fingers fumbling slightly with the silk. you noticed how his hands shook just the tiniest bit, how his breath came a fraction too fast. 

"no," he said, with a determination that made your pulse stutter. his gaze locked onto yours, steady in a way that felt new, like he'd finally stopped pretending. "i don't want you to come back to the company." another step. "i want you to stay with me."

you arched a brow, trying to ignore how your heart was suddenly pounding. "wow. almost smooth."

his mouth curved into that familiar half grin, equal parts charming and infuriating. "then let me try something smoother."

before you could fire back a retort, his hand was on your waist—warm and deliberate through the thin fabric of your shirt—while his other hand cupped your jaw like he'd been waiting forever to do it right. the kiss was calculated and confident, screaming “i've imagined this a hundred times and none of those versions were good enough.”

his lips moved against yours with a certainty that stole your breath, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone like he was memorising the feel of your skin. when his breath caught—just once, subtle but telling—something warm and liquid pooled in your stomach. you leaned in harder, your hands finding purchase in the front of his shirt, the crisp cotton wrinkling under your fingers.

you broke away first, just to see him—his cheeks flushed, his lips slightly parted, his usually perfect hair even more dishevelled than before. he looked dazed but still managed that infuriatingly smug expression that had driven you crazy for years.

"so," he said, voice low and rough around the edges, "was that smooth enough?"

you tried to roll your eyes, to play it cool like your entire body wasn't buzzing with contentment, but he was already kissing you again before you could form a coherent thought. this time you were the one gripping his shirt like you might not let him leave, the one sighing into his mouth when his fingers tangled in your hair.

his body pressed against yours was solid and warm, familiar in a way that surprised you. you'd stood close to him countless times in elevators and crowded meetings, but this was different. this was jay without the professional mask, without the carefully constructed distance. this was just him—the scent of his cologne, the quiet noise he made when you bit his lower lip.

when you finally pulled back for air, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing as uneven as yours. "i should've done that years ago," he murmured, his thumb tracing idle circles on your hip.

"you should've done a lot of things years ago," you countered, but there was no bite to it, just a softness that surprised you both.

he smiled a real, unguarded smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, and you realised with sudden clarity that you were in trouble. because this wasn't the park jongseong who sent ridiculous gifts or made terrible powerpoint jokes. this was the man underneath all that, the one who picked sad little wildflowers and remembered how you took your coffee and looked at you like you'd hung the moon.

and you were pretty sure you were falling for him all over again.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

[copperbadge]

I think maybe I got married to a museum this morning. Boy is this a long weird story.

I was standing in line to get into the Museum of Natural History this morning when an older woman near me in line gestured for me to take out my headphones. She was clearly a little agitated, and she asked me if I was American, if I spoke English, in a pretty pronounced English accent. I said I'm from Chicago, and she looked relieved and said, "Can you help me find out if I can pay for my ticket with my credit card inside? It wouldn't register when I tried to buy a ticket on the internet this morning."

I said I didn't know how we'd find out, but I opened up the website on my phone to check. While I poked around the site she didn't stop talking once, telling me that she's in New York to look after her daughter who just had major surgery and she's very stressed and her daughter asked her to go out and distract herself for a while which....having spent some time in this woman's company, she's very sweet but I can see why her kid needed a break.

Anyway, I think this might actually be a lie on the website, but it says there that you HAVE to buy tickets online and you have to have an email address to get them delivered. She couldn't do the former and didn't have a smartphone she could use to access the latter.

So I said, why don't I buy your ticket on my phone while we're here in line? I can send it to my email, and you can come in with me. She fretted about fraud but I said nah, I'll just tell them your ticket's on my phone because I helped you buy it, they won't care.

Now, this sounds like she was running some kind of wild scam, but who the hell scams their way into the Museum of Natural History? Like lady if you love natural history that much and haven't got $24 to your name, let me buy you a ticket, you've earned it.

Anyway, I bought the ticket in about 30 seconds, and we had about ten minutes to wait, which she filled with a nonstop monologue about her daughter's medical problems, her husband's job, her attempts to get into a gym to swim, the crowdedness of New York, it was just...so much talking. And I had dire visions of possibly having to take her around the museum with me simply because I was so friendly and helped her get in. I wished to silently contemplate the taxidermy, thanks.

Inside, I took her to the customer service desk because she wanted a printed copy of her ticket, and while they were printing it she counted out the cash to pay me back. Then I ruthlessly unloaded her on one of the customer services agents, saying, "He'll explain what you can do with your ticket and give you a map -- you have a good time now and I'll be thinking of your daughter," and did my best to disappear. I rounded a corner, dashed into an elevator, and fled to the fourth floor where I was headed anyway.

That's enough of a misadventure just trying to get into the museum, but I put it from my mind and enjoyed the dinosaurs and dioramas...until I slipped on something black, on the black floor of the dimly lit Hall Of Mammals, and almost fell.

There, under my boot, in front of the stuffed rhinos, was a black-and-gold silicone ring.

If it had been any other kind of ring I'd have turned it in to lost and found, but I wear silicone rings myself -- they're very cheap and meant to be worn in place of a real ring while you're doing tool work (they tear away under pressure unlike metal rings that'll take your finger with) or if you're afraid you'll lose the real thing. I have several thin ones I wear on top of my normal rings to keep them from falling off when my fingers change size in the cold. It's not the kind of thing one would even go to Lost and Found for; you can replace it for $5.

I think the museum gave me a wedding band.

It's a little big but the spirit is there.

So yeah, much like how the Rijksmuseum and I are sworn enemies, the American Museum of Natural History is now my bride. Well, she saw that I know how to look after my elders. As spouses that are actually large cultural institutions in the middle of New York City go, could be worse.

[ID: The middle and index finger of my left hand, showing several rings -- the middle finger has a silver ring with a kokopelli motif (a gift from my maternal grandmother), a gold ring with a knotwork motif (the wedding ring I inherited from my stepfather's parents), and a thin silicone band to hold them in place. My index finger has the new ring, gold with a border of black, looking slightly loose.]

[starkwlkr]

superdad | david corenswet

an: saw superman and i am a changed woman

On Set of Superman

Lucy Corenswet was confused. Who was Clark Kent and why was her daddy sitting in his chair? You were busy filming a new movie in Canada so Lucy stayed with David in the United States. She loved being on set with her parents anyways. While your chair had your name printed on it, David’s had Clark Kent on his. So when Lucy saw the chair and her daddy sitting on it, she was confused.

“Clark Kent . . . Daddy, who’s Clark Kent?” Lucy traced over the letters while David, who was dressed in his Clark clothes, sat in the chair as the makeup artist worked on his face.

“Me, I’m Clark Kent.” David happily answered.

“But I thought you were Superman?” Lucy asked.

“Clark Kent is Superman. When Superman isn’t helping people, he’s Clark Kent and he works at the Daily Planet.” David explained.

“So daddy is Clark Kent?” Lucy tried her best to understand.

“You got it! You’re very smart, Luce.”

“Thank you Clark!”

-

“Hey Clark, can I have some cookies?”

“Clark! I can’t find my shoes!”

“Clark, mommy said dinner is ready.”

It was never ending. David hadn’t heard the word daddy or dad come out of Lucy’s mouth in weeks. It was always Clark this, Clark that. And he didn’t mind it one bit.

Lucy had even made a drawing of David dressed as Clark with a stick figure version of herself holding his hand. She had even written ‘Clark and Lucy’ in red and blue crayons. David loved it so much that he framed it immediately and it was now hanging in the hallway. He also took a quick photo and sent it to the Superman cast group chat.

“You like it Clark?” Lucy saw how her dad was admiring her artwork.

“I love it, Luce. You’re an amazing artist.” David picked up little Lucy and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Daddy? Can we eat some cookies?”

The name caught him slightly off guard but it made him smile. “Yeah, we can do that,” Lucy placed her head on his chest. “Just don’t tell mommy, okay? She’s scary when she’s mad at us.”

“So scary.” Lucy giggled as David took her to the kitchen to finally get her a cookie.

-

“You mentioned you have a daughter. I imagine she must think you’re the coolest dad ever, no? Having Superman as a dad I mean.” Diego Luna, the guest host for Jimmy Kimmel Live, asked David. He instantly smiled at the mention of his daughter. She was three years old and had him wrapped around her little finger.

“It’s funny actually, she is fully convinced that my name is Clark Kent,” he said, earning some laughs from the audience. “She doesn’t call me dad, she legit calls me Clark. She’ll be playing with her toys and I’ll be checking my emails beside her and all of a sudden I hear ‘Clark, can you play with me?’ And I don’t have the heart to tell her my name isn’t Clark.”

“How did that start?”

“Well she visited the set because my wife was shooting a movie in another country so I brought her to set, met everyone and then she saw my chair that had ‘Clark Kent’ printed on the back. She saw me sit on it and called me out saying ‘hey! that’s not your chair!’ and I explained to her that I am Clark Kent so ever since that day, I am Clark Kent and she’s on first name basis with me.” He continued.

“It caught me off guard the first time I heard her refer to him as Clark.” Nicholas admitted.

“You know the first time she saw you she called you baldy.” David added.

“She’s adorable so I’m not offended.”

[cottonlemonade]

Marriage Of Convenience [Part 1]

word count: 1705 || avg. reading time: 7 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Kuroo x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, slice of life

warnings: spoilers

synopsis: Marriage is not a big deal, right? Anyone can do it and it comes with a whole lot of benefits! That’s why your friend proposes to you one morning with all the elegance and romance of an empty pudding cup.

The honey drizzled in deep golden ribbons onto the still warm buttered toast. The first signs of spring were in the air and the thickly plumed sparrows chattering on your balcony outside the kitchen window, hopping from railing to empty plant pots, almost drowned out the noise from the busy road down below. In typical Monday morning fashion, you only half-paid attention to your breakfast while you scrolled through your emails, picking out the important from the irrelevant and barely took note of the front door opening. Shuffling footsteps hurried along the short hallway. A few moments later, Tetsuro plopped down across from you, snatching a grape from your plate.

You looked up from your phone with a cocked brow when he took a second one, and he held your eyes questioningly, the grapes still bulging out his cheeks like a hamster, “What? You want them back?”

With pursed lips, you pushed your plate to the middle of the table and bit off a corner of toast, still scrolling.

“Did you see the email from Mr Maeda?”

Testuro nodded, “That guy really has nothing better to do on a Sunday than count coffee filters and complain about the office’s excessive caffeine consumption.”

You got up to quickly reheat the kettle for a second cup of tea, “I’ll have to go to the downtown office this morning, but I should be done by lunch. Wanna meet up at that new sushi place?”

“Sure thing. - Oh! Also, I went down quite the rabbit hole last night and I wanted to run something by you.”

“Is this a “I can’t believe pandas ever made it this far” or more a “we should totally start our own quilting business” kind of rabbit hole?”

Steam rose from the spout of the kettle, and you began pouring it over the loose green tea you knew was his favorite.

“How would you feel about getting married?”

You almost broke your neck, snapping your head around to look at him, “What?”

“It’s not weird, I promise. I saw this video of a couple yesterday who talked about how they were tired of dating and annoyed that they were getting overlooked on apartment hunts, perks at work, always being hounded by their families about when they’d finally find someone etc. and so just decided to marry their best friend. And I looked into it, they’re completely right! The amount of benefits married couples get is insane! And don’t even get me started on taxes.”

The cup was by now overflowing, and hot water trickled steadily from your kitchen counter onto your house slipper. You didn’t notice it because you were still staring at him.

“You’re dripping.”, he informed you, helpfully.

With a little shake of your head, you returned to reality in which Kuroo Tetsuro, local office dork, just casually suggested marrying him over a half-eaten slice of toast and remnants of grape stalks.

He went and grabbed the dish towel from the hook by your sink and crouched down to wipe up the small puddle. As he did, he looked up at you, continuing, “Anyway, I figured since I’m not seeing anyone, and you’re also nowhere near close to marriage-”

“Hey!”

“I thought I’d ask.”

“Are you gonna randomly propose to other people if I don’t say yes?”

“I dunno, actually. - Don’t think so. Why?”

You took a deep breath and accepted the wet towel he held out to mop up the rest from the counter.

“Alright. I’m not saying yes, yet!”, you clarified quickly as he was about to raise his hand for a high five, “I’m saying: bring me some actual facts about this, not just social media hearsay, and then I’ll decide.”

“You got it. I’ll present my findings to you by tomorrow night.” He ended with his most professional nod, then smiled and began clearing your table so you could head to work together.

After the morning meeting, you heavily neglected your tasks to sort your thoughts. A spreadsheet was made and pros and cons began slowly filling in either side of the neat list.

Pros:

> Tax deductions (!)

> he knows how to do laundry and picks up after himself

> Respectful, most of the time

> fun and comfortable to be around

> I’d not be offended if people assumed we’re married

You paused and looked at a small plant pot on your desk, deep in further consideration. Then you took to your keyboard again.

Cons:

> might have to pretend like all of his jokes are suddenly funny

> having to explain the situation to everyone

Your fingers stopped typing and after a heartbeat or two you deleted the last line, writing instead:

> having to pretend to be married in front of everyone

Much to your surprise, he didn‘t address the elephant in the room over lunch right away. Instead, you talked as per usual about this, that and everything, pulling small plates with bites of sushi from the conveyor belt in front of you. He had his tie flipped over his shoulder and the JVA lanyard was safely tucked in the breast pocket of his shirt to not accidentally dunk it in the little dish of wasabi and soy sauce in front of you. In your mind, you quietly added “good table manners” to the pro list.

“What’s up?”, he asked as he stacked an empty plate onto the ever-growing dish tower.

“Nothing.”

“Yes, there is.”

“Nope.”

“Come on, I might be your husband soon, we should be able to tell each other everything.”, he grinned.

“You’re very on board with this whole idea.”, you noted after a short pause.

Tetsuro made that smile he always did when he was about to deliver an awful pun, “One could say I’m pretty married to it, yes.”

You continued, unperturbed, “What about your dad? What would you tell him?”

“He likes you.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“He’s gonna be fine as long as I am.” Tetsuro dipped the salmon of a nigiri in soy sauce and held it out to feed you - a poor attempt to distract.

“Don’t worry so much about it.”, he said to his very worried friend with a reassuring shrug when you took the bite, “He knows you make me happy. And that’s all there is to it.”

“I make you happy, do I?”

“Yeah, of course. What - don’t I make you happy?”, he grinned.

“Well.” With a raised brow, you pulled out your phone and, after a bit of tapping, turned the screen to show him your list.

Squinting a little, he produced his glasses from his pocket and put your phone on the table to scroll through the bullet points.

“Okay, first of all, I can’t see anything on here about my looks. That should be a major pro. Just look at these glasses.”, he gestured to the dark frames, “Don’t they scream office siren? That should definitely go into the pro column. You should write that not only am I gonna be an amazing husband but also some real eye candy”, under his breath he added, “which one might argue is the healthiest kind of candy.” He smirked at his own joke.

“That’s not relevant, though.”, you countered.

He disagreed, “It’s very relevant for bragging rights. I know, I’ll brag about you non-stop. Just look at how you did this Excel spreadsheet. Dream girl right there.”

