#but just looking at the logo with the site down

[starberry-cupcake]

this is all pointless garbage but for the past decade+ that I've been using ao3, I always assumed the logo was the whole title condensed in a graphic and that people started calling it ao3 because the resulting graphic of all the letters combined looked like it said ao3

this is what I saw for the past 10+ years in my head

which would look like this when isolated in the letters

I thought it was very cool and just assumed that's what it was, that the designer had put all of the letters in one design and people saw an ao3 in it and rolled with calling it that

I was today years old when I found out it's meant to be this:

The logo for the Archive was designed in 2009 by coder volunteer Bingeling with input from Accessibility, Design, & Technology committee members. Fun fact: it was originally intended as an interim design until a permanent logo design could be created, but everyone liked it so much that it stayed. It combines the characters A, O, and 3 with arms raised in celebration, symbolizing the joy of fannish creation on the Archive. The acronym "AO3" comes from the initials of the English site title Archive of Our Own–an A and three O's.

I feel like a dumbass but, at the same time, I liked my delusion of what it was meant to be lol

[knightjpg]

Brick by Brick

And like a dog who's learned a new trick Simon rings your bell the next day. Wasn't happy with how he left it, and wasn't that faucet leaking? He's got plenty of spare wood in his shed, don't you worry. What's that about the boiler making a weird noise? He'll take a look at it, might have something for the draft in the hallway too. Pay him? What are you talking about, he does stuff like this for fun. Don't sweat it, love. Just hand him that wrench.

tags: construction worker simon/neighbour reader

part 1 | part 2

Summer is the worst time of year for construction work outside. Up early before the birds are awake to try and beat the heat, arriving on site at six or earlier with bleary eyes and creaky joints from the day before. It means coming home at four or five with lots of day left to get through yet without the will or energy to do anything beside shower, eat, watch some telly, and sleep. 

The pay is good and it beats sitting in a cramped office all day, but when Simon gets home with aching knees and the thrum of a headache at the back of his skull it's hard to remember why on Earth he chose the career he's in. He's drenched in sweat, large dark patches adorning his pits and back. 

It's one of those days where very little can make him stray from his commute straight to home to collapse into his big falling-apart chair, but today it's not really up to him. A large moving truck blocks his driveway. The faded company logo against dirty white overtakes the entire view of his windshield, though Simon can see the back doors are still swung open. No one to attend to it, though. 

Simon noticed the FOR SALE! sign had gone, of course. Remembers feeling vaguely pleased, even, that the home next to his wouldn't be empty anymore, because he of all people knows exactly how quickly places can fall apart without anyone tending to it. But right now all he feels is tired, and hot, and really fucking annoyed. Just when he's clicked his belt loose to get out of the car and see if the dolt belonging to the truck is anywhere to be found, voices carry from the open front door. 

“...last. I'm afraid it's a little heavy, though, so maybe we should get the boxes out first?” 

And out steps the sweetest little thing he's ever seen. Hair tied up, tight little top, and shorts that give him ample view of your legs.  

Maybe summer's not so bad after all. 

You're talking to a bloke wearing a uniform that matches the moving truck and who looks flushed in the face from exertion. As soon as you clock Simon's car, though, you stop mid-sentence in surprise, and then quickly walk to him, brows furrowed apologetically. 

“Oh, I'm so sorry—you're trying to get past us, aren't you?” Simon gives you a nod, and you turn back to the mover. “Would you mind moving the truck up a little? I don't want it to be in the way.” 

There's precious little parking space ahead, so Simon rolls down his window and calls out to you, “Jus’ backing up a few yards s’fine.” He gestures to his driveway so you know that's where he's headed, and you flash him a smile and a thumbs-up in understanding. 

The truck is moved, Simon parks his car, and you pull another heavy-looking box from the cube. You never reach your new doorstep with it; Simon steps in and lifts it from your hands. You blink up at him, lashes fluttering sweetly with surprise. “Oh—are you sure? It's heavy...!” 

One corner of Simon's mouth tugs up. Tired as he is it weighs next to nothing, and he can't resist holding it with one arm, holding out the other. 

“Can take ‘nother if you need.” 

You laugh and assure him this is quite enough, then jog back to the truck while Simon pushes past the half-open door to his new neighbour's home. 

It's a mess, of course. Piles of boxes, scattered furniture, rolled-up carpets. Simon puts the box down in the living room, then saunters back outside to lift another from your hands. He does the same with the couch; the mover is struggling and Simon doesn't trust him not to let it fall and crash. And you're such a little thing. Just doesn't feel right, watching you rush around and struggle without stepping in. 

With Simon's help it's quick work. The mover thanks Simon before driving off, but he's not really listening. There's much more important things to pay attention to. 

You're pretty. Cheeks flushed from exertion, breathing hard, flyaway hairs from your ponytail sticking up in odd directions. Simon has to suppress the urge to smooth them away. 

"Thanks so much for the help,” you tell him earnestly. “I'm sorry we were in the way—we thought we'd have a little more time before people started coming home from work.” 

“S’alright,” Simon says. It's nearing evening, now, the sky above you glowing in pale pink and oranges hues. The little smatter of trees across from you rustles with a gust of summer wind.  

You introduce yourself and insist on giving Simon your number “in case there's ever anything you need.” Simon's more concerned about a young woman living all on her own but takes your number all the same, watching your pretty little fingers tap it in on his phone. 

“I mostly work from home, but I'm very quiet and boring,” you tell him with a smile. “You don't have to worry about noise.” 

For some reason that isn't the selling point it should be. When Simon stands inside his hallway, house empty and dark and quiet, he wishes he still lived in a shitty apartment with thin walls on the bad side of Manchester. Maybe then he'd hear your footsteps, or better yet, your voice. Instead the only thing waiting for him at home is silence. Heavy and thick, where he's ripped away from sweet sunshine and plunged underwater. 

-

Simon is halfway to falling asleep on the couch when the bell rings. He groans, drags a hand over his face, and glances up at the TV. The football match is still going. The camera pans over a cheering crowd, their cries distant and quiet. 

He mutes the thing entirely and heaves himself up to open the door. Swear to God, if this is the fucking salesman again... 

“Hi there.” 

You give Simon a little finger wave, your other hand cradling a round oven dish. When you shift on your feet the protective foil on top rustles noisily. 

You look a little more put together than you did yesterday—rested, showered, fed. Just as pretty. 

Although, speaking of fed... 

“Alright?” Simon asks, eyes on the oven pan. He's only catching a faint whiff of something, but whatever it is smells really fucking good. His stomach reminds him that the only thing in his fridge are a couple cans of beer.  

You nod and lift the dish with a shy little grin. “Yeah. Um. I wanted to say thanks again, for yesterday. And I wanted to test out my oven, so...” 

You hold the dish out for him to take. Simon's fingers brush yours, large meaty paws easily twice the size of your own. When he peels back the foil you add, “Shepherd's pie. I thought about cookies, but I wasn't sure if you'd like those.” 

The scent hits him, then, rich and hearty and buttery smooth. The dish is still a little warm. 

Fuck. When was the last time he ate something homemade? 

“No, I'll eat anything,” he says, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. He hasn't showered yet. Must look a nightmare. Does he stink? “Thanks.” 

Your whole face lights up, and Simon's neck feels hot. He averts his eyes to avoid your gaze and pretends to inspect the pie instead. Jesus, what is he, twelve? “I'm glad. I'll leave you to it, then.” 

D’you want to come in for a drink?  

It's on the tip of his tongue, but he can't get the words out quite right and gives you a brusque nod, watching you walk back to your own home before closing his door all the way. 

He eats at his kitchen table and finishes the whole thing in one go. Chases bits of flakey crust with his finger, licks up every leftover crumb. The meat is tender and juicy and for a while after the only things he smells is golden-brown potatoes seasoned with rosemary. 

He mourns it when it's gone, of course. Has half a mind to go over right now and ask if your cooking is for hire—Simon can't remember the last time he felt satisfied. When he ate not just for the sake of fuel or convenience but because someone wanted him to have something nice, something special. Is it special? Is he special? Are you going around the neighbourhood handing out cookies and pies to just anyone? 

Simon's sigh is loud in the silence and sticks to the kitchen walls. 

The pre-made frozen meals are fine, of course. Empty plastic containers fill up the rubbish bin. They're easy and cheap and most days Simon's glad just to have something warm in his stomach.  

And yet. 

The next day Simon stands at your door at six in the evening sharp, holding the clean dish in his hands. You invite him in for a cup of tea, because unlike him you have good manners, and you sheepishly apologise for the stacks of boxes everywhere. 

“S’alright,” Simon says, carefully manoeuvring around a large pile of books. “I don't mind.” 

And he doesn't, though he does feel like a bull in a china shop. Large and much too coarse for the little tea cup you hand him while the kettle whistles on the stove. 

“I'm afraid I don't have much to go with it,” you say with a flutter of your hands. “Do you like ginger snaps? I think I've got a pack somewhere.” 

You don't wait for his answer and pry open one of the cupboards. First come the ginger snaps, then the box of Earl Grey, which you hold up to him with a triumphant smile. “Unpacked the important stuff first.” 

Simon frowns and jerks his chin to the cupboard. “S’it stuck?” 

“Oh—yeah. They all are.” You give the wood a little knock. “It'll take me some time to get to fixing everything. The house went for a good price, but only ‘cause it needs some love.” You give him a rueful smile and get up, wiping your hands on your thighs. “I'm not all that handy, so I'll have to take it bit by bit.” 

Simon rises before you finish your sentence. "Let me see.” 

“Oh, no, it's okay. It's not a big deal, really—” 

Simon crouches down, slowly, to spare his knees, and tests the hinges. The wood is rotten in certain places, the hinges old and rusted. Rather than fixing it up it should be replaced entirely. You really better had gotten this place for good money, because this will take more than a bit of elbow grease to repair. He prods at the hinges, tuts, and looks up at you. 

“Ready to fall apart, this one. You said they're all like this?” 

You nod, worry creasing your brow. “I—yes. Well, the kitchen is. The bathroom seems alright. Is it worse than I thought?” 

“Might be. You have anyone look at this?” 

You shake your head. “I'm starting to feel silly about it now, but I was going to look up how to do it myself.” 

