#I do not know what is up with current desk trends

[elephantbitterhead]

At long last, I have found a desk that satisifies my seemingly-simple-yet-somehow-actually-impossibly-arcane demands. It's a close cousin to the desk I left behind before moving to Scotland, minus that desk's ~200lb slate top (which is why I rejected the possibility of shipping it here). After 12 years without a desk, I'm looking forward to putting things in drawers & pulling out those little slab shelves.

Its top is also nicely aged/dinged up & I will enjoy running my hands over it -- see below:

It's going to be a tight squeeze to get it into the room where I plan to use it, so let's hope I can channel my crafty-furniture-mover persona (or that the top comes off easily).

[poisonf0rest]

𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐜*𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈

love and deepspace: zayne x fem!reader

tags: smut, teasing, guided masturbation, fingering, first time (kinda), pwp

word count: 9.3K what the fuck

synopsis: Between being in the midst of your medical residency and being an up-and-coming author, it’s safe to say your personal life has been placed on stand-still. That is, until your editor decided that your next novel needed explicit smut scenes. That is, until your mentor and boss ends up striking a deal for you to help with “inspiration” for said novel. That is, until you fuck Zayne four times and your life changes forever. - partially inspired by manga of the same name by Nae Awaji

original ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57209872/chapters/145519015

art credit: @/kaito_aii

You’re screwed. Fucked. Utterly damned.

Groaning into your desk, you slam your head down upon piles of patient records and old case files. 

You’re only halfway done with your medical residency and somewhere along the way turned your lifelong passion for writing into a successful side gig. So successful in fact, that it was single-handedly providing you with enough money to get by and complete residency.

After anonymously posting online for a decade, you signed with a publisher three years ago, on the exact same day you matched with your first choice cardiothoracic residency program here at Akso Hospital.

Needless to say, you haven't felt that magnitude of happiness in years.

You doubt you ever will again.

In the midst of your wallowing, your phone lights up: Michaela. It’s a follow-up to her previous messages, all with the same damn request. 

Michaela - Boss Man

checking in on my star, how’s that manuscript going?

talked to the director again to try and plead your case but she didn’t budge :( 

she said w current book trends the fans will go crazy for a few explicit spicy scenes

pluuuus she believes in your writing enough to know you’ll make it big! come on, star, you know I’m here if you need any extra help

You - Little Star

Hey Micheala

You cringe for a moment at how formal you sound, but honestly, you’re too burnt out from writer’s block to match your editor’s energy and too tired from today’s shift to push back any further. 

You - Little Star

No I get it, thanks for trying though

I’m almost done with the novel, it's just those scenes that are taking a little more time

And by a “little more time,” you mean you’ve tried writing and rewriting them over a dozen times just to cringe, delete, and scream into your keyboard. Over. And over again. 

It’s not that you’re clueless, you’ve read your fair share of erotica for inspiration and pleasure equally. But actually writing them yourself? That was a whole different story. Pacing, banter, and even making the right word choices without sounding like a repetitive pervert or absolute lunatic were all so much harder to do than you previously gave authors credit for. 

Not to mention, you haven’t actually experienced a lot first-hand.

Beyond a few situationships in high school and undergraduate flings between pre-med classes and internships absolutely kicking your ass, you’re probably half as sexually experienced as most adults your age. And you had absolutely no intention of re-entering the dating scene with residency, until now. 

With Michaela breathing down your neck about how these explicit smut scenes were a marketing goldmine and the combined stress from your jobs, it seems like you’ve been fighting a losing battle. This time, however, your main income was on the line. 

You groan  as another ping lights up your phone, going to silence it when you realize it’s from the hospital Slack and not your editor. 

residency-CS-alerts

Dr. Zayne: Second look needed for a CMR scan. Nonurgent. 

Jumping to your feet, you sprint from the office wing to get to the MRI’s before another resident can take your spot. It’s not that your program lacked opportunities- far from it as you attend the top program– but rather that this particular opportunity was rare indeed.

Doctor Zayne. Akso Hospital's respected chief cardiac surgeon, who has made groundbreaking advances to the treatment of congenital heart abnormalities in neonates. At only twenty-seven he is the youngest recipient of the Starcatcher Award. His dedication to his craft is unparalleled, as he tirelessly devotes more time to surgeries than any other doctor you know, cementing his reputation as an unwavering force in the field.

He’s also impossibly tall, extremely well built for a man who seems to spend most of his time in the hospital, and has a face sculpted like a Roman deity in marble. And gods, his voice.

Safe to say, you admire him just a little.

You’ve bumped into him a handful of times during your first two years here, but the doctor was so engrossed in his work that the occurrence was rare enough. But a chance to perform with him? To consult alongside him on a cardiovascular case? 

You began to fear for your own heart’s safety as you felt it skip in your throat. 

Finally reaching the MRIs, you knock once before sliding the door to the control room open with a bow. And when you stand straight again, Dr. Zayne’s steel-set eyes only glance at you before he points to the readings displayed on the computer. 

“Tell me what you see.”

Your mouth is still hanging open from what was going to be a very enthusiastic self-introduction, but you cut yourself off with a cough and stumble over to the monitor. Dr. Zayne’s eyes follow you with a precision that makes your hands tremble, and you bend over slightly to scan the patient’s readings. 

You’re about ready to make a diagnosis when you realize you haven’t gotten much background on the patient.

 “What’s the patient’s briefing?” You look down, flinching as you see Dr. Zayne already staring at you. “If I can hear it, sir?”

He nods once. “An adolescent female with complaints of shortness of breath and coughing. She had no specific medical history, but grew up in the countryside unable to visit a proper clinic for several years while this issue persisted.”

Countryside… that could mean this was an undiagnosed issue that festered. 

Clearing your throat, you begin to point to the different scans. “Firstly, there’s clearly an enlarged cardiac silhouette.” Squinting, you point at two denser mounds in CMR scans. “Here and here. There are two large cysts along the lateral and inferior walls of the LV pushing and invading the myocardial walls.”

Gods, the cysts were huge. Even if surgery was performed on her now, would she survive?

Dr. Zayne’s low voice pulls you back into the control room. “Then what is your final diagnosis?”

“I–” you stutter, shaking your head. “I would recommend surgery immediately.”

“More detail than that, please.”

A sharp inhale and you scan the readings again. “Maybe a cannulation? The cysts might be causing an SVC compression, which would explain her shortness of breath.” You dare ask. “Will she survive?”

Dr. Zayne stands up this time. “You did well. She was my patient, and underwent surgery over a week ago.” He gently pats you on the shoulder, touch warm. “Our job as surgeons is to act decisively, to learn, and to try. Not to be heroes.”

You can’t manage to say anything back as Dr. Zayne leaves the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

_______

Surprisingly, you’ve been seeing more and more of Dr. Zayne since that day. 

And if that wasn’t enough, the doctor has also been actively acknowledging you, exchanging greetings and simple conversation when you pass in the halls, cafeteria, or shared cardiovascular wing of the hospital.

Not that you haven’t been putting in the effort either. 

Dr. Zayne’s current apprentice is graduating from residency this year, and you have every intention of becoming their successor. Between picking up extra shifts, answering every pager call, and of course paying special attention in case Dr. Zayne specifically requests a second pair of hands, you’ve been climbing up the ranks amongst your peers. 

Luckily, it seems those efforts have not been in vain. 

You’ve been doing so well apparently, that Dr. Zayne wants to meet with you in the hospital’s cafe today. Interviews before officially announcing mentor-mentee pairs was not unusual, but the thought of being one-on-one with Dr. Zayne after your last case together still has your mind reeling. 

Will he pull out old case files? Will he bring you to a patient and test you in real time? You have half a mind that he might pull out a custom-made test and timer. It seems on-brand enough to be a possibility.

Yet when you arrive, the cafe is completely empty, save for the staff and a familiar man in a white lab coat.

Dr. Zayne stands as soon as he sees you and beckons for you to sit, pulling the chair across from him out in the same movement. He clears his throat, a barely-there smile gracing his lips as he watches you settle down. “How have you been, doctor?”

“Good! Good.” The words rush out from you and you flinch, forcing yourself to slow down. Was the cafe always this small? “Discharged a patient today, so all good news.” Holy striped cows, if you say the word good one more time you might lose your mind.

“Well,” Dr. Zayne nods, taking a sip of something that looks like a far-too-sweet cup of coffee practically drenched in whipped cream. “That’s certainly good to hear.”

You die a little inside. 

“I’ll keep things rather brief since I’ve already made my mind up.”

Was this it? Did you ruin your chance at having Linkon’s top doctor as your mentor because of your damn mouth?

Dr. Zayne reaches inside his jacket, and you swear your heart is going to beat itself out of your throat. He pulls out a simple white envelope with your name scrawled across the front, the paper crisp as he slides it across the table. 

His fingers linger on the edges before he speaks. "I wanted to formally offer you the position to shadow me as my apprentice."

"I accept!"

The words fly out before you can stop them and Dr. Zayne looks stunned for a moment before laughing, a smooth and deep sound you didn't expect from him. He looked good when he smiled. Softer, content. 

The ghost of the smile stays, even when Zayne speaks again. "It's not a timed offer, you don't have to agree so quickly."

You flush down to your neck, looking down at the envelope. "Right. Only, it would be an honor to learn from you, sir. I really don’t know anyone in our field who wouldn’t accept it."

Zayne hums, but his brows furrow. “You don’t have to call me sir either. Doctor Zayne is fine while we are at the hospital. Zayne is more than acceptable elsewhere, we’re not that far apart in age and I don’t wish for this to be an overly formal relationship.”

You curse your heart for fluttering, reminding yourself that he only means this in a conductive, professional way. 

After a beat of silence, Zayne looks at the clock and stands, taking his sugar-filled drink with him. You never pegged him to have such a massive sweet tooth. 

"I have a consultation now, but I would like to talk to you more about your residency. We should set up weekly meetings outside of work, check your calendar, and organize it later.”

You nod and thank him as he walks away, leaving you alone to open the envelope. Inside is a simple handwritten note, signed and stamped with Dr. Zayne's official signature alongside Akso Hospital’s. 

A reminder that this was, in fact, not a dream. 

_______

It’s barely been a month since you’ve begun officially shadowing Zayne, yet you swear it feels as though a part of you has known him forever. 

Aside from his virtually frozen demeanor and tendency to make snarky quips at your habit of running your mouth, he’s been nothing but a patient mentor. Brief, direct, unrelenting, but attentive to your work and growth. 

If that were all, then everything would be perfect. 

If that were all, then you would be sticking perfectly to your ten-year plan: graduating early, completing residency under the top doctor in the top program, and then overtaking him as the top cardiovascular surgeon with a breakthrough of your own. 

But of course, the plot has to thicken. 

Sure, the first few weeks have been strictly business, but since then, your conversations with Zayne—Dr. Zayne—have morphed into more casual, more playful meetings. Your weekly check-ins have moved from the hospital cafeteria to a cozy family-run cafe in town that Zayne introduced to you. And the way you’ve begun to think of him was the most damning part of it all. 

But you don’t have the time nor capacity to deal with whatever this was becoming. 

Not when your novel���s deadline was in three weeks, and you still had absolutely nothing to show for it. Without this new novel’s money, you wouldn’t be able to pay for rent or food or transport, and residency sure as hell wasn’t giving you enough to survive off of alone. 

This past week, you’ve gone from stressed to a thundering cloud of misery. Snapping at interns, drinking dangerously over the FDA-recommended caffeine intake, and ignoring the maelstrom your face has become.

And of course, today happens to be your weekly check-in with Zayne.

Dragging yourself to your usual booth, you watch him order at the counter and bring his drink to the table alongside a signature pair of macaroons, a slice of chocolate cake, and an eclair. He sets it all down with a huff and sits, looking over at you with an iron-cold gaze. You can smell the incoming lecture. 

"You're late."

You dip your head, but your patience is running on reserve, and your reply has more bite than you’d dare use otherwise. "I'm sorry, it looks like I’ve lost track of time."

"You're never late." Zayne doesn't sound any angrier at your attitude, but it still doesn't settle the guilt bubbling in your stomach.

"I've just been really stressed. You know," you wave your hand, "wrapping up residency."

"Is that so." Zayne's gaze is sharp as he fights to maintain eye contact. It's not a question. "I've noticed. You've been distracted and irritated recently, and I can't help but wonder why. Is it really the hospital? Am I demanding too much aside from your typical resident duties?” 

You shake your head, and the guilt is back. "No, of course not."

"Then I have to assume it's something else, is it not?"

"It's..." How on earth are you supposed to explain that the reason why you're a mess is because your editor is pressuring you to write a smut scene that you have no interest in, let alone sufficient experience with? And to someone you admire, your mentor, Linkon’s top surgeon, and apparently now someone your heart is deciding to blackmail you with. "I'm sorry, Dr. Zayne. It's nothing work-related, it's not your problem to fix."

Zayne raises his eyebrow, leaning back in the booth and crossing his arms. “That’s the first time you addressed me as doctor outside of hospital property in over a month. ”

You really, really, can’t do this right now, or else you might start spewing some things you’ll regret. “Really? That’s fascinating, sir.” You watch him scowl at the title you know he hates. “Still does not entitle you to my personal issues.”

“As your mentor, it becomes entitled to me when your personal issues begin affecting your performance.” He says.

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing your anger down. "It's really not something I can talk about here, nor to you. Can we just have a regular check-in?"

"We are."

“You know what?" You stand, chair falling back with a screech. “I think I need a rain check today, sir. You know. Stress.”

"You’re not leaving until you tell me what is bothering you."

You're about to grab your bag and walk away when you're suddenly reminded of how tall Zayne is when he stands. Practically towering over you, he leans across the table, grabbing you firm enough to prevent you from slipping away, yet never harsh enough to harm you. “Please, we’re making a scene.”

You sit. Zayne follows. 

Seeing just how reactive you’re being, he softens, genuine concern in his tone as he reaches an arm out. “Is it a family issue? Are you alright?”

“No. Yes.” You inhale deeply through your nose, but your mind is still reeling at a mile a minute. “No, it’s not a family issue.”

“So if it’s not about the hospital and not family, then what could possibly be causing you this much stress.” Zayne’s eyes narrow and you see his jaw tick. “Don’t tell me this foolishness is over a boy.”

“No! God,” you want to push yourself off a building. Or him. “No, it’s this fucking–” You’re rambling. You’re rambling, losing control, and you’re going to blurt it out and regret it. “It’s this smut scene!”

You’ve really outdone yourself this time.

Zayne chokes on his drink and slams the cup down, coughing as liquid comes out his nose. You flounder in panic, trying to help but he holds a hand up and turns, still coughing into his arm. You can only manage to pull out a few napkins, handing them over in a pathetic bundle.

“A…” Zayne almost seems to buffer, clearing his throat before looking back at you. “An erotica scene?”

Your face is burning. You can practically feel the heat radiating off of it in waves, and you have to remind yourself that writing is your job. A respectable, decent-paying, well-appreciated job that you do for the sake of womankind everywhere.

“I write for extra income alongside residency, and recently my editor got it into her head that we’ll sell even more with some extra spice.” You scoff, “But it’s been months of looking at a blank doc. Now the deadline is approaching and I still have nothing to show for it.”