“I know you’re joking, but I’m actually very proud of my skills, thank you very much.” You snatched the phone away again and answered his smile with your own. Maybe it really wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The following night, you settled in on his couch waiting for him to make his case, although, if you were honest, in your mind you were already picturing what life with him as a glorified roommate would be like. Tetsuro tipped on his laptop for about a minute, then rolled up his sleeves and turned on the TV. It showed the title card to a PowerPoint presentation by the name of Why You Should Marry Me. The next slide, reached by the click of a button from the little black remote in his hand, let you know that it was sub-sectioned into Perks, More Perks, Possible Issues and Even More Perks.

“Do you have any questions?”, he asked once the final slide read Thank you for your attention.

You took a deep, quiet breath, looking down at the empty notepad in your lap and back up at him.

“Nope. Let’s do it.”

He beamed and clicked the remote again. It jumped to a new title card: Guidelines For Our Happy Marriage.

Thanks to Tetsuro’s extensive research you had a list of needed paperwork ready to go and after a quick trip to your country’s embassy you soon stood in line at City Hall on Friday afternoon, both still in your office clothes, to get married. It felt much more like an errand than anything else, like popping into a convenience store on your way home from work because you forgot the milk on your last trip to the supermarket. Stacks of documents were signed and stamped, and once you were done, you received a coupon for a nearby restaurant as a gift. When you stepped out of the tall unassuming building, the last slivers of sunbeams peeked through the alleys and the streets were bathed in a subtle golden-gray glow. You came to a halt at the bottom of the steps.

“How do you feel?”, you asked.

He stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders as if looking for a crank somewhere. “No different. You?”

You shook out your body as well, more so to make fun of him than anything else, and shrugged, “Nope. All good.”

On your walk to the restaurant for your discount wedding dinner, you simply carried on your usual conversations about a book you were currently reading and thought out loud about what you would pick off the menu.

The only indication that anything had changed was that when you reached your table, he pulled up the chair with a slight bow saying, “Mrs Tax Deduction.” and you played coy and did a small curtsy before sitting down with the reply of, “Too kind, Mr Tax Deduction.”

art: @freaka_loonyz on Instagram, X, Pinterest and TikTok

a/n: sooo, here we are. I really hope you’ll enjoy this one ✨

Huge thank you to @haikyu-mp4 for listening to me ramble about this incessantly and for brainstorming and for helping me edit.

[Part 2]

[elliesbebegurl]

Warmest Welcome

Abby x Ellie x Masc!Reader

synopsis: Ellie has always dreamt of being in a band. Her new bandmates are more than happy to welcome her.

warnings: 2.6k words, sub! ellie, dom! reader, dom! abby (idrk, abby doesn’t get involved much here but yea), reader plays with ellie while they write lyrics for their upcoming song TEEHEE, voyeurism, fingering (e!receiving), edging and implied overstim (e!receiving), asphyxiation (e!receiving), Y/N is used once

A/N: The song they’re “writing” here will be Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus SO THAT’S FUN 😍

also sorry this took a looooong time to finally post since I posted the sneak peek. IVE BEEN BUSY IM SORRY 🙏🙏

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Ellie was never the type to be extremely social. She would only go to campus to finish her classes, go to the library to re-write her lectures and then go straight back to her place—avoiding any possibility of socializing.

Not that she was ever really talked to. Except her online friends. And when she orders takeout. Do they count?

Though one thing she loved was music. Whether she listened to it or played it herself. Every single pluck of the guitar strings as she played a familiar melody she had heard from the radio earlier that day.

She played beautifully. But who would believe someone like her fucking shreds guitar? See, the problem was that she never really was confident in her skills.

On the flip side were you and Abby. The two of you were pretty well known around campus, being a relatively successful duo after a song you made up one random sleepover with Abby blew up on social media.

Got a little tipsy after sipping on a little too much wine while you two had a “study night”, ended up writing a whole ass song and recording it in Abby’s closet before sharing on a platform for shits and giggles. Now… you’re not complaining though.

So when Abby hears about an upcoming “battle of the bands” happening back in her hometown right on your summer break from uni, trust that you haven’t been left the fuck alone for the past. Four. Days.

Abby spins in your desk chair, with you sat up on your bed as she bugs you for probably the 7th time that day. “Come on, it’ll be fun! Plus, we’ll get to meet other bands, and didn’t you tell me then that you wanted to try getting laid with a bass play-“

You groan. Running your hands over you face as you reason:

“Oh my God. Dude. We’re not even a band. How the fuck are we gonna sign up?”

Abby sits straight, her eyes narrowing as she hummed. “Uhhh…”

Your eyes remained on Abby, crossing your arms as she lets out an awkward chuckle. Rolling your eyes, you go back to “working” on your laptop. In reality, you were actually searching for ways to sign up for the event and its requirements. These are one of the fewest times that Abby would actually go and nag you about something she really wanted to do. So naturally, being her best friend, you try to find a way.

But it’s true though. You two need at least another member to proceed with this competition.

But how?

—————————

After another week of endless (and in-secret) searching, the post you made asking anyone willing to join your band finally got a good amount of emails sent to you. (Abby was blocked beforehand so she couldn’t see.)

One thing that caught your attention in particular was a sophomore who simply wrote in the email about how she wanted to audition as a guitarist—even making the effort of sending a video. Some others already did, so you shrugged it off. Naturally, you clicked on the video and sat back in your seat as it loaded.

When the play button appeared in the middle of the screen, you put on headphones before hitting play.

The girl was leaning over her camera, making sure it was steady before standing up straight. She then shakily introduced herself.

“Hi, I’m Ellie. Uh-“ She cleared her throat, her pick now pinched between her fingers.

She chuckled nervously, making a small amused smile creep up your lips as you leaned forward on your desk—now more intrigued.

Hm. This is new.

“Sorry if this is awkward, but um… fuck—sorry, I’ll play.”

There’s a short pause when Ellie leans over, hitting play on her laptop and adjusting the strap of her acoustic before positioning her fingers over the strings.

The familiar intro of “21 Guns” starts playing. From the very first strum, you could tell she had that rhythm. She wasn’t holding herself back—yet also wasn’t playing senselessly.

Unlike the very few others who sent in an audition video where their wrists were stiff and too hyper-focused on getting the song right rather than letting themselves enjoy—Ellie was the exact opposite.

Even though her face wasn’t showing, just with the way her body rocked along as she played almost effortlessly, you could see just how much she loved what she was doing.

When the chorus comes, theres a sudden cut to her now playing an electric guitar, along with her fairy lights in the background now flickering to the beat.

This makes you chuckle in amusement, now nodding along as you sat through the whole video.

When the video ends, you take off your headphones and you sit back.

Well.

You grab your phone from your desk to text Ellie’s contact number.

—————————

Ellie’s leg bounces anxiously as she waits alone in the coffee shop—where the three of you were to meet up. The coffee she ordered wasn’t helping either.

After 10 minutes of her checking the time and biting the inside of her cheek, the sound of the wind chimes by the entrance gets her attention, where she finally spots you and Abby as you both enter the shop.

Ellie stands up abrupty, the screech of her chair pushing back turning some heads, but she was too starstruck to notice, nor care. The sudden noise makes the two of you turn your heads too. Ellie smiled sheepishly before waving you over.

Safe to say Abby approved of her.

Well, both of you did.

Too much so that you had to pinch her side under the table when she kept ogling at the girl. And her also having to remind you of what this meeting was really for.

“You’re making her nervous.” She whispered through gritted teeth as she faked a smile, but her eyes warned. You returned a sarcastic sweet smile before going back to your conversation with Ellie.

From then on, the three of you would meet up after your classes and have small talk just to get to know Ellie more.

By the fifth time meeting up, you and Abby finally decided it was time to bring her to the gig studio you two frequented.

Time to see if you three could really work as a band.

—————————

Ellie rushes to her dorm room, almost stumbling forward as she takes off her shoes.

She’s panting, mind running as she plopped on her bed.

Closing her eyes tightly, Ellie tried to get rid of the thoughts currently running in her mind.

These are your NEW and FIRST bandmates. Please control yourself. Fucking hell, Ellie. You’re weird as fuck. Finding your bandmates hot WHILE playing? C’mon, don’t fuck this up. Are you a pervert?

Ellie groaned as she thought to herself, covering her face in embarassment.

Still, her mind wandered. Because how could Ellie miss it? When Abby’s arms flexed everytime she hit the drums—the sleeveless shirt she was wearing earlier only emphasizing her toned muscles. The way you smirked flirtatiously at Abby and her when it came to your favorite part of each song, and how the flickering lights in the studio somehow made you hotter—whenever you closed your eyes and threw your head back when singing a particularly high note. How you were effortlessly playing the bass while doing so made her even more flustered.

And don’t even get started on how much compliments you two would shower her when you’d get the chance.

With that, Ellie swallowed. The ache she felt far too much for her not to give in now.

With one last sigh, her hand trailed down.

When her fingers finally reach her waistband, she closes her eyes and finally lays her head back before dipping lower.

No one would know anyway.

—————————

“Dun-dun, dun-dun. My lips start to shake.” Abby mumbles, waving the pen around as she scratches off the last lyric she wrote down.

“This might be fake,” You suggested from behind Ellie as you clung onto her, both of you sat in the middle of your bed.

Much to Ellie’s surprise (and to her delight, though she won’t admit), you were quite touchy. So when you asked for her permission the first time to hug her from behind as the three of you brainstormed all of the band “necessities”, she was ultimately surprised. And flustered.

You could tell. Very easily, at that.

Abby had to hold back a chuckle of amusement at how flushed Ellie’s face looked as she nodded.

Ever since then, it basically became routine for you and Ellie.

Did Abby get jealous you were hogging Ellie everytime you guys were at your apartment? Very much. But then again, Abby’s the one who’s always with Ellie at campus. Seems fair enough.

“This-must-be-fake,” Ellie suggested in her own tune, and you repeat it a few times in your mind and nod as Abby jots it down.

“Okay, so after we finish this verse, all we have is the bridge and the post-chorus?” Abby looks up at you both for confirmation.

“Mhm.”

“Yep.”

“How’d you come up with this song anyway? This is the typa shit I’d religiously listen to when I was in highschool.” Abby curiously asked, looking at Ellie.

“You still listen to the songs you used to listen to in highschool.” You teased.

“Exactly.” She agreed before shifting her attention back to Ellie.

“Uh… don’t know, actually. It just came up to me after watching the second Diary of a Wimpy Kid movie.” She sheepishly admitted.

Abby shrugged in acknowledgement as she went back to thinking of what else to add on the last verse. You snickered as your face buried in Ellie’s neck, your hold on her getting slightly tighter, though she figured it was just you being you.

Abby knew very well what you were planning on doing, so the sight only makes her roll her eyes.

“Can we at least finish this verse before you fuck her?” Abby grumbled.

Ellie’s eyes widen. “W-What-“

You click your tounge at Abby’s comment. “I’ll help you,”

You then turn your attention back to Ellie, face still buried in her neck. “Can I?”

It takes her a while to respond, so you reassure. “We don’t have to if you don’t wanna. Just want to reward you for this… little song you wrote. I think this’ll be a hit when it comes out. Don’t you think so, Abby?”

Abby doesn’t even glance up from her notebook, biting the end of her pen as she re-read the lyrics she had already written.

“I’d hope so.”

“Right now?” Ellie croaks out.

“Up to you.”

—————————

“I’ve got two tickets to Iron Maiden, baby,” Abby sung for example.

You hum in approval. “That’s how the bridge sounds?”

“Yep. I think it would also sound better if Ellie plays that part with a palm mute. Then for the pre-chorus, the beat drops again—then the grain of the guitar, like, fades as the song ends.” The blonde further explained.

“Sounds good! What do you think, Els?” You remove your hand covering her mouth, and she takes a big gasp of air before it’s turning into high-pitched whimpers.

Here she was, spread out and leaning back against your chest as your fingers curled up into her g-spot relentlessly. She had opted to close her legs from the overwhelming pleasure a minute or two ago, but you made Abby sit in between her legs, making it so she couldn’t do so.

Ellie’s grey hoodie was now bunched up above her chest, her jeans and underwear long gone. You freehand is pinching and pulling at her sensitive nipple as your other drilled into her at a pace she didn’t even know was fucking possible.

Ellie couldn’t help but throw her head back, trying her best to hold onto something to try and keep herself grounded. She landed on the plush of your thigh, her back arching as she sobbed out. “P-Please-uhh, fuck!”

Abby closed her notebook along with her pen inside, and she frowns. “You’re wearing her out before I even get a turn.”

You wrap your arm around Ellie’s neck as you re-angle your wrist—making it ache so much more, but the sounds Ellie were making make it so fucking worth it. You had her in some kind of chokehold, not enough to stop her breathing completely, but just right to hold her down and make her feel lightheaded.

“Be patient.” You say to Abby, before turning to Ellie. “Be quiet, baby. Abby’s getting jealous. Can’t let her know I’m making you feel too good now, can we?”

Abby’s eyes land on Ellie’s face, already looking so fucked out. Eyes half-lidded and watery, and her mouth hanging open with no other choice than to let out pants like a pathetic dog.

Without thinking, Abby leans forward to gently cup Ellie’s face, her entire body shaking by the force of your fingers still fucking into her. She slowly comes closer, waiting for Ellie to stop her. When it doesn’t come, Abby’s crashing their lips together.

You continue your rough pace as you laugh mockingly at the way Ellie very clearly struggles to keep up with Abby.

Abby decides to pull away and finally wait her turn. Patiently. She’ll have Ellie to herself after this anyway.

Ellie’s eyes brimmed with overwhelmed tears as she rasped out. “I-I’m—

Can I? Please, can-can I?”

“Can you what?” You ask condescendingly, knowing exactly what she was asking.

“Can I c-cum? Please! Fuck, I can’t—“ She sobs, trying her best to be good and to please you, but your fingers feel too good and you aren’t giving her any permission.

“Hmm.” You hummed cruelly, wanting to drag this out a bit longer.

“Y/N. Take it easy on her.” Abby spoke sternly, already taking pity on Ellie’s current state. Not because she herself was only eager to see Ellie cum.

Not at all.

The blonde gently puts her palm flat against Ellie’s lower abdomen and slowly applies pressure. She looks at you pleadingly.

You roll your eyes. “Cum for me.”

As soon as Ellie gets the confirmation, her cunt is squeezing your fingers, and her cum gushes onto your palm. The feeling of Abby pressing down on her lower abdomen only intensified the feeling of your fingers deep inside her pussy, tears now streaming down her face.

Her mouth opens in a silent scream as her entire body shakes, her brows furrowed like she was in pain, but the desperate rut of her hips against your hand could beg to differ.

When Ellie does manage to get a gasp of air, she’s shakily whimpering from sensitivity.

When she calmed down, you slowly pulls put your fingers, earning a small squeak from her.

You bring your fingers up to your face to taste her. Once you do, you look at Abby, who’s already looking at you expectantly, with a grin. “You lucky bastard.”

You slowly slide Ellie off of you as you get up, making sure she doesn’t fall.

Ellie is now laying on her back as her chest heaved up and down, still recovering from whatever other-worldly shit she just experienced just about a minute ago.

You land two gentle taps on her cheek to check in on her. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Ellie nodded, voice a bit hoarse.

Ellie looks down to see Abby’s large hands already smoothing up and down her thighs.

“You aren’t too tired, aren’t you?”

Ellie shook her head. “Mm-mm.”

You smiled at the interaction, knowing that she’s in for a hell of a treat with Abby.

You lean down to kiss Ellie gently as Abby now starts trailing kisses from the back of her knees to the inside of her thighs, gradually lifting them up over her shoulders.