Simon straightens. “I'll go get my kit.” 

-

It's not as bad as he feared. Two cabinets need tearing down completely, but the others are worth saving. Simon warns you the repair job will fuck the wood, but you tell him it's no problem; you'll paint over it anyway. 

You feed him tea and ginger snaps while he works, asking him several times if he wouldn't like a break, hasn't he done a lot already? You feel terrible about having him work on his day off. Didn't he say he worked construction? He must be so tired, poor man. You insist he stay for dinner. “You've been so helpful—it's the least I could do.” 

Simon takes a breather to watch you cook. Chicken, pasta, summer salad. The sun sinks lower and hits you straight on from the kitchen window, painting the edges of you a dazed red-gold. An angel's halo. 

“You big on reading, then?” 

You turn down the heat and put a lid over the pan to join him at the table. Simon's eyeing the many books strewn about on top of boxes that say “pans” and “kitchen supplies”. Le Morte D’Arthur. Histories of the Kings of Britain. Beowulf. There's even one that prompts a vague, long-forgotten memory from his school days— The Canterbury Tales.  

“I am. Always have been.” You nod to the books. “I teach at university—medieval literature. But I'm working on my own research on the side.” 

Simon lets out a low whistle. His pretty bird is a clever one. Smarter than him, that's for sure. He might be big and strong but he's got bricks for brains. 

That's what his dad always used to say, anyway—that he's stupid. Those always were his kinder moments. 

“That explains all the books y’got.” 

“There sure are a lot of them, aren't there? I swear moving really makes you realise just how much stuff you own...” You shake your head. “I'll have to get a bigger bookcase.” 

“Think it's impressive.” 

Your eyes crinkle with a smile. “Not as impressive as knowing how to fix my cabinets! I don't know how I would've managed by myself.” You hop up from your seat to check the food, then ask over your shoulder, “Is that something you do a lot for work, too? Carpentry and the like?” 

Simon shakes his head. “We do the heavy lifting. Clearing a place out, laying the foundation. Johnny—my coworker, he's mostly on machinery. Kyle does transport and plumbing. I do the heavier handiwork.” 

You hum and start plating the food while asking him more questions. Is the pay good? Is his boss fair? Are his coworkers nice? 

Price's fairly strict is what he is, Simon answers, and you laugh again. He likes that. Likes that he gets you to do that. 

He wolfs down a plate of his pasta and devours the chicken. It's fragrant, roasted with lemon and thyme, bursts between his teeth. He tells you more about Johnny, that he's a cocky bastard who likes playing with electricity way too much, but that he's also a loyal friend. That he's a hard worker—that all of them are. 

When his plate is empty and he's eyeing what's left in the pans you push them closer without saying anything, and prompt him to tell you about that time a plumbing line exploded and Kyle got soaked from tip to toe in disgusting gunk. He smelt like sewage water for weeks. 

Simon doesn't even realise how much he's talked until his throat starts feeling rougher than usual. You make it easy somehow. If he'd thought you would look down on him because of your own job he needn't have worried. You're not at all like what he imagines when he thinks of professors, none of the stuffy superiority complex he's used to weathering when people find out all he does all day is chafe his fingers on hard cement.  

Maybe you're just good at faking it, but he doubts it. The sparkle in your eyes when you listen to him so intently has to be real. 

You send him home with a warm thanks and dessert, and Simon feels something in his chest lurch when you peer up at him through your lashes in the doorway, smiling and sweet. Can't remember the last time he went out for dates. Can't remember having the time or energy for it. 

And like a dog who's learned a new trick Simon rings your bell the next day. Wasn't happy with how he left it, and wasn't that faucet leaking? He's got plenty of spare wood in his shed, don't you worry. What's that about the boiler making a weird noise? He'll take a look at it, might have something for the draft in the hallway too. 

Pay him? What are you talking about, he does stuff like this for fun. Don't sweat it, love. Just hand him that wrench. 

There are days when it's hard, of course. Simon is only human, and spending days and days on sizzling hard concrete would wring anyone dry. The project is coming along nicely, but at the height of summer there's plenty of times when even the promise of your smile isn't enough to keep him from falling asleep on his couch—often on an empty stomach. 

But during the weekends he rings your bell dutifully. Six o’clock becomes something sacred in his mind, sweet relief after praying on his knees for hours smoothing out cement. It gets to the point where he turns down Friday drinks with the guys more than once because he's got something to go home for now, his pretty little bird that's never once mentioned a boyfriend of any kind. 

“You really should let me pay you.” 

Simon gives you a look before pushing his large shoulders further into the cabinet under the bathroom sink. “Should be the one payin’ you. I know I'm doubling your grocery bill.” 

He eats more at your place than his own these days. It gives him incentive to rush through a shower, dress like something resembling a human, then wait at your doorstep to be let in. Wagging tail and everything. 

Your cheeks darken and you duck your head. “No, um... It makes me happy. To see you eat my cooking, I mean,” you confess a little shyly. “I feel like I'm the one getting everything out of this. I hope I'm not keeping you from—from spending time at home, or with your family.” 

“S’just me, love.” Simon pauses, pretends to inspect the pipes. “Less you don't want me coming ‘round anymore.” 

“No, no,” you say hastily. “No, I like—I like the company. Really.” Your voice softens. “And I'm not just saying that because I appreciate the help.” 

Simon exhales, shifts a little to accommodate the strain in his boxers, and holds his hand out for the screwdriver. 

[dilemmaontwolegs]

just gonna put this here while its fresh in my mind but since lando has been wildin and wont stfu about OF... what if reader does OF 😏 faceless and lando makes a cameo once in a while😵‍💫😵‍💫 OKAY BYE WHY IS HE LIKE THIS LATELY

Your Biggest Fan || Ln4

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, masturbating, only fans WC: 1.3k

One || Two || SMAU || Three

You were a solo act, that was your choice. Everyone who subscribed to your account knew the deal despite offers from some very big names in the industry - you were happy on your own - you couldn’t risk getting caught. Your parents would surely disown you, but you liked the danger that came with your side hustle. 

You could still remember the day he subscribed, top tier no less. The username was generic and he kept his camera turned off but that wasn’t unusual - you preferred to keep your face hidden too. A selection of toys lay across your bed and he hummed indecisively while he internally debated which one to watch you play with this time.

“If I was there, I know what I would do,” he mused, his voice dropping in a way that had your stomach flipping.

You settled amongst the pile of pillows surrounding you, keeping your face above the view of the camera, and teased your nipples while you patiently waited for his choice. “Yeah, what would you do to me?”

Your touch ran further down your body and you spread your legs for him. His breathing changed to slower, deeper intakes and you wished he had his camera on so you could see the effect you had on him. 

“Fuck, I would fill you so good, babygirl,” he groaned. “I would make you cum harder than any of those toys can. You don’t even have one big enough to stretch you like I could.”

Your pussy clenched at the threat and you grabbed the biggest dildo from the pile, running the tip through your slit. You moaned as you pressed it to your entrance and it slowly slid home, filling you completely as you pumped it all the way to the base. “This one stretches me pretty good, big boy.”

“Not as good as I could.”

“Brave words for someone who can’t prove it,” you dared. 

There was some shuffling before his camera lit up and half of your screen filled with a toned stomach, muscled thighs and a dick that put your toy to shame. You sat up straighter, wanting a closer look and salivated at the way he stroked himself, his thumb and fingers not even touching because of the girth.

“Fuck me,” you exhaled longingly.

“Don’t tempt me, babygirl.” He dragged his thumb through the bead of precum and his hand disappeared from view as he licked it clean, something you were completely jealous of. “Now turn around, I want to see you fuck yourself and pretend it’s me.”

You did as you were told, more than eager now that you had the image to use. You got on your hands and knees, reaching between your legs to pump the dildo in time to his strokes, moaning in unison at the sight. Wanting to give him the best show, you shimmied back so he had the best view of the silicone cock stretching your pussy.

“That’s it, come to daddy.” His filthy words surrounded you and your back arched as you fucked yourself for him. You were nearing your orgasm and the sight of his cum spilling over his fist and abs threw you into oblivion. His urging kept you going, even when your orgasm tried to squeeze the toy from your pussy, you kept stuffing it back in until the pressure grew too much and you fell panting to the bed, the blanket wet from the fluid that had gushed from you.

“Holy shit, babygirl, that was fucking amazing,” he praised as you struggled to catch your breath. “Fuck, I have to go. Same time next week?”

“Only if you have your camera on again, big boy,” you half joked, half wishing he would.

“For you, babygirl, of course,” he chuckled and wiped up his mess with a green and white shirt you were sure you had seen the logo for before. “I’m your biggest fan, I would do anything you said.”

“I’ll have to remember that, big boy. See you next week.”

You ended the feed and closed the site down for the night before cleaning up the toys and changing your bed sheets. You had never squirted like you had with L404 and you briefly wondered if you should invest in some waterproof bedding. 

It was late by the time you had showered and settled back into the fresh sheets but you weren’t able to sleep. With nothing better to do, you logged into Twitch and browsed the Just Chatting category for some white noise, eventually coming across a streamer with nearly 20k fellow viewers.

You were a little disappointed to see it wasn’t Just Chatting but playing Fortnite and you nearly left the stream. You weren’t interested in trying to sleep to the sound of gunfire. Before you could exit, you heard the voice. It was one you were intimate with, one that sent goosebumps prickling over your skin.

“Come to daddy,” Lando, that was his name, said. He laughed with his friends he was playing the game with and they joked while oblivious to the epiphany you were having. “Ohhh, doggy man.”

The handsome man in the tiny square of your screen was L404, your biggest fan. 

Hey big boy, you sent to the chat and watched it get swamped by the hundreds of other comments. 

“Ha, mate, someone called you big boy.”

Lando’s head snapped away from the game and he was quickly shot but he didn’t care as he scrolled through the chat to find your username. It was different enough that it wouldn’t be linked to your Only Fans but had enough similarities that he recognised the name. “Shit, I gotta go. Something’s come up.”

He logged off without a goodbye and the comments blew out with disappointment and questions.

Suddenly, your email pinged with a new message: L404 was requesting another private chat. 

