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[klausysworld]

Nothing but a Nuisance.

Being a witch in New Orleans wasn't exactly the dream when Marcel had a magic detecting teenage witch in his attic.

One tiny little spell set Davina off, had Marcel ripping heads off and hearts out. It was a little dramatic, even for me.

But, a girls gotta survive so I kept my magic inside and resorted to mediocre crap so that I could get some cash in this stupid tourist town.

Sitting in my little booth with my candles lit and tarot cards out usually dragged in a decent dozen or so a day, some locals were heavy believers too and would come back so often to get another reading.

But Klaus Mikaelson? Not my average customer.

Of course the news that he was in New Orleans spread like wildfire but I didn't need to be told to know it was him. The power rolling off of him set my magic on edge, forcing me to restrain it within my blood and keep it from boiling out.

Still, I kept myself steady and remained calmly seated. My eyes lifted to meet his, the flash of gold making the flames around the room dancing aggressively before I reined them back in.

He took the seat in-front of me, legs comfortably spread like a typical man whilst his hands rest in his lap and a brow on his annoyingly handsomely carved face lifted.

"How much is a reading, love?" He questioned and I swallowed thickly and shook my head.

"I don't read for-"

"Well now, thats a bit discriminatory, love, isn't it?" He cut in and I closed my mouth with a sigh. A hundred dollar bill was pushed before me and with annoyance more than reluctance, I accepted the cash.

Silently I took the deck in my hands and began strategically shuffling, letting the cards flutter together delicately over and over until there was no way of telling which was where. I slid the cards out face-down in-front of him and looked up, our eyes locking again.

"Select your three." I directed and with no hesitation his fingers plucked out three cards, keeping them within his reach as I tidied the rest away. I turned the ones he had chosen over and glanced over each one.

The Magician, The Emperor and The Tower.

I let out a little sigh, none of the meanings were much of a shock but he wasn't exactly going to enjoy them.

"Go ahead, describe the hell that is to burden us all." He muttered, slight amusement to his tone. I reached and tapped The Magician card.

"This one is in regards to your willpower, using what comes your way to its potential and combing it with your own power to manifest it toward what you truly desire. But It could also be leading you towards love-" My eyes flick up, seeing his eyes narrowed as though he were actually interested.

"I'm not interested in the relationship meaning to the card, love, what's the reverse meaning?" He asked, jaw a little tense and I didn't really want to reveal it.

"Trickery, it represents selfishness." I answer simply and he nodded, resting back in his chair as though that was the answer he was actually expecting.

"The Emperor?" He questioned and I shifted my attention back to the task.

"This card means authority, regulation, organisation and a fatherliness. The Emperor represents a strategic thinker who sets out plans that he must see through. He is a symbol of the masculine principle. It comes with responsibility of giving structure, creates rules and systems, and imparting knowledge and of course enforcing discipline." I explain and he hummed, his body leaning forward at the word 'fatherliness'.

"The reversed?" He questioned without a beat and this time I hesitated.

"The concept of an abusing the authoritative power. It creates the desire to inspire higher principles in his kingdom have turned to ruthlessness, tyranny and rigidity..." I trailed and he let out a soft hum of almost agreement.

"The Tower?"

"On this one, the reversed is actually better than the upright." I laughed softly, my nails tracing the outline of the design and feeling the trickle of magic within it. "Upright the Tower represents change in the most radical and momentous sense. It doesn't necessarily have to be  frightening or ominous but it does signify a foundational, groundbreaking change. However it can sometimes strike fear, as it means that we must abandon the truths that we have known prior to this event. The old ways are no longer useful, and you must find another set of beliefs, values and processes to take their place." I tell him before continuing. "Reversed shows that The Tower is built on faulty foundations, and it must fall. Though the destruction will be painful, the humbleness resulting from it can bring us peace. It suggests you become more self reliant-"

"I'm already self reliant, love but I'll make an extra note." He scoffed.

A slightly uncomfortable silence hung over us for a moment or two as he mulled over his reading. Then he stood, a heavy sigh on his lightly stained lips. "Thank you, for your service, love." He nodded and headed back out into the streets of The French Quarter.

A slightly bizarre experience, having the most powerful beast in my reading room and I knew that the other witches were never going to quiet their incessant chatter over it.

It was the talk of the town when Klaus got headed 'King' and moved into the compound, having 'ownership' over Davina and therefore the witches. Not that it lasted long as Davina was clearly losing it.

That's how I ended up dragged in by each arm.

"Ah, perfect; they found you." Klaus declared, his voice arrogant and echoing. "Come, love, I need you to fix my witch." He took my arm from another vampire and pulled me along with him. I was shoved into a room, if you could call it that. The walls were crumbling around Davina, her screams piercing my ears as everything went flying everywhere. The door was slammed shut behind me and I was forced to face...that.

It took some struggle but I was able to get my hands on her, I could feel both our magic draining rapidly as I used mine to weaken hers.

My eyes were just starting to close, the reassuring whispers fading from my lips as her body went soft against mine when I felt a separate pair of hands hold me up by my shoulders.

I woke a small while later, my brows furrowing as I felt fingers stroking my forehead, tracing my hairline. My eyes cracked open and Klaus's cocky face was peering down at me.

"Good morning sweat-pea." He smirked, pure amusement in his eyes.

"Ew..." I mumbled sluggishly and sat up, ignoring his touch and closeness. "Don't touch me you...I don't even know what you are."

"Hybrid, love. Thank you, again, by the way; for keeping my witch under control. It seems that little sickening ritual you witches have doesn't quite work out as planned hm? Now I have a dead witch and a very stroppy Marcellus." He muttered, his eyes rolling.

"It works." I grumbled as I felt the power slowly growing back within me. "Four witches resurrected, the girls will come back in time."

"Mmm. I do hope so, no need for a group of dead children. It's causing a small inconvenience."

"Uhuh." I murmured and swung my legs over the side of the bed I was lead out on. I stood, my head light and dizzy but I kept it upright. My feet stumbled a little as I headed out of the door, my hands reaching for the stair railing as Klaus's hands grabbed onto my hips.

"Easy now, love. It took a lot out of you to calm little Davina down." He chuckled in my ear, the sound disorientated and demonic.

"No...I don't...I don't get this weak from a spell." I mumbled and he hummed.

"Must've been something else then." He whispered, his lips suddenly by my ear and I felt my jaw clench as I realised he must've spiked me with something somehow. My body fell back into his and his arms slipped round me, lifting me into a bridal hold as my vision went dark again.

I woke again, hours later. The sky was almost black when I turned my head to see out of the guest bedroom window. I felt better now and without anybody being able to detect my magic, I could break the window apart and float out of it with ease.

I headed back home, greeted by my obsidian cat who mewled happily at my return. Her tail wrapping around my calf as we headed into the dining room where her bowl wait empty on the wooden floor. I filled the bowl and she meowed happily.

The quietness of my house filled me with a sense of serenity as I sat down in my usual sear at the table. My stomach ached with hunger but it was so late and I couldn't be bothered to make anything.

So I waited for Salem to finish her dinner before we went upstairs to bed.

By the time sunlight was seeping past my blinds, a loud continuous knocking practically shook my house. Salem's claws dug into my skin as she stretched out and curled back up with a faint growl of annoyance.

"Fucks sake." I groaned before pulling the duvet back and storming down the stairs, pulling the chain off the door and swinging it open. "What!?" I demanded, my expression clearly a display of my feelings.

Klaus Mikaelson stood before me, his arms crossed over his broad...firm chest.

"You ran away." He stated, eyes flicking to my chest making me glance down as well so see my tit almost out of my night time vest. I shifted the fabric and he cleared his throat, looking back up.

"I didn't run anywhere." I countered and his eyes rolled. Honestly, for a thousand years old he sure was sassy.

"No of course not. You gracefully levitated out of the window, honestly you make quite the stereotype for a witch. Tarot cards, floating and, oh look a black cat." He scoffed and I leant down, picking up Salem before she could get out and into his grasp.

"Why are you here?" I asked and he hummed.

"I need your powers, come to the abattoir." He demanded and I put a hand on my hip.

"I do hope you're joking." I told him and his jaw went tight.

"I don't have much time for this back and forth, love. It's fun, yes and you're very cute but I will resort to less verbal persuasion if you cannot do as you are told." His tone got progressively lower, darker.

"Get off my porch. I'll be there in half an hour." I muttered, slamming the door back in his face.

"Twenty minutes, love!" He yelled through the wood.

I couldn't be bothered with this. The tarot card readings were low for me but they still made me money so now I was just missing out and I couldn't afford not to pay my bills. Besides, Salem needed her food too and she definitely wouldn't go without.

I got to the compound after forty minutes, mostly out of pettiness however I did shower, shave dry my hair, style my hair, get dressed, have a breakfast bar and feed Salem so time added up quick. Those weren't good enough excuses for a pissy hybrid.

His eyes were dark, sort of how I imagined the depths of the ocean at night as he watched me. I was a little different in how my magic worked.

I didn't need to do all the muttering and straining unless it was a really difficult spell like raising the dead, I think that's what sparked Klaus's interest. That I didn't pull out a hundred spell books, flipping relentlessly through the pages to pick the spell he needed. I could sense what he needed, almost read the spell from his mind to use it like he wanted.

I got up to leave once I was done but his hand was around my arm, keeping me to him. I knew he was half werewolf which made his skin warm but the heat rolling off of him was almost concerning. The golden look in his eyes put me on edge but he wasn't threatening, yet.

"I need something else-"

"I need to get to my job, where I get paid." I cut him off and he huffed softly, almost playfully as the corners of his lips upturned slightly. A hundred dollar bill was wedged very provocatively between my tits. I bit the tip of my tongue before raising my eyes to look at his cocky expression.

"I swear to all of the unholy spirits that if you ever put your grubby little hands on my body again I'm gonna burn your dick off." I warned him, my eyes narrowed and voice low but he only smirked and pushed me backwards so his body trapped me to the wall.

His face lowered to mine, his nose brushing up the side of my jugular before his breath was against my ear. "Mmm, how have you managed to make that sound so hot?" He murmured and I scoffed, shoving off me with a slight force making his chuckle.

"Don't be a freak, Klaus. You'll make me vomit." I whispered, my nose scrunched up as if I could actually find him repulsive. Stupid handsome face.

My body ached slightly when his pulled away from mine and his fingertips skimmed over my sides before leaving me completely.

"I'll be needing you a lot more often from now on. I'll pay you whatever you want. A thousand dollars an hour for all I care." He offered and I could feel my ethics at question. I'd be against the coven if I was willingly working for the beast but a thousand dollars was a fuck tonne to turn down.

"I have to get back to Salem." I muttered and he let out a deep chuckle making my eyes roll as I walked off.

"Oh come on, love. You have to admit that it's a little traditional, no? You're practically mocking your own kind-"

"Oh piss off mr 'i spent a thousand years trying to be a dog'." I snapped back as he followed me out of the compound and into the streets. "Rumour has it you've literally only turned once. I think if anyone's mocking their kind its you."

"Touché." He accepted, his tone weirdly light and he had a shrug to his shoulders. "I should turn more often, that's fair." He nodded, keeping up with my quickening pace but as soon as we got around a corner I was pinned to the wall by the throat. "But don't you ever, ever- talk down to me like that or you will very much be reminded of your place, witch." He growled and I felt my magic flaring, just begging to light him on fire but I let him keep the upper hand as he placed me back down onto my feet.

I turned on my heel and kept walking, forcing myself not to gasp for air and just struggle slightly. His footsteps remained just behind me, he was much more relaxed than I was and it was pissing me off as we got to my house.

The soft meow of Salem's voice echoed form behind the door and her paw made a soft sound which made my body sink back from the tension. But my body went rigid when Klaus's hand turned the handle to my front door and he walked right on inside, leaning down and picking up Salem as he did.

My eyes flicked down at the threshold he had just completely discarded before locking on Salem as she purred in his hands. One twist of those hands and her head would pop off her her neck.

The imagine alone made me react. His heart was in his chest one second and on my hallway floor the next. Salem landed on her feet with a mewl and padded off to the kitchen whilst I was left with the heavy thud of Klaus's body.

"Fuck!" I breathed as I ran my hands over my hair and groaned dramatically. I moved him to the living room and tied him up with a magically finding rope, ensuring he would stay put as I cleaned away the blood from his heart and fixed Salem some food.

His groggy grumble made it's way into the kitchen, forcing me to face my problems as I came to the doorway of my living room. He looked a little bit pissed but mostly amused which relieved me to extent but annoyed me even more.

"Very kinky, love." He mused as he tugged on the ropes. His eyes cast down at the bloody stain across his shirt before flickering past my ankles, probably to where Salem was feeding from her bowl. "Had I have known that damn cat was quite a sore subject for you then I wouldn't have picked the thing up-"

"How did you get into my house?" I asked and he smirked.

"I think you mean my house, my love. I thought it would be easier for us if I owned the building, means we can both have access and I can come collect you easier." He smiled as if it were a friendly thing to do.

"You're fucking crazy. A full on whack job." I muttered. "I'm not your witch, I'm not your pet. You do not claim my house and pick up Salem- you stop touching my life. Get out and leave me alone!" I yelled and with that his body was gone, instead at least a couple hundred tiny pieces of him exploded across my living room floor and walls.

I forced myself to breathe steady, my eyes closing for a second before I let out an angry cry of frustration and got my magic under control. Bit by bit I managed to pile him together, clean the marks away and put him in a bin bag, then transferring his remains back to the abattoir for them to fix themselves back together.

It was surprising that Klaus hadn't burst my house down and tore my head off in retaliation to be completely honest.

However, for whatever reason, the next time I saw him, he was all cheerful and charming again like normal.

"Come on now, love, don't be all grumpy with me still because of our little mishap." He teased, following me closely as I moved through the streets quickly. "I didn't mean to push it with the cat, love. I'll admit that was my fault, I crossed the line." He murmured, his lips so close to my ear it made my skin burn.

I continued to ignore him, trying to get on with my day without his constant chatter but he just seemed to be there all day long, keeping customers away and effectively ruining my time.

Once it grew dark I let out a sigh and leaned back, staring mindlessly at the sheer lack of cash in my pot. His hand brushed the hair behind my ear and stroked the side of my neck.

"Klaus." I warned with a sigh and he hummed lowly, his lips moving to kiss the spot below my ear making me let out a scoff and shove him off me. "You are like an animal. Go fuck someone who actually wants something to do with you." I snapped and he let out a soft chuckle.

"You know I have extremely heightened senses, love? I can practically taste how turned-on you get around me-" He purred and I gagged.

"That's just your perverted mind playing tricks on you." I scoffed and he hummed.

"All this sass because you didn't get your money, love? I told you I'd pay your rates." He tutted before his fingers were plucking hundred dollar bills from his wallet and putting them in my jar. "There, now you're all caught up and you can stop looking so glum."

"I don't want your money, I don't want your time, I don't want you!" My voice raised and his lips twitched.

"You'll be more than willing before long, love. I'm very much looking forward to you giving in, I already know you'll be absolutely exquisite-"

I cut him off abruptly, my palm colliding with his cheek without a second thought. The action made me just as surprised as him, both of us staring at each other for a long moment. I could see his jaw clenching, his eyes hardening fraction by fraction.

He straightened in his seat, inhaling and exhaling as his eyes darted away. He was urging himself not to lash back at me.

His hands hit the table, hard as he stood. I flinched in my seat but didn't go to move, just watched him. I watched as he paced up and down the length of the small room before storming out.

I blew out a breath of relief at the slam of the door and sunk down into the chair.

Klaus didn't come around for a small while after that. I probably should have been thrilled not to be haunted by him each day. I was finally making some money again and didn't have to worry about Salem being catnapped or whatever.

Until he woke me up in the middle of the night, banging so hard against my front door I was surprised it hadn't caved in. I swung it open, ready to launch him off my porch when my eyes took him in.

"Oh fuck." I mumbled, my hands moving without my consent to pull the blood-soaked henley away from his skin. "Okay, come on." I whispered, pulling him inside, Salem mewing and pawing at his boots as we climbed the stairs.

He was sat shirtless on top of the toilet seat, his bloody hands in his lap whilst I wiped away the red across his chest, neck and face. The hot tap of the bath was running quickly, filling fast. I'd wanted him out of my life from the second he pushed his way into it and yet for some reason I was worried about him and looking after him as though I cared for him. But surely that was ridiculous, he was a menace in my life.