Zayne doesn't say anything for a moment, and you have to check if he's breathing, or if the shock has killed him. Finally, he shifts back in his seat, adjusting his tie.

"That sounds like a difficult position to be in, doctor."

You look up, and Zayne has his arms crossed. It's an expression you're familiar with, one that means he's actually thinking about what you've said, but the way he says "doctor" now feels strange, almost as if the term has no place here.

"It's fine, I'll figure it out." This is also why you didn't want to tell him, as if Zayne has any place worrying about this on your behalf. “Besides, I’m as much a writer as a doctor, this is my job after all. I have to figure it out.”

“Of course. I’d expect no less." Zayne nods a little to himself, slightly dazed, and you scramble to find a way to change the subject back into something even remotely work-appropriate.

"Anyway, I've been keeping up with my rounds, and I think I've been able to handle more cases on my own recently, too."

"You have."

Zayne is quiet for a beat too long and you frown, tapping the table.

"Are you alright? I know this is a lot, I shouldn't have burdened you with it."

When Zayne faces you again, you watch as his brows furrow. "But if this is such a pressing issue…” He clears his throat, looking at a spot directly above your head. “Then, what if I helped you?”

You swear your head is spinning, his words ringing over and over and over in your mind. The only thing remotely in focus was Zayne’s face, far too close for comfort now, even across the table. Oh gods, you’re having this conversation in public, too.

"What do you mean by help, exactly?"

"If you’re in need of experience," Zayne's voice is low, but he still manages to keep eye contact, the intensity of it making you smile nervously. "Then I could offer my assistance. Better coming from someone you know and trust, yes?"

There’s no way you heard that right. Your mind blanks, but apparently your smartass mouth hasn’t. 

"Are you offering to be my fuck buddy? Sex consultant? My smut guide, if you will?"

A deadpan, “I would prefer the term sexual partner.”

Even the way Zayne says it makes it sound more like a business proposal than an actual proposition, and it throws you off guard. He leans back, trying to act nonchalant. "You did mention lack of inspiration was your main issue, correct?”

“Well, yes.” That, and your lack of any novel-worthy sexual experiences.

“And you have had—“ There it is again. Not quite embarrassment, and if you weren’t so tuned in to Zayne’s resting expression, you may not have noticed it, but there is a deeper furrow between his brows as his eyes evade yours, and the slightest tint of pink on the tips of his ears. “You have been with partners before, yes?”

The stoic, pragmatic, level-headed Doctor Zayne is embarrassed asking you whether or not you’ve had sex before.

You nearly laugh.

“Yes,” an amused giggle escapes you at the absurdity of this entire conversation. “I’ve been with partners,” you mimic, slightly mocking his word choice, “but it has been a while, and I haven’t really…”

Zayne moves to take another sip of coffee. “You haven’t?”

“I’ve never come. Orgasmed.”

And he chokes. Again.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry!” You jump from your seat to hand him yet another pile of napkins, but this time Zayne stops you halfway there, grabbing your wrist as his coughs subside.

Neither of you speaks as he drinks water and coughs once more, his grip still iron and far colder than you imagined it would feel against your bare skin.

“My apologies,” Zayne releases you immediately, going back to staring at his coffee as his hand flexes once. Twice. “Continue.”

You can only watch him in fascination, sitting back down in your chair. The entire time he avoided eye contact, and he was definitely blushing. You almost wanted to push further, to poke and tease and test his reactions, but you knew that would end with you losing your head. Or worse, you muse, heart fluttering against your chest.

“Ah, I mean, I’ve felt pleasure before. It’s not that my previous partners were unwilling to do stuff for me, I’ve just never gotten over that little plateau.” It’s not resentment that washes over you, and not quite embarrassment either. Just a little bit of dull apathy towards the subject. And yourself. “Biologically speaking of course I know it’s possible, but there are also plenty of women who simply don’t climax during sex. I’m probably just one of them.”

Zayne, who seems to have returned to his usual stoicism, frowns at that, mouth drawn taut as though he wanted to say something.

"And if we were to engage in sexual acts," He's so clinical, even as he says something that could send anyone else running. “Perhaps that is what you need to start writing again. It would make sense. To write a compelling,” he stumbles over the word, “erotica, you’d have to experience pleasure."

The gears in your mind turn, and slowly, it begins to make a twisted sort of sense. You'd have to feel it for yourself, to be able to describe the sensation, the passion, the tension with conviction. Perhaps it really would get you closer to finishing this damn book.

But then you remember who you're talking to. Doctor Zayne. Your coworker. Worse than that, your mentor and direct superior in your field, and someone you happen to admire very much. So then why would he…?

"What do you gain from this, Zayne?"

Zayne stiffens. “I’m a doctor, it’s my duty to help my patients.”

A sly smile cracks against your lips, and you prop your chin against your palm. “I didn’t realize I was your patient now, doctor?”

His eyes snap back to yours and he straightens, his demeanor slipping back to his typical formality. "You have a bright future in front of you. This is an investment in you, and I believe this will help us both. I will draw up a contract tomorrow for us to discuss, you can meet me in my office after your shift.”

“Rather formal,” you say, but Zayne doesn’t take the bait this time.

He simply takes another sip from his coffee, and you swear you catch him smiling behind the porcelain rim. “Then perhaps I could also get a signed copy of your next book?"

You scoff, waving him off as you slouch back in your chair. "Of course, I'll throw one in the mail the day it's out."

"It's a deal then.”

He’s about to push in his chair when you lunge from yours, grabbing his sleeve as his eyes widen slightly, looking down at where your hands meet. "Thank you,” a smile. ”Zayne."

His gaze softens and he smiles a bit, nodding. "Of course, doctor."

And with a wave, he's gone.

_______

You don’t know what you expected. 

Zayne seemed like the type to take his girl out to dinner first, probably somewhere obscenely expensive. He’d show up with a single rose or another simple but romantic gift so seemingly contradictory to his outward appearance. Afterward, maybe he’d take her to a show or somewhere with fancy sweets, knowing his taste. Then, after all that, he’d invite her back to his apartment or allow her to whisk him away to her place.

You’d imagine it would go something like that. But then again, the terms of your relationship are quite different then the one he’d have with this imaginary woman. So when he texts you after your shift that Tuesday asking if you’re free tonight, you’re only moderately panicked. 

To make matters worse, he’s at your house five minutes early.

Two knocks, and you scramble to open the door, Zayne nearly dwarfing the door frame as he lingers outside the hallway. His trenchcoat only adds to his natural tendency to command attention, and you feel more vulnerable than usual in your sleep clothes. 

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger.” 

Zayne adjusts his collar. “Do you mind if I come in?”

You tap your chin, pretending to mull it over in your mind, relishing in the slight nervousness your silence instills in Zayne. “It would be rather bothersome to fuck in the hallway, I suppose…”

Zayne shakes his head at the remark, but you can see amusement dancing in his eyes. With that, you step aside, and he ducks under the doorframe to slip inside. It’s as though something irreversible- something inevitable- shifts as you watch him cross the threshold, and it doesn't get better when you close the door and lock it behind him. 

You'd say he makes himself at home, but his stance is still too stiff, too awkward, even as he’s hanging his coat and slipping out of his shoes. It almost feels domestic.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Zayne shakes his head, "Not this time."

He says it so casually, and yet the notion of a next time has you dizzy. Of course there’s a next time, you’ll need more than one night to get inspiration. It was only a natural assumption, you reason with yourself. 

"You seem tense," he says, and then your back is against the wall.

Zayne leans down, hovering above you as his hand comes up to your waist. A tentative touch, and you give a small nod, feeling his arm relax, palm sliding further into the plush of your hips. He looks so good like this, in a work button-down with a thin sheen of sweat on his brow and his lips parted. Gods, and he’s not even trying- there’s genuine concern written in the way he scans your body with a deep crease between his brows. You hope he doesn’t notice how you squeeze your thighs tighter.

"It's the deadline, is all," you say, trying to brush off the question.

"Ah, of course. How inconsiderate of me. I’m supposed to be helping you and here I am making it worse.”

Zayne's voice is low and smooth. The cadence in his words, the slight drawl, is a sound that makes your heart skip a beat. It's a shame it's so easy to hide your arousal when you're this nervous.

“Well,” You smile, and his gaze flickers down to your mouth. “I suppose I can forgive you if you uphold your end of the deal.”

His stare is heavy, and it feels like the room is closing in. But you understand the man well enough to know that he wouldn’t dare move first, not until you asked for it, not when you have yet to set a precedent. So you loop your arms around his neck, forcing Zayne closer as his forearm slams against the wall to hold himself up against you. 

You nip at the lobe of his ear, smiling to yourself as he shivers with each warm exhale. Zayne’s hand has yet to leave your side while he lets you grind against him, guiding your movements as you groan against his neck. 

But Zayne feels you rush through the movements, a messy sort of impatience less from desire and more from routine. As though you wanted this done. As though you wanted him gone. 

You feel a familiar flutter against your core as Zayne’s knee comes up against your core, but when you move to grind against his thigh, the hand at your waist stops you. 

“I want to do this properly. You deserve—” he cuts himself off. Starts over. “Where would you like to do this?”

You’re about to tell him that right here is fine, not wanting Zayne to feel as though you needed any more special attention, when you realize just how serious he is. “Bedroom," you say.

Zayne hums, and the rumble reverberates throughout his chest. He offers a hand, and you take it.

And with that, you lead him to your room.

Somewhere between the span of your hallway and bed, Zayne seems to have decided how tonight will go. Despite your desperate touches, teasing up his body and luring him closer, Zayne slows his own pace, leaving burning trails traced with agonizing slowness over the curves of your body. Despite your fumbling to strip off your shirt, Zayne grabs your wrist, forcing it behind your back as his other hand teases the exposed skin of your ribs in a way that has you shivering. Despite your hushed complaints for him to just hurry up Zayne merely smiles in amusement, refusing to give you anything more as he scolds you with a click of his tongue. 

Zayne refuses to rush this. He wants to savor every moment, to etch the sight of you into his mind and commit it to memory, to relive it in this life and the next. 

He continues walking forward, each one forcing you to take a step back until your knees hit your bed, buckling as his form looms over you.

“The largest mistake in any relationship- sexual or not- is lack of communication.” He loosens his tie, “So if we are to do this, you have to talk to me. Tell me what you like, what you don’t.”

As he speaks, Zayne continues undressing, unbuttoning the top few buttons on his shirt before rolling up the cuffs so every glorious inch of his forearms is exposed. Your breath catches with each trailing vein, shadowed in the dim lighting up until they disappear under his sleeves.

Maybe you should write a Victorian-era piece next. Clearly, you had a thing for small swaths of exposed skin.

As if hearing your thoughts, Zayne undoes another button before his hands venture south. With a slow, deliberate motion, he unbuckles his expensive leather belt and allows it to slide through the loops of his pants. It drops to the floor, joining all the other articles of clothing as he takes a seat on the mattress, resting his hand on your bare thigh, inching closer and closer to where your sleep shorts have ridden up.

"Tell me what you like and don't like." Zayne repeats, eyes focused on yours, "And remember, you say no, and this stops."

Zayne moves painfully slow, his hands fluttering down your shoulders, breasts, hips, until he plants them behind you, caging you between his broad chest and the mattress. His hand slips under your shirt’s fabric once more, and you feel yourself tense.

You aren’t wearing anything fancy. After all, you were simply writing in bed, nearly falling off when you suddenly got Zayne’s text. Only a pair of shorts and a cami, but gods, when Zayne’s hands begin trailing up your stomach, dragging the thin fabric up with him, you really wished you put something sexier on.

He doesn't stop until his fingertips brush against the underwire of your bra, thick fingers slipping under the band as he practically tugs you toward him. "Can you take this off for me?"

"Don't know how to do it yourself?" You tease.

Before you even finish taunting him, Zayne's hand has already snuck around your back, undoing the clasp and forcing you onto your back. You can feel the heat radiating off of him.

"Now, now, we'll be here all night if we start fighting." He chastises you, tone far too smug. Zayne tugs the undone bra up, his fingers tracing the red marks it left against your skin. You tremble under his touch. "Didn't realize how sensitive you are." 

His tone is even, but you can see the slight curl at the corner of his lips.

"Your hands are cold," you say, voice wavering as Zayne begins taking your shirt off as well. You try not to fidget, knowing that the way your arms are held up only emphasizes the size difference, Zayne being able to completely lift your chest against him as the other binds your wrists. You're not tiny. But next to him? It barely mattered.

"I apologize." But it feels half hearted at best, especially with the way he’s staring at your bare chest, not even bothering to take your shirt all the way off. It almost feels more embarrassing like this, cotton bunched against your collarbones under his palms.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

The way he says it causes a rush of blood to your face. “I’m not some virgin that might break.” You grumble under your breath, but Zayne is as stupidly attentive as always and frowns.

“Do not mistake my care for pity.” 

Something ugly aches in your chest when he looks at you like that.

Zayne’s hand comes up, large enough to encircle the entirety of your cheek as you’re enveloped in the chill of his touch. His body is nearly atop yours, each word breathed into your mouth. “Then, if you have no more snarky remarks, allow me to begin."

Zayne’s gaze drops to where he thumbs at your lips, leaning in as you watch his pupils dilate, flickering with something before he flinches away, kissing the corner of your mouth instead.

His other hand cups the curve of your breast, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You gasp, the sensation heightened by the feeling of his teeth against your collarbone, nipping marks into your skin. 

It takes a moment for all his featherlight touches to register, your eyes fluttering closed as his thumb rubs your chin. You try to ignore the way he avoids your lips, refusing to get too close.

All for the better, you remind yourself.

He kisses lower, down between the valley between your breasts, hot breath the only warning you get before his tongue meets your nipple while his fingers deliver a sharp flick to the other. The contrast of the heat from his mouth to the cold of his fingertips sends you reeling as you muffle your cries into your palm. 

Zayne doesn’t like that. He forces your hand from your mouth, biting your nipple as if in vengeance as you moan, the sound broken and desperate as you claw at his forearm.

Satisfied, his tongue smooths over the bright pink bite mark and swollen bud, the unpredictable pressure fogging up your every thought before he retreats with a wet pop. 

Finally, Zayne moves to fully remove your shirt, but pauses when you flinch.

“Would it make you more comfortable if I undressed as well?” Zayne begins to take off his own shirt, but you lunge for him, stopping his hands as your voice escapes in a whoosh.

“No.”

His collared shirt was utterly ruined, unbuttoned just enough so you could see his flushed chest when he bent over. And now when he sat up straight the bottom rose up just a bit, exposing a stretch of his lean torso, a peak of his abs, and a dark happy trail that dipped into his tailored pants. Every once in a while, you could see his muscles flex and it sent a shameful throbbing down your core.

“You can keep it like that, it’s hot.”

Zayne doesn’t respond, but when he averts his eyes you swear you watch his lips curl into a smirk. It’s gone by the time he looks at you. Not that you have any time to dwell on it, not when Zayne closes the remaining space between you, guiding you against the pillows.

You try not to focus on how out of place he seems in your apartment, mere presence dwarfing everything else as he makes his way between you, forcing your knees apart.