“Hey big boy,” you answered as you sat up in bed, grateful you were wearing a cute lace babydoll nightie. “Back so soon?”

His camera was off but now that you had seen his face you could only imagine the confusion on it.  “Uh, did you…what you saw…did you…” 

You giggled at the loss of his confidence, such a stark change from how he was an hour ago. “You’ll have to finish your question for me to answer, Lando.”

“Fuck.” His camera came on and you had a much larger picture of him. He wasn’t just handsome, he was gorgeous. You desperately wanted to run your hands through his curls and tug on them, maybe while they were between your legs. “No one can know, please, it will ruin my career.”

Taking a deep breath, you tipped the camera back and looked him in the eyes. Realisation dawned on his face and his lips parted in shock. “Guess we both know each other’s secret now.”

“You…you’re…”

“Yup, that’s me.” Like most rich families, your parents had moved to Monaco for the tax haven it provided and you had fallen in love with the province too, opting to buy your own place in the city when you left home.

“So…” You bit your lip as the idea danced on your tongue and Lando remained in a state of shock. “I remember someone threatening to stretch a certain part of me…”

Lando swallowed deeply before licking his dry lips. “On camera?”

It was your turn to think before nodding. “If you’re up for it, I can make an exception to the rule. We might need to practice a few times, you know, compatibility wise.”

He nodded, the thought growing more and more interesting and he palmed his erection beneath the desk. “Practice sounds good. Tonight?”

The idea of sleep was long gone and your nipples were clearly visible through the lace, the stiff peaks begging for attention. “Come on then, big boy,” you teased as you sent him your address. “I’ll see you soon.”

Click here for part two.

[copperbadge]

I was on a retail website on my phone recently and I was trying to get to some information it did not seem to want to provide -- and just in case, out of desperation, I clicked on the little "universal sign for wheelchair user" logo in one corner.

It pulled up this menu, which was intriguing...

[ID: A website sidebar menu, headed "Accessibility features"; it offers the option of turning on a number of features including those for blindness and colorblindness, epilepsy, motor skills disorders, dyslexia, and crucially for me, ADHD.]

I'm not someone who uses digital accessibility tools much but still, I don't think I've ever seen such a visible accessibility function on a website before, and I've definitely never seen one that offered ADHD accessibility. What did that even do? So...I clicked it, and:

[ID: A screengrab of the website with the ADHD accessibility turned on; most of the site is greyed out, including a header listing my subscriptions and a subscription ID. A narrow bar of the site is illuminated in normal white, showing my next shipment is July 25th and offering me the option to view or skip it.]

The damn thing darkens the entire page except for a narrow "light" bar that highlights whatever your looking at, which you can drag up and down the site with your finger. Honestly it's super cool. It's not something I desperately need, but I may go looking to see if there's an app I could acquire that would do the same for me across browser and e-reader functions on my phone.

[powerfulblob]

Just so frustrated that tumblr’s rolling out more unreality-triggering features: as if they didn’t already learn from the Y2K event…

How do they think that. A GIANT FUCKING CLOWN ON THE DASHBOARD THAT, WHEN CLICKED ON, MAKES THE BACKGROUND TURN TO A BUNCH OF WANTED POSTERS WITH EYES LOOKING AT YOU??? AND THEY SAY THINGS LIKE well find you OR SOME SHIT???

Why would they think that this DOESN’T trigger at least five types of—-

Fuck. Sorry if this post made no sense, just bristling right now.

Anyway: stay safe out there… a full list of the potential triggers with the new site update are:

Clowns

Eye contact

Unreality

Paranoia

Delusions

Violence

Let me know if I missed any.

Again, stay safe. And fuck Tumblr’s staff.

Edit: Adding some of the things I’ve reblogged and also suggestions (thanks @nimona-antifa for the suggestions, and @everlastingrandom for pointing that scopophobia’s another potential trigger)

Body horror

Gore

Scopophobia

Horror

Another edit: Thanks to @gwydionmisha for pointing out that the jump scares are harmful for people with:

anxiety

heart conditions

other related conditions

Another edit: FUCKING YEAH IT’S GONE but there’s still a widget at the corner of the screen with the buggy pirates’ logo, which looks like a clown pirate flag. So still be careful if you’re on desktop. Looking forward to when they take down the full thing.

[kayhi808]

First Crush - 11

You just walk into the event site and it's already a win. They gave Abby a paper wristband and she thinks they gave her a bracelet as a gift. It's going to be a fight later when you have to cut that off her.

Bucky leans down to you, "What's the game plan?"

"Maybe we can walk through everything first, to see what they have and see what Abby likes? Is that ok?"

"Sure, whatever you want, doll."

Looking at Abby up on his shoulders, "Let me know when you want me to carry her. Or you can let her walk. She can get heavy."

Giving you an insulted look, "I'm a super soldier. My ruck sack is heavier than she is."

You put your hands up in surrender, "Sorry, Super Soldier." You adjust Abby's backpack on your back and follow them. You weren't sure what they'd have here, so you packed some of Abby's necessities, but you don't think you'll be needing it. There's a section marked off for a dozen or so food trucks, a small stage & tents sent up. Some families where on blankets having picnics. Others were under the tents. "I've never taken Abby to Coney Island or a fair like this before. This is all new to her." You look up at Abby & she is so wide-eyed trying to take everything in.

You stop at the tent of Midway Gallery of Games. You watch people play trying to win stuffed animals & all sorts of prizes. Some of the Agents were yelling & getting rowdy in their competition. You look up and you notice Abby looking frightened & covering her ears. "Baby?" You hold your arms out to her, and she frowns & reaches out to you. "It's ok." Bucky deposits Abby into your arms & rubs her back. "It's a little too loud, huh?" You make your way out of that section & head to the rides. "Ok, this is better. It's quieter out here."

You walk pass the rides, Abby showing zero interest. She has her thumb in her mouth & snuggled into your neck. All the noise and lights were too much for her. You walk a little further and come across a petting zoo. "Abby, look!" You put her down & hold her hand, leading her to the pens.

"It stinky, Mama." Bucky laughs as she scrunches her nose.

"But what are those?"

She squeals, "It's baby duckies!" You let Abby run over to the pen & one of the workers walks up to her with a duckling in her hands and asks Abby is she'd like to pet it. "Mama?" You smile & nod. She's so good & gentle with it. You pull out your phone wanting to get pictures, and the worker takes Abby to a stool to sit & places the duckling in her lap. She's so adorable, You thank the worker & Abby waves goodbye.

"Mama did you sees me? The baby duck sat on my lap!"

"I did, Baby! You were so good with the duckling." And that's how the next half hour goes by. You visit all the babies. PIg, chicken, rabbit, lamb, horses, cows...the baby goats were a little too wild for her. Abby ran to Bucky asking for "upsies".

"I'm ready for a snack. Who wants a treat?" Abby gives you a quick look to see what your reaction is. You raise your hand, so Abby copies you & yells out "Me!" You go to a nearby stand to pick out some lemonade & ice tea in Avenger logo mason jars. You're ready to pay for it, "I'll get it, my treat."

"It's all taken care of. Stark is picking up the tab. The food, rides, games, it's all unlimited."

"That's insane, Buck!" He shrugs and hands you another lemonade. He noticed you were just going to share one with Abby, which you happily take. He grabs a churro for you all to share. He wanted to get one in every flavor for Abby, but you nixed that idea. The last thing you need is for her to get a tummy ache. And you already know you want to get her cotton candy later. That'll be enough sugar to blow her mind.

You take a break to eat your snacks & sanitize your baby after touching all the animals. You bring out the baby wipe & hand sanitizer. Bucky laughs at you, but Abby doesn't care because she now smells pretty, not like the stinky animals.

Now that she's in a better mood, you'll give the rides another round & see if she's interested. She did a round in the jumper house. You're so worried because she's so little and you don't want her to get trampled on, but that's part of being a kid. She fell down & couldn't get back up with all the other kids jumping but she was laughing as she crawled to the wall to get herself back on her feet. She came out of there all sweaty & cheeks pink from laughing.

Then the 3 of you went on the ferris wheel. She didn't want to go until you said you'd all go together & that she could sit in the middle so she'll be safe. She had a tight grip on Bucky's Vibranium arm, but after the first time around, she relaxed and enjoyed it. She could see everything being so high up. Bucky said they could ride it again at night so they could see all the lights and maybe even the fireworks.

The Carousel was next. "Do you want to ride the pretty horses?"

"Oh Mama!" She tries to spin you so she can see her backpack, "It's a unicorn, like i gots!"

Bucky laughs, "You want to ride that one?"

"Yes! I needs to." She jumps up & down. You all wait in line for the next group to enter. Once Abby gets up to the gate, Bucky scoops her up and makes a mad dash to find the unicorn. You hear her screaming with laughter. You try to chase after them. Abby is pointing him in all different directions & giggling. Finally they capture the unicorn for Abby to ride. You take quick pictures of Bucky & Abby with her unicorn. "Mama lookit!"

"It's so pretty! You look like a fairy princess, baby!" There's so much joy on her face you want to break down & cry.

Buck nods over at the horse across from Abby, "Get on."

"No, I don't..."

"Yes, Mama! You needs to!"

"I got her," Bucky resting his arm around Abby's back. "Ride with Abby."

You climb up on the horse as the ride starts and you feel silly and carefree all at the same time. When was the last time you were on a carousel? "Mama, you looks like the fairy QUEEN!"

Bucky looks up at you, "She sure does." You feel your cheeks heat under his gaze.

The ride was over way to quickly. Bucky helps you both off your horses & escorts you outside the gates where Steve awaits you all. "Mr. Captain, you sees my unicorn? I rides him & didn't falls off." Steve so surprised that Abby's even acknowledging him, he laughs.

" You know what? I did. I saw you and your Mama racing up there, and i think you won."

Abby covers her mouth with her hands & giggles, "Mama, I wons you!"

Bucky wraps his arms around you, pulling you back against him, "Did you? Mama was going really fast."

"No, I wons. Mr Captain says so."

"Well, if Mr. Captain says so," Bucky shrugs.

"You guys had lunch yet? Or visited the food trucks?"

"Not yet. Are you hungry Abby? Want to find lunch?" She nods & jumps up and down.