I just couldn't help myself.

His clothes were in my washer, I was scrubbing the blood and mud off of my floors and the stairs banister before going up to my room to dig out a shirt of mine he could sleep in and some oversized sweatpants that he could wear for the night.

They were a little tight. My bad.

I don't think he was in much a mood to complain though as the shirt clung to his skin, I shouldn't have been looking at the definition of his muscles so much. Not when he was so upset.

He was a lot easier to handle when he was like that though.

No cocky remarks, no touching, just raw and vulnerable. For once he wasn't Klaus the hybrid, just Klaus.

"You're gonna have to talk to me tomorrow, okay?" I whispered as he rest his head against my shoulder, it was obvious he was debating using my breast as a pillow but he made the wise decision to not push his luck.

By morning he'd managed to get there though. His face was nestled right against me, his eyelashes brushing over my skin with each subtle blink. With slight reluctance I gently slid my fingers into his hair, gently scratching his scalp.

Salem was asleep on top of the covers, on him. Her whole body vibrating against him as she purred.

"We're gonna get up soon and you're gonna talk." I murmured but kept my tone soft for now. "You can't just turn up at my house covered in blood and not tell me, okay?"

His body shifted slightly, his face pressing further into my chest making me suppress an eye roll but I kept it at bay. He was delicate at the moment and a lot more likely to do something extreme if pushed.

"I didn't have anywhere else to go." He whispered and my fingers stuttered against his head before resuming their pattern. He was such a conflicting person.

It only took a couple days before he was back to his old self, turning up unannounced to my work and disrupting my every day but I don't know. Just knowing that he did definitely have that human side of him made him less threatening.

It didn't help that Salem had started sitting on his lap when he was over. He'd learnt just the spot under her ears that would make her love him. Honestly it was ridiculous how simply he could insert himself with no consequences. Pissed me off.

"Klaus, get out." I called from my kitchen, currently stood over the stove and stirring the pot of gumbo I'd been cooking. I could sense him in the hallway, making his way in, boots already off.

"Don't get so angsty so soon love. I haven't even said anything." The amusement on his tone wasn't hidden at all. I huffed loudly and put the lid back on the pot. "Smells divine, my sweet." He smirked, brows rising.

"What do you want?" I sighed. I just couldn't be bothered to deal with his drama.

"Only your company." He murmured, head lowering but eyes darkening. "Won't you invite me to stay for dinner?" He asked and I scoffed.

"Since when have you needed to be invited to anything ever?"

"You make a fair point love but it's nicer to be wanted now isn't it?" He shrugged and got closer, leaning completely past and over my to lift the lid of the pot and get a proper whiff. His body pressed against mine, pushing me against the front of the oven. I sucked in a breath, trying not to let him bother me as he slowly pulled back, his face inches from mine as his eyes glanced over my face. "So?" He pressed. "Am I welcome to stay?"

My jaw ticked and my fingers twitched but eventually I relented. "Fine, whatever. But you better actually tell me what you want because I know you aren't here for some dinner."

"You'd be surprised." He mused before sitting down at the table and picking Salem up to place her on his lap.

While we were eating he revealed the spell he was actually here for. So soon enough we were back in the main room with candles everywhere, sat facing each other on the floor and holding hands so I could use his energy as well as mine.

"You know love, under slightly different circumstances this could be a very romantic setting." He purred whilst I murmured the chant under my breath. His statement made me pause and sigh.

"You know Klaus, maybe it would be if you would shut up and let me finish." I snapped and he chuckled.

"Oh I can't wait to see how you behave in bed." I ended up muting him for the rest of the evening. It was comical to see how desperately he needed to say something every half a second.

By the time I'd done what he needed and gotten him back to the doorway, I finally let his sound come back. He cleared his throat and looked up at me with a look of annoyance before his expression shift back to his usual half smile. "As much as I may hope, I think it's quite clear that you won't be inviting me to stay the night." He teased and I hummed in agreement.

"Goodnight Klaus." I pressed, opening the door for him.

"Goodnight, love."

Klaus was arrogant and narcissistic and possibly one of the most selfish beings I'd ever had the displeasure of meeting and yet somehow I ended up looking for the goodness in him.

What was worse was that sometimes I found it.

Just a glimpse of light when he'd smile, the gold in his hair when his hands would push it back. The shimmer in his eyes when he held his hand out for me to channel him.

I don't really know when it started to happen but I ended up not hating him. We both realised that when I did actually invite him to stay for dinner.

The upturn of his lips and the way his head went down made me realise my mistake. But it was too late to undo, he was already sat at the table and talking away.

Once he'd eaten and managed to get the wine out of my cupboard, we ended up in the living room. Him with Salem back on his lap and purring away blissfully. His fingers were hidden within her fur whilst his legs stretched out across the sofa, as if it were his home as well as mine. This time I didn't complain about it.

The night got old quick and after a few glasses of wine I decided it was time for bed.

"If you wanted me upstairs you should have said so sooner, love." He grinned and my eyes rolled as we both rose, Salem jumping down and brushing around my ankles. By the time my gaze settled back on him he was only inches away, his hands making their way to my sides.

"Klaus." I muttered, shifting slightly when his palms pressed to my waist. The light buzz of the alcohol made his touch feel like pure warmth, he felt like the sun. I could feel my eyes shutting, the heat of his mouth against my forehead in from of a soft kiss.

"Thank you," He murmured, the word sounding so foreign on his tongue, "For inviting me." My body tensed and softened when his arms slid round me. It was only a second before I was feeling the definition of his back beneath my fingers.

His lips kissed my cheek before hovering just before my mouth. I knew I shouldn't have, but I did it anyway.

I should have known one wouldn't have been enough.

[wakayrd]

More theatre stuff! I've started to put all the theatre doodles I do under a tag called "isat curtain call" because I wanted to be organized lol

MIRABELLE! Mirabelle is kind of a powerhouse at the theatre. She acts in a lot of the plays they put on (and gets really nervous before going on stage). She has lots of folks who are her neighbors or friends who attend shows and always overwhelm her with tons of flowers. She appreciates it but it can be a bit much! She's always around to help- She will show up for set construction, set decor, lighting design... anything- and all on top of acting! She's even the theatre's health and safety rep! (the little bit at the bottom is inspired by true events... yeah...)

Bonnie!! Bonnie started volunteering with the theatre recently after coming to see a pantomime for Peter Pan. They love to help out with the snack bar, and even wear nice clothing for the shows to look all professional. They also usher sometimes! All with adult supervision of course. They are allowed to come help with set decor (painting the set!) but NOT set construction. They sometimes convince their older sister to stop by the theatre when everyone else is working to drop off homemade goodies. They also like to hang out in the sound/light booth, the stage looks so different from up there! They're close with Odile, who shows them a ton of stuff. They hope that sometime they can also start doing the light cues during a show. They don't want to work near Siffrin backstage, even though that's something they could perhaps start doing now.

Sometimes... it feels like there's something in the theatre, hanging out in the catwalks, judging silently. Maybe... someone... But if you turn around to see them, they're gone! The theatre might be haunted, who knows. That seems the most plausible theory... Siffrin tends to spend a lot of time on the catwalks as well. Perhaps he'd know more about this mysterious spirit of the theatre?

The Spirit of the Theatre! (Loop!) They're always around. They're actually convinced that they're not able to leave the theatre. The hat? They stole it from the costume room! It makes hiding that glow ever so easy- Sometimes they steal coats or matching robes from there, just to make hiding easier. They're so knowledgeable in all things theatre, especially the theatre the group operates out of. Sometimes they spend their time alone at the theatre straightening up the props room or making sure all the actor's props and costumes are in their proper places. It really seems like they consider themselves an integral (and invisible) part of the team. They like to watch from afar, that's all. Meeting Siffrin was an accident, one that The Spirit of the Theatre couldn't avoid. Now they have to deal with Siffrin coming to talk to them often, even looking for advice. It's unclear how long they've been there, and when asked for a name, will only say they're the "Spirit of the Theatre."

And that's it from me today I promise I am normal lol I am having fun watching this all form in front of my eyes a little. It's mostly silly goofy stuff and as much as I'd love to stick to canon best I can, I may have to fiddle with it to get it to make sense... especially for Loop :) but if you have any ideas or stuff my inbox is so open I love talking about this- these drawings were stacked up from the last couple of days just me preparing to post... teehee!!

[mikibwrites]

The Price is Right

inspired by @theweewooshow 's post about a kissing booth :) Happy Valentines Day everyone!

bucktommy | 1.4k | G | ao3

This is ridiculous. He’s officially lost his marbles. 

Tommy’s been in this line for at least fifteen minutes, and every third minute of that has been spent telling himself he should leave. The other 2 minutes of each spiraling cycle have been spent eavesdropping his fellow hopefuls in line, listening to their tittering about how hot the firefighter working this shift of the booth is, surreptitiously cataloguing every person that he can see in front of and behind him and evaluating them on what–little, sadly–he knows about Evan’s preferences and whether or not their dreams of bagging a date with him will come true. Which then, in turn, sends him back into spiraling and berating himself for being among them, given his history with said firefighter. 

He needs to leave. 

There are roughly ten people in front of him, and Evan definitely hasn’t spotted him yet. He could totally duck out and no one would be the wiser. He contemplates pulling his phone out of his pocket with an air of importance, putting the completely silent device to his ear and pretending something dire has just happened that requires his immediate attention. No one would question him for getting out of line, no one would suspect that he’d lost his nerve. They’d think, wow, he must be important to be needed somewhere so urgently. 

Tommy’s definitely, officially for real this time, lost his marbles. 

Also, there are now only seven people left in front of him. 

As he watches each person get their sweet little peck on the cheek, he tries to tell himself this is for a good cause. The money goes to charity. There’s nothing weird about giving to charity. Nothing at all. There’s also nothing stopping him from just dropping the money in the basket on a table near the door that’s designated for just plain donations. He doesn’t need to get anything out of it if that’s all he’s hoping to do. 

He’s definitely hoping to get something out of it. He can at least admit that to himself, if nothing else. 

Five people left. 

“Oh my god, he’s so hot,” Tommy hears from behind him. “Look at those arms. Hold me down, daddy.” He almost chokes, the girl’s voice clearly pitched for just her friend next to her to hear, but he’s apparently blessed with supersonic hearing. The friend chimes in as well. “I wonder if he’s actually a good kisser or if he’s one of those dudes who relies on his rizz alone and then can’t deliver when it counts.”

Tommy has no idea what ‘rizz’ is, but he has to physically stop himself from turning around and describing for this girl in detail just how good of a kisser Evan is, how well he can deliver. He’s sure that wouldn’t go over well. 

Two people left. Evan is being so gracious and attentive to each of his patrons that he still hasn’t noticed Tommy. He could still make a run for it. 

He’s not going to. 

There’s roughly enough time for one more cycle of spiraling before he makes it in front of Evan, but Tommy chooses to spend it going over what the hell he’s going to say. Surely, Evan may protest giving his ex a kiss, even if it’s for charity, given the way they ended. It’d be well within his right to do so. So Tommy needs to have some justifications ready just in case Evan gets the wrong idea here. 

And what is the idea? Tommy failed to decide before he attempted this ridiculous stunt. Honestly, he’s been so, so god damned touch starved since he walked out Evan’s door that he thinks he’d do anything for just a brush of fingertips from Evan at this point. And that’s it, really…he only wants it from Evan. His coworkers have told him multiple times that he needs to just go out and get his ex out of his system–Donato offered to wingperson for him, even–but the very idea turns his stomach. 

But did he actually think that throwing some money at charity at a kissing booth of all things was going to get them anywhere near a reconciliation? Jesus, he should have just texted. Not that he hasn’t tried that, many many many times, and all of them ended up deleted because regardless of what he likes to tell himself he does not have the courage to put himself out there without the reassurance–or despair–of seeing Evan’s actual expression when he says what he wants to say. 

Which is…what? Exactly? He still hasn’t deci–

“Tommy?”

Shit. He’s missed the last person in front of him getting their dutiful peck on the cheek, and now he’s run out of time. 

Evan’s voice as he says his name is full of awe, trepidation, and…dare he say it…hope? His expression is even more devastating: like he’s seeing the sunrise just beginning after a century spent underground. His narrowed eyes are earnest and a little guarded, but they are trained wholly on Tommy.

Shit….what was he going to say?

“Uh, yeah. Hi. I, um…well I. Uh.” Tommy runs his fingers over his hair roughly, feeling unbearably stupid and exposed. He should have run when he had the chance. “Look, Evan, I–”

Evan’s breath hitches audibly at the sound of his name. They’re staring at each other. 

“Shit or get off the pot, dude, we’re all paying customers!” Some guy further back in line is shouting. 

“Um. Did you want a kiss?” Evan says, his face turning pinker by the second. And this. This Tommy can definitely answer.

“Yes,” he says, with maybe a little too much conviction behind the word for their current circumstances. Evan seems to clock it immediately, his eyes flicking down to Tommy’s mouth before coming back up to his eyes, his expression morphing to hopeful disbelief. “But, I mean, you don’t have to, here, I know you probably weren’t expecting–”

Tommy’s words are cut off by Evan’s mouth sealing onto his. 

God, god, he’s missed these lips. Each slide is like a revelation, and the thought is not lost on him that they’re in the middle of what is essentially a work function, they are both in uniform for christ's sake, having a whole existential crisis shared along with their breath and space and saliva. Because yes, Evan has now bullied his insanely talented tongue right behind Tommy’s teeth and is exploring like he’s going to be asked to draw a map later. 

Evan kisses him long, hard, and thorough, endless seconds ticking by and Tommy definitely doesn’t listen to any of the complaining going on in the line behind him. Evan does, though, and he very reluctantly pulls his lips away from Tommy’s and blinks in the most adorably flustered way and Tommy’s so, so gone on this man. How did he ever walk away from this?

“Can we talk?” Evan asks breathlessly.

“Please. But maybe later. Your adoring public awaits,” he adds, gesturing with his thumb to the line behind him, still nearly thirty people strong. He can’t blame them, but he’s also feeling a tad possessive so he leans in one more time to press his lips to the apple of Evan’s cheek, causing the blush to intensify when he pulls away. 

Tommy begins to turn to walk away, his smile already making his cheeks sore when Evan clears his throat. He raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t pay, you know.” He’s smirking, the little shit. 

Before Tommy can make a move, someone in line shouts, “Damn! How much does it cost to get that?”

“That is not for sale,” Evan states with finality, but he’s still looking at Tommy, lips pursing, trying to hold back a full blown grin. There are a few groans from the line. 

Tommy reaches into his wallet, pulls out a $100, and slaps it on the table in front of Evan. “What time does your shift end?”

“In thirty minutes.”

“Meet me at the cafe two blocks down. Bring those lips. We’ll talk.” Tommy congratulates himself on being smooth as he smirks right back at the look on Evan’s face. 

“Mmm, okay. I’ll bring these lips. But I hope you remember they’re good for more than just talking,” Evan adds as Tommy turns to walk away. 

He retracts his self-congratulations as he trips over his own feet. 

[dat-town]

wanna be yours

Characters: down bad!Taesan & female reader

Setting & genre: friends to lovers, college au

Summary: Just Taesan going through it with his crush on you.

Warnings: stage names used, alcohol consumption (beer), shooting-related words but in laser tagging context, light swearing

Words: 3.6k

Author’s note: title from the arctic monkeys’ song aka the ultimate down bad song

@restlessmaknae, the thing is i needed something lighter after all that angst and i wanted to wish you merry xmas with something light and happy because i wish you all the best for the next year as well! i am so so proud of you and i told you that this year's time apart would be a preparation for next year! you won't get rid of me this easy though. love you, always! <3

It’s pathetic, really, Taesan thinks, when he immediately perks up as the pizza place’s door opens and he hears your laughter. He makes sure to mask his expression and with conscious effort at least he manages to relax his posture, melting into the fake leather seat of the corner diner before you get to the table.

Jaehyun greets everybody at the table loudly like always, with enthusiasm and no shame that Taesan could never phantom. You follow in suit, much less conspicuous, a wave and an easy smile, sliding into the booth right next to Sungho’s girlfriend. Taesan pretends to check something on his phone but he couldn’t even recall the time read on his screen because when he looks back up, he catches Hyein whisper something into your ear and you look up, straight at him with a smile tugging on the corner of your rosy, shiny mouth. Taesan briefly wonders about the taste of your gloss and if your lips are as soft as they look. Then he blinks and snaps out of it.