Zayne leans back, his fingers trailing up your leg, edging up the fabric of your shorts up with his touch, but never daring to slip past the self-imposed barrier of the cotton. He coaxes your hips up, and you kick the shorts off in a clumsy movement, Zayne's eyes now focused between your thighs before you snap them shut as best you can around his waist.

“Let me see.”

You gape at him. “I– Doctor–”

“Relax. I can’t guide you if you don’t let me, now open.”

It’s not an order. Not quite. Zayne’s voice is effortlessly assertive, but it falls just short of being a command. You could call this off, he’s told you that much directly, and knowing Zayne if you did so everything would go right back to how it was before. A mentor and student. Coworkers. Strangers.

You force the tremors in your thighs to relax, knees dropping from Zayne’s hips to the sheets below as you move your left leg just enough to feel the inner band of your underwear stretch.

It’s a bearable amount of embarrassment and vulnerability, until you look up at Zayne again, and akin to a deer in headlights, you freeze. He watches with enough intensity for it to be clinical, a vicious sort of attentiveness that sees every twitch, every strain your body responds with, as if committing it all to memory. As if he were to devour you alive. 

You think you’d let him.

Zayne reaches over, and his thick finger trails a line up your inner thigh, immediately followed by goosebumps, knuckles ghosting the inner seam of your panties.

Your body reacts before you do. Before you can even breathe, the air catches in your throat, and your legs squeeze together in a pathetic attempt to hide yourself.

Zayne pins them down immediately, gaze snapping up to you. You expect a reprimand. Maybe a warning or a punishment, and the anticipation makes your stomach twist.

Instead, his brows draw in, as if lost in thought. “You said you never came from touching yourself either?”

You can barely manage a nod.

“Hm. Then you weren’t doing it right.” He says, so bluntly that you can only blink at him. “Show me how you do it.”

Zayne sits back between your thighs, one hand still absent-mindedly caressing your knee, waiting expectantly.

And you feel the flush burn all the way up your ears and down your chest.

Oh, that was not what you expected him to say. You were prepared for him to touch you, or to guide you, but instead he asks for the complete opposite.

And, well, you could only ever try your best for him— ever the people pleaser. 

It's humiliating how easily your fingers slip under the elastic band. Even more so when the pads of your fingers run down your folds, and you feel yourself clench at the mere contact, already slick and wanting. You move to tug your underwear off, but Zayne stops you, grabbing at your wrist.

"Wait," He's panting, eyes blown as he continues to stare at you, at the wet patch accumulating in the center of those damned panties. "Keep them on."

His tone is so serious a part of you wants to laugh. You're about to make a quip when he pulls your hand up, bringing your fingers to his lips and wrapping his tongue around them. The way he teases from the pad of your finger to your knuckle, sucking as he goes, has you lightheaded. Your hips stutter upwards, a pitiful sound escaping from your throat as you try to keep yourself together.

He doesn't stop. Not until your fingers are clean and your thighs have grown unbearably sticky, neglected and throbbing.

When he finally lets go, you're a gasping mess, and Zayne looks downright smug. "Now, you can continue."

The bastard.

You don't know how you manage to move, let alone bring your fingers to your entrance.

Pushing aside the cotton, your first touch is tentative, and you flush at how much easier it is with Zayne’s spit covering them. Your breath catches both from the initial stretch and the way Zayne leans in closer to see, even though the thin elastic prevents him from watching the way your cunt flutters around the new intrusion. 

You shift, but your need has grown nearly uncomfortable, hips beginning to buck up as one finger quickly becomes too little, and you whine as you attempt to push in another, to push in a little deeper.

"Slower. You're going too fast."

You can't help the scowl, your tone sharper than intended. “How would you know?" 

Zayne’s face is a cool mask, the corners of his lips twitching with amusement. "You did ask me for advice, did you not?" Then his voice takes on a sharper edge, demanding again. "Slow down, then you may continue."

As if you needed his permission to continue. But you do as he says, rocking your fingers in and out, pace painfully slow, mere friction sending jolts of heat throughout you. 

Usually, this was the best part, the delicious and tortuous build-up that would ultimately lead to nothing. Not nearly long enough, your fingers hit just below your sweet spot, and you could feel tears of frustration prick against your eyes. Writhing, you tried to plunge further, choking out a moan again and again at the barest brushing against your sweet spot, mindlessly grinding your hips up to meet each cruel thrust of your fingers. 

You cry when you finally hit that spot inside you, head falling against the pillows as you tense, about to move again when something stops your hand, ripping it away from your desperate chase. 

“You–“ Zayne shakes his head, breath ragged as some combination of a frustrated exhale and moan rumbles through his chest, the sound going straight to your cunt. “You’re too impatient. Too rough.”

You try to swallow, try to hide how the sound of his moan and the rough cadence of his voice makes the muscles of your belly and thighs spasm, but Zayne doesn't miss a thing. He doesn't release your hand, not fully, but rather guides both of your digits to trace around your clit instead.

"Again," he says, “This time slower. How does it feel?”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you feel his hand continue to guide yours, entire body jolting when he catches against the hood of your oversensitive clit, tapping as he lets you circle it on your own. 

“Good. It feels really good.”

Zayne hums, but he already knows that. He feels it through the drenched bottoms of your panties, rubbing your poor swollen clit through them, watching as you gush again, the slick coating his palm and dripping down his wrist in sticky strands.

It takes everything within him not to withdraw his hand and lick it all. Or even better, take his mouth to you directly. Not yet. Not yet, he reminds himself. Next time.

You have to bite your lip as you feel Zayne’s hand take over your own, almost greedily pushing and pinching your clothed cunt, the fabric both a delicious friction and a damn barrier you wish was gone so you could finally feel his bare fingers on you, in you. It’s torture, every nerve on fire as Zayne continues to focus on your clit while your fingers return against your folds, teasing your entrance with a light touch before pressing in.

But it's still not enough. It's not what you need.

You look to Zayne for direction, but his expression is unreadable in the darkness. "Deeper. Keep going."

The angle isn't quite right, but you do as he says, trying and failing to muffle your sounds as you fuck yourself on your fingers, desperately chasing the feeling building up once more.

“Again. Deeper.”

It hurts. Your wrist is beginning to ache, and you’re really not sure how much longer you can keep going, crying out again when Zayne forces his hand flat against your clothed core, shoving your own fingers deeper and causing the wet fabric to rub deliciously against your clit. 

You don't even have time to react before he's pulling away, his own hand rubbing the wetness on his fingers together as he watches the strands break and drip down his hand.

His tone is so nonchalant despite the way he keeps his gaze trained between your legs. As if the sight of you, flushed and gasping, with your cunt pathetically leaking and yet still demanding more, wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever seen. 

“Ask,” Zayne demands, his voice deep enough that you swear you can feel it rumbling through your bones. “Ask for it.”

“Need your help, please, Zayne” you manage, voice airy and heart still racing from unintentionally edging yourself over and over again. “I want your fingers.”

It’s probably impossible to miss the way your eyes have been drawn to his hands all evening, big and corded with veins and muscle and scar tissue. Hands gentle enough to care for patients, steady enough to perform surgeries, cruel enough to tease you this mercilessly, and yet you can’t help but imagine what they’re going to feel like when he starts touching you properly. 

You’ve probably thought about his hands more times than you’d like to admit.

At the hospital, at the cafe, at night in your apartment. Every inch of his body seems to haunt you like a forgotten memory your body had already grown addicted to.

The moan that rumbles out of Zayne’s chest is low and addicting. He sits back for only a moment before your hips are dragged down the bed, a yelp leaving your lips from the sheer force. 

Zayne practically knocks your leg over his shoulder, and when you arch off balance, you press against something that has you inhaling sharply through your nose. Fuck, Zayne’s hard.

He shudders violently at the contact, falling onto his forearms as you roll against him once more, watching his face twist from the painful pleasure you know all too well. You feel his control slipping, both in the way his fingers tighten at your hips and the throbbing heat you feel twitch against your thigh.

And just realizing how much you’ve affected him is enough to send your eyes rolling back into your skull with a violent tremor. 

You attempt to grind up against him again when Zayne roughly pins you back down. You writhe helplessly, hips pinned to the mattress as Zayne curses, adjusting himself in his slacks with a rough squeeze. “No.” A command to both himself and you, “You asked for my fingers, so that’s what you will get.” 

You’re about to open your mouth to make another demand, but Zayne is one step ahead of you yet again. “That’s all you’re getting.” As if to quell your anger, he begins to thumb at your clit again, moving to take off your last remaining piece of clothing. “Next time.”

A promise he has every intention to keep.

Ironically, Zayne is handling you far more gently than you usually touch yourself, and you find yourself flexing your hips in an attempt to get him to touch you with more pressure. He ignores your endeavors, keeping his pace implacably steady and slow. But you’ve been worked up far too long, and as soon as Zayne begins fucking you with two of his much thicker fingers, you already feel the familiar tension building.

“Do you want to tell me what you’re feeling?”

“Not really,” you manage through clenched teeth. 

You feel Zayne pull away and thrust your hips up into nothingness, only making yourself more sensitive when he roughly thumbs at your clit. He slams your hips back down, a cruel pinch to the oversensitive nub forcing you to arch into him as your jaw falls slack.

 “That was not a question.” Zayne is still hovering above you, watching as his fingers slip against your cunt, slick with your arousal. “Use your words.”

His voice takes a dark edge every time he commands you now, and you bite your lip to not whimper at the tremor his voice sends down your skin. It’s not fair, the effect something so simple has on you. But while his demand is still ringing in your ears, Zayne curls his fingers further upwards, rubbing directly against that sweet spot inside you with frustrating ease, and you sob. 

"Please,” you can’t even remember to beg. Zayne nearly abuses the spot, curling into it over and over again until you’re certain you’re drooling all over the silk of your pillow, writhing. "Please, I'm– I need more, and, ah—“

Zayne hums. "More? You're going to have to be more specific if you actually want to orgasm."

You whine, shaking your head as his eyes narrow. He’s only halfway through scolding you when his finger smacks against your clit, the sharp twinge of pain enough to make you cry. "Don't be a child. Words. Tell me what's giving you pleasure so I can help you."

"It's," a huff of air leaves you and you can barely manage to form a coherent sentence, your mind fogging over completely as Zayne continues to talk. "Hah, your voice helps.”

“My voice?”

Your eyes nearly roll back at the sound of Zayne’s chuckle. A deep, cruel thing that you now think may be all you need to come as your eyes screwed shut. “Well, if that’s the case, then I suppose I should just keep talking. Keep your eyes open.”

You obey, and Zayne simultaneously pulls your jaw towards him, forcing you face-to-face with him. “Look at me.”

You do. You do and really wish you hadn’t because the smug smile pulling at the corner of his lips and the freckles of light green you now see in his softened gray eyes might really be all you need to send yourself over the edge.

And, as if listening, Zayne forces his fingers deeper inside, the tips of his digits hitting the same spot that has your mind fogging over, vision blurring with a disorienting mix of hazy and dizzy. You can barely hold on, fingers twitching against the sheets as suddenly it becomes too much, your hands shooting up as you press desperately against Zayne’s chest. 

“Wait–” You’re dizzy. The pressure is consuming you, and you’re losing control. “Please, Zayne.”

He stops immediately, pliant under your touch as he lets you push him away. Even so, his free hand comes up to meet yours, coaxing your fingers against his as he holds it up to his chest, letting you ground yourself with his heartbeat.

The rhythm is comforting.

Zayne isn’t speaking anymore, just looking, waiting for you to give him a sign. He doesn’t dare move, letting his fingers sit still, buried inside of you. You don't know if it's the dizziness lingering in your head or the fact that his fingers are insistently rubbing against a spot inside of you that sends sparks up your spine, but either way, you might be going insane.

“Keep your breathing steady, even when you’re close. Deep breaths.” In, out. In, out. Your chest rises as Zayne’s does, bare skin brushing his. “Good.”

Even as your vision clears, Zayne refuses to let go of your hand, this time pinning it beside your head as he begins to move his other hand too, thumb circling your clit as the others curl against your walls. 

When you begin to shake again, his lips ghost by your neck, dangerously soft and hesitant as he kisses down from your jaw, following each whimper and moan you give to him with loyal intent, sucking gently at a spot near your jugular and collarbone.

"Ah, Zayne. I think–" your breathing hitches as Zayne presses another soft kiss against your skin.

"Are you okay?" The softness of his tone nearly breaks you, and you force yourself to ignore it. Focus on the sensations; focus on what you can use for the novel. Nothing more.

You nod.

"What else, darling? Are you close?"

Your breath hitches. The sudden pet name has you reeling, and you feel Zayne keep his steady rhythm, even through your trembling and whining, his thumb mercilessly circling against your clit in ways you swear never feel the same when you’ve done it. 

"Call me that again," you cry, nearly begging.

"Come. Come for me, darling."

And you do.

Your vision blurs as you come around Zayne’s fingers, a silent scream catching in your throat. All you can manage is a broken moan as you arch into him, gripping his forearm and holding it in place. Your thighs quiver around his arm, and Zayne holds you still, coaxing you through it as wave after wave of pleasure wash over you.

The sensation is overwhelming. You're not even sure how long it lasts, the only thing grounding you is the weight of Zayne's hand laced against your own.

Slowly, he begins to withdraw his fingers, kissing your knuckles softly.

"How are you feeling?"

The room is quiet, and it feels like all the sound has been sucked out of it. Your head is fuzzy and your whole body is tingling, and all you can focus on is Zayne's soft breathing.

Good, you want to tell him. More than that, your body is still shaking from pleasure and desire, and you can’t stop looking at Zayne’s lips or remembering how hot and needy he felt grinding against your thigh. You can’t stop thinking about him, so instead you say, “Fine.”

Zayne stiffens. “Good.” 

He sits up, still scanning your face for something as you watch the fabric of his shirt pull taut across his chest and stomach, and once again you are overwhelmed by the desire to run your hands down his body, to feel his skin against yours. To see more of him.

“I’m going to get you water and a towel.” He says, not moving just yet. “Do you need anything else?”

You shake your head no. Zayne nods, leaning in as his hand goes to your jaw before he pauses halfway and steps out of bed, making his way to your bathroom.

You don’t really remember how much of the night goes by after that, a blur of Zayne attentively guiding you through proper aftercare and you throwing in a few quips here and there at his ceaseless worrying. Before long, he’s saying farewell, and you’re back at your computer screen, empty doc staring right back at you. 

But the words never form. Not when your head is still spinning, replaying everything that happened tonight in vivid flashbacks as an overwhelming rush of mortification and desire runs down your spine. 

You can’t help but feel that perhaps you just made an irreversible mistake.

[lewisvinga]

around the world | lewis hamilton x fem! reader

summary; influencer y/n decides to do the trend of showing off her outfits with lewis as they traveled around the world.

warnings; none ??

word count; 815

taglist; @namgification @louvrepool @locelscs @thehufflepuffavenger1

note; requested! this was longer than expected😭😭

masterlist !

“Okay, ready?” Y/n questions after setting up her phone on the desk in their room. They were currently in their hotel room in Las Vegas, almost ready to leave for the opening of the Las Vegas Grand Prix when she got the idea to shoot the tiktok.