When you pull away, you tuck away a strand of loose hair in Ellie’s face (among many others) with a fond smile.

“Welcome to the band, Ellie.”

—————————

A/N: I finished this half asleep. SORRY I HAVEN’T BEEN ABLE TO POST ANY STORIES LATELY AAAA

I’ve been very very busy and I almost got hit by a bus last week so that’s a new experience

also sorry but I think this’ll be my last smut fic for a while (idk I still might write some other stuff while I’m at it) BECAUSE I just had a dream and I had the brilliant idea to make it into a story cause why not and I find it rlly interesting so I think I’ll be working on that for a while.

That’s all, THANK YEW

taglist: @bookpagecandlescent @raindontpourellie

I couldn’t find the other person that wanted to be tagged, ur tags are probably off :(( sorry

[corvessa]

Finding Out You're Dating a Security Risk

a/n: honestly had a thought that theo wouldn’t be the one with good online safety habits, and since the reader’s super tech-savvy, it created this sweet, mildly stressful, and kinda educational moment. tried to keep it easy to follow, even if you’re not into tech stuff. Summary: A coding stream takes a turn when a casual chat with Theodore reveals a surprising security risk, and a very patient lesson in digital hygiene begins.

Your stream was already buzzing. No League today, no cozy indie games. Just your VSCode window open, some terminal lines running, and a full-blown “tech talk” kind of vibe.

“So,” you said, gesturing at your screen, “when someone logs into a website, their info—like username and password—gets sent over HTTPS. That’s basically a secure connection. Like a locked box for your data.”

Next to you on camera, Theodore nodded slowly while sipping his tea, trying to look like he understood more than five percent of what you just said.

“So… it’s like an invisibility cloak for your password?”

You laughed. “Sure. Basically. It keeps bad people from spying on your info while it’s being sent from your computer to the website.”

“Spying how, exactly?”

“Well,” you explained, “every time you go online, you send tiny packets of data—little bits that make up whatever you’re doing, like loading a page or logging in. If someone’s watching the network and it’s not encrypted, they can steal that data.”

Theodore raised his eyebrows. “Wait. So if the connection isn’t locked, people can just… grab my password mid-air?”

“Exactly.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah, that sounds super illegal.”

“It is. That’s why HTTPS is non-negotiable. Every login page. Every time.”

You turned back to your code, typing out a function. There was a quiet moment.

Then he casually asked, “So, if one of my passwords is encrypted on a site, it’s safe everywhere, right?”

You didn’t look up. “Not really. Why?”

“Well… I just use the same password for everything. One good one. Easy to remember.”

You froze mid-keystroke.

“…You what?”

“I mean, sometimes I switch it up. Like I’ll add a ‘99’ or an exclamation point, depending on the mood.”

Your head slowly turned toward him. “Theodore.”

“What?”

You minimized your code window.

“Please tell me you’re not using the same email for all of those accounts too.”

He blinked. “Uh… yeah? Isn’t that what people do?”

Your eye twitched.

- she's buffering - ERROR: boyfriend has no digital hygiene - help. she’s going to ascend - he’s charming and a walking data breach

You took a long breath.

“Okay. Picture this. Just one of those sites gets hacked. Just one. Your email and password are out there now. Anyone can try logging into your other accounts using the same combo.”

He tilted his head. “That actually happened to me once.”

You stared at him. “I'm sorry—what?”

“Yeah. A couple years ago. I got logged out of Spotify, and when I got back in, all the playlists were in Portuguese.”

- NOT THE PORTUGUESE PLAYLIST TAKEOVER 💀 - i am CRYING - the man’s passwords are possessed

You opened another browser tab and typed in his email on Have I Been Pwned—a site that shows if your email has been in any known data leaks.

“…Theodore, you’re in five data breaches.”

He squinted at the screen. “Wait, that’s me? Why is my email there? Who even uses Adobe?”

You pressed your hands to your face. “Babe. No. We need to talk about password managers.”

“But I remember all my passwords! I use the same one, and I just—"

“That. Is. The. Problem.”

He tilted his head again like a golden retriever being scolded gently. “I thought I was being smart.”

“You’re being hackable.”

- ICONIC LINE - protect him. educate him. at all cost. - she’s gonna install NordPass with tears in her eyes - build him a digital sandbox and keep him in it

You leaned back, trying to stay calm.

“Okay. New plan. After the stream, we are:

Downloading a password manager.

Turning on two-factor authentication. Everywhere.

Deleting anything with a birthday, pet name, or your favorite pasta in it.

NEVER using your go-to password again.”

He winced a little. “...Even for Netflix?”

You stared at him like you were considering launching him into the sun.

“Got it. Changing Netflix. Copy that.”

You sighed. “You are… my favorite vulnerability.”

He lit up. “Aww.”

“Not in a good way.”

- the romance is coded in JSON - cybergeek x golden retriever is THE blueprint - imagine being so hot you get away with this kind of digital crime

Eventually the stream wound down, and Theodore helped you shut things off. He looked sheepish.

“Hey… thanks for not yelling.”

You shook your head. “I’m not mad. Just… wildly, deeply concerned.”

He chuckled. “At least I learned what HTTPS is. And I’m kinda excited to get a password manager now. Can I name it something cool? Like… Vaulto, the Guardian of Secrets?”

“…Yes. But only if I get to set it up for you.”

“Deal.”

You paused. “Also, we’re changing your email recovery questions. ‘Favorite food: pasta’ is not cutting it.”

He nodded solemnly. “That’s fair.”

You muttered under your breath. “If you’ve ever typed ‘password123’ I swear to god—”

“…With a capital P?” he offered.

You facepalmed.

a/n: Yes, Have I Been Pwned is a real website (haveibeenpwned.com) where you can check if your email has appeared in any known data breaches. It’s free, safe, and surprisingly eye-opening. If you haven’t checked it before, this is your sign — stay safe online, use strong passwords, and maybe... don’t reuse the same one everywhere like our boy Theo in this story.

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

You Need Only Ask [professor!Marcus Pike x librarian!reader]

Read on Ao3

Pairing: History of Art professor Marcus Pike x art library reader/you (cishet female)

Tags/Warnings: Kind of pining idiots but only one is pining, everyone is being professional but it's clear that Marcus is a pining idiot, implied coworkers to lovers.

Summary: Professor Marcus Pike is one of those cliché absent-minded professors - or so you think, but maybe there's another reason why this brilliant academic is acting a dumb fool around you?

Words: 3,534

A/N: This was inspired by an ask sent to me by @just-here-for-the-moment for a fic ask game thingy. Here's the original ask and my reply. I didn't write it exactly like that (main difference is my fic is set in modern times), but I hope y'all still like it!

”Good morning.”

Your customer service smile in place, you look over your shoulder.

”Morning, Professor. Just give me a second and I will be right with you.”

He hums, and you turn back to the bookcase where you were just about to finish re-shelving returns. Once done, you join Marcus Pike, Professor of Art History, at the desk. He’s tapping his fingers, almost impercievably, against the surface of the old solid wood desk, and you stifle a sigh. He didn’t have to wait that long.

”What can I do for you?” you ask politely. Professor Pike is never rude, but he is the typical professor type: absent-minded, a little awkward, his research always the number one priority.

“I looked for this book in the online catalog, but as I suspected, you don’t have it. It’s probably sold out, too.” He gives you a piece of paper before both his hands disappear into his pockets.

“Another inter-library loan, then?” you state, looking at the title. It’s in French, and you know immediately that your library doesn’t have it. Professor Pike is not the most computer-skilled person, so you usually double-check every book he asks for in the database, but this one you know you don’t have.

“Might have to go international for this one,” you tell him. “Canada or Europe. That’s coming out of your department’s budget, you know that.”

“I’ll make room,” he shrugs, looking towards the door, like he can’t wait to get back to the comfort of his own office. “And could you please give me more time with the last one you got for me? I need it for a bit longer.”

“I’ll contact the lending library,” you nod. “I’ll let you know.”

“Great. Thank you.”

The “Sure thing” has barely left your mouth before Pike is out the door, the sound of his steps against the stone floor quickly disappearing down the hall. You shake your head before sitting down to look up the book for him.

As you work, you once again wonder how people like Marcus Pike get jobs at all. Someone as introverted as that would never have a real shot at getting a library job, which requires people skills, patience, and the ability to stand in front of people. But when it comes to academia, it seems like all you need is credentials and a good research profile, and you’re hired. Unlike you, who had to fight tooth and nail for this position. You have Master’s degrees in art and library science, educational and language studies, job experience, and it was still almost impossible to get this job. People who have these jobs never seem to retire but just sit there, year after year, until they eventually sprout roots that fasten them to their chairs.

But you’re here now, since five years, and while Pike’s predecessor never showed his face in the library but sometimes sent you cryptical emails requests that took you half a day to decipher, it’s nice to see that the much younger professor actually frequents the university’s special arts library.

Finally locating Pike’s book in a university library in France, you quickly find the instructions for ILL’s, and send a loan request. After that, you apply for more time for Pike’s previous book, and by afternoon, you have confirmation for both books: one will be mailed out later during the day in Europe, the other has been renewed. You let Pike know through an email, before performing closing duties in the library. Your computer pings just as you’re about to turn it off, and you see that it’s a reply from Pike. Clicking it up, you see the very unlikely response:

>>Amazing, what a service. Just bill the department, I’ve got it covered. Thank you so much 😊 <<

Shaking your head in disbelief at the informal tone, you turn off the computer, clock out, and go home.

Professor Pike is back two days later, now asking for a book that’s available. When you tell him so, he clears his throat, gaze flickering away from you.

“Could you maybe show me where it is?”

“Sure.” You’re curt, because this isn’t the first time. It’s an easy enough book to find, and every item in the library is labeled, and the database even has an interactive feature where you can click on the item’s call number to open up a layout of the stacks, showing the correct shelf in red. It has freed you up a lot now that most patrons can easily find their literature themselves, but some people just want you to do everything for them.

“You know, Professor, you could maybe my start of term library tour useful,” you dare to tease him as you walk before him to the right case. “Most freshmen find it very helpful, and they can usually manage their own information retrieval after.”

“I think maybe a little touch-up course would do me good,” he replies, voice a little tight. “But I like personal service.”

You find the book, pull it out, and hand it to him.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you tell him easily. “Anything else I can do for you?”

He swallows visibly.

“No, thank you.”

He uses the self check-out this time, and leaves quickly without saying goodbye. You shake your head, and catch the eye of Mandy, a Master’s student who works on her thesis in the library almost every day.

“Strange fellow, that one, isn’t he?”

She gives you a peculiar look. “I guess so.”

One thing that you appreciate a lot about your job is the building itself. The campus was built in Collegiate Gothic style in the middle of the 19th century, and compared to the nearby city library with its white surfaces, glass walls, and modern design furniture, the much quieter arts library still seems more alive. The library houses more books than one would think when first seeing it, and it has the charming nooks and crannies that are so common for old houses.

You’re standing in one of those nooks one day; an alcove that houses folios, a cart of tall books parked next to the step stool that you’re standing on. You hear someone enter the library, shout out a “Hello!” as you usually do to let patrons know that you’re in the stacks, and receive a low answer. Mindful not to hurt your wrists, you pick up another folio from the cart, and put it back in its place.

The sound of footsteps stops at the desk, and you pick up the next book.

“Be right with you!”

The patron moves again, slowly walking towards the corner where you are, as if looking for you. You turn your head just as you see Professor Pike come around the corner of a bookcase.

“Oh,” he clears his throat. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” you nod, picking up the next book. “Almost done.”

“I got your email about the book from France. They sent it rather fast.”

“I was surprised, too,” you admit. There’s one book left, and you really should get down from the stool, move it, and get up again, but you’re lazy. You reach, getting up on your toes, just barely getting the book into place when you feel the stool slip from under you. You gasp, a thousand thoughts rushing through your head during the split second you’re in free fall, and then you land softly, not on the floor, but against a corduroy chest, strong arms holding you.

“Shit, that was close!”

You’re tongue-tied, wide-eyed with shock, heart in your throat and going a mile a minute to make up for the missed beats.

“Are you okay?”

You slowly start to realize that you’re in the arms of Marcus Pike, who caught you when you fell from the stool. And he’s still holding you.

“Yeah, I, yeah, fine, I’m good.” You babble, moving uncomfortably to let him know to let you down, which he does with the utmost care. Your legs are wobbly, and Pike keeps a hand on your waist to make sure you won’t fall.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive,” you now giggle, embarrassed but simultaneously exhilarated by the rush of adrenaline. “That wasn’t stupid at all, was it? I’ve been thinking about having that stool replaced, but I never got around to it, haha. I guess it takes an accident for me to get my thumb out of my a-, I mean, to get it done.”

Your cheeks are heating up, your hands are shaking as you grab the handles of the cart, kicking the accursed stool to the side.

“That was really scary, though,” Pike tells you in a low voice. “You could’ve really injured yourself.”

“Yeah, thanks, I mean, thanks for catching me.” You bite your lower lip and force yourself to look at him. “I’m so embarrassed. I should’ve been more careful.”

“Just glad I was here,” he shrugs, slowly following you as you march to the desk. “Although one could argue that had I not been here, you wouldn’t have tried to restack that heavy book without moving your stool. Sorry if I stressed you.”

“You didn’t,” you tell him lightly. “I sometimes cut corners like that. It’s fine, no harm done.”

You park the cart in its spot behind the desk, and turn to the shelf of reserved books.

“Here’s your inter-library loan. Due date four weeks from now, if you need it for longer, you know the drill.”

“I do,” he replies quietly and accepts the book from you. Holding it in one hand, he carefully opens it with the other, and thoughtfully browses through it. You sit down, flustered and still a little shaky, hoping that he’ll leave so that you can nurse your wounded pride, and maybe have a drink of water.

“It’s about these eighteenth-century art frauds in Europe – “

“I know. I read the title,” you cut him off, more curt than you meant to. Pike closes the book and nervously fingers the paper slip in it.

“You read French?”

“I even speak it.”

A smile breaks out on his face. “Of course you do.”

You stare at him, frowning as you try to understand what his deal is, and why he’s suddenly smiling like that. It’s never happened before.

And you’ve never noticed what a charming smile he has. It reveals a dimple in his right cheek that makes him look younger than he is – not that he’s old in any way, he must be around your age, somewhere between forty and fifty. The smile makes you even more shaky, and you can’t stop staring at him. He eventually notices, the smile dies down, and he lowers his eyes.

“Well, thanks,” he mumbles, turning around and walking away briskly, leaving you to stare after him, wondering what the hell happened.

Mandy comes in from her lunch break, waves a hello, then stops when she sees you.

“Is everything okay?”

You nod dismissively. “I’m fine, Mandy. I just… almost fell from a stool. But no harm done.”

She expresses her sympathies before going to the study area. You take a deep breath, and disappear into the back room for a glass of water.

There’s tittling in the stacks, but you don’t pay it any mind: it’s part of library life, especially on a campus filled with hormonal young adults. It’s not until your hear Professor Pike’s name mentioned that you stop writing on your keyboard, and strain to hear better.

“He’s the best lecturer here.”

“And he’s so fucking hot, don’t you think?”

“Cara! He’s a million years old!”

“No, he’s not, he’s like the youngest of the faculty, except for Langley, but she’s a woman.”

“Well, I’m bi, and she’s fine too.”