Embarrassment makes him flush anyway because please god, let it not be about him, whatever shit Hyein shared. Still, he tries to play it cool and instead of looking away like a coward, like how his first instinct is, he makes a show of raising an eyebrow in question as if taunting, challenging you. Hopefully, he manages to preserve his cool image this way.

What, he mouths and you silently giggle, eyes turning into crescents.

I will tell you later, you whisper back and Taesan hopes relief doesn’t flood his features. It wasn’t about him then.

You order a banana shake with choco chip cookies, your usual, because of course Taesan knows that. He knows an embarrassing amount of your likes for someone who is ‘not interested’ as he has been trying to convince Leehan almost as long as you have known each other.

Taesan still remembers how you came into his life: how quick, with a smile, like a breeze on a scorching summer day. Jaehyun invited you to this house party at his and Sungho’s place because of course, you were one of those friends Jaehyun made along the way with his ridiculously extroverted personality. It was a small flat, too small for so many people and Taesan was starting to regret deciding on this particular gray tee because he could feel sweat dripping down his neck. He needed some fresh air, so he stepped out to the balcony but you were already there nursing your cheap beer.

“Hey,” you turned to him with a smile, bright and friendly, and he just awkwardly stood there not sure whether he should have gone back and left you alone or that would have made things worse. “Taesan, right?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled, still hovering by the door even though you didn’t seem bothered by his presence. He was just never really good at interacting with new people. Especially girls, more specifically pretty girls.

“I’m Y/N,” you introduced yourself as if Jaehyun didn’t make sure previously to make it known like the loud nosy friend he was.

“I know,” Taesan nodded, having no idea what else to say. You didn't seem to mind as you just tilted your head with an amused smile and a quiet hum. Then you casually fixed your plaid shirt’s collar and Taesan, following your movements, noticed the graphic tee design underneath that overruled all his introvert tendencies.

“Oh. You like Nirvana too?” He blurted out, his music geek ass crawling out of his cave.

“Yeah, I grew up listening to my father’s LPs and CDs a lot,” you nodded and it broke the dam. You two still talked about favourite bands and songs, concerts you’ve been to and ones on your bucket lists when Sungho found you at 2AM and ushered you inside.

It could have been the start of something but Taesan isn’t delusional. You got along quickly with everybody, he isn’t anything special. You are easygoing and charming, of course everybody likes you and of course, you had a boyfriend. At least in the few months of your acquaintance you had. Taesan actually realized how screwed he was when he heard about your breakup and his first thought was how you deserved better, somebody who supported you and your interests unlike your snob ex. Maybe somebody like him.

The boy suddenly feels a light kick against his shin and it snaps him out of his thoughts. He’s ready to scowl at whoever thought it was funny to do that but then he catches the mischief in your eyes and his annoyance almost immediately disappears as he shares a look with you over the table, ignoring everybody else. Oh yeah, he’s so gone. He hopes he’s subtle enough though because he would sooner dig his own grave than have his friends tease him for his crush.

Taesan might be a masochist because he can’t make himself push you away. He’s generally good at keeping people an arm-length’s away. He’s reserved enough for people to think he’s not interested and they don’t bother to get to know him better. It has never seemed to be a problem for you, ever since that night you keep finding ways to him. You exchange music recommendations, complain about professors and assignments, laugh at Jaehyun’s scaredy cat ass during haunted house night. He listens to you talk about the pressure of being a good enough daughter for your high standard parents and how falling out of love felt; and you listen to his songs.

Maybe it’s your willing vulnerability that prompted Taesan to show you his music. He’s usually beyond cagey with his compositions, he doesn’t even show them to Jaehyun and Woonhak until they are perfect or well, good enough according to his own perfectionist taste which is almost the same and those two share the studio with him! He’s snappy whenever somebody disturbs him during his producing sessions but if that somebody is you? He pulls his claws back immediately, his rough edges softening.

His heartbeat goes haywire whenever you show up in the studio and playfully pull the headphones off his head, checking the music out for yourself, nodding along to the beats. At least then he can watch you closely for your expressions, using his curiosity as an excuse why he’s staring and it’s part of the reason too, so it’s not exactly a lie. He wonders whether you like it, whether you can guess that all his lovesick lyrics recently are about you. He hopes you don’t, he hopes you do.

It’s an uneventful Tuesday night when he’s deep in thought about rhymes that don’t make sense and metaphors that feel forced and just nothing sounds right. When the door to his studio opens quietly, for once he’s almost glad for the disturbance. He turns around in time to see you sneak into the studio, holding a convenience store plastic bag above your head as if it was a humble offering, a white flag.

“I brought ice cream,” you explain with a beaming smile and Taesan is not one to say no to a free late night snack. He doesn’t answer, too starstruck by sight of you in an oversized hoodie, all soft and cuddly, which you take as a good sign and slip further inside, closing the door behind you.

“You didn’t answer my texts, so I guessed you’re here,” you muse out loud as you sit down on the extra chair next to his, offering him a plastic-wrapped popsicle, then unwrapping another one yourself.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, unplugging his phone from the charger to check on the missed texts from his friends before picking on the colourful wrapper.

“It’s okay. I know how you get when you’re in the zone,” you smile sweetly and gosh, how can you be so perfect?

Taesan’s breath hitches when you inch closer, your shoulder pressing into his arm as you take a closer look at the computer screen, at the audio software he uses even though you probably don’t understand what’s going on there.

“New song?” You ask, genuine curiosity in your bright voice, so Taesan hums and tells you that he’s stuck on the chorus. You know nothing about music but he lets you listen anyway because at this point he’s desperate for any pointers and well, he’s weak for you, so it’s not like he could say no to those sparkling eyes.

He plays the half-finished song for you once, picking on the skin around his fingernails in the meantime from the nerves, the popsicle melting in his other hand.

The too big headphones are still on you when you turn to him with the most beautiful, beaming smile ever when the audio file ends in a hundred seconds that has never felt so long.

“It’s so good! Seriously, how can you come up with lyrics like this? And that melody in the beginning? So catchy!” You exclaim, taking the mouse out of his hand, fingers brushing, just to rewind the audio to the beginning and play it again. This time you’re humming along with it, eyes half closed, fingers drumming on the desk. You look so immersed and so enthusiastic that Taesan can feel his heart ache in a way he’s not sure is healthy.

“There could be more instruments in the chorus to make it stand out more but I like it a lot,” you say when you finish your second listen and give him back both the headphone and the control over the computer before you nudge his side playfully.  “You’re such a romantic.”

“Am not,” Taesan objects hurriedly, his ears already reddening. Gosh, if you knew that it’s you who’s making him sprout out all these lines about jittery nerves around a crush and wanting to watch the stars together.

It’s hard sitting still, so close that your knee brushes against his sometimes; it’s hard to concentrate on your questions when your floral scent envelops him; it’s hard not to lean closer, to close the gap and kiss the melting vanilla ice cream off your lips.

Shit, woah.

Taesan sucks in a breath and rolls his chair backwards, away from you. You look at him with furrowed brows in confusion, so cute and unaware of your effect on him that he swears you’ll be the death of him.

Summer days seem endless and Taesan makes some regrettable choices in the name of fashion. But as a proud believer of no weather being too hot for black clothes, he cannot back down.

“Aren’t you hot?” You lean closer to talk over the loud music and Taesan immediately feels warmer. If he was Jaehyun, he would make a joke out of it, asking if you found him hot with wiggled eyebrows but he’s not that shameless.

“Nah, I’m good,” instead he lies through his teeth. You shot him a look of disbelief and shrug, looking back to the stage, moving to the beat of music, jumping around, having fun.

“I’m back!” Woonhak raises the bag of drinks in the air like they were some kind of reward and honestly, Taesan has never been so relieved to get a cup of iced Americano.

“What took you so long?” He grumbles though as he tries to cool off with the cold drink.

“Yah, the line was crazy long. Next time you can go,” the younger complains and gets immediately babied by Hyein who definitely spoils him too much.

The next splash of water reaches their group and Sungho shrieks the loudest as he gets soaked while you giggle in your already see-through tee. You have a bikini underneath but still, Taesan has this urge to cover you up. He knows it’s silly, the entire purpose of this event is to get wet in the summer heat but he can’t help it, not when you sing along with some random kpop boy group on the stage. He doesn’t even know why he agreed to come, it’s really not his scene. Sure, he loves music but the water bomb festival isn’t exactly his typical concert experience.

Five minutes later he gives up and slides off his overshirt, tying it around his waist.

“You have moles here,” you point out suddenly and Taesan looks at you a little dumbfounded.

“What?”

“Moles. Here. It’s cute,” you say with an endeared smile and poke his bicep right above the birthmark which is revealed now that he’s only in his sleeveless tee.

Taesan can feel his ears burn and he wants to laugh. You did not just call his arms cute when he worked out in the gym to gain some muscle. But well, let’s look at the bright side: you seem to have meant it as a compliment and while he has never bothered with his moles, long accepting them as a part of him, now he starts to have a love-hate relationship with them because from then on you start poking his bicep just for the sake of it whenever he wears tank tops or t-shirts with shorter sleeves and it sends a flutter down his stomach every single time. He’s positively losing it.

On his birthday, the gang goes laser tagging. Unfortunately for him, you end up on a different team alongside Riwoo, Leehan and Woonhak. Honestly, with Sungho on his team, Taesan is pretty confident, the two of them tend to be the best in these kinds of games and he gets competitive anyway, so he swears he won’t go easy on you.

He even tries to shoot you in the back like a coward, so you wouldn’t get a chance to distract him but you duck at the last minute and avoid it. He starts chasing you then between the maze of neon-lit pillars but a sudden 180° turn of yours takes him by surprise and somehow it ends up with both of you on the ground with your body pressing against his. You push yourself up just enough to look down on him and lying on his back, momentarily breathless after the collision, Taesan swears he feels his soul leave his body because damn, you are beautiful. Your hair is messy, strands of it falling into your face, eyes dilated and shiny, burning with fierce passion.

He is distracted, he doesn’t even notice when you pick up your gun again, not until you shoot him in the chest, the echo of his vest’s switching off sound resonates off the walls. The hell.

“Cheater,” he mutters but with less bitterness than what he would have if it was anybody else.

“Says you,” you retort with a cheeky smile before getting ready to push yourself entirely up, ready to hunt down the rest of his group.

You don’t even make it to your feet though. Taesan pulls you down again with a grab on your wrist but this time he rolls the two of you around, so you are with your back on the floor and he’s the one hovering over you. He sneaks a hand under your head, protecting you from the impact as you look up at him with widened eyes. He feels breathless again and hopes he can blame it on the game.

“What on Earth are you guys doing?” Sungho’s sharp voice comes, seemingly oblivious to the tension around you and Taesan scrambles to his feet, offering you a hand which you take with a grin, the shadow of the previous look still present in your eyes. He doesn’t want to let go.

Later, there’s a cake and a cheesy toast from Jaehyun and you gift him an LP that he listens to over and over again.

Just before the summer ends, you all hang out together by the Han River, eating store-bought cheese tteokbokki and way too spicy ramen on the worn blankets. That’s when Taesan witnesses it: a guy asking you out just a few steps away within earshot when you are returning from your sweets errand.

It’s already been months since you broke up with your ex, so of course, you would want to move on, Taesan wouldn’t blame you nor does he blame the guy because you’re pretty and amazing, what’s not to like. But then you duck your head shyly, glance quickly towards the group that’s mostly unaware why you’re held back and for a moment your eyes meet.

Taesan quickly looks away, the loose threads of the blanket have never been so interesting.

“Ah, I’m flattered but actually, there’s someone I like.”

He hears your answer loud and clear and it breaks his brain. Do you like someone? Who and why didn’t he have no idea? Or maybe you just said that to nicely turn down the guy? Was he not your type? Wait, what kind of guys do you like? What…

He’s still thinking about it, his thoughts on overdrive, when you eventually leave, the group scattering across town after sunset, and he offers to walk you back to your place from the metro station. The air between you is heavy, not just from the humid summer air.

“Taesan?”

“Hm?” He whips his head your way, playing aloof.

“Tell me,” you prompt vaguely and he feels his heart drop. What if you know what has been plaguing his mind? What if you think he’s a weirdo?

“What?”

“You’re thinking too loud,” you explain with a shrug and a small smile playing on your lips. “What’s it about?”

Taesan doesn’t even think this time.

“You,” he blurts out without meaning to and he has half a mind to turn it into a joke, a teasing but you look so genuinely surprised that he can’t make himself.

“What about me?”

He can’t read you. Do you really not know?

“Everything.”

But mostly about how your bright personality and wide smile is like molten sunshine and that it’s unfair because he has always associated himself with the moon and there’s something tragic about being ill-fated from the beginning. About how crazy it is that you’re here asking that question as if there was any prolonged moment in your company when he was able to focus on something else that wasn’t you. About how much he would like to hold your hand and play with your more delicate fingers, pressing his lips to the pad of them, an action somehow more intimate than kissing itself.

But he doesn’t dare to even say that out loud, too afraid of messing up.

You chuckle at his nonsense answer anyways, flash him a shy smile and look away  and it’s in moments like this when Taesan lets himself wonder whether you feel differently about him too. Because he’s pretty sure friends don’t look at each other the way the two of you do. Or at least they’re not supposed to.

“Who is it?” He hisses as the question that has been scratching his throat stumbles out and he forces himself to act nonchalant about it, as if your words didn’t have the power to turn his world around. You look at him questioningly and Taesan takes a deep breath, refusing to back down like a total loser, so he clarifies: “The guy you like. Do I know him?”

“Oh,” you mumble, looking down, nerves acting up, and halt your steps. Taesan suddenly wants to take it back because you don’t have to tell him something like that, he’s being nosy and uncharacteristically clingy and… “Do you really want to know?”

Yes.

No.

He doesn’t even know. Because based on your reaction, you do like someone, it wasn’t just a white lie and he doesn’t know what to do with that. But he bites the bullet because it’s better to know than to wonder, he’s already driving himself crazy as is.

“Sure,” he shrugs and he’s being so fake he cringes at himself but at least your eyes are on him again. Shiny doe eyes he knows he will write into yet another song.

“What if it’s someone you don’t like?” You quirk a brow and Taesan has to consciously unclench his fingers. His throat feels tight, the summer air suffocating him.

“You don’t need my permission.”

“Not even if he’s very close to you?” You tilt your head, pouting.

“God, please tell me it’s not Leehan. He cares more about his fish than girls,” he exclaims dramatically, because he doesn’t really think that you would like his best friend since he hasn’t seen you hang out much and he needs to break this awkwardness somehow.

You laugh at his answer, harder than necessary because it wasn’t even that funny. You look at him like he should know already and it’s ridiculous because there’s still uncertainty and tension lingering in the space.

Then you step so close that you crowd into his space, push yourself to your tippy toes and peck him on the mouth. Brief and fleeting but so sweet Taesan feels the sugar rush go to his head. He almost forgets the topic you were on as his brain short circuits.

“Me?” He finds himself asking dumbly. “Really?”

It feels unreal, even with the soft pressure of your fingers curling in his shirt, you staying so close that your breathing fans against his chin.

“Really,” you nod, eyes full of wonder and amusement. Relief.

“Fuck,” Taesan swears under his breath as he slides a hand to your nape and leans down to kiss you properly. He feels your smile against his lips and he can already tell how your friends will get to know the news and that he wasn’t the one who confessed despite his year long crush but at that moment he doesn’t mind any future teasing. Because you like him and suddenly all the silly love songs about the firework-like kisses make sense.

[celandeline]

Not Your Boyfriend, Baby

Farleigh X Reader, SMUT - tw for cheating, reader both cheats and is cheated on

part two

Being Felix’s girlfriend comes with a set of rules. 

Always stand to his right, so that he can hand you whatever he’s holding without having to think about it. Let him pull you into his lap whenever he wants, even if you’d really rather just sit next to him - always sit next to him. Laugh at the jokes he makes, even if they aren’t funny. Help him with his coursework when he asks, pretend that you need help with things that you know he’s good at so he doesn’t feel stupid. Pretend that he can make you cum. Pretend you don’t know he’s cheating on you.

Being Felix’s girlfriend comes with a set of rules - but the perks are worth it. 