There's so much food and snacks to choose from. The guys end up with BBQ plates and you and Abby are sharing pizza and tacos. You're enjoying your break when Abby stands up on the bench and starts waving, "Frien'! Frien'!" You look around to see who she's calling. "Mama, pretty lady!"

"Natasha."

"N'asha! N'asha!" Abby jumps down & runs to Nat. Bucky's already on his feet ready to follow her. Natasha sees her & picks her up and walks her back over. You can see your baby's mouth moving a mile a minute. "But the goat was jumping and jumping. I's so scared, but Bucky lifts me so they can't gets me."

Taking a seat next to Bucky, "Wow! You had some excitement, huh?"

Climbing on the bench next to you, "It was baby but it was big like me. Ands you know what?"

"What?"

Gulping for air because she's talking so much, "Mama & I race, and my unicorn won. Mr. Captain says I wons her!" Abby claps for herself.

@waywardhunter95 @wintrsoldrluvr @rebeccapineapple @ordelixx @onceithough @crazyunsexycool @thezombieprostitute @ilovetaquitosmmmm @julvrs @unaxv @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @winterslove1917 @ozwriterchick @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @mrsnikstan @hisredheadedgoddess28 @itsteambarnes @otterlycanadian @purplecolordeer @samsgirl93 @buckitostan @blackbirdwitch22 @littleredwolf @mcucatlady @silas-aeiou @hzdhrtss @florie1 @thecubanator2 @enchantedbarnes @selella

"You won. Not you wons her." You roll your eyes but inside you heart in overflowing with love for her excitement and how everyone is so kind to her. You were so worried about being a single parent and not being able to give your baby the life you wished for her. But you think you'll actually be able to do that. Things are looking up for you both. She's going to remember this day for a long, long time. You both will.

Next chapter

[abstractvanity32]

Season 2

Fresh Start

Holly had always loved hiking in the woods near her hometown. The feeling of being surrounded by nature, the fresh air, and the peacefulness of the forest always brought her a sense of calm. On this particular day, she had decided to take a new trail that she had never explored before.

As she walked along the winding path, she noticed something shiny on the ground up ahead. Curious, she quickened her pace until she reached the object. It was a baseball cap, lying abandoned on the forest floor.

Holly picked up the cap and examined it. It was a simple black cap with no logo or design on it. She chuckled to herself and thought it would be funny to try it on.

As soon as she placed the cap on her head, she felt a strange sensation run through her body. It was as if her muscles were suddenly frozen in place. She tried to take the cap off, but it was stuck fast to her head.

Panic began to rise in Holly's chest as she realized something was seriously wrong. She looked down at her hands and gasped in shock. They were no longer delicate and slender; they had grown large and calloused, the hands of a man. She looked at her feet and saw that they too had changed, becoming large and manly.

Her voice deepened, and her hair shortened, becoming bald. Her face roughened and changed, her nose broadening and her browline thickening. She felt a strange sensation as hair began to grow on her chest, legs, and arms. And then, the most shocking change of all occurred – she grew a male appendage.

Holly – or rather, Peter – stood there in shock, trying to come to terms with the transformation that had taken place. New clothes began to form on his now masculine body, as the hat somehow rewrote his mind.

Peter's mind was flooded with memories, memories that belonged to a man who had just been released from jail and was looking for work to start a new life.

Peter looked around, disoriented, as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. He realized he was no longer Holly, the young woman who loved hiking in the woods.

He was Peter, an ex-convict who had served his time and was now trying to make a fresh start. As if on cue, a man approached him and offered him a job at a construction site. Peter accepted, grateful for the opportunity.

As he worked at the construction site, Peter found that he was surprisingly good at his job. His new body was strong and capable, and he quickly earned the respect of his coworkers. Despite his initial confusion and discomfort at his sudden transformation, Peter found himself settling into his new life. He worked hard and saved up money, determined to leave his troubled past behind him.

[ramp-it-up]

Football Season

Summary: It’s Football Season. But you want to play.

Pairing: Beefy Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 2K

A/N: it’s the first day of Kinktober! Hope you enjoy! You can read this as a companion piece to Party Games

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT! Read at your own risk; curate your own experience. Sportsball. Mostly pwp. Established relationship. Thigh riding,  praise/degradation kink, P in V, creampie. Not Beta’d. All errors my own. 

I don’t have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post!

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

It was your first football season living with your boyfriend. You moved in with him in the spring and had wonderful weekends in bed and hanging out with friends. Steve and Sam warned you about Bucky’s obsession, joking that you would be a football widow.

You laughed at the jokes and Bucky pulled you close to him, kissed your temple and said, “Don’t listen to these punks. I would never ignore you, Doll.”.

You believed him. Bucky was so supportive of everything in your life, your job, your hobbies, your family, that you wanted to let him have the perfect supportive football girlfriend on opening weekend. Steve was away for work and Sam was in Louisiana visiting his sister and attending a Saints game. You were going to prove that Bucky wouldn’t miss out on having the guys with him to watch his team.

Bucky looked so fine sitting on the couch, in a t-shirt and basketball shorts with his team’s logo on them and that made you want to serve him the best homemade sandwiches and beer ever.

After you went to the grocery store, you slipped into the bedroom and slipped on your surprise for Bucky, a custom black jersey with red trim from his favorite team with Barnes 001 on the back. You had it made for him, so it hung down your thighs, which were covered by the tops of thigh high red socks.  The kicker was what was underneath the jersey, but that was for later.

Now was the time for some food. It was almost kickoff.

Bucky glanced up at you from his fantasy football app as you placed the tray of food down on the coffee table and did a double take at you in the jersey. Bucky beamed at you as he leaned back and spread his legs.

“What do we have here, Doll?”

His eyebrow raised as he asked the question. You tried to ignore his man spread, even though it was your weakness.

“Just a present for my favorite football fan. I thought I’d break it in for you while we watch the game.”

Bucky grinned at you.

“So thoughtful, Doll. You look great in it. I might never wear it, honestly you look so hot.”

You winked at him as Bucky reached for you. He pulled you onto his thigh and kissed your forehead, temple, nose and mouth. The jersey was tucked under your bottom so you weren’t bare thonging it on his thigh, but you could feel the power there. But now wasn’t the time.

“I love you, Doll.” 

You winked at him, kissed his cheek, stood up and padded back in the kitchen, dodging his hand as he reached for the hem of the jersey. 

“Watch your game!” you called.

“I’d rather watch you, Doll.” 

Bucky’s head followed you for a moment, but he was soon distracted again when his team got possession of the ball.

Once you got him set up, you sat up on the couch with your head on his shoulder and your legs thrown over his. 

Bucky was entranced in the game, drinking beer, pumping his fist and throwing up his hands when his team lost or gained ground, and it was so cute to watch. You man was in his happy place and it made you happy too.

You snuggled his arm and kissed his bicep, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside, when during a particularly energetic show of emotion, Bucky’s hand came down with a slap on your thigh.

“Ow!”

You laughed as Bucky looked at you with concern as he rubbed your rapidly reddening limb.

“Sorry, Doll. You okay?”

“I’m good, Jamie. Just let me get my lick back.”

You reached over and pulled up Bucky’s shorts from the thigh closest to you and delivered a sound smack to the corded muscles there. You shifted as you looked at his thigh ripple slightly. He was so fucking thick and the whore in you awakened. Bucky just flexed and smirked at you as you lusted after him.

“I thought you were actually gonna lick it.”

That grin.

“Hmmmph.” 

You gave him a side eye and snuggled in again as he returned to his game, the idea of licking his thigh, and other things, taking over your brain. You shifted, the red thong you had on under the jersey now uncomfortable in your wet folds as Bucky got engrossed in the game again.

This was turning into a situation.

You didn’t know if you could be still for two more hours. It was only the first quarter. You stared at his thigh at the muscles shifting and moving as he did, and you didn’t realize it, but you were shuffling down his arm, your mouth nearing his muscular leg.

You snuck a look up at him to find him smiling down at you.

“You good, Doll? What are you doing? Why do you look like you’re about to commit a crime?”

Bucky could read you like a book. And you loved it.

“Hmmm. I just want a little… snack…”

With a mischievous smile, you fully committed and leaned down to lick a long stripe from his Bucky’s knee until your head was halfway covered by his shorts. Your mouth nose bumped his ball sack and you felt him jump.

“What the…?”

When you resurfaced, Bucky looked at you, sky blue eyes wide.

“You said you wanted me to lick it.”

You shrugged your shoulders and took a drink of water.

“I said I thought you were going to…” 

Bucky eyed you gulping down the glass and stopped trying to explain himself.

“You thirsty Doll?”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and nodded, smiling back at the man who was not paying attention to his game anymore.

“Liquid is collecting places, need to replenish.”

Bucky leaned back, and hiked the leg of his shorts even higher. 

“Are you wet, Baby Doll?”

That name. Bucky had you.

You nodded, your mouth open slightly to breathe. He had you open.

“Well, you already got me wet, little Baby. Might as well finish the job.”

Bucky patted his thigh.

“.. But.. the game, Jamie…”

“I can still watch the game while you use my thigh, Baby. Climb on.”

You stood up and lifted the jersey to pull down the thong but Bucky stopped you with a whistle.

“Shit Baby Doll. Look at how you’ve ruined that pretty little red thong. Turn around.”

You did as you were told and Bucky picked up the thong from between your ass cheeks and snapped it back into place. Then he smacked your butt.

“That is one lucky piece of material. Nestled in all that ass so pretty.”

He turned you around with both hands and then stared at your crotch.

“You’re so wet that you are making this red thong even darker.”

Bucky picked up the thong from the front and ran his finger down to the wetness, then he pulled so it moved even tighter between your legs. That, coupled with him giving you that ice blue sex god stare almost made your knees buckle.

“I think you need to keep this on and use it to help you get off. Climb on.”

Bucky leaned back again and slowly sucked his finger into his mouth, slowly pulling it out for you to see. He knew that got you hot.

You did as you were told, using your hands to brace on his broad shoulders. You were down closer to his knee and he reached for you, placing his hands on your waist to drag you closer to him.

“Careful with that knee, Doll.”

The warning made you giggle, because one false move would not be so good for Bucky’s balls.