Shameless giggling ensues, and you have to stifle one as well.

“Wouldn’t mind doing some extra credit for Professor Pike…”

“That’s so tacky, Mindy.”

“Come on, like you haven’t thought about it.”

The girls appear from the stacks, carrying literature over to the self service check-out.

“I just think that his lectures are amazing. He can explain literally anything so that I get it. And he knows so much.”

You stare at your screen, but you’re listening to the students.

“He should lecture more, why doesn’t he have any classes?”

“Duh, because he’s a professor, he has other things to do.”

“I’d give him something to do…”

More giggling.

“I’m serious! I ended upw atching that Youtube lecture twice just because he’s so good!”

The girls borrow their books while talking, then nod good-bye to you as they leave. You nod back, then hit up Youtube, and type in Professor Marcus Pike.

You find a video of him giving a lecture on the history of art, and open it. And your jaw drops.

The man in the video is confident without being cocky, talkative, engaging, contact-seeking. He speaks clearly, even drops a couple of jokes, and he walks around the podium in the auditorium. If it wasn’t for that corduroy jacket with the leather patches at the shoulders, the one that you had enveloped around yourself last week, you wouldn’t have recognized the man.

You close the video and chew your lower lip. You always thought Pike was this nutty professor who didn’t know how to behave around people and preferred books to socializing. But the man in the video is nothing like that. So what is his problem when talking to you?

Navigating to Facebook, you search his name, finding him easily enough. He doesn’t seem to be very active, but his professional profile is listed.

His status is set to “single”, which surprises you, but you think no further of it. You click on to photos, finding only a few, most of them outdated.

“Good afternoon.”

You look up, startled at the familiar voice. Seeing Marcus Pike’s face, you close the browser window quickly.

“Sorry,” he quickly apologizes. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No worries, I was just… working.”

He clears his throat. “I’d like to return this.”

You accept the book from him, recognizing it as one of his previous ILL’s.

“Thank you.”

A couple of students come in, saying hello to both of you before disappearing into the stacks, phones in hand, library catalog probably open in their mobile browsers. Marcus looks after them, moving his weight from one foot to the other. You put the book to the side.

“Anything else I can do for you, Professor?”

He almost jumps at the sound of your voice.

“Um, no, thank you, I have to get back to work, grad student coming to see me, um, thanks, I’ll let your know if I need anything.”

He leaves the library, and you’re almost laughing. What the hell was that?

As soon as the students have found and borrowed their books, and you’re alone in the library with Mandy, she gets up and comes over to the desk. You smile your mild customer service smile at her, but she returns it with a wry grin.

“You know that he likes you right?”

You blink, not understanding. “Excuse me?”

“Professor Pike. He likes you.”

You shake your head to show her that you have no idea what she’s talking about, and she laughs.

“Oh, come on! The way he stutters and stumbles when he’s here. And he talks about you all the time, every chance he gets.”

“He what?” Your voice goes up, and you clamp your mouth shut. Mandy nods.

“He always tells us to use the library, and ask you for help. The librarian there is really competent, we’re lucky to have such a professional at our service, that sort of thing.”

“Why do you think that means he likes me?” you ask, cheeks heating up. This is stupid, this girl is half your age, and you’re talking like both of you are in middle school.

“Because he’s super confident in class, in meetings, whenever he talks to anyone, except you.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Hello!” Mandy rolls her eyes. “Earth to librarian lady! He’s like a flustered cinnamon bun whenever he’s around you – “

“Cinnamon bun?” you interrupt her, incredulously.

“Cutie patootie in old folk speech,” Mandy smirks at you, and you scoff.

“I know what a cinnamon bun is.”

“Whatever. He comes here constantly, doesn’t he? I sit here most days, and no other faculty member visits as much. He’s here practically every day, asking you the simplest questions. He’s into you.”

“I… don’t know what you’re talking about, Mandy,” you mumble, hands fidgeting in your lap.

“Alright, if you say so,” she smirks. “But I know what I’d do if I were you.”

Later, when she leaves the library, wishing you a good weekend, you open up the browser window again, Pike smiling charmingly at you from his profile picture. You look at it for a long time before logging out, and getting up to reshelf returns.

Friday afternoon in the library makes for slow hours. It’s usually empty – even Mandy has left – and while it gives you the opportunity to prepare for next week, there are Fridays when you’d rather just close up, if you could, and go home early.

A quarter to four, when you’re impatiently tapping your foot for closing time, Marcus Pike shows up again. Mandy’s words echo in your head, making you nervous for the first time, but you manage to suppress that, instead turning on your professional persona.

“Back so soon?” you ask him lightly

“Yeah, I need a book.” He seems to understand himself how stupid that sounded.

“You’ve come to the right place.”

He tells you the title, and you look it up.

“It’s in, call number N5198-5299,” you inform him, then looking up at his hesitant expression. “It’s in the corner over there.”

“Um, could you show me? I’m not good at this.”

“Okay.” You get up and walk around the desk. “But it’s a class that you use a lot, Professor, you should be accustomed to it by now.”

“Marcus.”

“What’s that?”

“Call me Marcus. I don’t much like titles anyway.”

“Uh-huh.”

You take him to the right stacks, walking in between the heavy cases. It’s a tight squeeze, this one, and the book is located further in. You pick it out, and turn around, only to find Marcus standing right behind you.

You’ve been in this situation before, many times even. Worst times were when you worked in the city library, and creeps would crowd you between the stacks, not trying anything but coming closer than necessary.

Your heart misses a beat, but you’re not uncomfortable. Instead, you smell something familiar and comforting, something besides old paper, leather covers, and ink. It takes you a moment to realize that it’s Marcus’s cologne, the corduroy, his shampoo: earthy but fresh, a little like the forest after rain, but with an undertone of old leather armchair.

You wet your lips, and hold up the book he asked for.

“Your book.”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t take it, so you lower your hand. He clears his throat, but this time, he doesn’t look away, but straight into your eyes.

“I was wondering…”

“Yeah?” you breathe.

“There’s this classic movie festival this weekend, and I was wondering…”

“If I wanted to go with you?” you finish his sentence for him, as he takes too long for you to wait. He blinks, then smiles that sweet smile again.

“Exactly. Yes. Would you?”

“I’d like that.”

“Really?” The smile seems to broaden even more.

“Sure. Tomorrow?”

“Perfect. I can pick you up, if you want to. At six?”

“Perfect,” you echo, now smiling widely yourself. He exhales, like he’s been holding his breath this entirely time.

“Perfect.”

The desk phone rings, startling both of you. The book falls from your hand, and you look down at it, then up at Marcus.

“I need to get that.”

“Of course,” he nods. You make a little movement with your head.

“I need to get past you, Marcus?”

“Oh, yes, of course, sorry.”

He backs out from between the cases, letting you out as well. His cologne seems to rub off on your arm when you brush past him, hurrying to the desk. You answer the phone and try to focus on the person calling, take a couple of notes, and end the call just as Marcus comes walking to the desk, book in hand. You check it out for him, give him your number, and he smiles again as he thanks you. You follow him to the door so that you can close up after him.

“I’ll call,” he promises as he steps out. You nod, hand on the door handle.

“Looking forward to it.”

He raises the book as a farewell, then starts walking down the corridor. You’re about to close the door when you suddenly step out, calling his name.

“Marcus!”

He turns around immediately, and now that he’s standing with his back straight, instead of hunched over, you notice how tall and broad-shouldered he is.

“Yes?”

“For the record… you’re into me, right?”

He chuckles, his ears turning pink. “Yeah, I’m into you.”

“Just checking,” you grin. “See you tomorrow.”

[chezzywezzy]

Yandere Gwi-Nam (1/4)

Word Count: 3.9k

I remembered that I actually wrote this whole thing for fun several months ago. Might as well use this for an easy peasy ease back into society.

R stared at the email on her phone, her brain scrambling to make sense of the Korean typo in the email. Although she stood in the main hallway, gathering many stares from the native Korean high school students, the posted signs were not the most helpful.

She took in her surroundings once again, adjusting her old and well-loved frog backpack, loaded with stationery. The hoard of students desperate to make it to class on time sometimes collided, and R was astounded at the sheer student population of the public high school. Unlike from her home country, the high school seemed well-funded and quite modern, even compared to the college she was actively attending at home — which had given her this opportunity abroad. The atmosphere made R somewhat anxious.

R sighed, deciding the best course of action — after a few failed attempts of grabbing a frantic student’s attention — was to go to the right and follow past the principal’s office. R’s entire goal was to find the teacher’s lounge. And although one might think to ask the principal, she was terrified of making a poor first impression. 

The hallway had grown vacant and silent, only the sound of her footsteps echoing. She noticed her tattoo cover-up sleeves were scrunching slightly, and while walking, looked down to adjust it.

She suddenly heard loud, quick footsteps come from behind. Just as she went to glance over her shoulder, a hard shoulder smashed into her back and knocked R forward onto the ground. She scraped her knees, which created instant panic. As she scrambled to sit and inspect her knee, there was a cruel snicker.

R scowled, recognizing the tear in her leg sleeve. Luckily, R was always analy OCD and overprepared, and knew she could clip it with a pin and hide it under her knee-length black skirt. 

Two shoes stopped in front of her. R looked up, unamused. A student who looked far more mature than his peers by a few years toward her with black banks and a Korean-styled mullet. As she was still adjusting from her native tongue to Korean, his words did not register at first.

R’s scowl disappeared as she intently focused on the words.

“Since when does our school let in foreign [unknown]?” he sneered.

R blinked, only assuming it was foul language spitting from his mouth, and rolled her eyes. “You are making a bad first impression on a new teacher.” She intentionally left out the assistant.

She watched as his breath and stance stiffened. “Shit.” He glanced her over, a slight smirk growing. “The school must be desperate if they took in a foreign [whore] with fake hair and tattoos.”

R’s eyes widened and her cheeks darkened, pulling the dark brown wig over her head to hide her brightly dyed hair. She finally brushed herself off and pinned the sleeves together. R returned to her feet, only then recognizing the slight burn in her knees.

“Listen, kid. How about you mind your business and I’ll mind mine? I can already tell you’re an asshole, so I’d recommend you get to your class before I bring you with me to the principal’s office for harassment.”

The student sneered and crossed his arms. There was a momentary tense staredown before he seemed to loosen up, clicking his tongue and walking off — but not without snatching one of her decorative to-do list papers. R sighed, not caring enough to pursue her to-do list. She already seemed fairly unprofessional with her frog backpack, so a pink sticky note with Hello Kitty on it was better off left out of sight.

Despite the aggravating experience, R continued on her way, plastering a smile on her face. Eventually, she found the teacher’s office empty. However, a teacher named Ms. Park had left a name on the door with R’s name and the classroom number. R sighed with relief, heading off to the classroom.

R burst through the classroom door. Ms. Park had been speaking, but all went silent except for the muttering of students. R was nervous, but as time passed, the classroom became as familiar as any other.

~~~

R blasted her somewhat generic pop playlist since the old songs from the 2000s never grew old to her. She was chowing down on her boxed lunch, which was cutely styled like everything else: a Hello Kitty lunchbox, as she succumbed to capitalistic desires of that brand easily. 

The concrete, half-built foundation was where she went during the lunch period to get some peace and quiet. During the semester, construction had been placed to a halt except for weekends, as there were frequent noise complaints from school staff and students. To R, it was her perfect hide-away location from prying eyes.

As she finished up her homemade kimbap — an accomplishment R was proud of — Shake It Off began echoing from her phone. R grinned, and she stood up. She sang poorly, but sang with it regardless, even incorporating some equally poor dance moves during the chorus.

R halted mid-song as her stomach had a sharp, sudden pain, hissing loudly and grasping her stomach. She cursed under her breath.

“Eh? How unathletic are you? How embarrassing.”

R gasped in fright, swerving to face the onlooker. She sighed out of relief, recognizing the infamous rule-breaker from her classroom (although he rarely attended class). R had a neutral opinion of the boy, as he was notoriously the “bully’s gopher,” but hadn’t ratted her out or spread any rumors about her unprofessional underbelly. 

“At least I’m more athletic than the gym instructor,” R shot back, noticing that the stomach pain had left.

Gwi-nam’s eyebrows raised, adorning a cheeky grin. He often put up an air of unapproachability, but due to R’s semi-authority, it seemed he neither cared to intimidate nor to fake manners. 

“You could get fired for saying something like that.”

“I could get fired for a lot of things, kid.”

R went over and sat back on the cement steps, furrowing through her lunchbox and sipping on an internationally imported Capri Sun. Gwi-nam leaned on the crudely placed metal rails, leering over the woman. He eyed the package curiously, as well as the rest of the cutified objects.

“I’m amazed someone like you got transferred here,” Gwi-nam scoffed. “There’s nothing professional about you.”

“My college GPA, past internships, letters of recommendation, and my polyglot status say otherwise. Besides, Ms. Park says I bring a modern level of cultural diversity.”

“God, you’re full of yourself.”

“So what?” R chortled, slurping up the rest of her juice. “I deserve to be a little self-confident. I worked hard to get here.”

Gwi-nam rolled his eyes. “Whatever. What the hell are doing out here anyway? I bet you’re too weird to make any friends.”

“Not at all. I just like to eat alone,” R insisted. “Why are you here, kid? Don’t you have anywhere else to be or lunch to be eating?”

“I don’t have friends. Just people I hang out with.”

“Hm. Well, how about some bribery to get you back with your people? Here’s a chocolate bar.”

~~~

R handed the student sitting next to her a tiny container of cut canteloupe and some chopsticks. “At this rate, you owe me an entire hot pot.”

Gwi-nam snatched the bowl, immediately digging in hungrily. “No way,” he grumbled with a full mouth. “That would count as taking advantage of a student. Besides, with how fat you’ve gotten, you obviously have some food to spare.”

R clicked her tongue angrily, swatting Gwi-nam’s neck. “How dare you comment on a woman’s wait like that. With those manners, it’s no wonder why you don’t have a girlfriend.”

The comment made her feel somewhat insecure regardless. Gwi-nam wasn’t wrong. R had been wearing baggier shirts recently, as no matter how much she exercised or ate healthily, it hardly impacted the small stomach bump she had developed in the last two months. The only explanation was that it was from poor sleep, stress, and overworking. 

“I’m too busy for that.”

“Too busy because you’re beating up some helpless classmate, right? Don’t think I don’t notice when your knuckles are all messed up. You’re called the bully’s gopher for a reason.”

“You fucking bitch,” Gwi-nam sneered,“ don’t call me that. Just because you know a fucking language doesn’t mean I won’t kill you.”

R sent a glare before snatching back the cantaloupe from him. “God, you’re rude and sensitive.”

“As if. Now give me my food back.”

She rolled her eyes. She very much assumed he had home problems and had taken some level of pity on him since the boy showed up in the building every day since their first encounter and had neither friends nor food. But after enduring an all-nighter, she didn’t feel like putting up with his foul attitude.

R shoved her food back into the lunchbox and stood up. As she did so, Gwi-nam’s hands latched onto R, causing her to almost trip. Gwi-nam shouted in irritation, but the sensation of standing had made R feel dizzy enough not to notice. Black dots clouded her vision and she stumbled forward slightly.

“Hey!” Gwi-nam exclaimed, grabbing and pulling her back to the step. 

R sat, and it felt as though her stomach vibrated with agony. She let out a hiss of pain and laid back, the lunchbox long forgotten. R gasped and rubbed her stomach, feeling a sudden leaking sensation. It was as though her stomach was hollowing out.