The necklace he got you for your birthday costs more than your first car, and if you ever sell it, will easily cover rent for at least a year. Designer clothes have a habit of appearing in your dorm room unannounced, always in your size - just because Felix likes when you look good next to him. No clubs are too exclusive to get into, there’s always a booth in the back of the pub reserved for you, people bend over backwards just for the chance of being in Felix’s vicinity - so naturally they’ll do anything for you. 

You’re using him as much as he’s using you - it’s mutually beneficial. You get to live within his innermost circle, he gets to have someone to bring home to his parents so they don’t start looking into arranged marriages after graduation. You have no intentions of actually marrying him, god no - you’ve heard him talk about how many kids he wants, there’s no way in hell you’re pushing out six - but you’ll take what you can get. Felix is a comfortable rung on the social ladder you’re trying to climb. 

“Right, love?” 

Felix’s voice drags you out of your thoughts and back into reality - the warm lighting of the pub casts everyone around your table in a warm golden glow. You’re pressed against Felix’s right side - always his right side - his arm perched on the back of the booth around your shoulders, casually possessive. It’s a little funny how possessive he is, considering how often he cheats on you. On his other side, Annabel nurses a pint, her overlined eyes locked on Felix, utterly enraptured. 

Across the table, India looks at him with the same hunger, even though her head rests on Farleigh’s shoulder. Farleigh looks how you feel - utterly bored, his eyes wandering the room as he idly smokes a cigarette. He’s always been prettier than Felix. More interesting too. If you weren’t trying to climb the social ladder high enough to marry rich and not have to work a day in your life, he’d be who you’re pressed against instead of Felix. There’s something about him that’s always given you the sense that he sees right through you, but it’s exciting. You know he knows why you’re here next to Felix, with a diamond he bought you around your neck. But Felix has no idea - he thinks you’re in love with him. 

It’s laughable, how in his own head he is. 

Still, you feed into the delusion, that practiced sugary-sweet smile playing at your lips as you look up at him. “Mhm.” You hum, picking up your pint and sipping at it. 

Felix grins wide, and turns back to Annabel. “See?”

Annabel rolls her eyes, leaning around Felix to pin a look at you. “You weren’t even paying attention.”

The animosity that every other girl within a fifty mile radius directs at you is the one drawback of being Felix’s main piece. Your smile turns a little sharper. “Yeah.” You admit easily, setting your pint back down. “But I know Felix enough to know that he was probably right.”

Across the table, Farleigh snorts. 

Your eyes slide over to him, and he meets your glance. Ever so slightly, he tilts his head, a dry smile playing at his lips - a silent, really?

You tilt your head in the same direction, mocking - yes, really.

Felix turns back to Annabel. “I’m always right, Anna - best get used to it.”

She rolls her eyes again, but this time it’s playful - flirty, even. You can already see how the rest of tonight is going to play out - Felix will make some excuse about drinking too much or not feeling well or whatever else his idiotic brain can come up with, and disappear back to his dorm room to fuck her. Tomorrow, of course, you’ll act like you’re none the wiser. In two weeks time, when the guilt starts to get at him, a new pair of heels or a Dior skirt will find its way into your closet. 

Simply the way of things. 

Pulling away from Felix’s hold, you make to get up. He glances at you, concerned, but you only smile, and kiss him on the cheek so that you can slide out of the booth. “Gotta use the loo.”

You brush your hands down your skirt as you stand up, and start towards the back of the pub, where the bathrooms are, tossing a look over your shoulder back at the table. You catch Farleigh’s eye, and hold it for a moment. His lips curl upward around his cigarette. With Felix likely going home with Annabel, your schedule for the night just opened up…

Maybe tonight’s the night you do something - someone - just for yourself. Set your plans for the future aside for once, and just have fun. After all, you’re confident Felix will be none the wiser - you know exactly what not to do after watching him fumble around with any and every other girl that’s caught his eye. 

You disappear into the bathroom, Farleigh’s gaze still on you. 

The noise from the pub is quieter here, just a dull hum seeping in through the walls. You lock the door behind you, and inspect yourself in the mirror. You smudge the dark eyeshadow around your eyes a little more, and fluff up your hair so that it doesn’t sit so lifelessly against your head. Your sex appeal back in place, you splash some water on your hands and pat them against your skirt before you leave, stepping back out into the pub. 

As expected, Farleigh is waiting for you, leaning against the wall next to the bathroom door, finishing off his cigarette. A quick glance back at the table lets you know that you were right - Annabel and Felix are gone. India’s moved onto Jack now, laughing a little too loud at something he says. 

“Felix said he wasn’t feeling well, all of a sudden.” Farleigh drawls, bringing your attention back to him. “Annabel’s walking him home.” There’s a touch of humor in his voice that you appreciate - he knows just as well as you do what they’re off to do.

“Shame.” You say, not bothering to try and sound actually sad at all. It wouldn’t fool Farleigh anyway. “Got tired of India?” You snatch the last of his cigarette from his fingers, finishing it off in one drag and dropping the butt to the floor, stamping it out with my boot. 

Farleigh watches you, his eyes half-lidded. “Is there such a thing as not being tired of India?”

“She’s not all bad.” You say. 

He tilts his head, that wry smile coming back to his face. “She’s not trying to fuck you.”

You can’t help but grin at that. “Touche.” You wouldn’t know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of India’s flirting - but if Farleigh’s boredom is anything to judge by, she must not be very good at it. 

Silence falls between us, and you let yourself look at him, eyes tracing down the lines of his neck until you reach the hollow at the base, and then back up to his lips.

“So.” Farleigh says. 

You meet his eyes again. “So.”

He grins, foxlike and charming. “You wanna get out of here?”

The walk back to campus is short, but it feels longer with how much you talk about with Farleigh - school and America and family and money and Felix and a million other, less important, things. It’s the most intellectually stimulating conversation you’ve had in a long time, and the most you’ve genuinely laughed in a while too. It’s everything you’ve been missing with Felix - and it makes the war between your want for fortune and fame in the future and your want for genuine connection rage all the more. 

It comes to an end all too quickly for your liking, as you reach the steps to your dorm. 

You slow to a stop, and Farleigh stops as well, looking down at you, hands tucked casually into his pockets. “Does it ever bother you?” He asks.

“What?” You reply. 

“That he cheats on you.” Farleigh clarifies. 

It’s a complicated question to answer, so instead you turn it around on him instead. “Does it ever bother you that he’s fucked India?”

Farleigh rolls his eyes. “That’s-”

“He does it to literally everyone.” You press on. “I stopped caring a while ago.”

Something contemplative washes over his face, and he just looks at you for a moment, eyes searching yours for something. His next question is quieter. “Who would you pick, if you weren’t stuck with him?”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes. “I’m not stuck with him.”

Farleigh looks at you, obviously amused. “I can see you trying not to roll your eyes every time he opens his mouth.”

You shrug. “The pros outweigh the cons.”

“So cynical.” He taunts, stepping closer. “You still haven’t answered the question.”

“I think it’s fairly obvious who I would pick if I wasn’t with Felix.” You say, letting him back you up the steps until your back is against the door. You look up at him, and meet his eyes. 

He grins. “Yeah, but I want you to say it.”

“It’s you.” You say, voice barely above a whisper. “Like it would be anyone else-”

He cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours, a moan leaving him as you deepen the kiss without waiting, slipping your tongue into his mouth. He tastes like cigarettes and vodka and it’s made all the more delicious by the little noises that keep working up his throat, elicited when you grab him by the belt and pull him closer so that you’re chest to chest. He groans when you sink your teeth into his bottom lip and pull away, tugging him with you by the mouth. When you release him, he still follows after you anyway, chasing you for more. 

Fingers still dancing on his belt, you smile. “Come up to my dorm with me?”

“Yes, fuck, please.” He already sounds debauched, and it sends a spike of heat straight down to your core. Felix would never deign himself to beg. 

You push open the door to the dorm building, and start up the stairs, Farleigh trailing only a half step behind you. You fumble with your keys once you reach the door to your room, and Farleigh latches onto the back of your neck, trailing kisses across the sensitive skin that send a shiver up your spine.

Once you get the door open, you drag him inside and kick it back shut, locking it behind you. 

Farleigh’s back on you in an instant, mouthing under your jaw. You wind a hand into his curls, pulling his head back from your neck. “Don’t leave any marks or Felix-”

He rolls his eyes, and cuts you off. “Duh.”

Without any more preamble he dives back into your neck, kissing along the length of it until he makes his way back up to your lips. You meet him in a kiss greedily, pushing off the door behind you and walking him back towards your bed. He hits the bedframe and breaks the kiss to sit on the edge. With a grin, you’re climbing into his lap and gently pushing him down until his backs flat against the mattress. 

He’s so pretty like this - curls splayed out across your duvet cover, hands gripping onto your hips like you’ll float away if he lets go. You run a hand under his shirt, rucking it up so that you can see the way his stomach flexes when you touch him. Slowly, you dip your head down to lick a trail up his abdomen, never breaking eye contact. 

He tips his head back with a shaky groan. “Oh, fuck.”

You grin, shifting forward so that you can nose under his jaw, lips ghosting across the shell of his ear. “What about you? Will India get mad if I-”

“Don’t fucking care, I want you to do it anyway.” He says, a little breathless. He’s so responsive - every little groan and whine shoots heat straight to your core. If sex with Felix was like this, maybe you wouldn’t have to pretend to be in love with him. 

You sink your teeth into his neck just below his ear and he keens, his hips knocking up into yours. His fingers dig into your hips, bunching the fabric of your skirt into his fists like he’s holding on for dear life. You take the opportunity to start the slow roll of your hips as you work a chain of hickeys across his neck, scattering them artfully around his collarbone. 

Deft fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, pushing it up your spine until you get the message and pull it off yourself, flinging it somewhere in your room. Farleigh wiggles out of his own shirt underneath you, pushing the offending garment off the edge of the bed. Freed of your shirt, you reach behind you to unclasp your bra as well, tossing it in the same direction. 

Farleigh’s eyes fall to your tits immediately, and you swear you can see his pupils dilate. “I see why Felix keeps you around-”

“Shut the fuck up.” You say with a smile. Even when you have him in your bed, he’s the same old Farleigh. It’s a breath of fresh air after having to pretend you like when Felix calls himself ‘daddy’. 

Your skirt is next, and then the tights you’d had on underneath it as Farleigh works on his trousers, kicking them off the end of the bed. Only your underwear left, you resume grinding against him, watching as his eyes flutter shut for a moment as he uses his grip on your hips to work you over him harder. 

“How do you want me?” You ask, leaning down to press more kisses along the length of his neck. 

You expect him to respond - to tell you to turn over on all fours or ride him reverse cowgirl - but he only sighs in the back of his throat. “Whatever you like, baby.” 

You press your lips to his in another greedy kiss, licking into his mouth and swallowing up the moans that slip past his lips. He’s not making it easy to think about going back to Felix after this. Felix, who calls himself ‘daddy’ and manhandles you around however he likes and hasn’t made you cum a single time. You can feel your wetness starting to seep into the fabric of your underwear from how malleable Farleigh is underneath you - how he looks at you like he’d gladly do anything you ask him to. 

You slip your fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers and shuck them down his legs. Your own underwear are next, and then you’re grinding on him again, spreading your wetness up and down his length. 

Farleigh’s grip tightens, and he tips his head back again. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he moans. “Mm.” He picks his head back up enough so that he can look at you. “I was going to ask if you wanted me to go down on you but - mm - I don’t think you need it- oh fuck!”

Rising up on your knees, you line him up and slide down him in one drop of your hips, lodging him inside of you. He’s longer than Felix is, but skinnier too so the stretch doesn’t sting as much. God, it’s like he was made for you, with how easily he reaches right where you need him to without even trying. You start to bounce, planting your hands on his chest for leverage and tossing your head back, losing yourself in the feeling. 

Farleigh whines, a high pitched breathy thing that sounds like it’s been forced out of him as you start to move. Gently, you pry his hands away from your hips and pin them down over his head, just because he lets you do it. It’s a rush - that he’ll let you do whatever you want and take it happily - and it goes to your head. He strains against your grip but you don’t let up, working yourself up and down his cock just to watch his eyes roll up into his head. 

“What- ahh, what are you doing?” Farleigh chokes out, straining against your grip again. 

“Whatever I want.” You croon, whispering against his lips. 

He snags you in a kiss, sweeping his tongue into your mouth hungrily as he plants his feet on the mattress, thrusting so that his hips meet yours on every downstroke. A sharp gasp forces its way out of your throat as the coil in your stomach starts to tighten, and you can’t help but smile at him. It’s almost a novelty, the way he works with you instead of against you like Felix often does. 

He grins back up at you, and tilts his chin upward to kiss you again. Breathy, he says, “Felix is an idiot.”

You choke on a moan as a particularly hard thrust jolts through you. “Why’s that?”

“He doesn’t know what he has.” Farleigh says. “I’ve fucked India and - fuck - Annabel and they’ve got nothing on you.”

You laugh and moan at the same time. “You don’t have to - mm - be nice just so I’ll let you cum in me.”

“I can be nice.” He breathes. 

You ghost your lips over his neck. “You’re never nice.”

“I can be nice.” He insists, turning his head so that you can litter kisses along the length of his neck. You trail upwards until you reach the lobe of his ear, biting gently at the skin. “To you.”

“Careful.” You say. “Better stop now or I might think you’re in love with me or something-”

Farleigh tenses up beneath you, as a long groan escapes from his lips as he throws his head back. He thrusts three more times before he stills, slumping back down to the mattress, panting hard. His eyes flutter open, blown wide as he looks up at you. 

You can feel a smirk playing on your lips. “Did you just cum?”

He has the decency to look a little ashamed. “Maybe.”

You laugh, and kiss him. “Well, what are we supposed to do now?”

“I’m good.” He insists, working his wrists free of your hold. “I can still- here, just-”

He pulls you to his chest and rolls on the mattress so that you’re underneath him now, and resumes fucking into you, tucking his head into the crook of your neck. The change in position makes the feeling all the more potent, and a moan slips out from your lips. 

Winding your arms around his shoulders, you rake your nails up his back, and feel him shiver against you. “Farleigh…”

“Don’t fucking do that.” He laughs. “I’ll cum again.”

You toss your head back against the pillow as he speeds up his thrusts, obviously trying to get you to cum before he’s too spent to keep going. You let your eyes flutter shut and enjoy the feeling of him against you, the tickle of his curls against your neck, the breathy moans that slip from his lips into your ear, the feeling of his teeth against your neck as he sucks a hickey into your skin-

“Farleigh-” You start, only to cut yourself off as the coil finally snaps and pleasure shoots through you. “Oh fuck-”

He groans, and shoves his face deeper into your neck as his thrusts slow to a stop. He slumps again, flopping on top of you with a long sigh.

When you come back to your senses, you tug on his hair until he grumbles. “You are such a dick.” You say. “I said no marks.”

“Sorry.” He mumbles into your skin. 

“No you’re fucking not.” You retort. 

He lifts his head out of your neck, that foxlike grin on his face again. “No I’m not.”

“What am I supposed to do now?” You ask. 

He pulls out, and flops back down on the bed next to you, nosing back into the crook of your neck as he slings an arm over your chest. “Makeup. Wear your hair down.” He shrugs. “It’s Felix - he’ll probably think he did it.”

You rest your chin on the top of his head, the aftershocks of pleasure running through you. “‘M never having sex with you again.”

Farleigh snorts. “Yeah, okay.”

You smile into his hair, because he’s right. Of course he’s right. There’s no way in hell this isn’t going to become a regular occurrence. 

[800silentpod]

Gamers Pod | Silentpod - Soundproof Pods for Immersive Gaming Experiences in Dubai

Explore the Soundproof Gamer Pods by 800Silentpod in Dubai, designed for immersive, uninterrupted gaming. Discover features and benefits of the perfect acoustic gaming environment.

[podsforyou]

Discover how soundproof pods are reshaping modern offices by enhancing focus and privacy. Explore why 800 Silent Pod is the best silent pod manufacturer in UAE.

[theshiniestgemstone]

the prayer pod's double purpose- fem!reader x gideon gemstone

warnings: smut, p in v, minors dni

“Gideon, slow down, please,” you giggled, stumbling slightly as you tried to keep pace with him. The concrete floor of the warehouse echoed with your footsteps, and the scent of cardboard and plastic wrap filled the air.