“Get comfy for me.”

You shifted, widening your legs, so that your knee simply slid along his wide open other leg as you moved, nice and slow, grinding your core into his hairy, beefy thigh.

“That feel good?”

You nodded quickly, biting your lip. You surprised yourself at how close you were so quickly and you balled Bucky’s t-shirt in your hands as your hips moved faster and faster.

“There you go. Good Girl.”

He reached up under the jersey and tweaked one nipple, teasing your rapidly heating body.

“Now, stay quiet and don’t cum, because I’m watching the game. It would make too much noise. But don’t stop moving either Doll. Can you handle that? Don’t cum until I tell you.”

You nodded again, not caring that what he said didn’t make any sense. You were already lost in the feeling.

Bucky looked back up at the tv screen, as if he was really watching the game.

You moved, your slick allowing your folds to skate along his thigh, the flexing he was giving you the perfect compliment the your dripping, throbbing flesh that you owned. You felt his cock, hard now against your own thigh and you shuddered, a new need awakening.

Bucky hands slipped under the jersey and both hands teased your hard nipples.

“Mmmmmmhmmmm, Buckyyyy.”

You arched your back and went faster as you felt your clit quiver against his flesh. Your pussy reacted instinctively.

“Damn, Baby Doll,” Bucky took a drink of beer. “Your pussy is clenching on my leg like she could take it inside her. Fucking whore for my body, aren’t ya? Wanna use me any way you want, huh?”

You shuddered again, Bucky’s filthy words making you even closer to the edge.

“Look at you, arching your back like a slut.”

Bucky pulled the jersey off of your body and his eyes raked over you.

“My beautiful little slut.”

Bucky leaned over and started sucking your nipples, hard, alternating sides and sensations between sicking, licking and biting.

“Look at you, riding my thigh and holding it like a good little slut. So obedient. So good for me.”

“Ahhhhh! Bucky! Mmmmmmmm.”

“Love it when you moan for me. Being such a good girl. My best girl…ah ah ah.. Hold it.”

Bucky was feeling you quiver and shudder on his thigh, not able to move anymore because you felt like sparks were shooting from where you were connected. He reached for you and grabbed you, dragging your soaking wet slit down the insistent ridge of his thigh.

“I didn’t say you could stop moving. Do you want to come? Tell me?”

“Please…Bucky…”

Bucky grabbed your throat.

“Not. Yet.”

Bucky was staring at you as you bit your lip, trying with all of your might to control your release. He watched the tears start to fall and he licked them from your cheeks.

You were so mesmerized by his eyes that you didn’t notice that he’d pulled his cock out from his shorts. He lifted you up by your neck and you stood on shaking legs and practically impaled yourself on him.

“Come on my cock then, Baby Doll. Come all pretty for me.”

You slid down to the base of him, wider than you expected although you’d had him hundreds of times before and shuddered from the stretch. 

“Oh fuck. Take my cock, Baby Doll. Fuck.”

That shudder led you into an intense orgasm, partially because Bucky was holding you down, making you feel him stretch you out.

“Look at you. I don’t even have to move and you come all pretty all over my cock.”

You started sucking his neck as you came, vibrating all around him.

“Oh shit, give me that orgasm.” 

Bucky started moving then, the obscene sound of your wetness filling the room.

“Yeah, yeah, of fuck, yes, yes, yes…oh God yes…”

You were mewling and whining as he pounded into you, your orgasm extending, blooming and growing.

Bucky pulled pack to look at your bouncing breasts and you realized that it was you fucking him now, and he was enjoying the show.

“Yeah, Baby, fuck me. Show me who I belong to. Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop until you cum…”

You put your hands on his chest and bounced up at down a what seemed like warp speed. Bucky cupped the base of his shaft as you fucked yourself on him and fingered your ass and your cunt as you moved.

“Oooohhhhhh! Bucky!”

“Oohhhh my Good goddd!”

Bucky roared as he spurted hot come in your pussy, and you didn’t stop moving until he was soft and slipping out of you.

You collapsed on his chest listening to his heart thump. Suddenly you heard the game again. A roar came from the crowd and Bucky pumped his fist.

“Yes! Amazing Score!”

You laughed as you kissed Bucky’s cheek and moved to go put the jersey back on.

Bucky kissed the top of your head as you leaned on his arm again. He put himself back in his shorts as he put his arm around you.

“My fucking good luck charm. My best girl.”

“Love you too, Bucky.”

And you dozed until he woke up with his head between your legs at halftime.

As always, if you liked it, please reblog! ❤️

[dontexpectmuch]

(if ur still taking requests) smth abt jude surprising a very stressed out student for their bday! i'm projecting horribly here 😍😍

author: happy (belated (?)) birthday!!!

—

you feel your phones vibration against your desk, gently tickling your skin. it pulls you out of a trance you didn’t even know you were in, your eyes now focused on the device.

a tired smile stretches on your lips, the contact name making you chuckle.

[from; The bestest best boyfriend]: open the door !

sighing, you get up from your chair and move to open the door of your small apartment, the sound of your steps as the only sound inside.

you open the door, immediately being met by a huge bouquet of blood red roses and red balloons, judes happy face the center of your sight. stepping to the side to let him enter, you take the flowers from his hands and move them to your face, the gentle scent of roses meeting your nose.

“hey, baby.” jude leans down to press a kiss on your lips, pelvis moving closer to press against yours.

you greet him back, though you see his eyebrows draw together, forehead creasing.

“you okay, love?” jude pushes your body towards your living room slash working space, placing the sweets tied to the ballon onto the table, taking the flowers from your head to put them on your desk.

you sigh for the nth time today, leaning against his body, slightly relaxing as you feel his warm hands caress your back.

jude speaks up again, voice laced with confusion, “babe?”

“‘m so tired, i don’t even know what to do.” you explain your behavior, though it doesn’t even come near to what you actually feel.

on top of being stressed and tired, you start to feel even worse because you can’t be happy to see your boyfriend. he doesn’t deserve to be greeted by your gloomy self like that, but you also know that he would never be mad at you for your feelings, immediately trying to help wherever he can.

“why aren’t you ready?” he asks, siting down on your couch and pulling you along by your wrist, positioning you on his lap.

“for what?”

you feel his hand move up and down your thigh as you lean against his body, head resting on the crook of his neck as you take in his manly scent, his aftershave tingling your brain in a way that you wouldn’t dare to put into words.

jude gasps, pushing your head up to hold it between his hands, thumbs drawing circles against your cheeks.

“your birthday dinner? you wanted to eat at that restaurant when we visited liverpool?” his words making bells ring in your head.

you loudly gasp as you stand up, “jude, babe, i,” your heart sinks as your eyes skim over his face, “i forgot?”

he tucks you down again, your legs caging his as you come face to face. “did you forget your own birthday?”

though jude smiles at you, thinking that this situation is quite funny, a moment the two of you would remember in your graying days, you can’t help but feel sad, closing your eyes as you put your forehead against his shoulder.

“exams are stupid.” you mumble, finally understanding why so many people have been calling you throughout the day.

you two sit on your couch for a while, small talk being exchanged between you. that is, until jude decides to get up to get your present that he left by the door, your heart’s rate picking up as you watch him sit next to you, a big bag placed on your lap.

“you didn’t have to-“

he puts his finger against your lips, successfully stopping you. “just, i hope you like it.”

you smile at him, thankful to have him in your life before you look down to pull out a rectangle box from the bag. your eyes widen as you are greeted by a white box, the familiar apple logo making tears sting your eyes.

your voice is soft, looking at your boyfriend who shyly looks at you through his lashes, “jude, i, oh my god, thank you so much.”

you move towards him to hug him tight, gratitude expressed through soft kisses spread over his neck.

“you said that your laptop was slow, and how many breakdowns you had because of it, so i thought, well, yeah.” he explains, his hand resting on your cheek once again, warmth radiating from his eyes.

your heart beats against your rips, heat creeping up your neck.

you knew that is an incredible person, someone who cares about his loved ones, giving as much as he can without expecting anything in return. you knew that he pays attention to everything you say, almost hanging on every word spilling from your lips, never making you say anything twice, but right now, fuck.

right now you feel loved in a way you never knew that existed, you feel so warm, so safe and comfortable that you wish to bathe yourself in this feeling for eternity, never once thinking of leaving this feeling. all the negative energy, all the thoughts of failure and the pain of final season wash away as you continue to look at your boyfriend, him returning your gaze of adoration twice as much.

“i love you.” you whisper, afraid of losing the moment.

jude leans forward to kiss your forehead, engulfing you with his scent.

“i love you even more.”

LETS FUCKING GOOOOIOOOOOOOO

(exams make me question my existence.)

[hsr-texts]

find your cinderella

꒰‧₊˚✩彡‧꒱ ┊ ━━━━ prologue

꒰⸝⸝₊ʚ♡ɞ ┊ streamer!reader x mystery hsr character ꒱

꒰⸝⸝₊ʚ♡ɞ ┊ otome event ꒱

꒰ ☰ WORD COUNT ┊1.4k ꒱

꒰ ☰ DESCRIPTION ┊ ━━ When you do an unboxing livestream for your subsribers, you find an invite to an exclusive event called the "Find Your Cinderella" masquerade gala where you are guaranteed to find your supposed true love, as a rather enthusiastic manager told you. ꒱

꒰ ☰ NOTES ┊HIII omg you guys THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT!! Getting 1k followers is so crazy for me because I've never had a blog be received with this much love and support before so I've decided to make an extra special otome game style fanfic! ꒱

“Guys, look! The package just came in!”

You rushed into your studio, holding a sizable metal box. Inscribed on the sides was a logo of two masks, resembling a certain Aeon. Placing it down on the floor, you gave a sigh of relief. “Aeons, that was heavy!”

Your eyes glanced at the live chat and saw all the messages, curious about the package.

“Seems like you guys are more excited than I am,” You couldn’t help a small chuckle leaving your lips. “It took me quite a lot to get a hold of this limited edition package from LumiPro. Like, do you guys know how much it cost?”

A few comments popped up trying to guess the price.

You shook your head. “100,000 credits.”