“What’s wrong?” Gwi-nam huffed, aiding in lowering her slowly onto the steps. 

“I… I don’t know — I feel…”

“What the fuck —!”

R was confused, focusing on nothing but the sharp cramps. But as Gwi-nam scampered away, R twisted her head up to see what he was looking at. R screeched as she noticed a waterfall of bloody blobs leaking from her white skirt. R reached for her phone but barely felt the ability to move from the cramps. It was as though her period was on blast.

“Call a fucking ambulance!” R shrieked, to which Gwi-nam clumsily withdrew up from his pocket. 

He called 119, but nothing other than confusion was displayed in his expression. R heard the muffled voice of an operator, to which Gwi-nam stuttered in reply,“ I - I need an ambulance at the front gate of Hyosan High.” Another few seconds passed before Gwi-nam spat out a few stuttered descriptions of the emergency. 

He pocketed the phone before grabbing R’s arms and tugging her up. R grunted, a few tears sliding down her cheek. When R’s legs gave out, Gwi-nam scoffed in annoyance and scooped her up, trying to disregard the blood that stained his jacket.

R grasped onto him for dear life, stuttering,“ What are you doing?”

“What does it look like, stupid?”

A few minutes later, Gwi-nam arrived at the front gate at the knick of time. He flinched at how loud the sirens were as the ambulance pulled up. Nurses rolled out and helped get R into the back, with Gwi-nam deciding to get in the back.

~~~

“Ms. R, it appears you had an intense miscarriage,” the doctor informed the woman, staring at the clipboard. “You were being too hard on yourself during the pregnancy.”

R paled and shivered. “I didn’t… I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know you were pregnant?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry then. However, you should be able to head home now. Your boyfriend is waiting outside.”

“He’s not my…” R mumbled, watching the doctor walk off. 

The nurses helped R to her feet. She was thoroughly cleaned, adorning nothing but the white robe. However, with the state of her old clothing, they had been discarded with instructions to head straight home and change. R slipped on her shoes and shuffled weakly to the open doorway.

His head bobbed sleepily, Gwi-nam was sitting by the door. R wiped away her tears and softly shook his shoulder. R was surprised he had waited, as by the time everything was okayed, the sun had set. Ms. Park had called at some point, but R would deal with the repercussions of a missed afternoon session and after-school office hours when she got home.

“Gwi-nam,” R called.

His head shot up and a snort escaped. His eyes were wide and his brow furrowed. He rose, immediately eyeing her up and down. “What happened? The sons of bitches wouldn’t let me go in to see you.”

R chuckled, insecurely grasping at her stomach. “It was… just a stomach ulcer that got stuck. They had to get rid of it, that is all. I’m alright.”

Gwi-nam’s shoulders instantly relaxed. “Eh? All that blood for an ulcer?”

“It’s been growing for two months now.” R glanced around. “You should head home now. Let me get you something from the vending machine. It’s not much, but —“

“You were the one in the hospital,” he gruffly mumbled. “Besides, you were the one who said I owed you a hot pot.”

“Nonsense. Your parents are probably waiting for you.”

He snorted obnoxiously. “No, they’re not. So, let’s go.”

Gwi-nam grabbed her arm and started dragging her down the hall to the exit. R protested but with his tight, unrelinquishing hold, she gave in and joined him at a nearby convenience store. After some fuss between them, Gwi-nam was able to take what she grabbed and pay for the food together. R was as grateful as she was surprised by the student’s kindness.

When they sat at the window, R inquired quietly,“ Are you sure your parents aren’t waiting for you?”

“As if. My dad’s probably off at work while my mom’s fucking her new boyfriend in a hotel.” R frowned, to which Gwi-nam snapped,“ Hey, don’t fucking look at me like that. I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” she replied. “I’m upset. You deserve better people in your life.”

Gwi-nam tried not to show that the comment had taken him aback, covering it up with a glare and a scoff. However, despite his best cover-up, R noticed how blood rushed to his cheeks. R sent him a sweet smile, unaware of just how impacted Gwi-nam was.

~~~

The door to the classroom slid open loudly, and without looking, R stated,” It’s not like you to be so early for our sessions, Cheong-san.”

When R received no reply, she looked up. She was taken aback to find Gwi-nam standing at the entrance, harboring an unsure and anxious expression with his backpack shouldered. R tilted her head and sent a smile.

“Gwi-nam, come sit. How can I help you?”

“I need help with English, obviously.”

R chuckled as the man plopped into the seat next to hers, backpack on the floor. “I assumed. I was more so asking what you need help with for English.”

“Oh. Uh, with… the homework.”

R found it endearing how nervous he was, glancing constantly at the door. She knew he would rather be caught dead than at a study session, but was incredibly proud of his courage. Gwi-nam pulled out the paper. The class was assigned various Robert Frost poems to decipher. Gwi-nam had been assigned to Stopping by Woods. And instead of just using a translator, Gwi-nam came to R.

“Do you need help with the grammar functions?” R inquired.

Gwi-nam nodded, grabbing a pen. R began explaining the concepts and switching words to make the sentences more comprehensible to a foreign speaker. Gwi-nam was surprisingly attentive until a ding came from R’s phone.

R glanced briefly at the notification, noticing the time. “Ah. I have a scheduled student appointment in a few minutes, so I have to cut this short. Can I pen you in for next Monday?”

“Eh? Why?”

“So that you can come again. If you do, I’ll even bring you a snack. How does three-thirty sound?”

Gwi-nam shoved his notes back in begrudgingly. “Whatever,” he muttered, not meeting R’s eyes.

“Great! See you then. Get home safe, Gwi-nam.”

He didn’t reply, quickly shuffling into the hallway. R’s heart warmed, and a part of her felt somewhat proud that she was making an impact on her student’s life to some capacity.

~~~

R awoke with a gasp, clasping at her bedsheets. It took not a moment after for her alarm to go blaring in her ears. She immediately shut it off and focused on regaining her breath. 

Everything was going well in Korea. Work, friends, lifestyle, school (as exhausting as it was to be doing college at the same time as her transfer abroad) — all except the overlying issue.

R had managed to attract a stalker. 

It started small, and she was convinced it was a student of hers. She constantly felt watched when nobody was around. Things would go missing from her bag or desk. Then one day, while she was in the office on her own, she glanced over and saw a shadowed figure staring through a crack in the door.

That’s when things seemed to escalate, especially the paranoia. She became more organized with her things and knew when things would disappear. She carried a safety weapon at all times. Sometimes, when a hooded man followed her for a stretch, she’d break for a run.

And then things escalated again — one day, the hooded man ran, too.

That was when, after calling Ms. Park in distress, they went to the police together. R knew that Korea tended not to take cases like her’s seriously, and it’s not as though she knew how to talk to a police officer that well.

With thorough convincing from Ms. Park, they kept an eye on the neighborhood R lived in from time to time. But that hardly seemed to do any good, because that was when R noticed that hooded man outside her apartment building. And then outside her apartment.

R invested in every home safety feature. Door cameras, motion-detecting lights, and a silent break-in alarm if it came to it.

She was terrified and was considering moving, to say the least. Calling the police was a lost cause since they “couldn’t do anything with the footage” and “a crime hadn’t happened yet.”

So R lived in fear. The stalker had even invaded her nightmares.

When R grabbed her phone, she noticed that one of her bear-shaped sticky notes was beside the phone. She went through her notifications before she roused herself. And only then did she notice the content of the sticky note.

Written in messy, almost intelligible Korean, was written ‘The cops can’t do shit.’

R shrieked. She noticed her underwear drawer was ajar. She noticed that her lights had been unscrewed. And the silent alarm hadn’t been triggered. R was a mess getting ready for work, taking photos of the various evidence. And although she tried to compose herself on the subway, she was still a wreck when she got to campus.

As she walked past the school gates, she gasped when a fist punched her shoulder suddenly. R veered her body toward the culprit, recognizing Gwi-nam immediately. He wore a casual expression.

“Gwi-nam,” R stated, recovering from her shock – and momentarily forgetting her troubles.

The student clicked his tongue, motioning to his head. “Your hair is falling off, teacher.”

“Ah!” R, embarrassed, readjusted the wig furiously. “Better?”

His nostrils flared and he eyed her up and down. He nodded.

“Thank you. I hope to see you in class later.”

R walked away, feeling her student’s eyes follow her intensely.

Only then did the panic come back. She was in a rush, greeting students only briefly until she arrived at the teacher’s office. R wrapped her arms around Ms. Park from behind, who jolted in shock.

“R!” she exclaimed. 

“Help.”

R released her and handed the now attentive Ms. Park her phone. The woman scrolled through the photos, growing paler by the second. She handed the phone back.

“You can’t stay there anymore.”

“I know that — but my landlord won’t accept it as a reason to break the lease. My credit score will be destroyed.”

“Fuck the credit score!” Other teachers glared, causing Ms. Park to clear her throat and compose herself. “You have to move out today. I’ll help you after class.”

“My assignment will be late.”

“R. This is not up for negotiation. So stop worrying and let’s leave this for after school.”

She nodded, blinking away the blurred tears. She sat at her desk, rummaging through her items quickly. Ms. Park nudged her, a twinkle in her eye.

“You know, you’re out here doing miracle work for our students. I was checking class B’s overall grades, and I found that On-jo has gone from a D+ to a B-. And even better, Gwi-nam somehow went from failing to a B+. I’m sure you’ll get a bonus from the principal for all your hard work at the end of the school year.”

R smiled, some of her uneasiness lifting off her shoulders from the news.

~~~

Much to R’s dismay, it quickly became apparent that R had forgotten to pack a lunch. She had grabbed her lunch box, but the contents were nonexistent. Thus, R knew she’d have to head down to the cafeteria vending machine grab some carbohydrate-filled junk, and break the bad news to Gwi-nam.

On her way, she noticed Gwi-nam leaning on a wall on his phone. R hummed, approaching. Gwi-nam immediately noticed, eyes glued to her figure. R paused in front of him, fumbling with her fingers.

“Well, Gwi-nam, I… woke up late this morning, so I didn’t pack a lunch. Do you have money for the vending machine?”

“Eh? Late? How unprofessional.”

R rolled her eyes. I’ll take that as a yes. Just make sure you eat.” R spun to head over to the cafeteria before pausing. “Oh, one more thing. I’m proud of you and the progress you’ve made in class, Gwi-nam. I hope you know that.”

She walked over to the cafeteria, not noticing how the student gulped and his cheeks grew red, unable to tear his gaze away from the woman.

The cafeteria was crowded and R struggled to evade students. She replied to greetings from students and eventually made it to the vending machine. R checked her phone as a goofy lunch wrap slowly unraveled. Alas, the lunch period was already fifteen minutes through.

The wrap was nearly loose, sliding down the front. It did so slowly, and R nearly screamed when she realized it was about to stop moving.

R had had a bad enough day and kicked the machine. Just like that, the wrap plopped down. As R grabbed it, the noise level in the cafeteria skyrocketed. R swerved to observe the commotion and was unprepared for what she saw. A hoard of students were flying through the glass entrance, until students suddenly slammed it shut, locking out a small group. Screams echoed, and despite the unknowing threat, R dashed toward the entrance, shoving her wrap into her skirt pocket.

And that was when another hoard approached. Students covered in blood ran at the group, and although they tried to run, the students caught them. Blood spewed against the glass, and R shrieked. Although R was frozen in place, everyone around her was running amock in panic from the sudden brutal attack. 

R stood just on the other side of the pane, not far from the front door. Students ran, and then so did the blood-covered students. The doors went crashing open, and R’s life flashed before her eyes as a student she immediately recognized pounced at her.

[k-germsworld]

Blackmailing the model

Sowon x M!Reader

2.4k words

Sowon is a little-known model. Although she doesn't have many events, she earns a lot from the ones she does. She also has a beautiful face and a curvy figure. It is not an exaggeration to describe her as having an angel's face and a devil's figure. This also makes her a little-known model. 

One day, Sowon participated in a photo shoot for an endorsement. Everything went smoothly until the end. After thanking the staff, she went backstage to change her clothes. She picked up her change of clothes and went to the dressing room, only to find that all the other dressing rooms were locked. Sowon reluctantly went to use that dressing room. But she didn't know that there was a hidden camera in the only dressing room she could use, and her entire changing process was recorded. 

"What the fuck... her body is too hot. “What if.... I can make her be mine ?” He smirked and watched Sowon changing clothes and had a bad thought about her. The next day, Sowon received an email. She thought it was a job offer and opened it. Only then did she realize that the email was actually a video of her changing clothes. She was very panicked, and she saw a message below the video: "If you don't want this video to be leaked, come to this address to find me.” This address was where the endorsement shooting took place yesterday, and she rushed there after she found out. When she arrived, she found no one there. Just as she thought she was being tricked and was about to leave, a voice came from behind.

“Welcome, Sowon ssi.” The owner of that voice is the PD who filmed yesterday. "I'm already here. What do you want to do with that video? Delete it now.” She said to him angrily. "Calm down, Sowon ssi.” He said to Sowon in a joking tone. “ "I'm warning you, you'd better delete that video immediately. Otherwise, I will definitely sue you.” She wanted him to delete the video as soon as possible to avoid any more trouble. "Calm down, don't be nervous. As long as you listen to me, I will delete the video. And I advise you not to call the police, otherwise, I will accidentally post this video online and your reputation will be ruined.” Sowon didn't want this video to be spread on the internet, so she had to listen to what the PD wanted from her. "What do you want? Money? If it's money, how much do you want? I can give you 5 million won.” He smirked and shook his fingers. "Money is not important to me. What I want more is you.” She felt confused after hearing this. “Me ?” "Yes, you! Your body is so good and your beautiful pussy shape makes me think about it all the time.” She felt very sick after hearing this. She knew that the PD wanted to fuck her from what he said, but she would never let that happen. “What do you want other than me?” Sowon calmly asked the PD. "I don't want anything but you!” The PD suddenly took off his pants, revealing his cock, which had been hard for a long time, in front of Sowon. "You see, my cock is already so hard for you, Sowon ssi.” PD is now stroking his cock while looking at Sowon. Sowon feels so disgusting to see PD masturbating in front of her.

Even so, she was so frightened by the PD's sudden action that she stood there dumbfounded. He saw her standing still, so he walked towards Sowon's direction. She backed away slowly but PD still got close to her. PD took her hand and placed it on his cock and guided her hand to start stroking his cock. "Your hands are so good at stroking my cock!" Sowon tried to run away but her hands were held and she couldn't. If she tried to run away, he would pull her back. "Don't even think about running away unless you make me enjoy first." He continued to guide her hand to stroke his cock until he felt Sowon's hand begin to move on its own and then he let go of her hand. ”Ah…. Yes. Do it like this and make me cum！” Sowon stroked his cock unwillingly. But in his eyes, Sowon was so beautiful that even stroking his cock unwillingly made him very horny. Moreover, her clothes were tight, which revealed the shape of her breasts in front of him. He unconsciously reached out to touch her breasts but was stopped by Sowon. "What do you want to do? Didn't we agree that I would just make you cum only? Don’t even think about touching me." PD instantly withdrew his hand and continued to enjoy her hand constantly stroking his cock. Guys can never resist a beautiful woman stroking their dick so is PD. “Ah…. I am about to cum…. Ahh….!” He holds the cock in his hand just before he gets close to cumming and cums all over Sowon's legs. Although Sowon didn't want to have her legs stained with this dirty semen, she had no choice but to endure it in order to delete the video. “It’s so great to cum on this beautiful long leg.” He looked in admiration at his cum all over her legs. "I let you cum, shouldn't you also fulfill your promise and delete the video?" He smirked when he heard it. "Who said I would delete the video after you made me cum?" Sowon suddenly felt cheated. "Didn't we agree that you would delete the video if I let you cum?" Her tone sounded a little angry and aggrieved. PD again shook his finger. "You are still too naive, Sowon Ssi. Just now I said that I would delete it only if you let me enjoy it first, but I haven't fully enjoyed it yet." 