He stopped abruptly, spinning around to catch you. Before you could even get your balance, his hands were on your waist, his mouth covering yours in a hungry, breathless kiss. He pulled back just enough to whisper, “Can’t wait, baby.”

His fingers squeezed your hip, dragging you backwards until your spine met a pallet of boxes stacked high with overpriced gift shop merchandise. You barely had time to register the cold press of the shrink-wrapped cardboard before his hands were back on your skin, greedy and firm.

All day, he'd been simmering just under the surface. Watching you from across the breakfast table, dragging his eyes over the low cut of your sundress like he could burn it off with just a look. During the car ride, his fingers lingered too long on your bare thigh. He whispered promises behind your ear while helping you into your jacket, eyes lit with something darker, needier.

You'd barely made it out of the house this morning. He had you pressed up against the bathroom counter before you could even put your earrings on. It took everything in you to peel him off, laughing and flushed, reminding him that you had to leave. That people were waiting.

But now? Now the two of you were alone, ducked between towering shelves of branded water bottles and t-shirts.

Gideon’s fingers slid along the hem of your dress, teasing higher. “You knew what you were doing when you put this on,” he said lowly, grinning as he mouthed along your neck. “You wore this just to torture me.”

You gasped when his lips found that sweet spot under your ear, your back arching instinctively. “You’re insane.”

He chuckled, hands exploring now with full intention. “For you? Always.”

You clutched the collar of his shirt, lips meeting his again, this time slower, deeper, your whole body giving in to the tension that had been building since sunrise. The world outside disappeared, muffled by boxes and adrenaline and the ache of wanting someone so badly it made your knees shake.

Gideon took your hand and pulled you deeper into the warehouse, weaving between shelves of folded towels and half-unpacked boxes of sun hats. That’s when he spotted them.

Tucked away in a quiet corner, half-covered in plastic, were three glossy white "Prayer Pods". The compact, egg-shaped booths designed for silent meditation. Or at least, that was the intention.

He looked back at you with a slow, mischievous grin. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

You stared at the pods. Your brows lifted. “Absolutely not.”

"Like we're the only ones to think of this."

But he was already pulling you toward the middle one, gently tugging aside the plastic wrap with the same reverence someone might unwrap a present on Christmas morning. He popped the hatch open, peeking inside. “Cushioned bench. Door that shuts. Mostly soundproof,” he added, knocking on the side. “Praise God.”

You rolled your eyes but followed him inside anyway, breath catching as he pulled the door shut behind you.

It was a snug fit, your knees pressed against his as you both adjusted on the bench. “You’re impossible,” you whispered, already breathless.

“And you're irresistible,” he shot back, cupping your face as his lips found yours again.

The kiss deepened in seconds. Hot, hungry, like it had been simmering all day. His hands slid down, gripping your thighs and pulling you closer, guiding you to lean down. The hem of your sundress bunched around your hips, and he groaned softly when his hands slipped beneath it, finding soft skin and thin fabric. His fingers circled your clit a few times. You gasped into his mouth as he hooked your panties and slowly, teasingly slid them down your legs. The fabric stretched, then gave way, pooling at your knees. He didn’t stop kissing you for a second, mouth trailing down your jaw, tasting your skin like he was starved. He helped you straddle him,

“Still think this was a bad idea?” he murmured, voice husky as he shifted beneath you.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you guided him closer, one hand braced on his shoulder as your body welcomed his, every inch of him filling you like he was meant to live there.

Your breath hitched as you sank down into his lap, hips trembling with the stretch. He cradled your hips, eyes squeezed shut, groaning quietly into your neck. The pod rocked ever so slightly.

You both stilled.

“...We gotta be quiet,” you warned, trying not to laugh through the haze of pleasure.

He opened his eyes, pupils dark with heat. “Then stop makin’ those sounds, baby.”

You rocked your hips, adjusting your knees on either side of him. Gideon's head fell back in a groan, holding your dress up just enough to be able to see your bodies connected. He choked on a sound halfway between a moan and a gasp, his eyes fluttering shut as your pace quickened. One of his hands came up to pull your dress down, revealing that you hadn't worn a bra. Your tits bounced with each roll of your hips, the movement hypnotic, testing every last nerve of his self-control.

“Fuck,” he grumbled, thrusting up into you, voice low and wrecked as he gripped your hips tighter, guiding your movements with a desperation that had been brewing all day.

You bit your lip to stifle the gasp threatening to rise. The narrow pod echoed every breath, every creak of the seat beneath you, amplifying the heat between your bodies. His eyes flicked open, dazed and wild, locked on your face like you were the only thing anchoring him to earth.

He leaned forward to kiss you again, deep and desperate, like you'd float away if he didn't. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to earn a groan from his throat. The pace between you was quickening, syncopated with breathless kisses and stuttered praise. He kissed down your chest, just once, before resting his forehead against your sternum, breath shaky.

“Can’t believe you wore this dress out the house,” he muttered, voice muffled against your skin. “You knew what you were doing.”

You whined. "Yeah. I did," you admitted. "Just thought the game would last longer."

Gideon huffed out a breathless laugh, his fingers digging into your hips. “Baby,” he groaned, like the word alone could hold back the avalanche of feeling threatening to overtake him.

"Give it to me, Gid," you breathed into his scalp. "Need you to fill me up so bad."

His hips jerked up in response, and the prayer pod creaked softly around you, your shared rhythm starting to break under the weight of how badly he needed you. His hand slid up your spine, grounding, reverent. "Yeah?"

"Mhm," you whined. You pulled back just far enough to see him, his flushed cheeks and the unsteady way his eyes flicked between your face and where you were still moving together, slow and sinful. "Want you drippin' outta me, baby."

Gideon’s breath caught in his throat. His grip on your hips faltered just a second before he surged up into you, burying his face in your chest with a groan so guttural it rattled through both of you.

“Jesus,” he muttered, lips brushing your skin like a prayer, “you can’t just say shit like that.”

You laughed, breath shaky, tightening around him in response. “Why not?” you teased, fingers threading back into his hair. “It’s true.”

He pulled back to look at you, eyes dark, heavy with heat and awe. “You’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, like it was the best way to go.

You rocked your hips again and felt him twitch inside you.

“I better,” you smirked.

That pushed him over the edge.

His pace stuttered, hands clutching you tighter, and his eyes snapped shut as he groaned your name into the space between your breasts. He spilled into you with a final desperate thrust, hips twitching as he rode it out, muttering broken praise against your skin.

When you finally stilled, both of you shaking, breathless, clinging to each other in the cramped, holy heat of the pod, he chuckled weakly.

"Now, imagine one of these in every shopping mall," Jesse's voice boomed, getting closer with each step.

Your heart jumped into your throat. Gideon's eyes widened, panic written all over his face as Jesse's footsteps got louder, his voice echoing through the warehouse.

“Think about it, y’all! Prayer pods right between Auntie Anne’s and the Build-A-Bear! You feel the Lord, and you get a pretzel-"

Gideon shoved your panties into his pocket without thinking and grabbed your waist to help you off his lap, steadying you as silently as possible. Your knees wobbled, thighs still trembling. He reached for your dress, trying to pull it down while you shoved your chest back into place. He stopped the door from sliding open just as Jesse tried to open it.

"Dad," he breathed, defeated. "Please, do not open this door."

There was a beat of silence on the other side of the door.

“…Gideon?” Jesse asked, confused. “What in the everlovin’ fuck? Are you-"

Gideon let his forehead thud softly against the wall. “Yes, sir.”

“With someone?” Jesse’s voice pitched up, scandal and glee bubbling under the surface.

You clapped a hand over your mouth to keep from making a sound, cheeks burning, still halfway tangled in Gideon's lap and wrinkled Sunday dress. You felt tears of embarrassment forming. Gideon ran a hand soothingly over your arm.

"Yes," he admitted. "I’m begging you not to open this door. Please."

From outside, you heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by Jesse muttering to himself, voice fading away. “Whatever. Wipe down the bench and- this is the last time I ever try to come up with something."

[austinbutlerslovers]

Silk & Silence 

Label Mature 18+

Summary After your celebratory anniversary takes a dark turn, you press Patrick to finally commit to marriage—but his chilling reaction leaves you speechless.

⚠️ Hardcore Smut ⚠️  Patrick having a mental break • toxic relationship dynamics •power play• name calling •gagged with a silk tie• retrained with a belt• edging • sweet talk • dirty talk •coercion• orgasms used as leverage nipple play • fingering • clit play• bj infront of a mirror•sex in front of a mirror •Patrick reaching climax seeing the reflection • orgasms •cream pie • mild aftercare

Proofreader @purejasmine 🎊 🥂 Happy New Year 🥂 🎊

Silk & Silence

The restaurant is a masterpiece of modern Manhattan opulence. Sleek marble floors gleam under chandeliers that sparkle like falling stars, while waiters glide between tables dressed in sharp black and white uniforms.

Your handsome fiancé Patrick sits across from you in the corner booth, the epitome of control.

His designer suit is tailored to perfection as he taps a manicured finger against the stem of his martini glass. His expression is distant as you finish a story about a mutual friend.

“And then she decided to wear that dress—can you believe it?” you say with a giddy laugh, leaning back against the booth.

Patrick’s sharp gaze flicks to you, his jaw tightening slightly.

-Her voice sometimes. The pitch, the arrogance of her laughter, but the way she looks sitting there…

His eyes wander as he studies your appearance. You are flawless, a trophy of the same elite world he navigates with ease, a reflection of his own carefully curated image.

His eyes fall to the Tiffany bracelet on your wrist catching the light, a shimmering token of his devotion tonight—or at least his obligation.

The Valentino dress he purchased for the occasion accentuates your body to perfection, custom-tailored especially for you—which, of course, it was.

Nothing but the best for his princess.

But then his gaze suddenly hardens, as if some unpleasant thought has resurfaced.

-Why does she care so much about things that don’t matter? The incessant talking—details, plans, nonsense—it’s exhausting.

“Patrick you even listening to me?” you ask, a hint of irritation creeping into your voice.

He blinks slowly, setting his glass down with deliberate precision. “Of course I’m listening,” he says evenly, though his voice carries a thin edge of mockery. “It’s just riveting to hear yet another story about someone’s poor fashion choices.”

Your eyes narrow. “Why do you have to be like that Patrick?”

“Like what?” He tilts his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Honest?”

“Patrick, you’re impossible sometimes,” you snap, crossing your arms. “You act like you’re above everyone. Even me.”

His smirk fades slightly, replaced by a calculating expression his eyes sharp and unrelenting. “If you’re so miserable with me,” he says quietly, his tone calm but dangerous, “then why are you still here?”

You open your mouth to retort, but his words cut deeper than you expected. The tension between you is undeniable, and the hum of conversations in the restaurant around you suddenly feels oppressive.

Tears well in your eyes as you frown, struggling to mask the hurt. You love him and you don’t understand why at times he has to be so cold.

You let out a huff, your emotions threatening to spill over as you fan back unshed tears with dramatic flicks of your manicured hands.

“I went through so much to look perfect for you tonight, Patrick,” you whisper sharply, your tone petulant, laced with just enough hurt to demand his attention.

Patrick exhales slowly, his gaze darting around the restaurant before leaning forward, his voice smooth and controlled.

“Let’s not make a scene here,” he says, his tone low and deceptively soft as his sharp gaze locks onto yours radiating a silent command of obedience.

He signals the waiter with a simple raise of his hand, and within moments, the check is handled, his black AmEx card gliding across the table. You barely have time to protest before he stands, buttoning his suit jacket.

“Let’s go,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The sleek black limo idles on a quiet side street not far from the elite restaurant. Patrick slides into the seat beside you his posture controlled as he adjusts the cuffs of his jacket.

“You didn’t have to be so rude on our anniversary, Patrick,” you say, your voice tinged with frustration as you glance at him, your arms crossed as your lips form a slight pout. “I just want us to enjoy the evening. To be together. Isn’t that what tonight is supposed to be about?” you ask sweetly, hoping to soften the tension.

Patrick doesn’t respond. He gazes out the window, his expression unchanging as the city lights blur past, casting sharp, angular shadows across his flawless face.

You try again, undeterred, launching into a topic you’re sure will catch his attention, your voice bright and animated as you attempt to regain his favor.

“Now that it’s our one-year anniversary, we should definitely hire the planner and finalize our guest list,” you say, smiling as your fingers brush lightly against his arm. “Everyone who’s anyone will want to attend. It’s going to be the event of the year,” you continue, your tone brimming with enthusiasm, completely immersed in the vision of grandeur.

Patrick listens with a vacant expression, though his mind is anything but.

-She never stops. She’s Always talking. Always planning. It’s incessant. Like white noise that gets louder and louder until it’s deafening.

-How much longer can I keep up this façade?

His jaw tightens, though he maintains the mask of polite detachment as you chatter on.

“..There should be lots of chocolate truffles. Godiva, of course. Nothing less than the best, and oysters on the half shell. Oh! And we’ll need a videographer, Patrick. It has to be perfect.” you say, your tone certain.

When he doesn’t respond you touch him lightly on his thigh, oblivious to the simmering tension beneath his calm exterior.

“Patrick, we should do it.”

His head turns slightly, his eyes narrowing as he finally looks at you. “Do what?” He asks his voice clipped, his tone barely masking his irritation.

“Get married silly” you exclaim, looking at him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Finally have the wedding. Can’t you picture it? Everyone would be there, it would be so chic, Patrick.”

His jaw tightens, and he looks back out the window, his voice flat. “No. I can’t take the time off work.”

You laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “Patrick, your father practically owns the company. You can do anything you like.”

He turns back to you, his sharp gaze cutting through your playful tone. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he says coldly, his voice dropping a degree.

“But Patrick,” you press, “you hate that job anyway. I don’t see why you don’t just quit. It’s not like you need the money.”

His gaze hardens, his voice quiet but each word pointed. “Because I want to fit in.”

You blink, momentarily caught off guard by his intensity.

The limo slows to a stop in front of his building, and Patrick steps out without another word, his sharp movements betraying his rising frustration.

You are quick to follow him, your heels clicking behind him as he strides toward the entrance of his penthouse.

The elevator ride is quiet with Patrick’s back turned toward you as you study him.

Something about his silence feels heavy, different from his usual cool demeanor.

Once inside his immaculate penthouses he shrugs off his jacket off, his jaw clenching as he throws it over the back of a chair, the silence between you filled with unspoken tension.

“Patrick, are you mad?” you ask carefully, your heels clicking against the marble floors as you follow him into the bedroom. “You know I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Patrick’s gaze turns to you, cold and unblinking as you enter the room.

-She never stops. Always talking, always complaining.

Patrick’s hands move to loosen his tie, his movements rushed and unfocused, each motion sharp with barely restrained tension.

“Do you ever stop to think before you speak?” he says finally, his voice low and razor sharp, each word slicing through the charged silence.

You glare at him, your brows furrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?” you demand, your voice rising in defiance.

“It means,” he says, stepping closer, “that you’re exhausting. Your whining, your constant need for validation—do you ever get tired of hearing yourself?”

Your breath catches as your heart pounds harder in anger. “Patrick you’re such a prick,” you finally snap.

Patrick’s smirk returns, but this time it’s darker, more dangerous. “And you’re a spoiled little brat who doesn’t know when to stop.”

Before you can respond, he moves with unsettling precision, pulling his tie off and slipping it between your lips.

“Shhh,” he whispers, pulling the silk tight to stifle your protests as his cold gaze locks onto yours. “Since you don’t know when to keep quiet, I’ll do it for you.”

Your hands instinctively fly up to tug at the gag, but Patrick is faster seizing your wrists, forcing them behind your back together in his single unyielding hand.

His free hand moves to his belt, unfastening the buckle before he slides the leather free with an audible snap.

Your eyes widen in alarm, panic flaring in your chest as he wraps the belt around your wrists, pulling the leather tight and securing it against your skin.

You muffle his name against the gag in panic, twisting your wrists to break free, but it’s futile against his makeshift restraint.

Your gaze locks with his, and the devious smirk on his lips paired with the cold triumph in his eyes confirms what you already know—you’re under his control.

Without hesitation, he lifts you up over his shoulder as though you weight nothing. Your stomach presses against his broad shoulder as his arm tightens around the back of your thighs holding you firmly in place.

You kick your legs, your body writhing in resistance, but your struggle is futile against his strength. Your panic rises as he strides toward the bed and tosses you down with ease, the motion stealing your breath.