The chat then flooded with shocked emotes and comments. It was more than a fair reaction. You found yourself silently thanking the stars that your current occupation as a streamer granted you a steady income. Otherwise, you probably would’ve had to eat the same type of cup noodles for months.

“Anyway!” You clasped your hands together. “Let’s open it up already! I’m dying to see what’s inside. What could possibly warrant such a steep price?”

Your index finger pressed on the button at the top and heard a voice.

“Vocal identification. Please state your name.”

You uttered your name. It was a good thing you added an auto-censor to your setup so that any sensitive information that could get you doxxed would be redacted in the stream. You didn’t want stalkers showing up at your home after all.

“Permission granted.”

Faint clicks of metal against metal could be heard as the mechanisms worked to unlock the box. A hissing noise came from it as the lid opened. You watched, feeling anticipation and eagerness bubble within your chest.

A hologram was projected from the box, showing a person wearing professional attire. They smiled.

“Thank you for purchasing from Luminous Productions. We’ve curated a package that we believe would be of most use to you. For further questions, you may contact support on our site. We hope you enjoy it to the fullest.”

You took a peek and gasped at the sight. “Guys, oh my god, they just gave me a new PC!”

They must’ve done their research because you did mention in your stream a month ago that you were looking for a better PC.

The chat seemed to be as excited as you were, knowing this meant you’d be able to go back to your regular streaming schedule.

You could tell this was a real high end PC after seeing the graphics card and CPU model. Not only that, but it came with a new headset, keyboard, and mouse. You took out the stuff and gently placed them on the floor, letting the viewers see it.

After noticing that there was more in the package, you rummaged around for the other objects. Your hand made contact with some sort of fabric so you pulled it out.

Your eyes widened as you realised that it was a fancy outfit. Upon looking, you could estimate that it was your size too. Was this tailor made?

“Holy shit…”

It seemed like it was for a real special occasion, not even just your run-of-the-mill party that regular people go to. This outfit would probably fit right in with a red carpet event for rich folks or celebrities. Well— One may say, “Hey, aren’t you a celebrity too?” but you weren’t cocky enough to claim the same status as those with inter-galactic levels of fame.

A slip of paper fell out of the outfit’s pocket and you turned to see what it was.

You squinted in confusion. A ticket…? After picking up, you couldn’t help but notice the holographic shine to it first. How pretty.

“Find Your Cinderella Masquerade Event?” You mumbled in confusion. Who was Sugo? You couldn’t recall knowing anyone that went by that name.

Suddenly, the screen flickered for a moment and a new window popped up next to your stream.

A person showed up, wearing what you could only describe as a pink clown outfit that somehow combines cuteness and gaudiness in one. They grinned at you with amusement.

“Heya to all those viewers watching at home!” Even the way they spoke seemed to have a theatrical ring to it. By the way the chat was going insane, the people watching the stream could also see them.

“My name is Sugo and I’m the event organiser of the Find Your Cinderella Gala, or the FYC Gala for short,” they introduced themselves with a flourish. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Uh… hi?” You didn’t know how to respond. This was quite a bizarre experience to have someone hijack your stream to introduce themselves. Was this legal…?

They chuckled. “Yeah, sorry for the sudden appearance but I figured that it would shake things up a little. I’m sure your dear fans appreciate having two exciting things happening at the same time. You can bet that this’ll go viral too~”

“Right… So what exactly is this Find Your Cinderella Gala?”

“Glad you asked, dear anomaly!” They beamed. Eh? Why were they calling you anomaly?

“See, I’m doing a collaborative project with LumiPro. I proposed to them a large-scale event with celebrities from all over the galaxy, which would be broadcast to every streaming platform out there. The premise is simple, all attendees are there to find their one and only, their true love, their Cinderella, you get the idea.”

“So it’s a speed dating event for rich people?” Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It sounded like a stupid idea. And yet, a part of you was intrigued.

“Right on the money! What a clever streamer, it’s no wonder you got such high compatibility ratings with the other attendees~”

“A what?”

Their eyes gleamed with amusement. “So, we didn’t just pick the celebrities at random. I bet you’re wondering why a small time streamer is getting an invite to such an exclusive event, right?” They tilted their head, leaning on their desk.

You nodded slowly. It was still a mystery to you why you’d be invited when there are far more famous people in the galaxy.

“Behind the scenes, we’ve been developing an advanced algorithm that can find your best match in a group. How it works is that we pick a participant, feed it available information on said participant, then it calculates how well the person would get along with those within the group,” they explained, “What’s interesting for your case is that your average compatibility score with the group is 90%. Most folks that got tested only came up with a 60% average compatibility rating.”

You raised an eyebrow at this in skepticism. “Don’t you think that’s just a bug or something?”

They shrugged. “It could be, but we’ve done several tests and it always came out the same. We were hoping to add you in to act as an outlier to our pool of data.”

“So I’m just a guinea pig for your weird little experiment?” You gave them an unamused look.

“It’s just to see if your results were really true or if it was just a mistake on the algorithm’s part.” They shrugged. “I’m sure it’ll be a fun time for you regardless of my motives. A win win for all parties involved, don’t you just love that kind of thing?”

“I guess but doesn’t this come with strings attached?”

Sugo whined. “Ughhh, you’re gonna make this way less fun if you go in already knowing what you’re getting!”

“What kind of sane person would do something without knowing the full details?!”

A groan came from them. “Booo, that’s so boring! Life needs a special surprise factor that keeps things fun and interesting.”

They sighed after. “But fine. If you’re so skeptical, then I can throw in a 500,000 credit compensation if you end up not enjoying it. So even if you do lose, you still gain something!”

You stayed silent, trying to figure out if this was really worth the trouble of dressing up and going to a party.

“Anyway, that’s all the information I’m contractually allowed to give out. It’s your choice whether you want to go or not.”

“Can I have some time to decide this?” You asked them.

Sugo nodded, smiling in amusement. “Of course! It’s not good for a show to spend too much time on exposition, after all. Let’s give the player some time to shine, hm?”

“I have no idea what you’re saying.”

They giggled, ignoring what you said. “Bye bye! I’ll see you at the gala!”

Their window disappeared, leaving you with your viewers again.

You sighed. What a strange person. Did you really wanna go? It’s not like you had much to lose. Plus, you would be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to find out what that compatibility rating was all about.

“What do you think, chat? Should I go?” You turned to the screen, waiting for their input.

[sluttyten]

miracle | guilty pleasure pt. 3

YangYang Masterlist || All Member Masterlist

Part 1: guilty pleasure || Part 2: love on the low low

summary: you’ve kept your relationship with yangyang a secret from everyone, but keeping a secret is hard, especially when you’re falling so fast in love.

length: 13,788 words

tags: secret relationship, semi-public sex, panty kink, oral sex, riding, possessive sex

YangYang’s smile is utterly distracting. 

The sound of his laughter fills your ears, and you try to refocus, to not let yourself get swept up in his proximity. You remind yourself that you’re in this small dressing room surrounded by the other WayV members, other stylists, managers, the whole team. 

It’s been difficult to keep your relationship with YangYang so secret as time goes on. 

The fact that you currently are inches away from his face doesn’t help matters. 

“Are you two gonna kiss?” Xiaojun teases from a few feet away. 

YangYang laughs again. 

“Like, God, at least take him out to dinner first.” Ten jokes from the seat beside YangYang. 

Usually their teasing wouldn’t bother you. 

But your fingers are currently in YangYang’s mouth. 

Kun clucks at his members. “Leave them alone. Ten, c’mere, I need your help with the choreo.” 

You’re forever grateful for Kun. You always have been, but especially so since he’s the only one outside of you and YangYang to know about your relationship. He’s been a huge help with distracting the others and helping to cover up for the pair of you when you slip up in public, kind of like right now. 

Not that this is a slip up. 

You being inches away from YangYang’s face with your fingers in his mouth has nothing to do with your relationship; it has everything to do with styling him for this music video shoot. 

Your boyfriend’s lips are glossy pink, shimmering and coated in lip gloss. And you’re currently attempting to fit silver teeth decorations on his canines. They resemble vampire teeth but in a silver style that you convinced YangYang to try by describing it as similar to æspa’s Savage logo. 

You pray that no one is still looking as you complete fitting the small decorations onto YangYang’s teeth. As you nod with satisfaction, YangYang briefly closes his lips around your fingers, tongue lapping against your fingertips. 

You jerk your hand back, leaning away from him. 

“Sorry, noona,” YangYang apologizes in a completely unapologetic way. 

“Mm.” You narrow your eyes at him. “I’m sure you’re sorry.”

He smiles, teeth glimmering, lips shimmering. God, you want to kiss him. 

The feeling doesn’t wane even as you move on to finishing styling Hendery next (without sticking your fingers in his mouth, which Ten manages to sneak in a comment about). You can’t shake your need for YangYang even as you sit by and watch the music video filming, as the long hours pass by, as you restyle him for a different part of the music video. 

By the time you finally get your hands on him in the semi-privacy of you dragging him into the creepy looking bathroom down a back hallway of this filming site, you feel like you’re going to combust. 

YangYang laughs quietly against your lips as you tug him against you. The grimy bathroom sink presses against your hips. The lights flicker a hideous shade of green-yellow fluorescence like you’re in a bad horror flick. 

His lips taste sweet. 

“Strawberry lip gloss?” You ask as you pull back, rolling your lips together to feel the tacky transfer of his lipgloss onto yours. 

He nods. “Noona told me it’s her favorite.” 

You wrinkle your nose. Obviously, you understand him calling one of the other stylists noona, but part of you dislikes it. That’s what he calls you, and the sound of him calling you that always sets you on fire. 

YangYang backs you up against the sink even more, his hands on your hips as he lifts you just enough for your ass to sit on the edge of the sink. “I know it’s going to be late when filming ends, but I can come over, right?” He tips his forehead against yours. “I want to sleep beside you.”

A warm bloom opens in your chest. 

He’s been so busy lately that he hasn’t been able to sleep over at your place in a while. 

You’ve missed sleeping beside him. 

“If you think you can get away.” You press a short kiss to his lips. “We don’t want the guys getting too suspicious of where you are.”