“Wait, what do I do again?” Lewis asked with a chuckle, smoothing down the long black coat he wore on top of a black top with a deep v-neck.

“I showed you like 20 times, Lew.”

“Was too distracted by your pretty face.”

Y/n playfully rolls her eyes, ignoring the blush on her face as she holds one hand out. “Just clap my hand while crossing your legs at the same time.” She explains while copying the motion.

Since they were known as a fashionable couple who always matched, she wore a similar outfit to his but in a dress form. She wore a midi tight black dress with a v-neck and a matching black coat. They both wore their matching pearl necklaces from Valentino and even had matching sunglasses. She of course had her black mini Kelly in hand, an anniversary gift from him from a couple years prior.

“Ready, Lew?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, gorgeous.”

Y/n puts on the countdown and takes a couple steps back to make sure their full outfits are in the frame. The moment the song began, she held her hand out and Lewis did exactly what she explained to him.

“Perfect, now I just gotta remember when we go to Abu Dhabi.”

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“Okay, now we do the same but in these outfits,” Y/n explains again, adjusting her phone in his driver's room. Fortunately, she was quick to remember to record the next part of her TikTok.

They both wore baggy red pants but Lewis wore a white Mercedes shirt while she just wore a plain white blouse with a white Lady Dior in hand.

“Same thing as last week, right?” He asked with a smile as she began the timer.

“Exactly!” She nods in reply, her smile matching his. The song began to play and they copied the same movement they did the week before. Once it was over, she quickly grabbed her phone to check the footage. “Oh, this is gonna be amazing once we finish!”

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“Roscoe, sit,” Lewis tells the bulldog who wore a wide smile. They both watch as Y/n props up her phone on the front porch of their home in England.

The ground was white with snow and the sky let more snowflakes fall. They were wearing layers upon layers due to the freezing temperatures. Of course, they had matching navy blue jackets, and even Roscoe wore a matching vest. Their pants were both black but he wore black boots while she opted for navy boots.

She adjusts the grey scarf she wore that matches his as she starts the timer. “Roscoe, smile for the camera!” She exclaimed, rushing over to stand on the other side of the dog.

Roscoe was seemingly posing as the song began once again, and again Lewis and Y/n did the same movement.

“Roscoe is gonna look so good in that one!” He lets out a laugh, the corner of his eyes crinkling as he bends down to pet his bulldog’s head.

“He’s such a good boy, aren’t you, Roscoe?”

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“Ending it with Brazil?”

“To let the fans know it’s our honeymoon.” Y/n replies in a ‘duh’ tone. She smiled at him and glanced at their matching outfit once again. Lewis had decided to take his braids out and wear his natural curls for the summer, something he usually does when he isn’t racing.

His honey-brown curls were tied into a low bun and covered by a blue hat. He wore an oversized yellow Nike shirt and an earth-green tone pair of baggy pants. Y/n opted for wearing a skirt the same color and a blue Christian Dior tote bag instead of the cap. She also wore a yellow Nike top but it was fitted instead of loose.

It was one of her favorite outfits in one of their favorite countries. Brazil was always special to him and it became special to her, hence their honeymoon location.

“Okay, last one, and be ready!” She exclaims, pressing the countdown once again.

Lewis couldn’t help but stare at her with adoration in his eyes and a loving smile as they did the same moves for the last part of her video. He can already see all the comments they’d get on how he stared at her but he honestly couldn’t care.

He zoned out as he watched Y/n get excited over the video. He was eternally grateful that he was able to go around the world with his wife by his side.

[tastesousweet]

⭒ blurb : “if a girl walks up to you …”

bf!hamzah x poc!reader

summary : headcannon/blurb based on the tiktok trend “if a girl walks up to you and flirts what are you doing?”

mickey speaks : randomly had this thought tdy & hamzah has been on my mind lately soooo this one’s for my slushy girls 💐 PRETTY FLUFFY (but i hope it’s not like … cringy instead of cute)

─────────── · · ୨୧ · · ───────────

you’re both fully in pajamas, tucked and wrapped in each other’s arms when you come across the tiktok trend that has flooded your for you page as of late

hamzah’s naturally aloof (due to a long day spent with you and it currently being almost 1 AM) and unfocused as he fights sleep while watching his tenth episode of teen titans.

so when you quickly unravel yourself from him and move across the room, adjusting your low hanging sweatpants accordingly, he’s dumbfounded and asking you what you’re doing and why you’re leaving him.

“you’re so dramatic, can you come here? i wanna do something”

“insulting me and asking a favor in the same sentence…” he sighs then pauses with a hand closed over his mouth, muffling “wow.”

literally and metaphorically tugging his arm to get him to participate but he’s adamant on knowing what exactly he’s getting up for

when he’s almost out of bed you tell him it’s “this tiktok thing” and he exaggerates a “NOOOO” and releases all of his weight so that he falls back on the bed and you practically fall with him due to your connected hands

of course he’s eventually convinced with a few kisses

hamzah fiddles with your hand while listening to you explain: “okay, pretend im not here and some girl comes up to you at target.”

he just stands in the center of the frame looking around the room as you walk away then return in character

you approach obnoxiously and begin some surface level flirting “hey good looking”

“you can back up a little bit,” he looks you up and down

“pause- did you just check her out???”

“no? you know there was definitely some judgement there.”

“sure ok, resume… now.” you play with your hair, “what’s someone as cute as you doing in a place like this?”

“bruh, we’re at a target” hamzah laughs through his words

you stop your role again, “and why are you taking time to respond to her?!”

“oh kill me for being distracted! you couldn’t have hired an ugly actress?”

you look up at him with squinted eyes, “you need to learn to resist the hot girls too!”

“i’m tryingggg!!!!” he rubs his eye harshly, “restart, restart.”

it cuts to a clip of you two acting once more

“yeah, we both loooveee target we’re, like, so alike,” you go to grab his arm and he turns completely away from you

“ok, and i have a girlfriend” he pretends to grab something off of a shelf

“that doesn’t matter if i don’t see her…”

you continue pestering so he resorts to plugging his ears with his fingers and talking over you, repeating that he has a girlfriend

eventually he turns back to face you and yells “OH MY GOD GIRL, I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!!!!” right into your smiley face.

he then fully manhandles you over his shoulder and spins you around before dropping you onto the plushness of your shared bed

he doesn’t even look to check on you (you’re outrageously laughing and yelling “it hurts!” in regards to your poor stomach cramping)

he runs to grab your phone from the desk while recording himself in faux panic, “guys, you can’t tell y/n i just beat up a woman please, please, pl- AHHH”

he and the video are cut off by you jumping on his back and attacking his cheek with kisses through your loud giggles.

you cuddle in bed again after turning off the lights and hamzah rewatches it for a third time since you’ve posted it to your spam account (everytime it’s over he says, “no, that was actually pretty funny.”)

by the morning it has thousands of likes and plenty of comments either full of love for the two of you together or calling hamzah the funniest man in the world (they’re just like u fr!)

[idk6123]

Puppeteer The Puppeteer (Homelander X Male Reader)

With The Seven constantly being on the hot seat, Homelander only wishes one thing during days like these, control. He wishes there were a way The Deep do less dumb stuff. He wishes A-Train wasn’t some junkie that relies on drugs to use his powers. He wishes he could actually trust Starlight. He wishes Queen Maeve actually would listen to him and stop hating him. He wishes Translucent was still alive. He was fine with Black Noir.

With the lack of a member, he wishes someone more reliable to have in the team. Someone that meets all of his requirements, strong, obedient, trustworthy, basically everything that lacks with his current team. Thus, he got Ashley to scout for potential heroes.

“…And by doing this, we will be keeping up with the trend for more inclusivity.”

Homelander frowns and drops the information file on his desk. “You really think someone blind and in a wheelchair would fit the team?”

“She may be handicapped, but she’s strong. Besides, we never had a handicapped person in The Seven.”

“True, but we do have one in the PR team.” Homelander ruthlessly comment. Without even looking at the offended Ashley, the blonde looks through the files of how he finds interestingly enough to take even a peek.

“Luckily, we many other candidates. I’m sure we can reach a compromise-” Homelander drops the files on the side. Then he gestures to Ashley to give him the files she’s holding. She’s quick to give it to him, making him to look again. “We have plenty of strong heroes who will make the public-” She then stops talking when Homelander stops browsing to look at one file in particular. Judging by his face, he found his new hero. “Who’re you looking at?”

With a satisfied smirk, Homelander continues to look through the file. “We got our new member.”

-

“I highly advice to not get him.” In the hallway, Ashley is following Homelander, who’s meeting his new teammate. “He just made his break as a hero. He only got 11 followers on Instagram, most of them being family members. He caught only 2 burglars. He’s an introvert and I’m not surprised he only leave the house to do grocery shopping. The only good thing is that he’s gay, but I got 100 gay guys on my list.”

“I don’t care about them. I want him.” Homelander insist. He doesn’t stop walking. Not even looking at Ashley as he talks. “And if you’re going to have trouble having him good PR, that is your problem.” With that, Homelander enters his office, with Ashley following him with stress.

Inside of the office, Homelander is quick to see the young man, who looks a bit nervous. He stands up to give his new boss a nervous smile. “It’s an honor meeting you, sir.”

Homelander accepts his hand, smiling back at him. “Please drop the formalities. Please treat me like you treat your friends.”

After introductions, Y/N sit back on his seat, while Homelander is sitting opposite of him. Ashley is standing at the side, wondering what her boss is up to. “I have to say, I’m quite surprised I received a call. I just started all of this, and I’m already being recognized by The Seven.”

“There is a reason for that.” Homelander shows a kind smile. “You got a gift like no other, Y/N. “I never seen a telepath that has such potential like you have. I know you’re an amateur right now, but I can see in front of me a hero that will save millions of lives.”

Y/N blushes a bit, didn’t expecting to receive so many complements from his idol. “T-Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. If you don’t mind, I would like to see you demonstrating your powers. I want to see how good you are right now.” Homelander requests. “I want you to tell me something embarrassing of Ashley.”

Ashley looks alarmed, with Y/N being taken a little aback. “…I don’t use my powers on people casually unless necessary.”

“Don’t worry. She’s fine with it.” Homelander brushes it off. Although not wanting it, Ashley merely forced a painful smile. “Besides, considering this is about your future, don’t you think it’s necessary?”

Y/N knows things seems off, but this is ones in a lifetime chance. So, he uses his powers. Within a second, his face looks disgusted. “What kind of BDSM shit are you in?”

Homelander looks amused as Ashley looks even more embarrassed. “I don’t even need her to confirm it that you did it.” He then leans over. “Now for my final request. I want you to use your mind control power, take over Ashley’s mind and do something ridiculous in the hallway.”

“Wait-!”

Before Ashley could beg for Y/N not to, he did, though he feels a bit guilty. Her entire face only shows some hollowness. As she walks to the hallway, Homelander smirks and stand up. Both men get out of the hallway to see what’s going to happen. There, Ashley stands in the middle of it, with people passing by, not knowing what is going to happen.

“Attention! People! Attention!” Every worker in the hallway looks at her. “I need to confess something! Yesterday, we had a party back at my house, but I didn’t invited most of you. I want to apologize for sleeping in front of some of you and I was advised to go to the doctors.” Every worker frowns at hearing her. “I also want to apologize for the… ‘bathroom’ incident. I shouldn’t drink that much, and I got karma for it. I puked over some of you… and I’m sure you also saw me shitting in my pants at the same time. Again, I’m apologize, and I’m hope we can work normally from now on.” With that, she walks away. When she’s gone from the scene, Y/N let go of her mind.

Homelander looks proud at him as he put his hand on Y/N’s shoulder. “Congratulations teammate. You’re in.”

-

Somehow, Ashley managed to create a story surrounding the new Seven member. Y/N apparently helped Homelander during a mission as a rookie, without knowing the big hero were there. Because of it, Homelander took the newly hero under his wing and train him. The whole spin is basically a sidekick and coach relationship, which worked well for the public.

Right now, it’s the first interview for the new hero. As he awaits in the lounge room, he nervously thinks through the interview, playing it in his mind. Homelander walks in, knowing Y/N is stressing.

“You don’t look too good, buddy.”

“…I never got interviewed before, that’s all.” Y/N nervously steps on the ground. “Especially not one at national tv.”

Homelander gives him an assures smile as he walks over to him. “Remember you can just be yourself. It’s alright to be shy. In fact, Ashley would love to represent someone more introverted on the big screen. Just be humble, nice and honest, exactly how we met. Think you can do that?”

Y/N hums. “Yeah. I’m not one for scripts to be honest. But I’m fine lying if it makes you guys lives a bit easier.”

Homelander looks proud. “That’s my sidekick.” He put an arm around the younger man, who looks a bit nervous. “And don’t worry. I’m going to sit right besides you if you need me.”

Y/N can’t help but smile. “Thanks.”

-

Y/N been accustom quiet well in The Seven. He and Starlight became quick friends. He took training sessions with Queen Maeve. He and Black Noir often spend time together, since both aren’t much talkers. He got stamina training from A-Train. He doesn’t talk to The Deep because he’s currently off the team because he raped someone. Y/N isn’t one to judge people quickly, but he makes an exception with him. That leaves Homelander, who spends the most time with. He helps him train his powers, his fighting moves and helping him PR wise. The boy often views Homelander as his mentor, and comes to him for general life advice, like today.

“I can tell there is something up your mind.” Homelander speaks up as both eat their lunches. “You can talk to me.”

“Well…” Y/N looks a bit uncomfortable. He takes a second for how to phrase it. “…So, I met this guy at security. He’s kinda my first friend that aren’t you guys. But yesterday, he… he asked me out.”

This makes the blonde curious. “Like a date?”

“Y-Yeah…” Y/N replies. “I never had one, so… I’m a bit nervous.”

Homelander smiles, as he thinks through the situation. He’s quick to have a solution in his mind for the new problem. “Want some advice? Just be yourself. He already knows you, so don’t worry about presenting yourself as being social or something. Besides, there is nothing to be ashamed of being quiet.”

Y/N can’t help but smile. “Basic advice, but your right. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

-

Later that day, Homelander got to the guy’s apartment to ‘fix’ the problem. Afterwards, all he had to do is send a text to Y/N the date is off because he wasn’t interested. Knowing the effect he’s going to get; he calls it a day and await for the next act.

The next day, he met with Y/N in the training room, seeing him more stoic then usual. “Everything alright there?”

“…My date bailed on me.” Y/N avoids looking at Homelander. “He said he wasn’t interested.”

“You serious?” Homelander sits down at the side. Afterwards, he gestures his sidekick to sit besides him, which he does. “What a jerk. Are you alright?”

Y/N shakes his head. “…I-I was really looking forward for it. I thought, maybe now I’m in The Seven, it’s fine to be the quiet guy… but it looks things hasn’t changed a bit.”

Homelander put an arm around Y/N, scooting him a bit over to him. “Don’t be ashamed. I know you’re an amazing guy. You’re kind, polite, honest and a hard worker. If he called the date off, that is his loss, because any guy is lucky to be with you.” With that being said, he put his other hand on Y/N’s knee, making the man blushing a bit as Homelander’s face is so close.

“Y-You really think so.”