Your heart pounds as he steps closer, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you onto your back. His touch is firm, his dominance undeniable.

Your wide eyes meet his, and for a moment, you’re frozen. His gaze is unreadable, a mix of satisfaction and something far darker.

His hand slides up, lightly wrapping around your throat, the rhythm of your pulse thundering against his palm.

-I could end it right here—right now. Silence this perfect façade for my hollow existence.

The war inside him flickers briefly in his expression, shifting from cold determination to a shadow of hesitation.

Then his thumb brushes softly along your jawline, almost reverently, his sharp eyes studying your face, lingering on every detail.

-Why waste something so perfect?

-People see her on my arm, and they don’t question. They envy. And isn’t that what matters? Appearance. Power. Control.

His jaw clenches tightly, the tension flickering in his eyes before his face falls effortlessly back into its mask of detachment.

-She’s flawed, yes—but manageable. Moldable.

His hand softly trails down your chest, his eyes gleaming with barely contained lust.

His fingers splay over your breast and as he squeezes softly you pitifully whimper against the gag, his smirk deepening as his gaze flicks back to your face.

“You’re so used to getting your way, aren’t you?” he rasps, his tone dripping with mockery. “Now look at you—bound, silenced, and completely at my mercy.” He confirms, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction.

You turn your face away, desperate to deny his words, but his hand moves to your jaw, gripping it firmly and forcing you to meet his piercing gaze.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispers, the edge of dominance unmistakable as his hand returns to cup your breast. “You’re exactly how I want you—perfect, helpless, and entirely for my satisfaction.”

His thumb grazes over your hardened nipple, the friction of his touch through the thin fabric of your dress igniting a surge of arousal through you as your pride tries desperately to resist him.

Patrick’s smirk widens, his eyes flickering with satisfaction as he studies the flush spreading across your cheeks, the subtle betrayal of your body as your chest rises and falls unsteadily under his hand.

“You’re too spoiled for your own good,” he taunts, his thumb circling your nipple slower, coaxing soft whimpers from your lips as his touch dissolves any resistance into undeniable arousal.

Your hips shift instinctively, the slickness between your thighs exposing the desire you’re so desperately trying to suppress.

“My entitled little brat,” he taunts, his voice low and razor sharp seeing the way your body moves sensually giving itself away. “So desperate to be controlled.”

You whimper against the gag and he brings his other hand into play, teasing both of your nipples at once. He circles and flicks them with agonizing precision, drawing out your frustration and arousal until the sensation becomes unbearable.

He pinches the sensitive peaks between his fingers, pulling hard enough to send a jolt of pleasure and pain coursing through you.

A muffled whine escapes you against the gag as your thighs tighten instinctively feeling a rush of heat flood your core.

His smirk deepens at your reaction, a flicker of triumph lighting his face as his eyes lock onto yours. “See how easy it is when you don’t fight me?” he taunts, his tone dripping with dark amusement. “Your body knows exactly who it belongs to.”

Your mind races, a war of defiance and surrender raging inside you. Part of you wants to hate him for the control he wields over you, for the way he reads your every reaction and uses it against you. But another part—a part you barely recognize, craves the way he dominates you, the way he effortlessly takes your body under his control.

His hand moves lower, his fingers trailing down your stomach with maddening slowness, the thin fabric of your dress bunching beneath his touch.

His thoughts linger as his eyes roam over you bound and vulnerable beneath him.

—She’s so perfect like this. Silent. Submissive

—I want her this way forever.

His hand slides up your thigh, slipping under the hem of your dress, his thumb pressing against the soaked fabric of your panties.

You involuntary moan feeling the slick wetness of how much you crave him and your hips shift instinctively into his touch pleading for more.

His grin deepens, the dark glint in his eyes revealing just how much he revels in your surrender.

“You’ll learn,” he responds, his voice low and commanding, the faintest edge of mockery lacing his words. “You’ll learn when to speak and when to stay silent. And when you do… I’ll reward you.” His sharp gaze never leaves yours as his fingers tease the edge of your panties. Your legs part instinctively, desperate for more, but his movements are slow and methodical.

“If we are to be married,” he continues, his tone calm and calculated, “Those are the rules. Do you understand?”

You nod frantically, your breath catching as his fingers slip beneath the fabric to meet your wetness.

The soft strokes of his fingertips against your slick heat sends shivers through your body, your thighs pressing against his hand as you look at him with worshipful eyes.

He drags the pad of his thumb over your clit in agonizing tight circles making you writhe in bliss, his smirk deepening, with satisfaction as he watches you submit.

“Good girl,” he praises as the gag muffles the desperate whimpers and moans spilling out of you. “No one wants to hear a spoiled brat begging,” he confirms, his words as intoxicating as they are degrading.

The first thrust of his fingers inside you makes you clench involuntarily around them, your wetness easing them deeper as he strokes against a sensitive spot with maddening precision.

The tension in your core tightens with every thrust, the slick sounds of your arousal mingling with your muffled cries as his thumb circles your clit in perfect sync with the relentless pace of his fingers.

A sob catches in your throat as the pressure inside builds impossibly tighter. Your body trembles, the overwhelming sensation making your thighs quake as your head falls back and you moan against the gag.

“You’re already so close,” he whispers darkly, his voice dripping with sadistic satisfaction. “So easy to break. So desperate for me to let you come.”

The silk tie muffles your moans as your hips push instinctively against his hand, every muscle in your body tightening as he holds you on the edge, commanding your pleasure.

Tears prick your eyes as your thighs tremble uncontrollably, your mind going blank as you feel the overwhelming surge of your orgasm.

A broken sob escapes your lips, the sheer intensity leaving you breathless, your body arching and surrendering fully, powerless against the pleasure he’s drawing from you.

One last pitiful whimper escapes your lips as he slips his fingers from you, his eyes glinting with smug satisfaction.

“Look at you,”He grins savoring the sight of his handiwork.

“Completely spent,” he says softly, his smirk widening as his eyes trail over your trembling form.

Your chest heaves and your skin flushes, the dazed look in your eyes showing just how completely he’s unraveled you.

“My spoiled little fiancée ruined already?” he asks, his hands moving to unbutton his pristine white dress shirt. “You’re not finished proving yourself to me yet.” He confirms.

The first reveal of his chiseled torso is like a work of art—his broad, commanding shoulders tapering to a lean waist, every muscle perfectly proportioned and sculpted to perfection.

His smooth skin divots over his defined torso, the deep lines of his abs drawing your gaze downward.

With equal precision, he unfastens his dress pants, lowering them to reveal his long thick cock, the sight making your pulse quicken.

He kneels in front of you on the bed with a commanding presence, pulling you on your knees.

His sharp jawline tightens as he guides you level to his waist, his eyes dark with intent, the corner of his mouth curling into a knowing smirk.

“Now “He says, his voice low and commanding. “Let’s use that pretty little mouth for what it’s good for hm?” he taunts, undoing the silk tie gagging you and letting it fall from your lips.

His smirk deepens as his he looks to the mirror across from the bed, the reflection capturing every detail of your submission with your wrists still bound tightly behind your back.

He pulls you possessively closer, his cock now inches from your face as he watches the scene in the reflection. “Open your mouth for me,” he orders, his voice smooth but heavy with dominance.

You obediently part your lips, and he guides his cock into your mouth. The tip presses against your tongue, warm and heavy, before he pushes deeper. Your lips widen to accommodate him, your eyes lifting to meet his as he fills your mouth completely.

He hums low in his throat, his satisfaction undeniable as his hand tangles in your hair, holding you steady as he begins to gently thrust. “You should see yourself,” he rasps, his voice rough with pleasure, his eyes locked on the mirror. “On your knees, looking so eager, so desperate to please me—my spoiled little brat is finally doing something useful.”

You moan against his cock his words humiliating yet exhilarating and the reflection captures every detail; the way your cheeks hollow as you take him deeper, your bound wrists trembling slightly behind you, and the flush on your face deepening as he guides his cock smoothly back and forth in your mouth.

Patrick’s sharp jaw tightens, his breaths quickening as his hips thrust slightly harder the wet sounds of your mouth meeting him on every push.

Your eyes water slightly as he thrusts deeper, hitting the back of your throat, but you don’t pull away. Your body reacts instinctively, a soft gag escaping you and he groans, his hand tightening in your hair with a possessive grip.

The sounds of his pleasure vibrate through the air, his voice faltering for the first time as he looks down at you. “You’re so good at this—we’re finally putting that mouth of yours to proper use.”

His words cut through you, the mix of degradation and praise sending a wave of heat coursing through your core. You whimper softly, the vibration drawing another guttural groan from him as his hips push forward, rougher and deeper.

His sharp gaze flicks to the mirror, catching the sight of himself thrusting into your mouth, your bound form kneeling submissively before him.

His eyes lock on the way you take him as deeply as you can, the desperate need to satisfy him overpowering any lingering thought or resistance.

A ragged groan tears from his chest, as the tightness of your throat milks another groan from him.

His pace becomes relentless the muscles in his thighs tensing, as he meets your mouth and a deep groan escapes from his chest as his control slips for a moment.

His grip on your hair tightens, guiding you in sync with his movements, each thrust deliberate but increasingly unrestrained.

The sight of himself in the mirror—his cock thrusting between your lips, your eyes watering yet locked onto his, drives him to the edge, his breath coming faster, rougher.

His hips stutter for a fraction of a second, and with a sharp intake of breath, he pulls out abruptly, his cock glistening with a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip as you gasp for air.

With one swift movement he pushes you onto your back pressing your bound wrists into the mattress.

His gaze never leaves yours as he takes hold of your ankles, lifting your legs effortlessly. The smooth leather of your heels brushes against his arms as he guides your feet to rest just above his shoulders, framing his head.

His hands grip the front of your thighs, the sight of your body, exposed and vulnerable beneath him, brings a dark glint to his eyes. His sharp smirk grows as he looks to the mirror, his gaze shifting between your reflection and your flushed face.

“Keep your eyes on the mirror,” he instructs, his voice low and commanding as he reaches between your legs and pulls your slick panties aside. “You’re going to see just how perfectly you take me”

You watch as he holds your legs to him and slowly presses the head of his hard cock into you, the slick tip causing a surge of arousal to flood through your core.

He watches your reaction in the mirror as your head falls back, your soft whimpers escaping freely with out the silk gag in place.

“Look at us,” he says, his voice low and laced with pride, his eyes fixed on your reflections. “We look perfect together.”

Your breath catches as his hips press forward, the blunt tip of his cock breaching you with excruciating slowness. The stretch is overwhelming, your walls gripping tightly as he fills you inch by inch.

A broken moan escapes your lips as he begins to thrust himself deep inside, the slick heat of your arousal making the glide seamless and all consuming.

Patrick’s gaze shifts back to yours, a flicker of dark satisfaction crossing his features as he settles his cock fully within you.

You tremble under him, bound and completely at his mercy, his smirk deepening with the power of your surrender.

His hands grip your thighs firmly, holding them in place as he pulls back slightly, his hips snapping forward with measured precision.

The force of his thrusts knocks the breath from your lungs, your back arching instinctively as raw gasps escape you.

You can’t help but surrender to his control, your eyes fluttering, dazed and unfocused, overwhelmed by the sensation of pleasure surging through you.

He holds your legs pinned to his torso, your heels brushing against his ears as his cock strokes relentlessly against the sensitive spot inside you.

The intensity is almost unbearable, yet you crave more, your body clinging to the overwhelming bliss.

You moan loudly, your voice filling the air as your hands flex against your bindings. The sensation of him filling you, and overpowering you making you desperate for the release only he can provide.

It’s so much—too much—but the thought of him stopping now is unbearable, your body craving each powerful thrust as a cascade of pleasure courses through you.

“Look how well you take me,” he praises, his voice filled with satisfaction, his sharp eyes locked on your reflection in the mirror desperately aroused by the sight of you together.

His grip tightens, his fingers digging into your shins, pinning your calves to his chest. The wet sound of your arousal echoes through the room as his unyielding thrusts send shockwaves through your core.

Patrick’s jaw clenches as he picks up his pace, his thrusts growing harder, deeper, each one forcing broken cries from your lips.

The glide of his cock moving in and out on every thrust sends a surge of pleasure through your bodies that builds to a fever pitch.

Your hips rock instinctively against him, your cries spilling freely as your body surrenders completely to him.

Patrick’s hands slide down to the curve of your hips, gripping firmly as he pulls you even closer, forcing you to take every inch of his cock.

The slick heat of your arousal makes each movement seamless yet devastating, the stretch of him filling you completely pushing you toward the brink.

His sharp gaze flickers between you and the mirror, his breaths coming in rough, steady pants as he watches your reflection.

The sight of your flushed face, your body arching in rhythm as the thrusts his hardest sending a thrill of satisfaction through him.

“Look at us,” he commands, his voice edged with pride, his hips thrusting against you as his hands grip your waist “Look how perfect we look together.”

You moan as his grip tightens, his fingers pressing into your skin as his pace becomes punishing. The mirrored reflection of your bodies moving together with his perfect physique dominating yours pushes you over the edge.

The tension inside you coils impossibly tight, then snaps with unbearable pleasure as your orgasm hits. Your body arches violently, a broken scream escaping your lips as waves of ecstasy crash over you.

Patrick thrusts relentlessly, driving you through the aftershocks as his sharp gaze remains fixed on the mirror watching you orgasm beneath him with dark, unrestrained pleasure.

His cock is throbbing as he glides into your fluttering walls with powerful thrusts. The slickness allows him to bury himself so deeply the stretch makes you gasp as he grips you tightly, pulling you flush against him.

The room fills with the sounds of your pleasure as his groans turn primal, his thrusts raw and unrestrained as he reaches his peak.

“So perfect—” he groans, his voice breaking as he loses himself completely. “My spoiled little fiancée… serving me so flawlessly.”

He holds you still as comes, filling you with his release in surges, his body shuddering as he empties himself into you, his hands gripping you so tightly it feels like he’s branding you.

He stills for a moment, breathing heavily, his sharp gaze meeting yours with undeniable satisfaction.

He lets your legs down gently, his hands lingering on your thighs for a moment longer, his cock still throbbing until he slips out of you.

Exhausted he lays on the bed, both of your chests heaving as you try to catch your breath.

Patrick unfastens his belt form your wrists, his hands moving to your waist as he pulls you against his chest. For a moment there’s only silence, the faint sound of your breathing filling the room as he holds you close.

His intensity softens as he strokes your shoulder, the corner of his mouth lifting into a faint smirk.

-She definitely has her uses—that mouth, she’s a natural talent, and her body, perfectly made for my indulgence.

-If she learns to stay quiet when needed, to obey without hesitation—I might keep her …..permanently

As you look up at Patrick he says nothing simply holding you against him. His heart slows, the tension between you both melting into a rare moment of intimacy.

You offer him a soft smile, and his smirk remains savoring the fact that for now the silence is perfect.

END 🔪

🔗 Masterlist

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[takenbypeter]

Closing Shift

Tangerine x reader

Words: 595

Based off prompt: “Keep it. It looks better on you.” Gotten from somewhere on this app

Closing shift at the diner. Some people hated it, some people loved it. You were just about used to it by now. The last two hours weren’t so bad with a few stragglers coming in now and then.

But eventually it reached eleven o’clock which meant one thing, closing time. The dinner was practically empty; minus you, a coworker, and a customer that sat all the way at the end of the building.

“You want me to handle that one?” Asked your coworker who was mostly doing the clean up in the back.

“No you just keep cleaning, I got it.”

Taking a few steps closer to the figure, you took notice how the man was hunched over with one arm under his head and the other just laying palm down against the table.

It wasn’t uncommon for a customer to be passed out by the end of the night, but you never knew what you were going to get with customers like that.

“Excuse me?” Your voice was soft as you stood across from the body, trying to ease the stranger awake. You leaned nearer, “sir?”

Taking an even closer look you realized just how battered he looked, with bruises beginning to darken against his cheeks. He had a sharp nose, and a thick mustache. It was safe to say that this man was quite a looker, but you had a job to do.

Reaching out to wake the man, something shiny in the corner of your vision stopped you.

It was a ring. But not just any ring. It was honestly just about the most expensive ring you’ve ever laid eyes on.

It was gold with a design engraved into it. You didn’t know much about rings but it was gorgeous. You quickly glanced at the man briefly before taking the ring and pushing it onto your ring finger.

You admired it, turning your hand underneath the light to catch the different angles.