"You're a sick liar." As Sowon thinks of other ways, the PD pushes her against the wall. He collected the semen on her legs and put it into her mouth. Sowon tried to resist but couldn't. "How is it? Does this cum taste good?"  She didn't want to answer him because she was forced to eat it. After she was made to swallow that cum, he kissed her and he tried to put his tongue into her mouth. Although she couldn't stop him from kissing her, she kept her mouth tightly closed to prevent him from putting his tongue in. But it was all in vain as he pressed hard on her cheeks, forcing her mouth to open. He kept pushing his tongue in and kept sucking her tongue. Sowon's mouth was full of PD's saliva, and drool was also flowing out of the corners of her mouth. When he found out, he licked the saliva clean and praised it as delicious. “Your lip is so soft and sweet. Your drool is like a nectar." 

His hands were restlessly groping her breasts. "They're so big and soft!" He took off her shirt, and those breasts were perfectly displayed in front of him. PD couldn't bear the temptation of these breasts and buried his head in them. While enjoying her tits, he also removed her bra to expose her nipples. He stopped enjoying her tits and started playing with her nipples. He kept teasing her nipples with his fingers until they were completely hard. "You are so sensitive, Sowon ssi. Look at your nipples are already fully hard." Although Sowon hated to let the PD touch her body, his teasing skills made her moan non-instinctively. “Uh… Stop… please…” He ignored Sowon's attempts to stop him, which only made him more excited. He buried his head between her breasts again and began to lick her nipples. As he licked, his hand slid slowly down her body to her navel and sneaked into her pants to touch her pussy. PD felt that her pussy was already very wet. He pulled his hand out of her pants and showed her the goo between his fingers. "Look how wet you are now. Your mouth says no, but your body is honest." Sowon kept shaking her head to show her disapproval. But the PD put his finger with goo into Sowon's mouth and let her taste her juices. Sowon unconsciously licked his finger with goo in a very erotic way. PD could feel her tongue licking every inch of his fingers. Seeing this, he became even more aroused. He took out his finger and quickly kissed it. This time Sowon did not resist, but took the initiative to put her tongue into his mouth. After kissing for a while, Sowon finally reacted and pushed PD away. He was still savouring the taste of her lips and looking at her. "I didn't expect you to be so proactive. I didn't expect that the innocent and beautiful model is such a slut inside.“ 

"No, I'm not a slut. You can't slander me like that. I just... just..." Although Sowon wanted to object vehemently, she couldn't think of a good reason to defend herself.  "Just what? Just admit that you are a slut." He removed her pants and panties and began to touch her wet pussy. "Look how wet your pussy is. That's enough to prove you're a slut." Sowon shook her head desperately to deny this statement, but the PD ignored her and instead squatted down and began to lick her pussy. Although she didn't want to be humiliated by him like this, she enjoyed the feeling of her pussy being licked and she inadvertently let out a moan.  Hearing her moan, he became more excited and licked her more attentively. He felt that he could not satisfy Sowon with just his mouth, so he inserted his fingers into her vagina to give her a double stimulation. “Ah… no… please…. Ah!!” Hearing these sounds turned him on even more and he increased his speed until she squirted. Her juices sprayed all over the floor, some even onto PD's face. But he didn't wipe it off right away and instead liked her juices. He stuck to her again to suck her juices again. Those juices were so delicious for him. “Fuck, it’s so salty but it’s tasty because it is from you.” He smirked. He stood up and looked at her. Although Sowon avoided his gaze, PD still kissed her again with his smelly mouth. 

During the kiss, Sowon kept resisting but failed and was pushed onto the table by him. She is now bending over on the table now. Her perfectly shaped ass was perfectly visible to him. His cock was now even harder at the sight. Just as she was about to get up, he had already pushed her down on the table again. He aimed his cock at her wet pussy and inserted it. ”Ah…. Stop please….” The moment it penetrated, Sowon seemed to be about to cry. Her virginity had been destroyed by this disgusting man. “Oh my god, Sowon. Your pussy is so hot and tight. Its so great to fuck you.” Even so, PD didn't think of stopping. He started pumping her pussy. His hands were already on her tits, playing with her breasts as he pumped her. When he got used to her tightness, he slowly increased the speed. Sowon kept begging him to stop in a crying voice, but he seemed to enjoy Sowon's pitiful pleading. "Don't cry, sex is a very pleasant thing. I will make you feel so good that you will want to do it again and again.” Although she tried desperately to stop him, she collapsed on the table due to the pleasure brought by the thrusting and was continuously thrusted by the PD. 

Just looking at Sowon's back while fucking her could no longer satisfy PD's desire to conquer her. So he turned Sowon over and made her lie on the table. Her model-like figure, plump breasts and well-proportioned body make him never get tired of looking at her. He couldn't wait to empty his sperm into her. He continued to fuck her and lay on top of her licking her tits. She was no longer able to put up any resistance, all she could do was moan. She could only feel his disgusting saliva all over her body. After enjoying her tits, he put her legs on his shoulders so that he could reach deeper. “Fuck… Sowon, your inside is so tight.” “AH…… so deep….” She moaned super loudly when she felt him hitting her clitoris. He felt that he was about to cum, so he grabbed her waist and thrust harder.  Her body was already filled with a lot of sweat, and PD's sweat kept dripping onto Sowon's body as he thrusted. "It's time to fill you up!" "Please, don't cum inside '' After saying that, he ignored her and shot all the semen he had saved for a long time into Sowon's body. He took his cock out and saw that it was full of his cum inside her pussy. The cum kept flowing out of her pussy. He watched it all with satisfaction, leaving Sowon lying on the table gasping for air.

"Are you satisfied? Delete those videos quickly." She didn't care about anything else, she just wanted the PD to delete the video of her changing clothes as soon as possible. "I've been fucking you for so long, I almost forgot to delete it." Just as he turned on his computer and watched the video again, he broke the pledge. "I'm sorry, Sowon. I decided not to delete it." She was very angry after hearing what he said because he broke his promise. “You fucking bastard, you break the…..” She didn't even finish her words before the PD stuffed his dick into her mouth again. "Shut up, bitch. Who allowed you to talk to me like that? From today on, you are my sex slave. If you don't let me fuck you, this video of yours will be spread on the internet . Hahaha!!" Sowon listened to this devilish laughter which made her very angry but she couldn't resist. Soon, PD shot another stream of hot semen into her mouth.　From then on, every time they had a shoot, Sowon was asked to come to the set early and let the PD fuck as much as he can.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Summer Breeze 8

Warnings: age gap (reader is 22, Andrew is mid 40s), dad’s friend, Andy being Andrew, other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

You leave your dad as the doctor goes through some tests with him. You sit out in the hall and stare at the panted brick. It’s so bad. He looks so vacant. He recognises you but he didn’t even remember the cottage. It took him a while to pick out Andy and he just called him the new neighbour. 

Your chest feels constricted and your head pounds each time you catch yourself holding your breath. A gentle weight on your leg startles you. You didn’t even realise Andy was sitting right there with you. 

“You okay?” He asks. You’re getting tired of that question. You’re not. 

“Yeah, uh,” you shake your head and swallow, “I... should call the insurance. The nurse mentioned something about it.” 

“Sure, sure, well, we can go grab your phone and I already gave all your dad’s info at the desk. His wallet’s in the room.” 

“Okay, yeah, I... need all that.” 

You’re just moving through the motions. Those walls are maddening. It’s all you’ve seen for the last day, almost two. You’re going to go crazy from the noise of alarms and call bells and beeping and whirring and everything. 

When you have your dad’s wallet and your phone, you leave Andy. It’s as good an excuse to have some space as it is to actually do something useful. You sit outside on the curb and breathe in the open air. It doesn’t taste like sanitizer and latex. It’s refreshing but chilling. 

You dial out to the number on the back of your father’s insurance card and smooth out the first night’s invoice. You wait on hold, the droning music itchy in your ears. When at last an agent picks up, you answer their questions. 

“Mm, yes, I see here the hospital submitted the claim. The admitting paper work is here on file,” the agent says, “it says the patient had a blood alcohol content above the legal limit. Some sort of motorized vehicle accident?” 

“A jet-ski, yeah,” you answer, blinking as acid brews in your stomach. 

“Right, right, so reviewing everything, the details we got from the healthcare provider and yourself, the cost of the room will be covered up to sixty percent and any diagnostics and testing do not qualify for coverage.” 

“What?” You puff out, “that doesn’t make sense. He has insurance.” 

“His insurance doesn’t cover injuries sustained under the influence of intoxicating substances. It’s typical insurance policy. You can access the terms under his account number through our app. If you have an email, I would be happy to forward a copy--” 

“No, no, this can’t--” You press your palm to your forehead as panic swirls in your chest and chokes you, “how... how are we going to pay for all this?” 

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, I wish I had an answer for that, but I can only speak on eligibility--” 

“I know,” you cut off sharply, “I know. I’m not—I'm sorry, I’m upset. Thank you. Thanks. I... have a good day.” 

You hang up and have to keep from throwing the phone. God, you always knew your dad’s drinking would get him hurt and now it’s going to bankrupt him. You nearly keel over at the thought of your tuition washing down the drain. It’s a selfish concern but you have three years behind you, you’re so close to the finish line. 

Who cares about a degree. You can’t lose your dad. You rub your eyes until they stop tingling and get up. You tamp down your distress and head inside. 

You approach your father’s room and find Andy waiting outside. He sits up as you near. He gives a tight-lipped expression, somewhere between a frown and a smile. You fold up the bill and and your dad’s wallet and clutch it against your phone. 

“Everything okay?” He asks. 

You’re so tired. You blow out between your lips. He’s done enough. He doesn’t need to worry about this. 

“Yeah, uh, yeah, just sitting on hold forever,” you grumble. “How’s dad?” 

“I think he’s doing alright. They said they need to do a bit more. Do some scans. X-rays, MRI, stuff like that. He’s going to be here for a while.” 

“Oh, I... makes sense,” your lips trembles and you make it stop. Each night is more money. You tuck the wallet and phone into your pocket. “I’m going to check on him.” 

“Okay, want me to come?” 

“No,” you say abruptly. “No, I just... want a moment.” 

“Sure, sweetheart, whatever you need.” 

You go inside the room and find your dad with his eyes closed. You stop beside his bead and stare. The large bandage around his head reminds you of the damage done. Damage that likely can’t be undone. 

“What’re you staring at?” He opens his eyes. 

You give a start and cough, “sorry, dad, I... I was checking on you.” 

“You look like crap,” he says in his blunt way. That makes you laugh. “Andy says you been chasing your tail all around.” 

“I... I’m worried.” 

“I hit my noggin, I’ll be fine. Don’t worry, I’ll have you back in time for prom.” 

You shy away as if you’ve been slapped. You search his face. He’s not kidding. 

“Dad, I... I finished high school three years ago.” 

His face slackens and fear ripples over him, “three years?” 

You touch his arm, “it’s okay. The doctor said it will take you some time to get back to normal.” 

“Mmm,” he hums, “yeah, I don’t feel very normal.” 

You’re quiet. What can you say? You’re as scared as he looks. 

“You gotta go,” he says suddenly, “get some sleep.” 

“What? No, I’ll stay and sleep here.” 

“On the floor? Nah, don’t be dumb,” he looks towards the door. You follow his gaze and find Andy watching, “Andy, you take her and make her get some sleep. You can come back tomorrow, kiddo.” 

“But--” 

“Now don’t be stubborn. You get that from me,” he points at you but his hand is weak and shaky. “’sides, I’m tired.” 

“No problem, Doug,” Andy says as he breaks the threshold, “we all need to rest up, huh?” 

You look between them and hide your chagrin. You don’t appreciate Andy listening in like that. You’re sure he’s just concerned but his help is starting to turn suffocating. 

[ludolka]

The interview (an alt vers h&hau fanfic)

Word count; 2854

Summary; Two reporters, Scott and Pearl finally get an interview with one of the most polarizing and notorious vigilantes of their city, Xelqua. It all goes downhill

Trigger warnings; referenced character death, grief, implied suicidal ideation, domestic terrorism

This is a hurt/no comfort fic with Gri descending into madness. You can read this au’s master post here

[ Disclaimer ; these are fictional characters in a fictional world I wrote, who are in no way representative of or based on real people, they only share online names and resemblance to MC skins. I treat them like ocs ]

Pearl and Scott nervously looked at the laptop in front of them. They were already live with the share monitor function turned on, so the viewers at home could easily see the monitor on their screens. They were sitting in a zoom meeting, only their account present so far while they waited for their interviewee to join. They had sent him the link through email and already agreed on the time, all they had to do now was to wait

“Are we sure it really was him that Gem emailed with?”

Scott joked, trying to play it cool, but he was very much doubtful. He exchanged glances with Pearl, who just shrugged. They received an email last night from someone who was claiming to be Xelqua. The Xelqua, the one they have been trying their hardest to score an interview with for years, but he was unreachable. He didn’t have an official email because why would he and he was so secretive about his civilian identity that they had no chance of finding his contact information, much less him himself. The only times they managed to talk to him were when they got to a fight scene in time and he was still there, within earshot

They both silently gasped when an account popped up in their Zoom meeting, with its camera off and the name “Qua”. They still weren’t sure if this was the real deal or someone either playing a joke on them or impersonating him, but they were desperate to talk to him, so they took the risk. Especially now since Xelqua seemingly dropped off the face of the Earth, he hasn’t been seen in a month now which wasn’t his usual schedule

“Hello? Are we speaking with Xelqua?”

Pearl tried to put on a confident face, but her voice sounded hesitant. Scott shifted in his chair next to her, looking at the monitor intensely

“Hello, yes, that’s me”

That was Xelqua’s voice, even though he sounded raspier and less energetic than he usually did based on the few recordings that existed of him and how witnesses described his voice who heard him in real life. Pearl and Scott were a bit taken aback, they weren’t actually expecting to hear his voice, as strained as it sounded

“Fantastic! We were worried we weren’t emailing with you. Could you turn on your camera, just to make sure?”

Pearl quickly gathered herself and tilted her head to the side, focusing on the faceless icon in front of her. She wasn’t sure how much she could ask for, as much as it was their show and their interview, Xelqua still had the opportunity to just disappear and she wasn’t sure if they’d be able to reach him again

“Yeah, sure, just give me a couple of minutes”

Scott and Pearl looked at each other, in a bit of a daze and smiled. They really weren’t sure how this interview would go, but so far Xelqua seemed cooperative and friendly. Or at least not condescending or hostile, which was a plus. While they waited with ruffling and footsteps heard on the other line, Pearl turned her attention to the laptop’s camera to address the viewers

“Dear viewers, it has finally happened, we finally have Xelqua on our show. He contacted us last night and our lovely camerawoman and manager, Gem talked with him and set up this meeting for us”

Just as she finished her sentence the ruffling came back on the other line and the camera got turned on. Xelqua frowned as he checked if he could see himself and the others before he sat back in a black computer chair. His computer seemed to be on a desk or a table and he was wearing a large green hoodie and his mask, his wings bright purple and somewhat frazzled, just like his hair. He wasn’t in his usual costume and didn’t bother putting on his hood, seemingly deciding his mask was enough. The background wasn’t visible, he had a dark grey sheet or blanket hanging behind him

“Oh, it really is you!”