You press lightly against his chest, and YangYang takes a step back, giving you enough room to slip from the bathroom sink. He looks down at you as you straighten your clothes, as you wipe at your lips in an attempt to get rid of the shimmering remnants of his lipgloss on your mouth. 

“Noona,” he says, and your heart leaps. “Noona, how long are we going to keep this a secret from everyone?” YangYang reaches for your hand. “I want to show you off. I want to be able to talk about you. I know that we can’t tell the world, but can’t we at least tell my friends? I’m tired of hiding us.”

Voices echo in the hallway outside the bathroom. 

You drag your hand from YangYang’s, your brain whirring as you attempt to think of a valid excuse for why the pair of you might be alone together in this bathroom. 

Just before the bathroom door opens, you shove YangYang back against the wall behind the door, and you whirl around to face the sink. 

The door flies open, and reflected in the mirror above the sink, you see two of the stylists standing framed in the doorway. 

“There you are!” One of them calls from the door. “We were looking for you. I think we’re all going out for drinks after filming. Did you want to come?”

The other woman starts to walk inside, and you know that if she does, she will inevitably spot YangYang in the hiding spot behind the door. 

“Wait! You don’t want to use these toilets. The one is clogged up with toilet paper, and the other one just looks filthy, so unless you’re desperate…” You fib. 

“Ugh,” both other women groan in unison. One says, “No, there’s one back by the dressing room. We’ll just head back over there.” 

They wait for you at the door, so you pretend to dry your hands off with a paper towel, then exit the bathroom with them, hoping YangYang isn’t pissed at you for leaving him behind in the bathroom. 

It’s about two hours later that filming concludes. 

It’s about two hours and fifteen minutes later when you realize the other stylists didn’t mean it was only your team going out for after-work drinks. The members were coming too, as well as a couple of the background dancers, and two of the managers. There’s definitely no backing out of the hasty agreement you’d made in the bathroom, much to your disappointment.

Not that you don’t want to hang out with your coworkers for drinks. You do want that. 

But it impacts the plan YangYang presented you with in that bathroom first. The idea of heading home as soon as filming wrapped for the night, bringing YangYang to bed with you. Taking some time with each other in the safe privacy of your apartment. Getting to fall asleep beside him and wake up with him in the morning, neither of which you get to do very often.

Instead of heading home, you find yourself squeezed into a seat between a manager and one of your stylist friends at a table in a restaurant not too far from the filming site. YangYang sits across from you, and you try not to notice the way he’s completely avoiding eye contact and hasn’t spoken to you since you ditched him in the bathroom.

Drinks flow heavily at that table, and mixed together with the sleepiness you feel due to it being after midnight, it doesn’t take long before you’re feeling the buzz. You’re smiling, laughing loudly along with everyone else, chatting and joking around. You don’t notice YangYang get up and leave the room, not until he’s returning, slipping into the seat beside you that was previously occupied by the other stylist.

“I think you’ve had enough,” YangYang says, appearing basically from nowhere. He touches your wrist, easing your hand back down to the table. He loosens your fingers from the glass brimming with soju. “Or at least slow down, noona.”

Across the table, you think you hear one of his group members teasing you both, but you’re deaf to everything but the sound of YangYang’s voice, blind to everything but his still shimmery lips, numb to everything but his warm fingers still lingering against yours. 

He snaps his fingers in front of your eyes. “See, you’re out of it, noona. Looking at me like that. Everyone’s going to think that maybe I’m not the only one with a crush.” 

You open your mouth to argue that, to assure him that you’ve definitely got more than a crush on him, but then he pinches your thigh, and the sharp pain at your thigh ties a knot in your tongue. You frown, snapping your mouth shut. 

“That’s better,” YangYang says softly, a faint smile curving his lips. “That’s how you usually look at me at work, noona. Like I’m the greatest source of your frustration.”

Part of you wants to throw those words at him, tell him that he certainly is a source of your frustration, but another part of you has sobered up slightly from that hard pinch from YangYang, and you don’t want to say anything else to him right now when you’re not fully in control of what might slip through your brain-to-mouth filter.

YangYang turns away from you, picking up conversation with the manager on his other side. You kinda slip into a daze, zoning out a bit as you snack on whatever sits in front of you until you feel YangYang’s hand brush against yours beneath the table. 

You jerk your head upright, blinking against the way the movement blurred the room around you a bit. “Hmm?”

“Noraebang?” Kun is watching you from across the table. “We’re thinking of going to a nearby noraebang, but maybe you’ve had enough? You look pretty sleepy. Maybe someone should help you home.” His gaze darts briefly to YangYang. 

You shake your head no. “I’m good. I’m fine. Let’s noraebang!” You shove back from the table and stand up too quickly, the world spins and wobbles, and seconds later you realize you’ve just dumped yourself across YangYang’s lap. 

He grins at you in that flirty way he’s always had. “Hi, noona.”

“See, you’re definitely drunk if you’re falling into YangYang’s lap,” Kun announces. 

YangYang carefully helps move you back over to your abandoned seat. “Noona, maybe you should just go home. Hyejin noona?” He turns to one of the other stylists. “Can you help her make sure she gets home safely?”

You feel the sting of rejection at the loss of contact with YangYang, but a less-drunk and more rational little voice in your head tells you that he’s doing this for you. You’re drunk, and he’s trying to get you home without making it obvious to everyone at the table that he wants to be the one to take you home. And he’s trying to make sure that he doesn’t — in the eyes of his members and management team and stylist crew — look like a creep trying to take advantage of you being intoxicated when they all know that he’s got a crush on you. 

But still, you pout as Hyejin helps you to your feet. 

There are scattered goodbyes and goodnights from around the table as Hyejin leads you away. 

You’ve made it outside, stumbling over your own feet every few steps — maybe you have had a little too much to drink — and possibly a quarter of the way down the block, when you hear a shout behind you. 

Hyejin turns to look. You twist your head around but all you can see is a dark figure moving towards you quickly. 

Your heart thuds and begins racing. 

Hyejin starts fumbling for her bag even while still trying to drag you along towards the nearby bus stop. You reach for your bag too, thinking that if this is someone coming after what they probably think is two drunk girls, you’ve got pepper spray in your bag. 

But you don’t have your bag. 

You must have left it tucked beneath the table at the restaurant. 

Shit. 

You can hear the footsteps pounding the pavement behind you as your pursuer draws closer, still shouting out for you and Hyejin to stop. 

And then, “Noona, stop! You forgot this!” The pursuer calls. 

You jerk to a halt, spinning around right as YangYang finally catches up. He’s breathing hard, cheeks pink, hair a little messy, and your purse swings from his hand. 

Hyejin whimpers a little and collapses back against the wall of the building you’re next to. “Damn, YangYang, you scared us.”

You stare at him for a moment, and he stares right back at you. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, “for scaring you. I noticed noona’s bag, and I didn’t think you’d probably be able to get home without your apartment keys and stuff.”

Hyejin mumbles something. 

You take your bag from YangYang. “Thank you. But running up behind us in the dark wasn’t a good idea.”

“I get that now. I didn’t even think.” YangYang takes a step closer to you, glancing behind you at Hyejin for a split second before his eyes are back on yours. “I can help you get home, noona. When I suggested Hyejin noona take you home, I didn’t even think of how two women alone who’d been drinking might look like a target for bad guys. I can go with you, protect you.”

Yangyang puffs out his chest a little. 

You and Hyejin both laugh at that. He grins, only letting his smile grow brighter when you lift a hand and push lightly at his chest.

“You were taking the bus, right?” YangYang asks. “I’ll ride with you, make sure you both reach your stops.”

Hyejin eagerly agrees. 

You nod, feeling that warm blossom blooming in your chest again. You like when YangYang takes care of you, when he’s protective and concerned for you. 

The bus is perfectly on time, showing up about ten minutes later. The doors squeal as they open. Only a few people occupy the seats, but YangYang still squeezes Hyejin, you, and then himself into one row. You’re nearly sitting in his lap, which you don’t really mind, but Hyejin keeps giving him weird looks. Especially after the bus driver hits a big bump in the road; you rise up and come down hard on YangYang’s thigh, inciting a groan from both of you. YangYang’s hands fall to your hips, resituating you in his lap into a more comfortable position. 

Hyejin snorts. 

“What?” You ask.

She shakes her head. “This kid and his crush on you, and right now you’re giving him everything he wants.” She glances pointedly at his hands resting on your hips. 

You look down, and you swat his hands away. 

YangYang sighs. “I’m not trying anything, Hyejin noona. I swear. I’m not interested in forcing myself on anyone, and she’s had too much to drink right now, which means that she’s not in the right state of mind to make decisions.” He nudges you. “She can sit in your lap, if that makes you feel better about all this.”

You start to move like you’re about to shift over into Hyejin’s lap. 

She shakes her head quickly. “No, that’s okay. My stop is before yours, unnie. With YangYang here, vowing not to take advantage of you, I’ll just get off at my stop instead of taking you home first then backtracking to my stop. If that’s okay?”

“That’s fine.” You feel YangYang’s hand settle on your hip again. “I trust him.”

“And, by the way,” YangYang addresses Hyejin, “my obvious crush on her means that I want her fully in her right state of mind with me. If anything happens, I want to know it’s her decision, not something I forced on her. Reciprocated feelings are the best feeling in the world. Maybe someday I’ll get that from her.”

There’s a little too much honestly in his voice for that last sentence, and your heart sinks in your chest. Does YangYang think that you don’t feel the same? Is it because of your insistence in hiding this relationship? That’s for protection! For protecting both of you! 

Silence falls between the three of you as the bus trundles through the streets. 

Finally you reach Hyejin’s stop. 

She lives in a popular area. There are still a decent amount of people out on the street here. Bars and restaurants and clubs are still lit up even though it’s nearly two in the morning. 

“Do you want me to walk you to your apartment?” YangYang asks Hyejin as she rises to squeeze past you. “To make sure you get there safely?”

“But what about…?” She inclines her head towards you. 

“I’ll come too. I’m fine now, I think. Starting to sober up a little more, so I can walk with you and YangYang just fine.” To prove your point you stand up and walk down the bus aisle towards the doors. You only veer into one of the seats just once. When you reach the doors you turn back to look at Hyejin and YangYang. “See?” 