I wonder how many hours it would take for me to buy a ring like this? You thought sighing silently before taking the ring off. Right when you were about to set the ring down on the table the stranger shifted.

He was quick, sitting up straight and grabbing onto your wrist, stopping you from making any more movements.

He glared at you almost instantaneously while you wore an expression of guilt mixed with fear on your face, “I am so sorry. I was just trying it I swear!”

Noticing your expression then looking around as if seeming to place where he was, he released your hand along with a deep exhale.

And after that deep breath he spoke, “I didn’t mean to grab you like that, I apologize.”

“No it’s fine, I shouldn’t have even touched that,” you said your hand rubbing your wrist where he held on tight.

Wanting to move past from the moment you continued, “we’re closing so…”

He shut his eyes lines appearing on his forehead as he did so, “right. Yes, of course.”

You stepped to the side as he grabbed his long coat and slide out from the booth. Throwing it over himself he made his way to the door and that’s when you realized something.

“Hey, wait!” He turned at the sound of your voice. You held out the ring between your fingers and he glanced at it, then back at your wrist before landing on your face.

“Keep it. It looks better on you.”

And with that he turned and was out the door leaving you to wonder, what just happened?

[lixii00]

Daddy's Got a Surprise

Please be advised that the following story contains mature themes.

Dead dove Do not Eat

Tw. For noncon, MDNI

The velvet ropes of the club felt cool against your clammy palms as Rio led you inside. Bass throbbed through the floor, vibrating up your spine and setting your teeth on edge. You weren't dressed for this. Your jeans and worn t-shirt screamed ‘soccer mom on a rushed errand’ compared to the glittering, skin-baring ensembles around you. But Rio, in his usual crisp white shirt and dark trousers, looked perfectly at home, a predator in his natural habitat.

He guided you through the throng of bodies, his hand a firm, possessive grip on your lower back. “Relax, mamita,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble only you could hear over the music. “Just a quick chat. Then we can go… celebrate.”

Celebrate. That’s what he called it. Celebrating getting deeper into whatever the hell he was involved in, celebrating your increasing complicity, celebrating the way you seemed to be slowly unraveling under his gaze. You swallowed, the knot in your stomach tightening. You were doing this for Lily, for her future. You repeated it like a mantra in your head, trying to drown out the rising tide of anxiety.

He led you to a quieter corner booth, dimly lit and tucked away from the main floor. He slid in opposite you, those dark, intense eyes never leaving your face. “You look… tense,” he observed, a smirk playing on his lips.

“I’m fine,” you lied, your voice barely a whisper.

He chuckled, a low, dangerous sound. “Don’t lie to me, chiquita. I can see it all over you.” He reached across the table, his calloused fingers tracing the line of your jaw. “You’re wound up tighter than a clock spring. Let’s fix that, hmm?”

His touch sent shivers down your spine, a mixture of fear and something else you didn’t dare name. He had this effect on you, this unsettling blend of menace and allure that kept you off balance, constantly teetering on the edge.

“Everything went smoothly,” you said, changing the subject, desperate to steer away from the dangerous territory of his touch. “Like you planned.”

He nodded, his eyes still holding yours captive. “Of course. I always plan ahead, mamita. Especially when it comes to you.”

The air in the booth suddenly felt thick, suffocating. You averted your gaze, focusing on the swirling patterns of the tablecloth. “So… what now?”

“Now,” he said, leaning closer, his breath ghosting over your ear, “we go somewhere private.”

You knew what he meant. You’d been here before, danced this dance with him, this dangerous, exhilarating, terrifying dance. He wanted you. He made it abundantly clear in every look, every touch, every whispered word. And despite the fear, the guilt, despite everything you knew was wrong, a treacherous part of you, a needy, desperate part of you, wanted him too.

He stood, pulling you up with him, his hand lingering on your hip. “Come on, baby girl. Daddy’s got a surprise for you.”

The pet name, dripping with possessiveness and something deeper, something that resonated with a buried part of you, made your breath hitch. Daddy. It was just a word, a game, you told yourself. But the way he said it, the way his eyes darkened when he called you that, it stirred something primal within you.

He led you out of the club, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the humid interior. He guided you to a sleek black car parked nearby, opening the door for you with a silent command. You slipped inside, your heart hammering against your ribs.

The drive was short, silent except for the low hum of the engine and the frantic beat of your own pulse. He parked in front of a discreet, unmarked building. He unlocked the door, his eyes meeting yours again in the dim light. “Upstairs,” he instructed, and you followed him, your legs feeling strangely heavy.

The apartment was sparsely decorated, all clean lines and dark, expensive furniture. It was impersonal, a space clearly designed for… transactions. Like you were.

He led you into the bedroom, the only light coming from the city glow filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He turned to face you, his gaze intense, predatory.

“Take off your clothes,” he commanded, his voice rough, low.

Your breath hitched again. You hesitated, your fingers fumbling at the hem of your t-shirt. He watched you, patient but unwavering. Slowly, shakily, you pulled the shirt over your head, then unbuttoned your jeans. He didn’t move, didn’t help, just observed, his gaze stripping you bare long before your clothes hit the floor.

Standing before him in just your worn bra and panties, you felt exposed, vulnerable, and yet… undeniably aroused. Shame burned hot on your cheeks, but it was mixed with a dizzying thrill.

He stepped closer, his fingers tracing the strap of your bra, then dipping lower, grazing the curve of your breast. “You’re beautiful, muñeca,” he murmured, his voice thick with something you couldn't quite decipher. Lust? Possession? Something deeper?

He unclasped your bra, letting it fall to the floor, then reached for the waistband of your panties, his fingers slipping beneath the elastic. You sucked in a breath, the anticipation coiling tight in your stomach.

He pushed your panties down, stepping back to admire you again. “Look at you,” he breathed, his eyes raking over your body, lingering on your breasts, your hips, the triangle of hair between your legs. “Such a good girl, doing what you’re told.”

The praise, laced with that dominant edge, sent a jolt of electricity through you. You bit your lip, trying to contain the moan that threatened to escape.

He reached out, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “You’re going to be a very good girl for Daddy tonight, aren’t you?”

The word again, Daddy. It unlocked something within you, a forbidden door swinging open. "Yes," you whispered, the word caught in your throat.

He smirked, a predatory, satisfied expression. “That’s my girl.”

He pushed you gently back onto the bed, kneeling between your legs. He leaned down, his lips nuzzling your neck, his teeth grazing your skin, sending shivers of pleasure mixed with fear rippling through you.

He moved lower, his tongue tracing the curve of your breast, circling your nipple, sending a jolt of sensation straight to your core. You gasped, arching into him, your hands gripping his shoulders.

Then he was lower still, his lips at the juncture of your thighs, breathing hot air against your core. “You smell so good, mi amor,” he murmured, before his mouth closed over you.

His tongue was hot, insistent, teasing and demanding, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. You moaned, your hips bucking against his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair, urging him closer, deeper.

He ate you like he owned you, his tongue and lips relentless, driving you closer and closer to the edge. You cried out, your body convulsing, your orgasm ripping through you in hot, shuddering waves.

He continued to lick and suck even after you came, teasing, pleasuring, pushing you further into a state of raw, sensual overload. You were panting, whimpering, begging him to stop, then begging him to continue, lost in the chaotic symphony of pleasure and submission.

Finally, he pulled back, his eyes dark and glittering, his lips wet and swollen. “You like that, don’t you?” he breathed, his voice thick with satisfaction.

You could only nod, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

He chuckled, a low, pleased sound. “Good. Because we’re just getting started.”

He moved up your body, straddling you, his knees pressing into your thighs. He reached down, his fingers sliding inside you, stretching you open, teasing your sensitive flesh. You gasped, your breath catching in your throat.

“Just lemme know if it’s too much, yeah?” he murmured, his eyes locking with yours, a hint of something dangerous flickering in their depths.

You nodded again, your mind hazy, your body still humming with arousal.

He pushed inside you then, slowly at first, stretching you, filling you, his gaze never leaving yours. It felt good, incredibly good, that deep, stretching fullness. You moaned, your hips arching up to meet his.

But then he started to move, faster, harder, pounding into you, and it was suddenly… too much. The initial pleasure morphed into something overwhelming, bordering on painful. Your breath hitched, and you whimpered, “Too… too much…”

He didn’t stop. He kept pounding, his rhythm relentless, his eyes fixed on yours, a predatory gleam in their depths. You gasped again, louder this time, “Rio… stop… it’s too much!”

Panic clawed at your throat, your body tensing, overwhelmed by the intensity, the sheer force of him inside you. Tears welled in your eyes, blurring his face. “Please… stop… please…”

He ignored your pleas, his pace only intensifying, his grip on your hips tightening, holding you captive beneath him. He was lost in his own rhythm, his own pleasure, oblivious or perhaps deliberately indifferent to your distress.

You cried out, a sob escaping your lips, hot tears streaming down your face. “Stop… please… it hurts… I can’t…”

He grunted, his face contorted in a mask of pleasure and exertion. “Almost there, baby girl,” he breathed, his voice strained. “Almost there for Daddy.”

The pet name, in this moment of overwhelming discomfort, of near-panic, twisted something inside you. It was no longer a thrill, but a brand, a mark of his ownership.

He thrust harder, deeper, and then with a guttural cry, he came, his body shuddering against yours, his seed spilling deep inside you.

He collapsed onto you, his weight heavy, his breath ragged. You lay beneath him, trapped, tears silently streaming down your face, your body trembling, not from pleasure, but from the aftermath of something that had felt less like intimacy and more like… violation.

He rolled off you after a moment, propping himself up on one elbow, looking down at you. His expression was unreadable, his eyes still dark and intense. “You okay, mamita?” he asked, his voice softer now, but still laced with that undercurrent of command.

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t meet his gaze. You just lay there, exposed, vulnerable, the tears still flowing silently.

He reached out, wiping a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice gentler now, almost… concerned? “Hey, look at me.”

You slowly lifted your gaze, your eyes swollen and red. He saw your tears, saw the raw vulnerability in your face, and something shifted in his expression. The predatory gleam softened, replaced by something… else.

“You’re crying, chiquita,” he observed, his voice softer still. “Why are you crying?”

You shook your head, unable to articulate the jumble of emotions swirling inside you – the remnants of arousal mixed with fear, confusion, and a deep, aching vulnerability.

He traced the line of your jaw again, his touch surprisingly gentle. “Was it… too much?” he asked, the question almost hesitant.

Too much? Understatement of the year. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it, to voice the sheer emotional and physical overwhelm you had just experienced.

You just nodded, a small, barely perceptible movement of your head.

He sighed, a low, almost defeated sound. He slid off the bed, reaching for a tissue box on the nightstand. He handed you a tissue, then another.

“Here,” he said, his voice low. “Wipe your face, baby girl.”

You took the tissues, dabbing at your eyes, trying to regain some semblance of composure. He watched you, silent for a moment.

Then, to your surprise, he sat down beside you on the bed, pulling you gently against his side. He wrapped an arm around you, holding you close, his touch strangely comforting.

“Hey,” he murmured again, his voice soft, soothing. “It’s okay. It’s okay, mamita.”

He held you in silence for a long moment, just holding you, his hand stroking your hair. The tension in his body seemed to ease, replaced by a different kind of energy, a quieter, more… tender energy.

“You’re a lot sometimes, you know that?” he said finally, his voice barely a whisper. “You’re… sensitive.”

Sensitive? Was that what he thought you were? Just sensitive?

He shifted, pulling you closer, his hand sliding down your back, settling on your bare hip. He squeezed gently. “But that’s okay,” he murmured, his lips brushing your temple. “Daddy likes sensitive girls.”

The pet name again, but this time, it didn’t feel like a brand, a mark of ownership. This time, in the aftermath of the storm, in the quiet understanding of his embrace, it felt… different. Almost… comforting.

You leaned into him, burying your face in his chest, letting the tears finally subside. He held you tighter, his hand stroking your back in slow, soothing circles.

“You’re safe now, baby girl,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble against your ear. “Daddy’s got you.”

And for a moment, just a fleeting moment, in the aftermath of the chaos, in the quiet intimacy of his embrace, you almost believed him. Almost believed that maybe, just maybe, beneath the danger, beneath the control, there was something else there too. Something… tender. Something… real. And that thought, terrifying and exhilarating all at once, made your heart ache in a way you couldn’t quite understand.

He continued to hold you, stroking your hair, murmuring soft, meaningless words, until your trembling subsided and your breathing evened out. Then, slowly, gently, he started to kiss you again, soft, tender kisses, a world away from the rough, demanding passion that had come before. And this time, you kissed him back.

A/n ._.

[itscoucouharry]

Two Different Worlds- Harry Styles x Nurse Reader one shot

Hey yall since I’m going through a bit of exhaustion due to my week with nursing classes, I was feeling a bit inspired to write something. As always enjoy:) let me know if you want pt 2 :)

Also- it’s my boobies birthday 🥹happy birthday H🩷🩷🩷

My Masterlist🩷

The soft hum of conversation, the clinking of crystal glasses, and the warm glow of dim lighting filled the upscale bar. You sat in a corner booth, feeling slightly out of place among Harry Styles’ circle of friends—an elite group you’d met through the hospital where you worked as a nurse.

You weren’t sure how you ended up here. One of the hospital’s biggest donors had taken a liking to you, often inviting you to gatherings far outside your usual world. Tonight was one of those nights.

The contrast between their lives and yours was glaring. They were effortlessly glamorous, draped in designer clothes that likely cost more than your monthly salary. And then there was you, in the best outfit you could afford, feeling the weight of eyes subtly assessing you.

Harry sat at the head of the group, as magnetic as ever, his laugh rich and easy. But every time his green eyes landed on you, there was something guarded in his expression. Not curiosity, not warmth—just a quiet, unreadable tension that made you feel like an intruder.

You tried to brush it off, but his aloof demeanor was impossible to ignore. Every time you laughed at a joke or chimed in on the conversation, you felt his gaze—watching, calculating, almost annoyed.

“So, Y/N,” Harry said suddenly, cutting through the chatter. “What do you do?”

The question was casual enough, but the way he asked it felt… loaded. Like he was already deciding how much space you deserved in this world of his.

“I’m a nurse,” you said simply, keeping your voice steady.

His brows lifted slightly, but the smirk that followed made your stomach tighten. “A nurse, huh? That’s… noble.”

You stiffened. You’d dealt with people like him before—people who thought your work was admirable but beneath them. People who had no idea what it took to keep others alive, to be the one standing between life and death on a daily basis.

“It is,” you replied firmly, meeting his gaze. “Not everyone gets to make a difference in people’s lives every day.”

His smirk faltered for a split second before he shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. “Fair enough. But it’s not exactly… glamorous, is it?”

Your face warmed with irritation, but you refused to let it show.

“No,” you said evenly. “But some of us take pride in what we’ve earned, even if it’s not wrapped in a pretty package.”

The table went silent. The weight of your words hung between you. For a moment, Harry looked surprised—like no one had ever dared to speak to him like that.

“Fair enough,” he said again, this time softer. But his eyes lingered on you, and this time, there was no smirk.

You left the bar early, needing to breathe. The night had been too much—Harry’s coldness, the reminder that you didn’t quite fit in. The cool air hit your skin as you stepped outside, wrapping your coat tighter around you.

“Y/N, wait.”

You froze, heart sinking at the sound of Harry’s voice. He jogged to catch up, hands shoved deep in his coat pockets.

“What do you want?” you asked, irritation lacing your words.

He hesitated, exhaling before finally speaking. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

You folded your arms. “For what?”

“For being a dick,” he said, his green eyes locking onto yours. “I shouldn’t have made those comments earlier. I don’t know anything about you, and I was out of line.”

You studied him, searching his face for any hint of insincerity. But for the first time tonight, he looked… genuine. Almost vulnerable.

“Why were you being such an ass, then?” you asked bluntly.

His lips pressed into a thin line before he sighed. “I don’t know. I guess… I didn’t know how to act around you. You’re different from the people I usually hang out with.”

You scoffed. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“I mean it,” he said, voice softer now. “You’re… real. You deal with life and death every day. You’ve worked for everything you have. That’s… intimidating.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty. “Intimidating?”

“Yeah.” His lips twitched into a small, self-deprecating smile. “Most people I know are just coasting, pretending they have it all figured out. But you—you actually have a purpose. You fight for people. That’s not something I see every day.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The man who had spent the evening making you feel small was now looking at you like you were the most extraordinary person in the room.