Scott sounded enthusiastic with a big smile and his voice was a pitch higher than usual. Xelqua just gave him an emotionless half smile and nodded. He seemed tired. Pearl cleared her throat and tried to get into the interviewer position

“We’re happy to have you here with us, at least digitally. You reached out to us, may I ask why?”

Xelqua nervously rubbed the back of his head and nodded, seemingly in thought. Pearl was a bit surprised, this Xelqua in front of them was a far cry from how everyone described him. He didn’t seem confident at all, which was used as his main description from everyone who crossed paths with him

“Yes, yeah.. uh, things have changed, I’ve changed my mind about a lot of things. And I want my message to get out there loud and clear, without speculation. But I’m sure you two have general interview questions for me, let’s start with that”

His eyes were scanning his environment for the majority of him talking, but at the end he looked straight into the camera, his purple eyes burning with emotion. Scott got goosebumps, he felt like Xelqua was right in front of him, staring into his soul rather than through a screen. He grabbed a notebook from next to laptop and spoke as he quickly scanned what was written down

“Of course. We were wondering how you view yourself. The public seems divided, some see you as an unspoken hero, others see you as a criminal hiding behind the vigilante title. What would you categorize yourself as?”

Xelqua scrunched up his nose and looked away as he thought. He looked a bit more relaxed. Pearl and Scott had this technique of never sharing their questions with interviewees beforehand. They don’t want carefully curated and thought out answers, they want people to be honest. Sure, people still lied, but it was harder when they were put on the spot instead of having time to come up with their answers

“Hm, I honestly haven’t really thought of myself as any label before. I guess I’m somewhere in the middle of those two opinions. While I believe what I did was for the good of people, marginalized people at least, I know I used.. unethical methods. The end justifying the means and all that”

Pearl frowned a bit, trying to conceal it as much as she could, it stood out to her how Xelqua was speaking. It sounded like while he hadn’t had an answer ready, he had experience in public speaking. But she knew how secretive Xelqua was with his identity, so she decided not to press the topic in fear of him just leaving the call

“Interesting. May we ask what led you down this path?”

Pearl took the notebook, putting it between the two of them so they both could read it and ask their questions from there. They were a team after all, neither liked doing a solo interview while the other sat quietly and observed. Xelqua let out a small laugh and spread his arms, his wings puffing up a bit

“Look at me, I’m a hybrid. I always knew we weren’t treated the best. Besides I grew up with violence, this is all I know”

He shrugged at the end and his arms were back in his lap, which was off screen. But his arms were lightly moving, it looked like he had something there that he was fidgeting with. Pearl and Scott nodded before continuing

“While there are whispers and rumors, you have never confirmed who you work for. Are you associated with the Goatfather’s organization or is there a company we might not know about?”

“I freelance, I don’t work for anyone. I do small favors for different organizations, but that’s the extent of it”

Pearl took a small breath to prepare herself for the next question, hoping not to turn the atmosphere hostile

“You have had most of your altercations with HotGuy. We have interviewed him before, he talked a lot about you, but we haven’t heard your side and how you view him. Could you talk a bit about that?”

Pearl cursed herself in her head because as soon as she mentioned HotGuy, Xelqua’s entire mood shifted. His feathers puffed up and his body tensed up. He had a frown and a hateful grimace, which screamed disgust

“Ah yes, Scar Goodtimes. I never liked him, I always saw him as just a puppet for Xisuma and that corrupt world. He personifies everything that’s wrong with the system. He’s a spineless fraud, a murderer. He isn’t any better than I am”

He let out a bitter laugh and talked with so much concealed anger. Scott and Pearl looked at each other, both confused and slightly worried before their attention turned back to the screen as Xelqua continued

“But he’s smarter than he lets on, I gotta give him that. I have eyes everywhere, I know how he talks about me both publicly and privately. And he got one thing right. He wanted to catch me before Torro. We were the inseparable duo after all, we were unstoppable and he knew he could only take us down one at a time. He wanted me first because he thought that’d lead Torro down a spiral, he’d be less careful and more frantic, making him easier to catch. He thought the same wouldn’t apply the other way around. He constantly refers to Torro as burning rage and me as ice cold fury. He thinks I’m the more dangerous one and he’s right”

The more Xelqua talked, the more manic he sounded and looked, he leant close to his monitor and glared at his camera. His monologue sounded like a threat. This looked more like the Xelqua everyone talked about, he looked and sounded intense and dangerous. Scott gulped and tried to stay in control of the interview, but what he heard worried him. The implications weren’t lost on either of them and despite his better judgement, he asked about what stood out to him the most

“Torro is Toretto, right? You talked about you two being an inseparable duo in past tense. Did something happen between you two?”

Xelqua continued glaring at his camera a bit longer before he sighed and sat back in his chair, his body language one of someone defeated, rather than the previous ready-to-attack energy. His expression fell into a solemn, but emotionless one as he stared off to his side. There was a small pause, Pearl and Scott not wanting to interrupt whatever Xelqua had running through his mind

“Yeah, Torro is Toretto. And uh.. yeah, something happened. I guess I can’t really run away from this topic much longer. He is why I wanted this interview in the first place”

There was another pause, Xelqua was now looking down at whatever he was holding in his lap and the two stayed quiet, waiting for him to elaborate

“On July 5th, we had a fight with HotGuy. Nothing was out of the ordinary, but I guess he has had enough of us. I think I dropped one of my guns, I’m not sure, but HotGuy had a gun. He shot at me, but Torro took the bullet. He was always a reckless idiot, he acted before thinking. I watched him bleed out in my arms while HotGuy cowardly ran away with his metaphorical tail tucked between his legs. Scar loves saying he’s so much better than us because he doesn’t kill, he isn’t a murderer. Well not anymore, he killed Torro with the bullet that was intended to kill me”

Pearl and Scott let the new information sink in as they watched Xelqua. But before they could get a word out, Xelqua continued, now staring into his camera with a newfound determination and rage burning in his eyes

“Call me a hypocrite, say I’m justified or that I’m overreacting, that he deserved it, that I should have known this would inevitably happen. I don’t care. Torro was my fiance. Scar ruined my life, so it’s my life goal now to ruin his. That isn’t a threat, it’s a promise. He couldn’t catch me when I wasn’t taking this vigilante bullshit seriously, best of luck to him with that now. I have nothing left to lose and he has all my attention now”

He let out a bitter laugh and took something in his hand from off screen, that looked like a little black device, but it wasn’t obvious what it was. He looked almost lovingly at the device before he held it up to the camera. Scott and Pearl watched in horror, not knowing what they were seeing, but having a sinking feeling of dread. This interview has gone off the deep end, they had long lost control and they couldn’t even try to get it back because Xelqua wasn’t letting them speak

“Wha-“

“I don’t want people to speculate what is about to happen. I take full responsibility, it’s all my hard work. Well, you could blame Mr HotGuy, had he not killed Torro, this wouldn’t be happening. This is only the beginning. This is for Torro”

By the end Xelqua had wide eyes and a wide sinister smile, leaning close to his computer. The little device in his hand was now more visible and Pearl felt her heart stop when she realized it was a detonator. Xelqua pressed the button on it and there was a pause that only lasted a couple of seconds, but felt like a lifetime. Scott and Pearl screamed and practically jumped out of their chairs when they heard a loud explosion outside. Then another and another and through the loud chain reaction of explosions, the only thing heard was Xelqua’s laugh

Scott jumped up, grabbed the camera on their desk and as soon as he got to the large windows in their office and held up the camera, the footage viewers saw had already switched over to that. Scott stood by the window, Pearl and Gem joining him not that long after as they watched the headquarters of Xemplar, the biggest superhero agency that signed HotGuy, crumble in front of their eyes with bright flashing bursts of light. The building under them shook and the window glass rattled, but fortunately they were far enough that that was all they received from the explosions. They watched on in silence and shock as a massive black cloud engulfed the remains of the building and the sound of loud sirens and public commotion took over. They didn’t notice Xelqua leaving the call

-

Xelqua threw the detonator across the room and stared at Toretto’s mask in his lap before he tightly hugged it to his chest, his loud manic laugh morphing into pained hysterical crying. He had to stay on call long enough to make sure the bombs went off as intended, but he wasn’t interested in watching the fallout or talking anymore. He accomplished what he was looking for, getting the news out of Torro’s death since HotGuy, Xisuma and the entire agency stayed silent on it and sending his promise of revenge and war out to the person who ruined his life. This wasn’t just about losing his partner in crime, he lost his partner of who knows how many years, the only partner he had known his entire adulthood, the partner he shared his home with, the partner who was so closely tied to his civilian, real job that it wouldn’t be able to continue without him. He was sure if that interview didn’t out his identity he could have a solo career, but he felt like he’d rather die than sing or make music ever again. And at this point he didn’t even care if his identity got figured out, he wasn’t exactly planning on continuing with his life like nothing happened

His cries drowned out all the sirens and commotion outside in the little hideout he was staying in, an empty small apartment that they bought under a fake name a couple years back. He had the means to run away, he had a duffle bag of cash saved for an emergency in case he and Torro had to run, along with fake id’s, birth certificates and passports. The Goatfather did owe him some favors he could cash in to get him out of the country or even the continent. But he wasn’t willing to go away without total destruction and he was willing to die getting the final laugh. Maybe he was even counting on that, he had no idea how he’d go on after his rage ran out, the only thing that kept him going instead of falling into crippling depression. Getting revenge wouldn’t bring his Torro back and he knew even if he succeeded without getting caught or killed, he’d be left feeling empty afterwards

Two people died on July 5th, but only one stopped breathing and the other wasn’t particularly interested in continuing for long

[mylifeisfruk4ever]

How Difficult Can It Be?

Chapter 1

“You should be at the Planet now.”

“Hello to you too, Bruce,” Superman said, gliding next to him. Bruce had slipped into the cave as soon as Dick left for school, to find out who had taken the photos at the gala and what connection he had with Vicky. 

He had called Lucius to tell him that he would be late for the meeting, but the man had told him not to worry and that everything was under control.

He would like to think more about his civilian life, but by now Bruce was obsessed. How could this have happened?

He was always so careful, how could someone have missed him? He had to find out.

He was so focused on the computer that he barely listened to Superman say, “…so now Lois is going to cover for me with Perry. That's how I got there first.”

“Mhm,” he grunted, nodding. There were several photographers at the party, but the photo was not of any of them. It certainly wasn't made by a cell phone or by someone trying their hand at it amateurally, so...

Superman's voice came to him calmly but decisively, "What have you decided to do?"

He blinked, once, twice, “What?”

The other man shook his head, but smiled good-naturedly at him (it should be illegal to smile like that, as if your face wouldn't hurt afterwards), “For the article and the photo, Bruce.”

“I'm looking for the author of the photo,” he said, pointing to the computer. Vicky won't like that someone hacked into her email again, but maybe it will teach her not to put Clark on the front page without thinking about the consequences.

“And the article? Because Lois is willing to interview you to get a denial, and she's sure she'll be taken more seriously and..."

“It won't be necessary,” he reassured him, putting his hand at his side. He had just felt a slight twinge. How painful it was to be hugged by Dick first and pretend he wasn't hurting like a dog. But he certainly couldn't make the boy go away without a hug first: he would think he had done something wrong and he would be sad, and Bruce didn't want to make him cry.

"Oh?" Superman raised an eyebrow. “Is your PR already dealing with this? Lois will be disappointed.”

"Neither. There will be no denials.”

“Huh?”

Bruce turned to him, "I want to introduce you to Dick..."

“Um…yes, actually it was time…”

“…as my boyfriend.”

Superman was silent. It was a very long and very embarrassing moment (at least for one of the people present), then he decided to ask, "You want me to do what?!"

"Introduce your as my boyfriend to Dick," Bruce said simply, as if he wasn't asking his best friend to pretend to be having a relationship. “It doesn't even have to last that long. We will tell him that things didn't work out but that we intend to remain friends, that way you can come to the Manor without arousing suspicion.”

“Yes, I'm going to need more context here and…Bruce, please look at me while we talk.”

The human took a deep breath, and turned his chair towards Superman. He was in very poor condition, he hadn't shaved and had hair sticking out everywhere. His t-shirt was loose, revealing a large portion of his shoulder, and his gym pants left part of his stomach exposed.  But Superman looked at him and felt like he had been punched in the stomach by Metallo. 

"Well?" Bruce said impatiently. “What do you want to know?”

“How about you tell me why the hell I should pretend to be your boyfriend to your adopted son?” Superman asked, his mouth feeling very dry and strangely itchy again.

And Bruce, master tactician, did it with a single sentence, "This way I don't have to tell him I'm Batman."

Silence again. Then, as if shaken out of his torpor, Superman blurted out a sincere and heartfelt, “Bruce…what the hell?!”

[luuvprincess]

✰࿎2࿎✰

Now playing Damage by H.E.R Sierra

"Don't judge but I find that my boss is just fine as hell mani you should have seen him. It was the tattoos that did for me girl." I said as we're in standing in the kitchen cooking dinner together while having a smoke session. "And bitch he had me blushing on the first fucking day!"

She laughed a little shaking her head at me. "Was it that bad?" She asked. I nodded my head aggressively.

"Yes girl I was losing my shit." I tell her. I walked over to the kitchen sink and poured the pasta noodles into the drainer to drain all the water out. "Where's my phone I needa show you what he looks like." I said reaching for my phone. I opened Instagram searching up Joshua Instagram and I showed her his pictures. "Damn girl you wasn't lying and this coming from someone who has completely different taste I can see it in my head now you freaking out because you by some fine shit." She said.

"Yes exactly and when I was helping his son with homework I caught him staring once or twice." I said.

"Hey what if he likes what he sees." She said as she looked me up and down.

"No he couldn't he's my boss that's not professional at all." "Girl so if he makes the move first then it's okay because clearly he won't give a fuck about that professional shit."

I moved back over to stove putting the seasoned chicken on the stove next to cook. Imani passed me the blunt. I took my few hits out of it passing it back to her.

"I don't know what imma do girl." I said shaking my head.

"Your gonna keep working and not let the first day of work get over you head." She said.

"You right I'm over exaggerating." "Yea you think." I rolled my eyes at her shaking my head. After dinner was done we sat down and ate watched the new Episode of Baddies. As I was eating I got messages from Joshua.

(1) iMessages from Mr.Fatu Mr. Fatu Mr. Fatu: good evening Sierra just wanted to make sure everything was all set for Saturday

Sierra: Yes everything is all set I emailed yours and Jeyvon's plane tickets Mr.Fatu: Yeet thanks Cece see ya tomorrow have a good night

Sierra: 😂 you welcome and you as well have a good night Joshua

"Who got you cheesing over there?" Imani asked.