“I don’t think so. I know it.” Homelander smiles warmly. “Think you’re going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” Y/N smiles. “I’m going to be fine.”

-

Some days later, Homelander invited Y/N to his room. Once there, he sees the blonde holding a bottle of champagne alongside two glasses on the table.

“Since you did so well last mission, I thought we should celebrate.” He opens the bottle, as a pop sound comes from it. With a smile, he tempts Y/N to drink, which he does.

With both men smiling, they drink the champagne from the glass as they sit down. Homelander is proud of his sidekick, now finally being stand on his own. Last mission, Y/N managed to mind control 10 people at the same time. Without even getting someone hurt, he successfully removed some terrorist who would’ve ended innocent people’s lives.

“Just imagine what you can do in the future. Wouldn’t be great if you could do, let’s say, 100 people?”

“I had already trouble doing with 10.” Y/N laughs. “It’s going to be a while before I can do even 20. That being said, it’s all thanks to you. You saw the potential in me and helped me achieve it.”

“You’re welcome. I know talent when I see it.” Homelander smiles. “And I know you’re only to get better from here out.”

“I feel like that too.” Y/N sounds hopeful.

“And I continue train you. …But I have something to confess to you. I have an ulterior motive.”

Y/N is curious. “Really? What’s it?”

“Well…” Homelander avoids looking at him. “When I first saw your file, I knew you were going to be a great member, and I was more then happy to help you. But as I spend more time with you, I grew more attach to you. Not as a teammate, or a friend, but as someone who cares for you.”

Y/N looks a bit stunned. “…You mean as a partner?”

Homelander looks back at him. “Nothing would make me happier to have you at my side… as something more then a friend.”

“W-Wow…” Y/N continues to look startled. “…I-I never expected this.”

Homelander smiles. “It’s alright. Take your time.”

“I… I would be very happy to be your boyfriend.”

With a wider smile, the hero leans in and kisses Y/N, who nervously kisses back. Both of them being gentle with the other. It was short, but it was sweet, something what the blonde was going for. After the kiss, he put his hand on Y/N’s cheek.

“You look so beautiful. I’m very happy to have you at my side.”

-

The next day and the big hero wake up in his bed. His eyes quick to look at the side to see Y/N lying next to him. His front is facing towards him. With a wide smile, Homelander get on his side to carefully hug Y/N, who’s face is now against his chest. The new recruit mutters something.

“Y/N?”

But it appears he’s still asleep. The blonde then looks pass Y/N’s head. As he continues to smile, he knows he got what he wanted. To have someone’s loyalty, now in the form of love. And to make it better, have someone that is powerful. With his powers, Homelander can use his telepathic abilities to get any information instantly and control someone’s mind without any problem. Sure, he needs to mold his lover to do what he wishes, but if he continues to be patient and dedicated to his project, things will turn out very well.

[collecting-stories]

Strawberry Gazpacho - Carmen Berzatto

A/N: Some people asked for a part 2 of Blueberry BBQ, so I decided to stay on the fruit trend!

Summary: Reader and Carmy continue to bond over food.

The Bear Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

"What is this?" You asked, staring down at the bowl Carmy had placed on top of your papers. You were in the back office, trying to work on the week's payroll when he'd come in, told you that you needed a lunch break, and placed a plate down in front of you. 

"Try it," he urged, wringing his hands in his apron and looking like an eager little kid. 

"Carm-"

"Try it," he repeated and you obliged. Regardless of what it was you knew you would like it. Carmy made it, which immediately meant it couldn't be bad, but also, Carmy made it. For you, more specifically. You took the proffered spoon and dipped it into the bowl, surprised when you pressed it to your lips and found that it was, in fact, cold.

"Gazpacho?" You asked, after a second bite.

You had told him last night, while watching TV and letting him finish the tupperware of tofu feta that's you'd made the day before, that you hated gazpacho. You loved soup and tomato was your favorite; a nice, roasted red-pepper tomato, heavy on the garlic, that you'd perfected over the years. But no gazpacho. You couldn't get used to the fact that it was cold. 

"You like it?" He asked in a way that suggested he might genuinely be worried that you would tell him it was horrible.

"I mean, it's the best gazpacho I've ever had," you took another bite as proof, "it's spicy."

"But?"

You weren't sure if he was fishing for a compliment or trying to convert you onto a food you held in disdain but you assumed that if he wanted someone to tell him that he was a skilled chef he would've gone to Syd or Marcus with his cold soup.

"It's cold soup Carmy, I just can't fuck with cold soup." You replied, "it's good though."

He reached for the spoon in your hand and dipped it into the bowl, trying some of the gazpacho that he had made. He nodded his head, as if to confirm that it was good, as if he didn't already know it would be.

"Should I like, fall over at your feet and tell you that you've converted me to gazpacho and it's the only thing I'll ever order for the rest of my life?" You teased, leaning an elbow on the desk. It felt completely natural to be this relaxed with him and yet, just weeks earlier, you'd been fretting over the idea of having him come over for Sunday dinner. 

He handed the spoon back and you took another experimental taste.

"I mean, you're still eating it," he pointed out, grinning. 

In no world would Carmy say that he was 'good with people'. If he wasn't saying the wrong thing then he was saying nothing at all (and that was also wrong). He wanted to spend more time with you, the most time he could afford outside of The Beef but the only way he really knew how to spend time with anyone was cooking. So he kept cooking for you, things you liked, things you hated but liked when he made them. He kept trying to find the perfect thing to say and the perfect recipe to go along with it, as if that would remedy his inability to tell you that he wanted more from whatever this situation currently was. You weren't dating but he wanted to be dating but he wasn't exactly the dating type (as far as having an actual open schedule went). 

"Touche," you replied, taking another bite. "I can't decide if I'll regret telling you this or not but my mom has a recipe for strawberry gazpacho that apparently my grandma used to make every summer."

"Strawberry?"

"I can already see the gears turning in your head Carmy," you laughed. 

He looked down at you, piercing blue eyes taking your measure, "can you get me the recipe?"

"Are you gonna make me eat it?" You practically pouted. 

He nodded, "yes."

You groaned and leaned back in the office chair, "god, the things I do for you Carmy." You sighed. "I'll text my mom for the recipe...I can pick stuff up on my way home, if you want. Or if you're all gazpacho'ed out-"

"No, tonight works." He agreed.

Before you could say anything else Marcus was calling Carmy back to the kitchen. He wiped his hands on his apron once more and push himself off the desk. Before he could pick up the bowl you put your hand over his, "I might try another bite." 

There were other things that Carmy could probably be doing with his evening. Catching up on sleep, working on the recipes that he and Syd had been spitballing for the updated menu, mending whatever semblance of a relationship he still had with Sugar. Instead he was looking forward to going to your apartment (which was leagues nicer than his shitty place) and cooking. He'd lived so long on white bread and peanut butter and chips and soft drinks and anything quick that he'd forgotten what it was like to cook just because he enjoyed cooking. Hell, he'd forgotten that he enjoyed it. The only thing, lately, that really felt like it brought that enjoyment back was standing in your kitchen.

"Rigoletto has taken up residence on the island and he refuses to move so...we're down some counter space," you said as soon as you opened the door to Carmy, moving aside to let him into your apartment. 

He stopped at the island, leaning over to pet Rigoletto, who half-heartedly rolled onto his side to give Carmy better access to his stomach. "Hey chef," he teased. He turned to look at you, still stroking the cat as he did, "strawberry gazpacho?" 

"I would just like to disclaimer that I don't think strawberries are going to improve my deep-seated hatred of gazpacho but-"

"I mean, you did eat most of the one I made earlier," Carmy pointed out as your mouth fell open in surprise. 

"Angel! What a snitch!" You laughed, "I can't believe he told you."

"Hey, it's my kitchen, I've gotta know what's going on." He followed you around the other side of the island, grabbing the notebook you had sitting on the counter and scanning over the recipe. You'd called your mom on the way home and asked for a copy of the recipe, which she'd gladly texted ("does this have something to do with that cute chef where you work?"). You'd picked up whatever ingredients you didn't already have at your house and set everything out for Carmy before he'd even gotten there. You felt a little silly, being so excited just to have him come over and cook with you (for you) when there was no real definition to what your relationship was. 

"Did you cook growing up? Like with your mom and stuff?" You asked, stealing a strawberry out of the plastic container. 

"No," Carmy shook his head, then amended his answer, "not really. My ma always told us to help but if we did she yelled at us for doing something the wrong way...it was better to just stay outta her way when she was in the kitchen. You?"

"Oh yeah, my mom's not like...the best chef in the world or anything but she loved trying new stuff. Anything we wanted we could ask for and she'd try to make it. And then as we got older we would have like, nights where one of us got to cook." You replied, "I like it but...I don't think I'm good at it."

"You are...I mean....not like, you've got potential." Carmy explained, blue eyes glancing up to meet you across the island and you smiled. 

"Thank you chef."

You left Carmy to the strawberry gazpacho and the chicken he'd brought over to make some dish you'd never heard of before while you got Rigoletto's dinner out. The cat had finally moved off the island and you sprayed it down with cleaner to at least give yourself a better chance of not picking white cat hair off your dinner plate. 

Carmy fit right into your kitchen, probably the whole apartment for that matter. It was something both of you had thought, more than once, but neither of you said anything about. He felt like he was waiting for something bad to come from all the good you had been supplying in his life recently. Bad news always felt like it was lurking around the corner for him, especially these days, and he didn't want to put everything in one basket. But being in your kitchen, in your space, felt good. It felt like he was supposed to be there. 

"Did you know," you were saying as you came back into the kitchen, leaning near him to look at the chicken he was searing on the stovetop, "that I didn't know what mortadella was before I started working at the Beef?" 

Carmy turned his head to watch you fish a piece of garlic out of the skillet and eat it whole, "Did you just?"

"It was cooked."

"It was a whole clove of garlic."

"I love garlic," you shrugged, dropping the fork in the sink, "but seriously, I had to google it cause I didn't know what Richie was talking about when he was trying to explain it."

"It's very Italian." Carmy replied. 

"You're very Italian." You grinned and he rolled his eyes.

"I am, yeah." And then, "I still can't believe you ate that."

"You act like you've never eaten garlic before."

"Not just shoved a whole clove in my mouth." He replied. 

"It tasted good." You shrugged, "I always use too much garlic. Like if a recipe says three cloves I use six."

"Yeah that's why I said you had potential." 

"Well now I just feel like that's your 'I don't wanna hurt your feelings' way of saying I'm actually shit at cooking." You replied. 

"Nah, if you were shit I'd tell you."

"Yeah but then who'd balance the books for you?" You teased, searching in the cabinet under the island for wine, "red or white?"

"Uh...white for this." Carmy replied.

You pushed the bottle of red you were holding back into the cabinet and went to the fridge, pulling out the Chardonnay you'd bought last week. You grabbed two glasses from the cabinet, handing him one once it was poured. 

"Is this the 'only white you'll drink' wine?" He asked, taking a sip. 

The last time he had come over to cook with you (for you) there had been a long discussion about different wines in which you'd explained that there was only one type of white that you liked. More accurately, one brand that made a chardonnay you didn't completely hate. 

"Yeah...they finally restocked!" You exclaimed, leaning against the counter, "the woman at the Wine and Spirits definitely thinks I'm an alcoholic though...I bought like, four bottles." 

Carmy shook his head, reaching a hand out for the bottle and splashing a little into the pan when you handed it to him. Kitchens were crowded and Carmy was more than used to working in an environment where people were constantly at each other's side or back or space but something about having you leaning there against the counter beside him was both extremely nerve-wracking and extremely comforting. 

He didn't say anything about it though, at least not until after you'd eaten dinner and were sitting on the couch avoiding the dishes. Then he blurted it out while you watched reruns of Murder, She Wrote with Rigoletto. "I always thought I would do stuff like this when I was younger."

"Watch 80's tv shows on a Tuesday night?" You asked.

"No," he laughed, "Just like...I don't know....you know, make dinner with someone. Or, I guess, not feel like my entire life was in a restaurant all the time."

"Well I'll always be happy to make dinner with you...or at least supply the wine while you make dinner." You replied, grinning at him.

"Yeah," he nodded his head slowly, as if convincing himself that what you were saying was true. 

"Yeah," you agreed.

[fushigur0ll]

Ok now here me out… you know how that old people filter is going around on TikTok? I think it would be so cute if 42!Miles and you do it and he gets kinda emotional at the thought of growing old with the reader, and also he kinda looks like his dad so it’s a harder blow.

Idk I think it would be cute and kinda sappy cause I love seeing those couples on TikTok try it and be like “that’s how we’ll look when we’re grandparents.” AHHH😭♥️

i’m gonna make this as sentimental as possible</3 thanks for the request boobie snoobie

NOW? LIKE NOW NOW?

꒰ ♡ ꒱ you try out that filter you see everyone doing on tiktok and you show miles and his reaction shocks you

includes ; fluff, kisses, tears and sadness but it’s happy tears and sadness oh and use of the n word! not proof read, finished this long one half asleep, n may be a a tiny bit ooc but..IDGAF this is cute💔

"Why do you always leave a nigga hanging outside your window for so long, baby?" Your boyfriend frowned as his gaze fixated on you, while you kept your eyes glued to your phone, even as you opened the window for him.

"I'm sorry, I was using the bathroom," you replied, finally looking up at him with a smile that made him smile back at you. you couldn't help but feel a flutter in your heart as he leaned down to give you two soft kisses on your lips before fully entering your room

Your room was chilly and cozy, with a gentle breeze flowing in from the now-open window, giving your boyfriend goosebumps that raised the hairs on his forearms. As he looked around, he noticed the soft glow of the low orange and purple LED lights, illuminating the room like a beautiful sunset over Brooklyn. He closed the window behind him, but the cool air remained, just the way you liked it.

"Why are you so glued to your phone?" he asked as he took off his shoes and jacket by your desk. You were sitting on your bed, scrolling through videos on your phone, not looking up from the screen.

"I saw this trend on TikTok, and now I can't stop watching it," you replied, still engrossed in your phone. He hummed and headed to the washroom to freshen up and change into his own clothes that he kept at your place.

After a few minutes, he emerged from the washroom, wearing a black t-shirt, gray sweatpants, and a silver necklace adorning his neck. He saw you in a different position, lying down on the bed with your phone a few inches away, as if you were recording a video.

He walked towards you and sat by your side, watching your face closely. He stared at you without saying anything, and you could sense his intense gaze on you, making you glance up at him with a curious expression.

"What's wrong?" you asked, and he just shook his head and leaned down to kiss you once again.

"nun...you're just beautiful," he whispered, laying his forehead on yours, and you smiled, cupping his left cheek softly.

"And you're even more beautifuler pookie butt," you teased, biting his nose playfully when his face drops. "So weird," you chuckled and shoved your phone to his face, making him widen his eyes for a moment before focusing on the screen.

"What is this, baby?"

"its a filter. this is the trend i found. You just press it, and it shows you how you would look when you're older," you explained, sitting up and making him do the same. You pressed the filter and applied it to your faces. The top half of the screen showed your current selves, while the bottom half showed an older version of you both, which made his breathing stop.