“Well,” you said finally, “maybe next time, don’t be such a jerk about it.”

He chuckled, the sound warm this time. “I’ll work on that.”

What you didn’t know—what Harry would never admit—was that he had been drawn to you the moment you walked in.

It wasn’t just your beauty, though that had certainly caught his eye. It was the way you carried yourself—the quiet strength that radiated from you. He hated how defensive he’d gotten, how his own insecurities had made him lash out.

But seeing you stand your ground, refusing to let him or anyone else diminish you, had only made him admire you more.

As he watched you disappear into the night, he knew one thing for certain: he was in trouble.

Because he had an overwhelming attraction to you, and he had no idea how to make you see that he wasn’t the man you thought he was.

[reveluving]

sweeter than sweet ; phillip graves x reader x jeff sadecki

summary: nothing like making sweet memories at a fall festival with your beloveds.

warnings: major fluff; they're sickeningly in love with you, lots of sweet treats & brother bantering + nat & kev appreciation, explicit language, takes place shortly after the main story (which I’m STILL working on I know but hey, more twins content!)

a/n: and we're back, THIS TIME WITH OUR FAVOURITE TWINS!! I enjoyed this so, so, so much. I needed all the sweetness, and I sure as hell needed to share it with y'all for this cozy season! please don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

» wanna know what I have in store this fall? come & check out this year's 'reve's quirky reverie' m.list! 🕷️'!

'So, what better way to commemorate the moment than to help Mama out, all three of you?' ;

“Mama!” You rushed over to the older lady, taking the tray she was carrying from the boot of the car, “We can handle the carrying.”

“Ah, c’mon now, a couple o’ trays ain’t gon’ kill me.” She dismissed your worries with a wave of a hand, chuckling as your pout deepened at her words. 

“Mama, please.” 

“Alright, alright, I hear ya,” She chuckled, gently squeezing your cheek, “But the second y’see ‘em slackin’ off, y’tell me.”

That brought a grin to your lips, especially when you spotted Phil and Jeff carrying trays and displays to the booth designated for Denise’s baked goods with ease.

“Pretty sure they’re doing just fine.” You reassured her, though you knew she was also joking around, knowing how good and well she raised her sons. 

... For the most part. 

Silently agreeing with your response with a proud smile, you and Mama headed over to her booth, quaint and Halloween-y just like the other ones around you. The cool air nipped at your skin, despite the comfortable set you've put on specifically for this very special day.

Like Phil, it was your first visit to the town’s fall festival in a long time, something you had always looked forward to every year. Helping Mama out with selling her blue-ribbon treats, stopping by other booths to see your friends and even playing a few games, no matter how rigged some of them were. 

Because at the end of the day, the twins would put their heart and soul into winning something for you. 

Like the two Tomodachis they won you during your sophomore year, all while being able to enjoy the smug smile being wiped off the operator's face.

Now, with your promise to visit Wiskayok whenever possible, this time, your break falling in the month of October, you couldn't bear to miss the festival anymore.

Simultaneously marking it as your first in years, and your first since the beginning of your relationship.

So, what better way to commemorate the moment than to help Mama out, all three of you?

Upon reaching her booth, you and Mama were met with the sight of the brothers quietly arguing about where to put the glass display for her coffee cake—her best-selling goods every year. Their petty disagreement stopped when you and their mother came into view, the latter deadpanning at the two already.

“Ma, listen,” Phil started, seemingly to apologize, “He started it.”

Jeff gaped, only to drop his arms to his sides like he had already given up the fight with his baby brother, “Okay.”

“Told ‘em t’put it next to the sticky buns but he didn’t wanna listen.” Phil added, villainizing his twin. Jeff could only turn to you, deadpanning the same way Mama did. All you could do was hold back a laugh because if Mama was going to start nagging at someone, you most definitely did not want to be a part of it.

Mama shook her head in amusement, then continued to set up the table together. 

At some point in the preparation, Mama had requested Jeff to help her check the car for anything amiss, leaving you behind the counter and Phil putting on the last lights at the front. 

Then, out of the blue, he slid a few bucks across the counter. 

“A kiss, from the most gorgeous girl in town, please.” He playfully requested.

You huffed, amused, “This isn't a kissing booth, commander.” 

“No? Could've fooled me when you're working behind the counter,” He mused aloud, “How much do I gotta pay t’get a pretty lady—the pretty lady t’give me some sugar, huh? Ten bucks? Fifty bucks? A hundred?” 

“A kissing booth charging more than five dollars sounds like a scam.” You commented, raising a brow.

“Darlin’, if I'm ever givin’ you less than at least fifty dollars for anythin’, let alone five, just know that is not me.” He quipped.

You giggled, sliding the money back to his side as you leaned in, “For you? I'm willing to do it for free.”

His smug smile grew, “Now, that wouldn't do, darlin’. I can pay up. Honest.”

Phil just smirked at the suspicious look on your face, “Alright, so a few bucks ain’t gon’ cut it. But I know what will.”

Just then, he whipped out a treat, and you were wondering why he had hidden his hand behind his back minutes ago, and from the moment your eyes landed on the surprise, you knew you could not say no.

“Now, you’re just playing dirty.” You pouted.

“I like to call it ‘bein’ considerate’,” He grinned. He couldn’t get your cute frown, especially as he tauntingly shook the soft maple cookie in front of you, “Y’know these things sell out damn fast, and as cute as y’are poutin’, I’d rather it be a playful one.”

You knew what he was referring to; during middle school, you attended the festival a little later than usual, only to find out your favourite maple cookie fix had sold out. While it was nobody’s fault it happened, it was one of the earliest times Phil was obliged to make the season right for you while it still lasted, offering his mother some of his allowance in hopes she could meet up with Mrs. Walker to whip up a batch just for you the next day. 

Mama accepted the money from Phil’s insistence, only to slip it back into his piggy bank without his knowledge because just like her, Mrs. Walker found the story too adorable and offered it for free.

The joy in your eyes upon receiving a box of it may have been the driving force in working for ultimate success in hopes of always spoiling you. He acknowledged that while money couldn’t always buy happiness, and he’d be a fool to think he could buy your affection, it was just his way of showing you he cared. 

Besides, you knew the commander beyond his prideful front, and besides the constant gift-giving, he never shied away from reminding you of his devotion via sweet words and even sweeter touches.

“All I’m askin’ for is a lil’ bit o’sugar.” He drawled, anticipating your soft lips on him already.

Looking back, it was a little embarrassing to be pouty over a treat, no matter how much you reassured the family that the other goods were more than enough, but in your defence, you were twelve. Plus, seeing Phil before you, utterly shameless in his adoration, in being yours, you supposed he did deserve some sugar. 

You sighed and Phil knew he had you right where he wanted when a smile, knowing you reminisced the same thing he did, bloomed on your lips, “One kiss.”

“One kiss.” 

You didn't have to know about his fingers crossing behind him.

You leaned in, and Phil immediately met you in the middle, savouring the plush of your lips against his. While he knew not to act up, to pull you closer by your head and feel your tongue sliding against his, it didn’t mean he liked it whatsoever, but what was the harm in breaking the rules just a little bit, right?

So, he suddenly deepened the kiss before nipping on your bottom lip. You squeaked, breaking the kiss to smack his arm, “Phil! C'mon, Mama could be around.” 

He cracked up, remaining unbothered as his hands rested on the counter, “But I kept my promise.”

He paused and you didn’t have to guess his next possible response.

“But if you’re up f’more…”

“Ahem.” 

Just then, Mama—however she snuck up on you was uncertain—cleared her throat, standing behind you. She raised a brow, eyes darting between him and you, “You two behavin’?” 

“Yes, ma'am,” You immediately hid behind her, pouting as you peered over her shoulder, “Phil's just being a big bully.” 

Despite knowing you were joking, she played along as she shot her youngest a playful glare. The not-so-innocent grin, like he was silently telling her ‘I didn't do anythin’. Swear’ he gave her had you giggling.

Jeff took the opportunity to wrap his arms around you from behind and warm you up, taking advantage of the slight privacy in the booth with you. Hooking his chin over your shoulder, he kissed your cheek, “Yeah? He bullying you? Need me to teach him a lesson?” 

“Please?” You fluttered your lashes at him and shit, who was he to say no to you?

He may not know how to fight as well as his brother but he still had some brawns in him.

Phil knew the look in his brother’s eyes and while he, too, would’ve done the same, he wasn’t going to go down without a fight, “Now, wait a damn minute—”

“Boys,” The boys in question immediately shut their mouths but not before shooting each other the brotherly stink eye. Mama sighed, looking at you over her shoulder, “Help me with the crisp, will ya?”

“Can do.” You nodded and Jeff was forced to let you go, but his disappointment in the brief embrace lifted after you pecked a kiss on his cheek, bringing a dumb little smile on his face. 

Before you could even continue helping Mama, Phil tapped on your shoulder, feeding you the cookie from earlier, and knowing he expected a little something-something in return, especially after the quick smooch for his brother, you kissed him on the cheek, earning yourself his million-dollar smile.

But just as you and the twins enjoyed a box of it along the way, and as Mama peeled the last saran wrap off another tray, she clasped her hands, remembering something.

“Gemma!” She exclaimed then reached over to hold your hand between hers, “Sweetheart, I promised her I’d bring the boys to help set her booth up t’day.” 

She pointed to your right, one of the stands lacking decorations that laid next to it, which Gemma, the sweet lady older than Mama, surely could not do on her own. 

“Y’mind mannin’ the booth ‘til we get back?” She asked, guilt already seeping into her tone. 

You quickly squeezed her hand in return, “I’ll be fine, Mama. It’s not my first time.”

You mirrored her smile upon hearing your reply, “I know, just had t’make sure. I won’t take long, I promise.”

“No rush!” You reassured, responding to Phil and Jeff mouthing ‘we’ll be quick’ by offering two thumbs-up before they followed their mother. You weren’t worried. Sure, you’ve never handled the booth without Mama or either of the brothers before, but you knew your way around it.

So, you easily prepared the necessary, and it wouldn’t take long for your first customer to arrive, calling your name. You straightened at the familiar voice, the corners of your lips quirking upwards upon seeing three newcomers.

“Nat, Kev, hi! You‘re early.” 

“Promised Mason we’d stay in tonight.” Natalie shrugged, motioning to the young boy next to Kevyn, the two greeting you with similar smiles, “Watch some childhood horror movies, eat a ton, then sleep a ton in the living room.”

“Well,” You were already folding the first box for their order, “All the more reason to help you guys out ASAP. What will it be?”

“A bit of everything,” She replied, letting a few seconds go by before adding, “Please.”

You huffed, amused by her way of teaching herself to be cordial, even when you’ve known her for so long, “You guys really are planning on having a food coma together, huh?” 

“It’s the perfect night for it,” She shrugged, and despite not looking like it, she enjoyed the lightheartedness, “And we couldn’t miss out on Mrs Baker’s goods.”

You nodded in agreement, “Can’t miss out on Mama’s specials. And you, detective?” 

Kevyn shrugged, “Whatever the lady wants.” His lighthearted reply prompted Natalie to scoff.

“Coming right up.” You began arranging the first box with bars and cookies, channelling Mama’s generosity to bring in the joy for the cozy season.

“So, uh, you and twins,” Kevyn began awkwardly, cocking his head at Phil and Jeff helping another neighbour with their stall, “You’re… a thing?”

He meant no harm nor judgement, just curiosity. After all, it was a small town, hearing the relationship through Natalie, who was already furrowing her brows at him at his question. She was ready to reprimand him, to defend you when you reassured her with an easygoing response.

“We are. Been with Phil for a year, but uh, we—the three of us only started last spring,” You closed the first box before filling another with cakes this time, “Didn’t think I’d see Phil in the same base, let alone dating him, then come back here with him and then date Jeff, too.”

“Well…” Natalie drawled knowingly, “Maybe I didn’t see you two going to the military of all places, but I’m pretty sure I pictured you and them being a thing years ago.” 

You chuckled. You couldn’t find it in you to be modest because you’ve had the same thoughts—the same hopes for years. 

“I’m just… really happy.”

“I fucking bet. You got that glow on you,” Natalie jested, then winced before murmuring a ‘sorry’ for her language with Mason around. She coughed, murmuring, “He uh, he didn’t mean it like that, just letting you know.” 

Kevyn raised a brow, only for his eyes to widen in realization, “Oh, no, no, no. I just—Y’know, this is kinda new to me and–”

You couldn’t help but laugh, dismissing his worries with a wave of a hand, “Kev, I hear you. I’m just as surprised as you are.”

Kevyn nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “Congrats, by the way. Jeff sure as hell didn’t stop talking about you when we met up in the gym last week.”

The corners of your lips quirked a little, “Thanks, guys,” 

You offered Mason a cinnamon roll in a paper tray, “And this is on the house. Nat told me you scored twice in the last game. Good job, kid!” 

“Well, well, well,” Lo and behold came Phil, nodding curtly at Natalie before shaking Kevyn’s hand, “Ma’am. Detective. Kid.”

“Commander.” Kevyn greeted back, “Leaving your girl to work the stall alone?”

“She ain’t in one of the best task forces for nothin’. And besides, we’re always keepin’ an eye on her.” Phil told him with pride, one of his arms immediately snacking around your shoulders upon arriving behind the counter next to you, followed by his brother.

“Got this for you.” Jeff passed you a tall takeaway cup, his heart fluttering at the sight of your eyes widening in recognition.

You knew the distinct cup anywhere. Plus, nobody at the festival used chantilly cream instead of the regular whipped one to top their hot chocolate, further sweetening the already decadent drink. 

“I didn’t know they still had this.” You accepted the drink with gratitude.

“Ed took over the business two years ago,” Jeff explained, not directly telling you that he’d also always get the beverage to reminisce his time with you, and now, he was able to share it with you once again, and more to come, “His dad said he always made it best. Tastes like it’s always been.”

Just the way you like it.

You smiled around the rim, taking a little sip of the warm drink, and it was a sight the brothers could not look away from as they stood on either side of you, holding you close, barely caring about their customers witnessing the intimate moment.

Natalie, not wanting to stick around, piped up, “Okay, shit, would you look at the time,” She dug her wallet out of her purse, “Let me just, uh–”

“But you said I was gonna pay—” Kevyn raised a brow, watching Natalie slap a wad of cash, a few units too much onto the counter. She passed the detective one of the boxes and held the other before leading him and Mason away from the lovey-dovey scene, screaming a ‘thanks’ over her shoulder. 

You watched as the three retreated, inwardly apologizing to them for the display of affection. 

“Look at that,” Phil arranged the money in an orderly manner before placing it into his mother’s cash box, “Your first sale, and a couple o’ tips t’spare. Y’think everyone might leave the pretty girl here a tip or two tonight?”

Jeff agreed without question, “I would.”

You fondly rolled your eyes, ”Flatterers.”

“Just you wait,” Phil grinned, “Next thing y’know, everyone’s waitin’ for Mama’s baked goods just t’see her pretty lil’ in-law.” 

Phil knew what he was doing when he referred to you as Mama’s daughter-in-law—being their sweet wife—and how could you have controlled the shy smile blooming on your lips? It was a bold statement to make considering how the three of you weren’t even a year into the relationship, but they were anything but doubtful if time, and hope, ever came to that.

For now, you were just enjoying discovering the connection as it was.

Jeff brushed his lips along your temple, motioning to the hot chocolate, “You like it?”

“I love it,” You tilted your head at him, tiptoeing to kiss his lips and damn, if he wasn’t a fan of hot chocolate already. He returned to soft look you had upon pulling away, even if he wanted nothing more than to chase after your lips, “And I love you,”

You turned your head to Phil, who was already reappearing to your right. A giggle bubbled in your throat as he was the one who initiated the kiss, eager for the rich notes on your lips, “And I love you, too.”

You could only laugh and squirm as they pressed you in between them to cover whatever skin was exposed with all the kisses they could give you, careful not to shake too much and spill your drink. Mama returned soon after, no longer surprised by the little cuddle party she was witnessing despite only leaving the three of you alone for less than ten minutes.

She was just enjoying the moment as much as you were, to be able to share a moment you thought would’ve been nothing more than an old memory to look back on.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

» a/n: my lovelies UGH I can't STAND THEM ㅠㅠ ;; gorgeous divider by @firefly-graphics ♡

[podsforyou]

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