"Girl nobody." I answered as I got up. "You done babes?" I asked pointing at her plate. She nodded her head, I took her plate to kitchen along with mines and washed all the dishes while she put the food away and we both did a little part of cleaning the kitchen then we went our separate ways. I walked to my bathroom so I could take a shower. After my shower I got dressed and got in bed I put something on Netflix while I did some work.

Sierranicole 10mins ago

🩵WEEK LATER🩵

"Hey baby how's it been out there?" My mom asked as we were on the phone while I was on my way to Joshua's house. "It's been good actually I just started my new job last week."

"Really? How do you like it?" She asked. "I love it ma it's really easy my boss he's super nice." I could hear her smiling on the other end of the phone.

"Well that's good baby. I miss you out here." She said.

"I miss you too mom tell Selena and Booda I said I love them. I gotta go I love you." I said.

"I love you my sweet girl be safe." She said. "I will mom later." "Alright I guess I'll talk to you later then." The call came to a end as I pulled up in Josh's driveway next to his all black 2025 cadillac CT4-V black wing. I collected my things before getting out the car as i walked up to the front I seen he was in garage working out. He had these pink hoochie daddy shorts, his gold chain with the match bracelet, no fucking shirt chest all out honey. He was looking to fucking good.

This man is so damn fine no no Sierra keep it professional

"What's sup Cece." Joshua says taking me out my deep thoughts. I quickly shoot him a smile before walking into the garage. "Hey I brought lunch." I said holding up a bag of McDonald's.

"Oh word. Let me go shower real quick." He said as we walked in the house. I followed behind getting a good view his tatted back.

What the fuck is happening to me

I sat at the kitchen island and I took out food the bag setting it all up and I just sat on my phone while I waited for him. Today I needed him to pick which style he wanted to do for Saturday night. Just as I was sitting there I got text from Jashawn which I haven't talk to him since the day I ended things with him.

(3) iMessage from Shawn 🚮 Shawn 🚮 Shawn🚮: you moved you ain't tell me Sierra. That's what we do now Shawn🚮: Why I had find out through my homie that you moved why you ain't tell me Shawn🚮: It's cool tho mama imma find you some way some how

Sierra🫧: First of all Shawn what I do with my life literally has nothing to do with you Sierra🫧: secondly tell your bop ass friends to stop stalking me for you Sierra🫧: and third your crazy 😐

Shawn🚮: I'm not crazy Sierra I love you there's a difference

Sierra🫧: Love? Nigga please you sure have funny way of show your love for someone 🤨 Sierra🫧: and again we done Sierra🫧: what we had it's dead Sierra🫧: It literally does not exist my nigga and with that being said get tf of my phone Shawn🚮: you got a lot of mouth girl watch when I see your ass again Sierra🫧: and watch when me and my new nigga jump you

"Damn you good?" Joshua asks as he walked in the kitchen with a fresh pair of clothes on. I looked up from phone at him. "I'm fine just had to let someone know about themselves sorry."

"Hey along as your good we good." He said putting his hands up in surrender. He took a sat beside me grabbing what was his. I opened my laptop pulling out the 3 different styles he had to choose from.

"Okay your designer crew emailed these over to me they want you pick which ones you want for Saturday." I said showing him the screen. He looked at the screen analyzing the 3 different styles he had to choose from.

"This one." He said point at the one in middle. "I like the idea they were going for with it." He said.

"Yea I was thinking the same thing." I said turning the laptop back towards me I sent them team a message tell them which one he had picked.  "So are you ready?" I asked .

"Hell yeah I'm ready been working hard for this." He said. 

"Waffle house on me when you win?" I asked.

"You had me at Waffle House." He said smiling from ear to ear. I giggled shaking my head. "Okay it's a deal then." I tell him sticking my hand out as we shook on it.

"How are you doing with everything?" He asked.

"With what?" I asked.

"Work and moving to a whole new state how's everything been?" He asked.

"I mean work fine my boss he's chill can't really complain when there's nothing to complain about." He smiled as I continued "And as for moving to a whole new state it actually feels good the only thing is I really miss my mom and siblings sometimes." I said.

"How many siblings do you have?" He asked.

"I have 2 one older brother and a little sister." I said.

"Well if you ever need a vacation to go visit family let know I understand that family is important and is always first." He says.

"Thank you that's very kind of you seriously." I said with a smile. Joshua

The way Sierra smiled at me had me feeling some kinda of way I ain't felt in long time. We just sat at the island for another 30 mins just talking about random things learning things about each other.

"My family huge I got 3 brothers one being my twin brother and I got a sister and if you wanna count Joe as brother because that's really what we see him as so that would make it 4 brothers and a sister." I tell her.

"Really wow." She said as she sipped her drink.

"My roommate is the next closest thing I have family we've literally been friends since the womb she's definitely sister to more than anything and then my other best friend is my sister in law she married to my brother and they actually have twins girls Brielle and Arielle." She said.

We continue talking for about a another 20mins before she was getting ready to head out. I helped her bring her stuff the car even though all she had was her bag I just wanted to be extra. She walked in front of giving me a fabulous view of that ass.

"Thanks Joshua see ya later." She said as she unlocked her car door she turned around taking her bag out my hand. She put everything in the back seat.

"Drive safe Lil mama text me when you get home." I said pulling her in for a hug. She hesitated at first to hug me back but then eventually hugged me then we pulled away. She got in the car and back out my driver way she waved before she sped off. I watched untiled I couldn't see her no more. I walked back into the house closing and locking the door. I walked into the living room and decided to just play the game. (1) iMessage from Sierra

Sierra: I made it home I'll see Monday morning

Joshua:  Yeet have a good night Sierra and see ya Monday don't be late

Sierra: 😂 gn Josh

Next Part

HE LOST LAST NIGHT 🥲 it's okay bae you forever gonna be my number one champion 😘🩵.

But anyways I hope yall enjoyed VOTE and COMMENT. This was quick one I just wrote whatever came to mind I'm not gonna lie 😭.

Stay Jucey🫧🩵.

[amatopunk]

It sucks so much that it took years for me to figure my gender out, so many years never feeling fully satisfied calling myself anything, because of joint transphobia from cis people and misogyny + exorsexism from other trans people. Like, on one hand I had cis people try to force me to be feminine, pushed me into being A Woman in a way that made me so uncomfortable and dysphoric that I became extremely avoidant and negatively biased towards it, thought I had to be a man and only a man or otherwise I would have to be that same thing getting forced onto me. Then while I was growing up there were transmeds everywhere, I briefly was one after some adults pulled my 14 year old self into a Discord server from Tumblr because I was openly IDing as a demiboy. And obviously they, all together, were able to dismantle a younger teenagers half-baked arguments and understanding of Big Scary Words and they sounded smart, so I thought they must be right. Then being surrounded by misogyny, the constant discourse about queer women of this or that group, the right-wing and antifeminist memes of my teen years being everywhere, Gamergate, transmeds... it only made me feel both unhappy in my manhood because it was so focused on self-hate, but it also unknowingly made me internalize so much misogyny and basically made the idea of also being a woman sound like a horrible, awful thing. Not great when you're both

But there's a silver lining to it, from when I got pulled out of the transmed spiral into hell, that I still remember to this day. There was this trans guy on my bus who was just... the most radiant and incredibly positive person I'd ever met. He was always there for me when I was going through all that depression and moping around, no matter how ridiculous I thought I was being, he showed me happy music and patted my back and was just. Always a friend! And he barely even knew me! One day I find out two things. First of all, he didn't have gender dysphoria. And it confused the hell out of me, because The Worms had taken over my brain and I thought, wait, what, aren't those people [insert horrible stereotype here]? That shook me hard enough. But THEN, not long after I found out the guy- this positive, unconditionally kind guy who was seemingly friends with everyone- was getting bullied. By almost all the other trans people in my school, including ones I thought were nice. Purely for not having gender dysphoria. And I realized how fucked up my new "friends" twice my age really were and said fuck that, bye assholes! Shout out to Marco the best trans guy of all time.

About a year later, largely thanks to Marco, I was very open about being trans. I didn't know I was nonbinary yet, but I was much more comfortable in my manhood and went by just a male name and pronouns despite not "passing" at all. And I met this person who at the time was IDing as a cis pan guy. We became REALLY good friends, I sometimes got asked kinda weird questions but I was open to it, I knew my friend's parents were conservative and not everybody's gonna know everything, though I did put my foot down [gently] a couple times when I needed to. I just existed, openly, around people. And just last year, I got an email from her. It turned out, she was a trans woman and she had no idea that was even an option for her. And what helped her figure it out? According to her, it was meeting me. Realizing it was an option, because I didn't hide who I was in front of a supposedly cis person who was confused, but never mean, always tried. Hearing that was fucking life-changing

I think my point to all of this is like. Actually, being open about who you are is a good thing. I don't think you should ever feel ashamed for being open about yourself and living confidently with it. You might not realize it, but you literally change people's lives and make them realize that they don't have to be miserable purely by existing openly. That being trans can bring you joy and happiness. Marco, purely by being nice to me and being open about his identity, pulled me out of a self-hating spiral that was built on harassing trans kids. I, purely by existing, helped a trans girl who didn't even know what the hell a transgender person was, who didn't always use the right language and who I openly talked to about being trans anyways, correcting but never shaming her for it, realize that she could be trans, too. Your open existence literally brightens people's lives

[drdemonprince]

i read in the comments to my last ask about "ordinary unhappiness" the idea of depression as a lack of agency and i feel like that is true? when i feel miserable and in pain, it's not because something is sad but because something is either unachievable or impossible (or at least there is the perception of it). and like i think that's what you were getting at too? this thing that drives you to keep going, this lack of satisfaction. i simply don't have anything i can give into such that i would ever even feel a lack of satisfaction. i've never had anything to give myself into and feel frustrated and perhaps sometimes successful in but instead i just envy the people who do have those things. nothing i've ever done has felt maintained a sense of emotional connectiveness in that way (positive or negative). i guess to wrap this back around to another potential talking point, i'm curious how you find that in your life? is it weird for me that nothing has ever felt worth putting myself whole ass into? idk, i find it envious you've got both writing and gay hypno fetish stuff you're able to just throw yourself into so wholly and utterly

Passion isn't inherent, it can be a choice too. I only look like I care a ton about writing and gay hypno stuff because I have deliberately chosen to pursue those passions, for many years, and cultivated a deep interest in them, anon.

When I was in my early twenties, I felt completely empty. I was a void. If you've read the first chapter of Unmasking Autism, this is the period I'm talking about in that book. I went away to graduate school (because I was good at academics, and I had some illusions about what a career in that field would do for me), but I had absolutely zero zest for the subject of psychology at that point. I had no research ideas. I read psychology books and publications purely out of obligation. I did what was required of me, but nothing additional beyond that, and I spent the rest of my time sitting at home, sometimes literally staring at the wall and crying. I had no friends or hobbies, aside from taking long, long depression walks listening to podcasts in order to fill the silence.

This was when I was at my most depressed, and my most suicidal. Just existing was a pain. I'd sob in bed at night and cry out begging for God to kill me, and I didn't even believe in God. The only thing that distracted me from my pain was a guy I was seeing, who was beautiful and very cruel and inconsistent, and I clung to him through all kinds of lies and abuse because it felt as though my happiness was located inside of him.

I had a friend that I wrote to about how miserable I was, and all the twists and turns that my horrible romance was taking. Her name was Heather. (Unlearning Shame is dedicated to her). She told me hey, you're a really good writer, did you know that? I really enjoy reading your emails, even when you're speaking about the most pitiful anguished shit, you really put it poetically and have a ton of insight. You should write more.

For a while, I ignored her. I didn't care about writing. I just wanted to get my pain out on the page because I had nobody to talk to, and oodles of time to waste. I had nothing otherwise that I felt I HAD to say. I had no PASSION. I did not feel like I was put on this earth to do anything. Other people seemed to have these drives, and I had nothing.

But then one day in a fit of depression I stopped by a bookstore right near my apartment, The Armadillo's Pillow, just to get outside of the house. I happened upon a book I had loved in high school, Jonathan Franzen's The Corrections. I took it home. I read it. It transported me for a few hours away from my pain. I went back to the book store and picked up some sci-fi. A John Varley collection, I think. I was also swept away from my suffering, even when the stories had flaws that I noticed. I was interested in the actual craft of storytelling: what worked and what didn't. And there was finally some beauty in my head instead of the usual dreariness and self-hatred and emptiness.

And so. I made the choice to write. I could have taken it or left it at that point. I didn't care about anything. Caring is a muscle that you have to flex. And when you're depressed, it can be very hard. I needed a lot of nudges from the external world and other people, to realize that I had some things I did gravitate toward, even if I didn't realize it.

All that time of course I WAS driven to write. I was churning out 5k word letters to Heather every day practically. I was reading stupid shit online. And when it was put in front of me, and I had no reason to feel guilt about not working hard enough on other things, I reached for books. But I didn't feel passion strongly under the heavy blankets of my depression. Or usually at all, really. I am a quite internally muted person whose emotions are suppressed. But they're there. Speaking to me softly. And to overcome my depression, I had to decide to listen to them instead of ignoring them all of the time, and give them kindling, and then fan them into a flame.

I started blogging regularly while I was in graduate school (right here, hello, you can check my archive dating back to 2011), and finding a reason to live. When I was writing, I felt like the world was interesting, and beautiful. It gave me new things to do. I attended literary readings and book launches all over town. I submitted work to magazines. I bought old copies of magazines and read them. I inhaled books. I listened to fiction podcasts. I joined writing groups. At first, it felt like a slog, like anything else. Doing these things, I was not "happy". But I was interested. I liked learning about the world of publishing, critiquing people's stories in my head, and commisserating with other Tumblr writers about the stuff that got featured on the Prose tag that sucked.

After YEARS of doing this, of choosing to fan my passions, it became a genuine motivation in my life. But even then? I lose track of it sometimes. I get busy, or there's no place comfy to sit and read in my apartment, and I forget that I like writing and reading for months at a time. And then I have to choose it again. It takes effort to care about something, every time.

It's the same way with hypno. I did have a fetish for this stuff all my life long. But it's a passion that people always thought was weird and gross, and that I thought was bad. I didn't tell anyone about it until my late 20's. I felt ashamed masturbating to it or looking up hypno content online. For years I snuffed out that flame of passion until I could barely feel it anymore. It wasn't until I was super depressed AGAIN in my later 20's that I took a bunch of weird off-label anti-depressant drugs under the table and had a weird dreamy headspace overtake me and make me insanely horny that I remembered how much I loved hypno, and because I was in search of an escape from my tormented brain, I sought hypnotists out.

And I had the time of my life. But I also had boring, awkward encounters, bad hook-ups, and had to do a ton of work.

My passions have drawn me out of depression because I needed them to. I had to find them, listen to them, and then give them lots of food. And it's one of the few things that a person does often have agency over, no matter how dispiriting their circumstances. You can make choices about where to put what attention you do have, in what free moments you do have. When you're on the bus or in line at the grocery store and you're thinking about how much you hate yourself, you can try to think about a story you read or a sexual fantasy you had, instead. It's a lot of work. But it's better work than the work of hating yourself, which takes a whole lot of energy and attention itself.

I hope you can find something like this for you. It doesn't really matter what it is. It can be some hobby you've always wanted to try, or something "childish" you've suppressed. Having a passion isn't like being chosen by the universe to care about something. It's not like love at first sight. Nothing fucking works like that in life. It's always work. It's always a choice you have to make, because no one else will give it to you. But there can be hints that you can follow, sometimes.