As miles stared at the screen, a wave of emotions washed over him. The longer he gazed at the older version of himself, the more it began to resemble his father. He blinked and opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but nothing came out. He continued to blink, feeling the burn of his eyes that he didn't want to experience at the moment. He took a deep breath in, trying to steady himself.

As he looked at your old face, his feelings washed over him like a wave once again. He found you so beautiful, even with a few aging lines and wrinkles on your skin. He stared a bit longer as his train of thoughts went throughout his brain.

Miles didn't just love you, he was in love with you. He always had been. Ever since you both were in the same class together two years ago, and last year you both got together, making it almost two years. He never understood how someone could love him this much. No matter how hard or how high of a wall he built around himself, you managed to climb it or even break it down. He wasn't complaining, but if he knew loving you would be like this, he wouldn't have put up the wall in the first place.

He still remembered the days when you would try to strike up a conversation with him, and he would always be so cold, just to get the point across that he needed to be left alone. But it didn't come through your big ass head. He chuckled to himself, remembering how much he loved— and still loves making fun of your forehead being so big.

He always remembered the times he would find himself staring at you in class when you would sit beside him during the quiet period, just writing notes and doodling cute hearts and faces on his paper. He pretended to be annoyed about it, but secretly loved it. And he wouldn't tell you, but he still had those doodles you used to do in his desk.

Another thing he remembered was when you agreed to being his girlfriend and you both found yourselves at a park, on the playground. You lay in his chest as you both lay on the slide, cuddling close to each other while just looking up at the pretty stars that twinkled and glistened in the night sky. He remembered a story you read with him a few days prior about how the sun loved the moon so much he died every night to let her breathe. He referred to himself as the sun and you to the moon. He would sacrifice himself as long as you got to live a better life. Someone who came into his life just to break down his walls and love and cherish him this much shouldn't have him thinking about the day he wants to marry you, but he finds himself doing just that anyways.

He wonders how you will react when, after you both are done with school, getting a bit older and thinking about moving out of your parents' houses, you consider moving in together. Maybe even getting a pet. He knows you love kittens, and he's seen how you cry happy tears of awe when you see a baby kitty cat. He would make fun of you, and then you would start crying more and more. To cheer you up, he would just start kissing and tickling you, which always 100% of the time works.

Oh, how he loves you so much it brings tears to his eyes. Literally.

You had already put down the camera long ago when you saw Miles lost in thought. But you immediately become concerned and worried when a tear falls down his cheek, even though his face remains blank. You frown and cup his cheeks to direct his face towards yours. You kiss his nose, cheeks, and finally his lips ever so softly, hoping to bring him back to the present moment.

You whisper Miles' name, your voice soft and gentle, not wanting to startle him too harshly out of his train of thought. He blinks once, and another tear rolls down his cheek, and you move your thumb to gently rub it away, your heart aching at the sight of his tears.

"You're crying," you say softly, and Miles inhales softly, exhaling and leaning into your hands with his eyes closing.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, his lips pressing against the palm of your hand. He opens his eyes once more, staring into your beautiful eyes.

"There's no need to apologize, baby. I'm just worried," you respond, your voice equally soft as before. Your words make more tears well up in his eyes, but he holds them in.

As he hums softly, the sound vibrates through his chest and sends a shiver down your spine. he squeezes your thigh once then makes his way up the bed to rest his back against your headboard. As you crawl up the bed towards him, you take in the sight of his broad shoulders and muscular arms. you lay back into his chest, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

he wraps his arms around your waist, you feel his strong hands on your skin, kneading and rubbing your soft flesh of your thigh once more. You feel his warm breath on your neck as he leans down to rest his head against you, and he can't help but smile as he recognizes the familiar scent of vanilla and cocoa butter.

As he kisses your bare shoulder, you feel the softness of his lips against your skin, you tilt your head to the side, giving him more access to nuzzle his head into your neck and exhaling softly.

he starts to speak, his voice is a deep rumble in your ear, and vibrations of his chest against your back.

"I was just thinking about something... I never saw so much of my dad in me until now, and that's just very... very scary. I don't like to have him on my mind so much because then I'll just fall into this depressive state, but... I just really, really miss him," Miles trails off

You smile sadly, your heart breaking at the sound of Miles' pain. You tilt your head back to press your lips against his chin, your hand coming up to hold the side of his face so you can bring his face down for your lips to touch his own, conveying all the love and comfort you can offer.

you always loved kissing miles. both of your love languages was just physical affection, him more then you from what he says because

‘you can’t love me more then i love you’

"It's okay to think about your dad once in a while, Miles. That's what keeps his memory alive, right? He's always with you, around this house, outside, and in your heart, baby. Don't ever forget that," you say, placing a hand over his chest, where his heart beats strong and steady. As you speak, the room is filled with a sense of calm with Miles listens intently, his eyes watching you as he takes in every word, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

When you finish speaking, Miles frowns, feeling more tears start to line up in his eyes. He groans and covers his eyes with his arm, feeling overwhelmed by his emotions. You can't help but giggle softly at his reaction, finding it endearing.

Turning around, you straddle him just sitting on-top of his thighs. your fingers tracing small circles on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your touch.

"Look at me," you say, poking his chest playfully. He swats your hand away, giving you a playful glare as he peeks out from under his arm. He sighs and puts it down, his callused hands landing on your thighs.

You feel a the warmth of his hands "Why did you cover your face?" you ask, pinching his cheeks playfully. He gives you a warning glare, but the smile on his face betrays his true feelings. He shakes his head at your antics and starts rubbing your skin slowly up and down.

"...I wanna get married," Miles says suddenly

You freeze, staring at him like he's lost his head. The room falls silent, the only sound that’s there is your breathing and the beating of your hearts. You get curious and comfortable, leaning closer to hear his explanation.

‘now?..like..now now?’ you couldn’t help but think. ‘im not even looking good or ready.. but where’s the ring—‘ your thoughts was cut off by miles snickering underneath you.

“not right now ma, i meant later on in the future” he explains and you nod, understanding way.

"Miles, what are you talking about?" you ask softly, your eyes locking with his. he twists his lips to the side before speaking once more

"I want to marry you," he whispers, You gaze up at him, taking in the way his eyes only look at you.

"You do?" you ask softly, your heart pounding in your chest. All he does is nod his head in response, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. You feel a rush of happiness wash over you.

"I want to grow old with you," he continues, his voice steady and sincere. "As corny as that shit sounds, it's true." You can't help but smile at his words, feeling your heart swell with love for him.

"Me seeing us old gave me some sad thoughts," he admits, his expression softening. "But it gave me some hopeful ones too." You listen intently as he speaks, hanging on his every word. You love when he opens up to you like this, sharing his innermost thoughts and feelings with you.

from the time you knew miles, he used to have a hard time expressing himself. He would often be closed off, keeping his emotions bottled up inside. But over time, he's grown more comfortable with sharing his feelings, especially with you. It makes you feel special, knowing that he trusts you enough to be vulnerable with you.

“those hopeful thoughts, most of them, was how i wanted to make you my wife…even though you already are” he winks and squeezes your thigh playfully making you huff and show a small smile. “but for real though, you show me so much love that i never thought you’d do in the first place for me. you’re my first girlfriend and i want you to be my last.” he confesses “i wanna see your old ass make some peach cobbler in the kitchen one day when we have kids and our kids have they kids and you be in there talking about some ‘you ain’t ate all day baby?’ “ you burst into laughter at his attempt to try and sound like a old momma with a raspy voice.

he chuckles and moves his hands to your waist. “but before that, i wanna see you walk down that isle with the dress of your dreams and a pretty smile on that pretty face to get your ring i’ll put on you that’ll make you mine till i’m no longer on this earth”

you couldn’t help but feel yourself about to cry, it was your turn now to groan and shove your face into his chest making him laugh at you.

“wanna be me so bad” he mumbles, kissing your temple and hugging you. you sniffle against his shirt, holding onto him tightly. you were so inlove with this man it makes you so soft

As you look at him now, you can't help but feel grateful for him and the deep connection you share with eachother. it’s something you always wanted to have with someone special and it just so that miles is that one special person

the room was quiet and calm. miles looks down at you you starts drawing circles on his chest, even writing his name and your name inside a big imaginary heart. he chuckles and his chest vibrates making you look up at him just to catch his attention directly on you.

“hi” you whisper and he smiles leaning in closer to your face

“hey” you stuff your face into his chest and hug his tighter.

“..yes” you suddenly speak. miles not knowing what you’re saying yes for, starts to rub your shoulder whilst looking at you in confusion

“hm? whatchu saying yes for?” he asks and you look up at him once more.

“i wanna marry you too” i whisper with a sincere look on your face. he stares before he leans in and kisses you passionately, holding the side of your jaw to make the kiss deeper.

you smile against his lips and enjoy the softness of it on yours. you both savoured the kiss, almost losing air from not wanting to let go. you both unlock lips slowly and you just stare into each-others eyes not wanting this moment to end

“cant believe because of you and that damn filter i’m over here cryin” he grumbles and you just laugh, rubbing the back of his neck

“my softy bootie butt” i tease and he pinches your side

“i take everything i said right back—”

“TOO LATEEE~”

fushigur0ll © 2022 all rights reserved.

[luvkaulitz]

🌬️ OPEN ARMS

pairing : tom x female! reader

summary : the rain caused you to slip and get injured during your concert. you were now at the hospital bored before a worried Tom came rushing in.

author's note : hi guys I'm not dead I've just been busy with school 😜 btw this isn't proofread LOL

Tom was sitting in the break room, tapping his foot on the ground while scrolling through his phone. The room was quiet, the only sound heard was the fan blowing cool air towards him. The other boys were out getting something to eat. Normally Tom would've tagged along but he was too tired and just wanted to sit this one down.

Ding

Tom looked at the top of the screen to see a new twitter notification. Normally he'd just ignore them as he didn't bother to check anything that was trending. Although this time he saw a glimpse of the hashtag before the notification disappeared.

"Now trending: Y/N L/N injured during performance"

He sat up as his heart nearly dropped to his stomach. He was about to click on the twitter app before the door swung open revealing a Bill with a worried face plastered on his face.

Next came Gustav and Georg with the same expression. Georg had his phone open and walked up to Tom to show him whatever he was looking at.

On the screen was a news report about your injury and how you were currently in the hospital.

The others watched Tom jump out of his seat before he frantically begged the others to dial everyone that might know your whereabouts.

The boys scattered to find their phones, dialing your manager and friends as Tom directly tried calling your number.

Tom felt sick to his stomach once he dialed you five times but yet no one answered.

He looked back to Gustav and Georg watching as they shook their heads. No one was picking up.

Tom dialed you one final time before Bill screamed at them to come over to where he was standing.

"She's at ____ hospital, her room number is 238"

Tom blurted a thanks before running out of the building towards his car, only hoping you were not critically injured.

The car ride was long and quiet. Tom's patience was being tested when he hit the LA traffic. Finally he made it to the hospital you were in and asked the nurse where your room was.

"Hello, do you know where Y/N L/N is?"

"Sorry sir but only family is allowed in, may I ask how you're related to her?"

Tom was panting at this point, heart almost beating out of his chest. "I'm her fiance."

The nurse nodded and clicked something on her computer before pointing to the left.

"She should be the last door on the left sir."

Tom thanked the front desk nurse before running towards your door.

Tom took deep breaths before turning the door handle with his shaking hands. The hospital smell and the sound of machines beeping filled the room, as was the sound of a tv running in the background.

There you were. Laying on the bed with an arm cast and a bandage wrapped around your head.

You were awake, leaning against the bed's backboard while flipping through tv channels. The sound of the door opening made you drop the remote and look over to see who came to visit you.

You smiled seeing a worried Tom come rushing to your side. He grabbed a chair and pulled it beside you. He cupped your cheeks, softly caressing them with his thumbs.

"My love, what happened?"

You sighed and began telling him what happened during you and your band's concert.

It was being held at a nice venue outside which you were looking forward to but unfortunately it backfired. The weather switched up at the last minute. It was supposed to be a sunny day but instead heavy rain started falling causing the stage to get very slippery.

Your other bandmates were trying their best not to slip but of course you wore the wrong shoes for this occasion.

Your shoes made the stage even more slippery causing you to slip and fall directly off the stage.

You hit the ground with a thud, followed with a scream of pain. You banged the back of your head on the hard ground and landed on your right on your arm.

The next thing you knew was waking up in a hospital room.

Tom sighed and pulled his hands back to grab a hold of your uninjured hand.

"Do you feel better now?"

"Mhm I feel better than yesterday I know that."

You chuckled before scooting over to make room on the bed. Tom knew what you were doing and hesitated.

"Please Tommy?"

Tom looked up seeing you using your puppy eyes that somehow always worked on him. With another sigh Tom stood up before laying beside you on the hospital bed.

He pulled you in for a hug, being careful to not accidentally put any pressure on your fractured arm.

"Y/N."

"Mhm?"

"Ich liebe dich. (I love you)"

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

If you look at the trademark application for American Riviera Orchard, you’ll see that she’s trademarking it through a newly registered in Delaware company called Mama Knows Best, LLC.

Infact when you dig into the domain names etc, it seems this was thrown together last minute aka 2months ago after KC3/ PssoW C’s illnesses were announced. They are using PR to pretend they were working on it for an entire year, but even Scobie said they had nothing or whatever they had was all over the shop and he had no idea what it would be.

His comments don’t speak to a focused vision that is researched into whatever this is.

And what’s glaring about this launch is the lack of anything to sell. Not videos or actual products which speaks to the theory that this wax thrown together very quickly.

Russell Myers from the Mirror says if you sign up to the website, you get a respinse telling you that you’ll be notified of products when they are created/ available……if this was a year in the making and with proper marketing/ PR people, they’d have products ready to go. What it is right now is a landing/ holding page ( comments turned off on IG) until it produces products. 

It’s also interesting that the video is showcasing cooking which Markle tried to manifest for years while dating Corey. She auditioned and or popped up on varioys cooking shows/ fashion segments hoping to be hired. Acvording to people magazine, this launch of a lifestyle brand will have a companion show on Netflix. If Network tv won’t hire her for dream job then she’ll use her distribution deal to make it happen aka pay herself to make it happen!!!

However, one thing she revealed which tells me she has no clue about aspirational lifestyles/ branding. Her home kitchen hasn’t been updated from the dated 2000s/ early 2010s decor. It’s tye same kitchen from the sales brochure. 

Infact, glimpses of their home show a distinct lack of updating from the sales brochure. The onpy room thry updated is the one with the dining table as desk and their two side by side chairs. They removed all furniture and painted it white and addedva jute rug and that california bear poster over the fireplace. 

The current trend in kitchens for the wealthy is marble counter-tops and sleek designs meanwhile she’s displaying faux country/ italianate kitchen from the 90s. 

The women she is cosplaying eg GOOP, Martha and Ina Garten have upgraded to the current trend in kitchens. GOOP showed off her new kitchedn in AD. Heck, JLO is showing off her sleek kitchen. 

*****************

That they haven’t updated their house to their taste is what I laugh about the most. Are they really that cash-poor? Do they really have that much debt that they can’t afford to redo anything? Surely Markus and Soho House can cough up a few million to keep her happy, and when the Sussexes default on the loans, they can make Soho Olive Garden, a Californian spinoff of Soho Farmhouse. Win-win, if you ask me.

meanwhile she’s displaying faux country/ italianate kitchen from the 90s. ➡️ Remember, Meghan’s whole aesthetic is 90s. Of course she wants the Italian Country kitchen.

And thanks, anon. You’ve just reminded me of a house I looked at when I was moving back in 2022. The homeowners were so into that Italian Country Kitchen theme that they PAINTED the entire kitchen like it was a rustic Italian restaurant. You know you go into a family-owned Italian mom-and-pop place (not a chain like Olive Garden or Maggianos, but something like your neighborhood Italian pizza place) and it’s got that orangey-beige sponge paint that’s supposed to mimic sandstone and there’s a huge wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling mural of Italy and dusty fake vines hanging from decorative columns? Yeah, that was how this kitchen was painted. Even the cabinets. And that was not even the weirdest house I looked at by a mile.)

[catgirlmeowska]

you walk into my office. im in a dark office with expensive mahogony pannelling. my grand desk intimidates you, the new intern, as you approach. The back of my leather office chair is illuminated with a fammiliar navy-blue-ish tone.

You hesitate, if only for a moment, until my hand pops out tapping out a fat cigar onto the floor. I spin my chair around and cross one leg over the other, staring at you inquisitively. You approach with today's reports. You move to explain your findings on current stats and trends that are blowing up, but i shush you with a single finger.

"Do you think I got as far as i did giving a rats-ass about any of that?" I say, kicking my feet off the desk before you can notice I am wearing a pair of tastefully dinosaur themed crocs. "I only care about two things, Kid. Open today's review".

You sigh, knowing your manager wont be pleased to know you couldn't get through to me, but you're at your wits end with this job none the less. You root through the folders until you can find one labelled "PERFORMANCE" in thick, black sharpie. You dust off loose glitter that fell out of a jar when i kicked the desk trying to put my feet down casually, and open to a single page.

"What does it say. Tell me."

"....8 likes."

"And the reblogs?"

"....2."

You expect disappointment, but recoil as i let out a menacing howl of laughter. I dive over the desk, tackling you to the ground and shaking your shoulders in a state of euphoria.

As I slowly raise myself off of you, my face is darkened by the shadows cast by your long-forgotten flashlight. I turn around and walk towards an open window, balancing on the ledge as a helicopter flies frighteningly close to the building. As i hope on, I leave you and the company with one final message:

"That beats my record!"

"By how much?!" you shout over the whirring of the blades.

"........Two."

[remindingpersephone]

Curveballs

When life gives you . . . stitches? So I had to have a cyst removed from my back and it was a big boy, so it took 13 stitches to close that hole up (there are so many jokes here). The doc said no lifting, no stretching, because stitches on the back (it's actually closer to shoulder) can rip easily. Since I can't get into the pool - healing wound = no soaking - and it's 9,823 degrees outside so no walking, my living room workouts are the only option. But when I do those it's a lot of arm flailing and improvising because I cannot follow choreography to save my life.

Now, there was a time when I would have used these restrictions as an excuse to completely abandon my fitness goals. I would stop all cardio, sit on the couch, eat way too many brownies, and totally derail my fitness progress.

But this time was different. I've kept up with all lower body strength workouts, and for cardio I bought an under-the-desk, mini-bike-peddle machine. Now, no one is going to mistake this for a real bike. But let me tell you I have gotten my heart rate way the hell up on that little thing. And I can keep my upper body stabile so as not to rip those stitches.

I've also been trying out intermittent fasting, although it didn't really start out with that as the goal. I wanted to see if I was eating because I was hungry, or just out of habit/schedule/when I thought I should eat. Also, my 6:30am breakfasts were starting to feel like habit instead of hunger. So I stopped eating until I was actually hungry. Turns out I'm not really hungry until about 11:30 AM. I also stopped eating after 8PM at night. I had always been a late dinner and even later dessert/snacker. Not only has eating mostly between the hours of 11:30am and 7:30pm helped my digestion, it's lowered my overall calorie intake. It's also making me stop and really think if I'm actually hungry before I eat. Do I need that snack or am I just bored? Do I need that treat or am I just emotional? I know the word "intuitive" is over-used these days, but that's pretty much what I did.

Now, I know tomorrow or next week this could all change. I am a person who not only embraces change, but seeks it out. I am always changing things up in small and large ways. Sometimes routines work for me and sometimes they don't. I'm getting better at not trying to force myself to do things just because the generally accepted wisdom says I should. Or the current trends are encouraging this thing or that thing.

Since we're talking about health, I will tell you I've cut way back on my social media consumption. It just got to a point where I was internalizing a lot of what I was reading and watching, and as we all know, a lot of what's on social media is negative. That negativity was having a bigger effect on me than I realized. Until that over-exposure was gone, I couldn't make the connection on some unexpected effects it was having. Sorry, I'm not intentionally trying to be vague. I just can't really explain it other than to say reducing my exposure to the ugliness and fear that perpetuates even Tumblr and Instagram has had a positive effect on my state of mind. This is a long and rambly way of me saying I'm sorry if I haven't been hearting and commenting on my mutuals posts like I once had. I try to pop in when I can, and I really do read what I heart. I just can't consume it at the rate I once did. But please know that I am always here for DMs and you can email me at anindependentguinevere {at} g mail dot com anytime you want to chat or need support. I am here for that always.

Wow, that was way longer than I intended. Hugs and kisses to those you who made it all the way through. Now let's go get some ice cream!

[tarhonk]

AMAZING DIGITAL CIRCUS THEORY ALERT

WEEOO WEEOO THEORY ALERT

So this is gonna connect to that "everyone in the circus worked for C&A" theory

Alright so just yesterday Glitch posted this in the community tab on their youtube channel

Despite it being funny af I couldn't help but notice how much 80's memorabilia was in here. All these items (minus the digital circus stuff) were very popular or invented in the mid 80's.

So I decided to check back on that scene where Pomni is running through the exits. Specifically that moment where she stares at the desk and I noticed something.

That straight up looks like an old and dirty Commodore 64

All this equipment just screams 80's to me. Everything in that office seemed like stuff from the 80's.

And I haven't seen anyone else talk about these but I noticed a few other things

One

We see the headset that all the characters have put on to get in the circus right on the desk.

Two

We see several computers on as Pomni runs past them. I counted 4 but that light on the floor in the first picture could be a 5th. In that case, that's one for each human currently not abstracted in the circus, minus Pomni. And what do we see when Pomni is back in the circus at the end of the pilot?

The computer she had a mental breakdown over is now on.

She's back online

Finally, three

A poster can be seen in the back that seems like the same colors as the digital circus logo. This could definitely be a hidden reference to something I don't know but this looks very digital circus-y to me.

So with all that, here's what i'm adding on to the office theory.

C&A (Caine & Abel) was a video game company in the 80's that was experimenting with creating a virtual reality headset for gaming purposes. The world of gaming had slowly begun to rise in popularity, and they decided to stay on top of this trend with a very ambitious strategy. VR gaming was just beginning to make a statement in the world as well, so the C&A company began working on something new.

They create this idea for a wacky game called The Amazing Digital Circus. A VR game where you'd get an avatar and go on adventures lead by a ringmaster character. All was going well, but at some point during development, something (who knows what) went wrong, causing anyone who wears the headset to have their consciousness sucked into the game. They'd lose the memories of their lives, only knowing that they were human, and now they're stuck there forever.

This was less of a theory and more of pointing out stuff that I haven't seen people mention yet, but I think its useful.

Please feel free to add on with theories on how you think their bodies are affected in the real world and stuff about the digital circus. Expand upon this please. I feel like i'm onto something.

EDIT: https://www.glitchprod.com/thewackywatch

Just remembered that the wacky watch commercial proves like everything I said.

They reveal it on an 80's computer

"New experimental hardware that gets you awesome visuals and lifelike audio" experimenting with VR!!!!!!

I'm going crazy

[pinkscaped]

POSTED ON SANI'S TIKTOK ACCOUNT, THE DREAMQUEST MYDOL GIRLS MAKE A CANDY SALAD WHILE TRAUMA DUMPING !

˗ ˋ 🩷 CONTENT WARNING ﹕ based off the tiktok trend where people trauma dump while making a candy salad, duh. so, trauma dumping but everything mentioned is not in detail! mentions of abusive working conditions, feet stuff mentioned, overworking sexualization, fat shaming, and evil editing. the girls are currently in the @dreamquest dorms!

"Are you ready?" Sani asks Yebin despite the camera already being on, the pair in matching hot pink PJs with "Mydol" embroidered on the right side in a heart. Yebin, hair pulled back messily with a clip, holds up the purple plastic bowl to the camera.

"Ready," Yebin replies simply. Sani nods with an excited smile, holding up a pack of Skittles.

"Hi my name is Sani and when I was 14 I left my home country because I got an Instagram DM from a man saying I could be a Kpop idol. I brought Skittles!" Sani says, giggling at herself as she pours the Skittles into the bowl, the clattering sound filling the DreamQuest dorm. Yebin laughs at her quietly, stepping in front of her with a packet of M&Ms she rips open before she starts speaking.

"I'm Yebin and one time when I was training to debut in Le sserafim, Bang PD came in, watched us dance, and then proceeded to tell me my thighs were massive and I needed to work on that." Sani's eyes widen behind Yebin as she covers her curling lips, laughing tensely behind her palm as Yebin nods, showing the camera her M&Ms. "I brought M&Ms." She dumps them all in the bowl with a loud thunk!

Sani steps up again, Yebin standing behind her and laughing at the ground softly as the younger tries to hold back her own laughter. She reaches off-screen to grab another candy, chuckling under her breath.

"Um, when I was sixteen, I debuted in a Nugu girl group, and our manager made us busk every day and every night, no matter how tired we were. So, one night, I was really not feeling good, so when I was dancing and singing "Du-du-du-du-du-du," I passed out on the streets of Seoul-" Sani can't stop herself from laughing when she sees Yebin's jaw drop in horror, covering her mouth. "And when I woke up, still on the street, mind you, our manager yelled at me." Sani nods with a tight chuckle, looking at the bag in her hand and then smiling at the camera. "I brought sour candy apples."

Yebin licks her lips as she thinks of what to say next, blindly grabbing a bag of candy from behind the camera where their stash seems to be.

"When I was Produce 48, they tried to evil edit me to make me look jealous of a toddler when in reality, I have a resting bitch face and would literally die for said toddler. So, then, all of South Korea would try to tank my votes, called me ugly, and told me to die...I still made it into IZ*ONE though, so-" Yebin smiles at the camera with a tilt of her head, holding up the yellow bag of candy and then dumping it into the bowl. "Swedish fish."

Sani moves forward with a nasty look on her face at the bowl of candy, looking up at Yebin with a pout.

"I don't like Swedish Fish..."

"Then don't eat them," Yebin tells the younger simply, turning her by her shoulders to face the camera. Still pouting, Sani reaches behind the camera, digging around for a little bit before pulling out a box of hot tamales. Her big brown eyes look up in thought, humming before nodding.

"When my group finally gained traction, it was because a video of me on Inkigayo went viral for how bad of a singer I was," Sani says with curled lips and a nod, tapping the desk with an acrylic nail. "I'm not a bad singer anymore, but I was also 17 and singing in a baby voice. I don't know what the general public was expecting, ummm...." She turns the box towards her, makes a sour face, and puts it back on the table, scrambling to get a new piece of candy. She shows another bag of M&Ms to the camera. "I brought M&Ms."

Yebin puckers her lips at the camera, holding her bag of Sourpatch Kids up as Sani does the choreography to Midas Touch behind her, singing quietly as she exaggerates the moves. Yebin laughs at the younger, causing Sani to laugh as well.

"Uh, my name is Yebin, and when I was in IZ*ONE they would constantly put me in lowcut shirts because someone on Twitter thought it would be funny to call me "mommy," so my company decided to market on that and ever since any ward in relation to the word Mom, makes me wanna die. I brought Sourpatch kids," She sticks her tongue out to the side as she dumps the gummies in the bowl.

Sani is back up and gives the camera a peace sign.

"I'm Sani, and after my group disbanded, we all went to Angelico to re-debut under there, but our debut was canceled because one of the girls quit, left the country without telling us, and became a fucking dentist. Fuck you, Annie. You're fake as hell." Yebin can't stop herself from laughing when Sani gets angry and points to the camera like she is talking to Annie herself. Sani smiles at Yebin's laughter, pouring her candy into the bowl before holding up the empty wrapper. "Sourpatch Kids Watermelons."

Yebin clicks her tongue as she steps back in front of the camera, holding up a bag of KitKats.

"What's up. I'm Yebin, and when IZ*ONE disbanded during COVID, my company promised me I would be debuting in their new girl group, then replaced me with someone who could not sing and held me, hostage, for two years. I brought Kitkats." She dumps the candy in the atrocious candy salad.

Sani steps up on last time, holding a comedically small plastic bag of jellybeans.

"Hey, last time you see me, I'm Sani. My breaking point for leaving my old company was when our manager told us that we were going to be a part of a dating sim game and he would need-" Sani can't stop herself from laughing, head falling down as Yebin's eyes widen in concern behind her, covering her mouth.

"Oh no," Yebin whispers, only making Sani laugh harder before she waves her hand in front of her.

"He would need to take pictures of our feet for the game!" Sani nearly screams, covering her mouth to muffle her screeching. Yebin's jaw drops, and a quiet shriek of shock leaves her throat. The video cuts to the two somewhat composed, Sani laughing under her breath as she holds up the pathetic bag of jellybeans, tears in her eyes from laughing so hard.

"Jellybeans!" The girl cheers, sprinkling them on top of all the candy.

[creehd]

IM SCREECHING OVER THIS ROARING 20s AU,

but very politely holding your shoulders and giving you a little shake.

I haven't watched much teenage mutant ninja turtles unfortunately, but from what i do know, you putting them in the 1920s is absolutely FASCINATING. The difference in politics and the World in general from the modern version to your AU is just,,, HNGNGNGG im chewing on the leg of your desk

Do they act differently?? Or are they relatively similar to their modern counterparts? How are they forced to adapt to this universe? Are they still ninja trained? How did they get turned into mutant turtles, and what's Shredder's (who you MUST draw, im begging you), motive during this time period? 👀 DO THEY STILL LIKE PIZZA?????

And most importantly, may i give Splinter a kiss on the head? 👉👈

Amazing art as always <3

I owe you my life for this ask. I can feel myself being pulled back into both my obsessions with TMNT and the early 1900s.

SO I'M STILL BUFFERING EDGES AND WORKING OUT WHAT EXACTLY I WANNA DO WITH CERTAIN CHARACTERS BUT HERES THE MAIN SYNOPSIS;

In 1923 New York, post ww1, splinter is the last of his lineage of samurai in the Edo period in Japan, escaping to New York and attempting to build a new life when he came into contact with the Foot, a long-established gang with ties to shredder a yakuza boss who also immigrated from japan at the end of the 1800s once he lost his title as shōgun. He is controlling many facets of New York through experimental science and crime.

Mainly being; bootlegging, gambling, auto theft, narcotics, robbery, And any other gang-sanctioned activity.

In an attempt to stop him, splinter soon finds himself mortally wounded and in desperation to save his life, he is mutated into a rat, alongwith 4 baby turtles and an entire lab of wildlife. (Animal testing has been around for awhile) Hiding away with his newly found family and recovering from injuries that made him slowly lose his eyesight, the boys began to grow in the shadows of a newly technological America.

And that's kinda what I got as an explanation for how exactly splinter got here and what happened before the turtles grew up.. AS FOR THEIR PERSONALITIES. I try to keep them similar, I take inspiration from each different continuity of tmnt for what I think the perfect imalgamation would look like for a basis for who they are, and then I made it time period accurate!

So in order-

Leonardo: Leo is a big boy scout, he respects splinters wisdom and teachings, and when I think of him I picture Steve Roger's before the Super Soldier serum, Leo believes in New York, and he believes he and his brothers can help fight the rampant and rising gang-related crime in the city. He also enjoys tennis, chess,and card playing, alongside supporting the local flapper scene in the city. He also heavily supports freedom of the press AND believes in the abolishment of prohibition! (Not bc he likes to drink but because he WANTS freedom and justice for all) loves to listen to radio shows with Donnie and read newspapers and magazines to keep up with current trends and events.

Donatello: Donnie is hugely interested in the rise of technology across America, hugely interested in the works of Albert Einstein and the amazing minds behind the Tuberculosis vaccine (baxter stockman in this au is a scientist who basically helped discover penicillin before the incident™️) , he's fascinated with radios and tvs however they aren't as sophisticated as he might like yet, he believes he can help the field of science alongside his brothers as a crime fighter, although it isn't his passion to fight, he sees fighting as a science of its own. His hobbies include radio shows and reading! (His favorite book is at the earth's core by Edgar rice Burroughs) and he also really really enjoys April's company, and dressing up with her.

Raphael: Raphael is a vigilante at heart, but also a bit too hotheaded and selfish to see when he is in too deep, he heavily engages in the night life and the scummier parts of New York, bar fights, alley brawls, deals gone wrong, you name it, raphs got a fire for fighting for what's right. He rubs elbows with many of the lower-class gangs, who are just trying to get by, and after learning about the struggles of suffragettes, he lends a hand when he can with their growing cause, he's also a huge jazz fan, attending many flapper shows and frequenting speakeasies. Before he met Casey in late 1919, he dreamed of nothing more than to fight in the Great War, however, when he met Casey Jones, he was quickly attuned to the horrors the war brought to its soldiers, and how horrendously they were discarded after, and prompting vowing to help veterans in need. He and Casey are close and frequently engage in going to silent films, recreational drinking, and smoking together.

Michelangelo: Mikey is an artist, he loves his city and its people, and alongside being an incredibly talented martial artist crimefighter alongside his brothers, he believes in peace and love above everything. (Although he'll finish a fight if he has to) him and raph clash heavily on how to handle issues in new york, and while they can't see perfectly eye to eye, they overlap on alot of ideals and pastimes. Mikey is a prolific painter like his namesake, as well as a silent film connoisseur, a birdwatching fan, a huge fan of jazz, and a frequent at lgbt nightclubs in Harlem.

NOW FOR THE NON TURTLE CHARACTERS!

Splinter: Splinter was born in Japan in the mid 1855, he is now in his late 60s, trying to pass on his knowledge of the time to his sons, while training them the way of the samurai and ninja from when he was a boy. Splinters mutation heavily affected his eyesight, and training and keeping in touch with his culture and fighting traditions helped him overcome the difficulty of navigation, along with his mutated hearing and smell. He's a strict older Japanese dad, he loves his boys but is hesitant about the new boom of technology and heavily encourages the boys to stick to their traditional ways while fighting for what's right.

April: April moved to the city from smalltown in 1915, daughter of a farmer, she came in hopes of starting a career for herself and eventually settle down, but as things began to go down hill for the aspiring woman, she began to work a day job as a secretary at the New York World Newspaper company and at night as a flapper, she ends up getting caught up In ganglife around new york before meeting the turtles during a chance encounter with the foot gang.

Casey Jones: Casey Jones is a poor young man from New Jersey, high aspirations and low funds led him to leave his abusive household and seek out adventure during the draft in 1917, Casey fought In the Great War in Europe, and came back a changed man. Shortly after his return to the States, he moved to New York City to try to rebuild a life he once yearned for, when he meets Raphael. Both boys begin to start a bond, sharing the same pastimes and enjoying the same sights the city has to offer, but it's hard to navigate a life that feels so foreign after his enlistment, what's even harder is understanding why he'd rather enjoy the company of Raphael rather than the girls they watch on stage. He still engages in recreational hockey and the occasional book club since Leo and Donnie insist on helping him with his dyslexia.

As for their motives.. they're just trying to help clean up the streets and not get traumatized along the way! But that's never how it works out is it..

And for the villians.. this posts getting a bit long so I'll make a seperate post about shredder and his whole deal, along with the krang :]

And of COURSE they still love pizza! They're the ninja turtles, it came free with the Xbox,

But if u want an actual answer yes they still love pizza, alot of Italian immigrants came to New york in 1880ish through 1930, and pizza was starting to super get popular.

(And splinter always gets alittle kiss)

BUT YES that's what we're cooking with so far!! And I have many idea for them, and would love to hear more thoughts and opinions !!! Please. This is my brainchild I'm foaming at the mouth to share it.

ask box is always open!!

[wannaeatramyeon]

Lookism and their silly lil hobbies

My headcannons of their less obvious interests!

Daniel: now he's in the fashion department and earning some money, he guesses he should take more of an interest in current trends. He's still wearing Jay's castoffs and he's happy with them but he takes a huge interest in women's fashion for his momma. She's worked hard and she deserves nice things and Daniel wants to spoil her 🥰

Jay: his hobby? Daniel. His thoughts? Daniel. His dreams? Daniel. But guns and motorbike? This boy has a thing for Hollywood action films and he has pretty good taste too. Classics-ish such as Matrix, Terminator, John Wick

Zoe: she loves watching animal rehab videos on social media, and even the videos of newtubers helping out homeless or down on their luck people. Most of it may be scripted but the act of kindness (even for selfish purposes) makes her melt

Vasco: you think this man doesn't have a Pinterest account? He doesn't spend his spare time putting boards together? His boards aren't public? He's not ashamed. He's got at least 1 for parties, 1 for golden retrievers and 1 for Hero Man pics

Jace: kdramas, the more romantic with as many tropes the better. He likes a good story filled with miscommunication, lots of crying, scenes in the rain and open eyed kisses 😳

Zack: sneaky little hobby of reading up on supernatural shit. After running into the ghost of J High, he's been absorbed with ghosts and demons - in particular how to avoid getting cursed...

Mira: meditation. Putting up with Zack all the time and the violent boys, she needs her moment of peace before she gets overwhelmed. She's also had some pretty traumatic experiences, so this helps her to centre and recollect her thoughts

Johan: unironically a sneakerhead. Started off researching expensive shoes so he can recognise them but now he's fully into the hobby. Way too tight to buy any for himself when he could be saving for his momma's operation but it's nice to window shop 🥺

Vin Jin: we all know he would be twerking to Dukes music. But apart from obviously his music (cos music is his life yknow), he would be leaving hate messages and death threats on Dukes social media and fanpages. He hate watches Dukes live streams but cant stop the twerk creeping up on him

Mary Kim: she's in the Vocal and Dance department but this girl can shred like no tomorrow. She has a band she's the lead vocalist and guitarist of that she keeps off Vins radar so he can keep the shitty rap to himself

Crystal: hiking and the outdoors. It's a way to keep her second body fit and get away from her desk and all the business bullshit. During the days that Gun acts as her bodyguard, she tells him to stay at least 50ft away so he doesn't ruin the mood

Jake: memelord. Cos at least humour is free. He collects pics and memes, and has so many shitty dad jokes up his sleeve to send to the Big Deal members and groupchats that he often gets kicked out or blocked. Hearing their exasperation at another one of his messages always brightens up his day

Samuel: lol drinking as a hobby. this man should be spending all his spare time in therapy but can't win them all 🤷‍♀️ Doesn't do much on his own time that doesn't advance his goals but enjoys sipping on some smooth expensive shit. Not the best for his health, but he needs something to block out the demons

Lua: not the queen of info for nothing. Spends a lot of her time on social media, forums and the dark web reading up on info (and gossip). Shes also kicked up a gear with her Muay Thai training so the assholes in Big Deal would stop underestimating her

Sinu: all that time being locked up with that little bit of chalk? You know what he did? HE'S A FIC WRITER. Headcannons of Big Deal, Sinu X Yeonhui. What the guys would be doing now, what sort of girlfriend Yeonhui would be (I wrote this as a joke but it's pretty depressing)

Gun: you thought that was a casual notepad and pen he had on hand for brekdaks autograph? No bitch its his actual autograph book. He lives and breathes fighting and fangirls a little internally meeting his fighting idols

Goo: anime and boardgames. Yes yes he's a nerd ok. He watched 1 too many anime shows and in his head he's the protagonist fighting his way to the top, with his sidekick Gun. But who do you think left all the boardgames in that shitty house? Gun is boring and Goo needs entertaining. It's one way to let them get competitive without beating the shit out of each other... Usually

[stupidstrawberrystars]

I’ve decided that my WIPs should be somewhere. This is wolfstar, modern au (where Sirius and James have a tiktok account). It was supposed to be multi chaptered (basically just gonna be Wolfstar doing couples trends on tiktok, but they’re not actually together yet), but I only fully completed the first chapter. But it’s just rotting away so here, it’s about 1k.

I’ve made this a thing now so;

Next

Their video went viral two months ago. Sirius and James precariously attempted to pet a pigeon. Gotta give the guy credit, Pete’s great at dares. 

He recorded it all, planning to use it to blackmail the two in the future. Nothing like friendly bullying between mates. And he got some good footage, a pigeon did fly in James’ face and Sirius stepped in poop, but then Remus just had to help.

He went to the shop and grabbed some bread. So they could lure a pigeon in. And in a shocking turn of events, they managed to pet one eventually. 

They posted the video as a joke.

It took the algorithm only a few weeks to hit all the UK uni students currently withering away behind their desks.

And soon Pads and Prongs went viral. 

And so as James and Remus crashed through uni, Pete cruised through his internship as a sous chef, and Sirius desperately search for artistic inspiration, they kept an online presence too.

Sirius and James documented their crazy days of boring work and painting, and entertained their fans with late night lives at their flats and short tiktok clips of dumb pranks. James’ hair was pink for a week. It was hilarious.

The internet was quick to fall in love with James’ long distance relationship with Lily. Pete popped up to show off his cooking sometimes. Remus appeared in the background sometimes. Sirius finds it unbelievable that he hasn’t realised how much the tiktok book girlies already love him. 

And that’s what lead to last night. The marauders, a nickname from school and therefore an embarrassing inside joke, are all huddled in the small living room of James and Sirius’, eating Pete’s cake and cuddled under blankets. Their live and just chatting with the fans, relating over awful projects and difficult teachers. 

“Not that this cake isn’t amazing, but does anyone want actual food? I could order takeaway since clearly none of us want to get up and make shit.” It’s a good suggestion from James, but Sirius isn’t really hungry.

“Yeah i’d have food mate.” Remus agrees and then so does Pete. 

“I’m good i’m not hungry.” James shoots him a vaguely sceptical look, and asks him if he’s sure.

“Yes i’m sure James.”

They decide on simple fish and chips. Usually they get something, as James would say, with more taste. But the chippies the only place that’ll bring them food and not take more than two hours. It is a Friday after all. 

Since they’re using James’ phone for the live, Remus takes his phone out and takes Pete and James’ order.

So they continue along chatting and rather quickly the questions about Remus, who’s been pretty quiet all evening, increase from about 50% of the comments to 75%. 

“Just appease them a bit Lupin.” Remus glares at James for that. 

“I have no clue what the people on your phone want to know about me James.”

Remus has a tendency to refer to technology as if he’s a grandpa who understands nothing beyond a radio. Sirius has heard people call it annoying but really it’s just endearing. At least to Sirius.

“How about that book you read Moony? Red, White and Royal Blue? Apparently you were caught making some choice expressions while reading in the background of me and James’ last tiktok. Did you like it?”

Remus gives him a disapproving look, likely annoyed at Sirius’ question. Apparently books need more detail than just a simple, yes it was good, or no it was not.

“Well… okay do your phone people really care about my opinion?” Remus turns to James. He replies that yes they obviously do. The comments are going crazy over having Remus’ attention.

“Fine. I enjoy Casey McQuiston’s writing style. I thought it was entertaining and I really liked how Alex and Henry complimented each other. Henry was able to calm Alex and Alex’s able to reason with Henry when he’s struggling.” 

Sirius looked blankly at Remus.

“Oh come on Moons. You spent like 2 hours explaining the whole book in depth and going on and on about your favourite characters and lines. Your book is annotated all over. At least share with the audience your favourite quotes.”

Remus sighs beside Sirius. Sirius really wants to hear these though. Remus seemed to love the book and Sirius often finds listening to him describe something he loves is always majestic. He details it all with elegant words until you’re eating out the plan of his hand. 

“I guess I thought it was pretty funny when Nora said, How did I know I was Bi? I touched a boob. Wasn’t that profound.”

“Remus.” Sirius whines.

“Oh fine. There’s a tone of quotes from that book I love. There’s I love him on purpose. Or he tells his too fast brain: don’t miss it this time, it’s too important. I- erm- I guess I also kind of love this thing Henry says, it’s like And I thought if someone like that ever loved me, it’d set me on fire. But then I was a careless fool and fell in love with you anyway.” Remus has not taken his eyes of Sirius once as he quotes this beautiful book. How does he remember those lines just of the top of his head?

“You know what though,” His voice takes on a soft tone. The one he reserves for kids, animals, things he loves, and sometimes Sirius. If he’s in a good mood. “my favourite, has got to be When have I ever, since the very first instant I touched you, pretended to be anything less than in love with you?” Remus’ eyes are rich and deep and chocolate. Sirius wants to paint them. 

“Moony!” James interrupts their eye contact. “Now they’re all gonna be in love with you, damn it.”

Remus chuckles and glances to the side.

“Doubt that Prongs. But yeah I loved the book. Oh and erm- food should be here soon by the way guys. Just got the notification to say it’s on its way here.”

Remus then clearly decides he’s done enough socialising with the internet so he grabs his current book, Song of Achilles, and carries on reading. 

And of course, because he’s so easy to deal with already, Sirius’ stomach, as if it has a mind of its own, decides now is the time to become bloody starving.

He glances guilty at Prongs, who furrows his eyebrows as if to ask what’s wrong.

“Hey Moons,” Sirius raises the pitch of his voice slightly to warn Remus he’s about to be a bit annoying. Remus glances up, squints at him and tilts his head.

“Remember when I said I wasn’t hungry?”

James bursts into laughter and Pete chuckles. But Remus just goes back to his book. And once the laughter dies down he, without even lifting his head from reading, tells Sirius,

“Idiot. I know. I ordered you food when I ordered ours. I know you. I knew you’d be hungry.” He rolls his eyes but goes straight back to the book.

The entire internet sees Sirius’ doe eyes but Remus does not. It sends James up the wall.