YangYang rolls his eyes with a little smile, but they both quickly catch up with you as you step off the bus. 

Hyejin’s apartment is just a short walk from the bus stop, and it’s along a well-lit populated street, so in all likelihood she would have made it safely home. But as you walk along between her and YangYang, with your shoulder bumping into him and your hand brushing against his, you can’t help that feeling in your chest again. 

There’s something about him genuinely caring about your friend’s safety that endears him even more to you. He keeps chattering with her as you walk, filling the silence until your trio reaches her door. 

“Thank you, YangYang.” She reaches into her bag for her keys, and she’s not looking at him as she says, “You’re a good kid, you know?”

He makes a small sound. You lean against the wall beside her door, and she glances at you with a secret, small smile. 

She pushes her door open. 

“Goodnight, Hyejin,” you say. 

“Goodnight to both of you. And remember, YangYang, no funny business.” She steps inside and twists around to look at him. 

“Nothing funny about my business,” is his quick reply. “When it comes to her, it’s all very serious business.” 

Hyejin looks between YangYang and you as you fold your arms and shake your head in disbelief. Her gaze narrows slightly, and she makes a soft “Hmm,” which can’t possibly be a good sign. 

“Goodnight, Hyejin,” you repeat, and then you grab YangYang’s arm. “Let’s go. I’m tired, and you know, I’m really feeling better. Maybe I can go the rest of the way home alone, YangYang.”

No sooner have the words left your mouth than your feet twist beneath you and you crash into YangYang’s side. He and Hyejin both laugh. 

“Not a chance, noona.” He waves back at Hyejin. 

A moment later you hear her door shut.

“Come on, noona. Let’s get you home.” YangYang casually drapes his arm over your shoulders, and he starts walking. 

Outside Hyejin’s building, the night doesn’t seem to be slowing down. Mixed crowds of people mill around, passing from bar to bar even though the establishments should probably be closing soon. 

“Y’know, I really wanted to go to the noraebang with everyone.” You tilt your head up to look at YangYang. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to one, and I’m sure you guys always make it fun.”

YangYang smiles. “We do. I’m sure we’ll go out again, all of us, sometime around the end of promotions. We usually do.”

And then you see a neon sign a short distance ahead of you. You clutch YangYang’s arm with one hand and you point with your other. “We could go right now! Just you and me?”

The neon sign blinks blue and pink. Noraebang. A little image of a microphone glows white surrounded by music notes that blink in yellow. 

“Please?” You press yourself against YangYang’s side. “Pretty please?”

He sighs in a way you’ve grown familiar with since this relationship started; it means he’s going to tell you yes, but he’s going to pretend to argue about it first. 

“Noona, do you remember earlier when I told you I wanted to come home with you tonight and sleep with you?” He asks. You nod. “I’m beginning to wonder if you even want that.”

“Liu YangYang.” You straighten up to your full height. You take his cheeks between your hands and drag his face around so he’s looking right at you. “Baby, I swear, I want nothing more than to fall asleep beside you and wake up with you tomorrow. I want that so much I can’t even describe it. But right now I also want to go have fun singing along to popular songs at the top of our lungs in that building right there. And I want to do it with you, so please, pretty, pretty please can we go? And then we’ll go home, take a shower, maybe we’ll even have sex, and then we’ll fall asleep together just like we both want?”

YangYang grits his teeth, and you begin to wonder if you’d completely gotten this wrong. 

But then he groans and pulls his head out from between your hands. He grabs one of your hands tightly in his and starts walking, dragging you along. Towards the noraebang. 

“You don’t know how much I want to kiss you right now,” he growls under his breath. “But I can’t because we’re in public.”

But within minutes you and YangYang are in a private room. The TV screen shows a selection of songs. The booth at the back of the room has crackly vinyl seats curved around a round table where the staff has already delivered the soju and snacks you’d hastily ordered. The lights are dim, filling the room with a blue glow. Somewhere in the distance, muffled by the soundproofing, you swear you hear someone scream-singing along to what you’re pretty sure is a BTS song. 

“We’re alone now,” you tell YangYang as you drop down onto the seats in the back of the room. 

“And?” He’s got the remote in hand, and he’s scrolling through the songs to choose one for you. 

“And you said you desperately wanted to kiss me, but we were in public. We’re alone now.” You lean back.

YangYang turns to you. “I thought you wanted to sing?”

“I do. But don’t you want to kiss me first?” 

YangYang walks back towards you. “Noona, if I kiss you, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stop.”

You laugh. “You want me that much, baby?”

“Always.” He nods. “There’s never a time that I don’t want you desperately, entirely, madly. I’ve told you before, noona, I only have feelings for you. You are the only one I think of, and I literally haven’t fantasized about anyone but you in a lot longer than I care to admit. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to be with you? Have I ever told you that?”

You shake your head no. 

“I’ve wanted you since the day we met. I walked into the dressing room, unsure of how my day was going to go, and there you were. You were so pretty even though it was too early in the morning and everyone was half-asleep. And you were beautiful. I couldn’t take my eyes off you even then, and right away the guys started teasing me. But it only grew from there, you know? Because then I actually started getting to know you, talking with you, spending time with you. I, still to this day, haven’t found anything about you that I didn’t like. I… I like everything about you, noona. I want every single part of you.”

He kneels on the seat with you. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but you swear YangYang’s hands tremble slightly as he reaches for you. 

You rise up, grabbing the front of his shirt, and you drag his mouth down against yours. 

YangYang flattens himself against you, pressing you down until you’re lying flat on the cushioned bench seat. He bites at your bottom lip, his tongue quickly swiping over the sharp sting. 

You knot your fingers in his hair, kissing him back hungrily, wanting more, needing more. 

He opens himself up, his tongue meeting yours. He shifts on top of you, fitting himself between your legs. 

Suddenly, loud upbeat music starts blaring, lights set into the wall beside the TV screen spin beams of light through the room. 

Yangyang almost falls to the floor in his hurry to pull away from you, his hands searching the seat, the floor, the table for the remote he dropped and must’ve accidentally selected a song.  

You laugh, which leads to him laughing. You grab one of the microphones, deciding that maybe you should actually do what you came in here to do instead of just make out with your boyfriend on this old vinyl seating. 

He eventually locates the remote, but you’re already singing along to After Like by IVE. 

Next is YangYang’s turn, and you choose Up & Down by EXID just because you want to see him do the choreography that you know he’s learned at some point. You sit back in the seat, sipping at a beer while you playfully toss pieces of popcorn at him while YangYang performs for you. 

You each take a shot of soju, and then it’s your turn. 

You continue on like that for a while. Your turn, then YangYang’s. Occasionally one of you finds a song to duet. There are shots in between performances, snacks and beers during. And although you’d started sobering up during the trip from the restaurant to Hyejin’s apartment, your buzz has quickly built back up again. 

Your singing is definitely growing more and more off-key with each passing round. And you and YangYang are growing handsier. 

After you finish a spectacular rendition of Eyes, Nose, Lips by Taeyang you’d serenaded YangYang with, you collapse into the seat beside him. 

“Have we had enough?” He asks, and his face is glowing and hazy, his cheeks rosy, eyes glazed. “Noona? Or do you want to keep singing?”

“Maybe a few more?” You suggest as you check the time. It’s after three in the morning, not quite four yet. You booked the room for two hours. 

YangYang nods and reaches for the remote to select the next song. He finds a selection that’s a playlist basically, so it will just play several songs back to back without the need for you to select them. 

The first song is a One Direction song, and YangYang stays seated beside you as he sings, bubbling through his performance. He’s finished off two beers and half the bottle of soju, so he keeps squinting at the screen as if he can’t see the lyrics very well. 

“You’re cute,” you tell him, sitting up on your knees so you can look at him better. “Very cute, YangYang. Cute, my baby.”

YangYang looks over at you. “I’m not a baby, noona.”

“No?” You tease. “You’re my baby, though. You let me take care of you and I make you feel good.” You lift a hand and comb your fingers through his hair, making his eyes flutter shut. “You’re a good boy for noona.”

YangYang groans, peeking one eye open. “I’m pretty sure I’m the one taking care of you tonight. Doesn’t that make you my baby? Huh?” He lifts his hand to mirror yours in his hair. “Can you be a good girl for Oppa?”

“Oppa?” You laugh, batting his hand away. “Is that what you want me to call you, YangYangie? I won’t.” You shake your head. “My baby, YangYang. Jagiya. Yeobo. Bǎo bèi.” His head tilts at the Chinese endearment from your lips, and then he bursts into a smile when you utter an English one next, “My love.”

“Is that what I am?” He asks. “Am I your love? Your one and only love?” 

You don’t know how you let that word slip out. You haven’t used it with each other yet. Yes, you know you have deep feelings for each other, but you’ve not admitted to being in love with him yet. 

You lift up on your knees and lean over to the table, and with hands that you pray aren’t shaking, you pour two shots of soju. When you turn around, you offer one to YangYang, but he doesn’t move, he just gazes up at you as you kneel there. For once you’ve got the height advantage. 

He doesn’t move to take the shot from you, just waiting for your answer. You throw back your shot, swallowing down the burn. 

“Yes,” you admit after a moment. “I love you, YangYang. I’m in love with you.”

His teasing mirth fades, and he gazes at you with a dazed look of awe. 

“Earlier you said that you hope someday I’ll reciprocate your feelings,” you say, “So I hope you’re in love with me too, or else I’m the one that’s waiting for you to catch up now. Are you?”

YangYang’s mouth falls open, but no sound comes out. 

“Do you love me, YangYang? Or is this just an intense crush?” You ask again. Still, he can’t seem to utter any words. “Do you need the courage to tell me?” 

You lift the shot you poured for him a minute ago. 

“Noona, I…” is all he manages before he falls silent again. 

“Here,” you say, dropping your free hand beneath his chin to tilt his head up. YangYang’s gaze rises and hooks on yours. You lift the soju glass. YangYang’s mouth falls obediently open, and he doesn’t look away from your eyes as you tip the glass and pour the soju down YangYang’s throat. 

He coughs a little as it goes down, and you draw the empty glass back. 

“Good boy,” you compliment him, running your thumb along his bottom lip to catch a stray drop. “Are you feeling more brave now to tell noona how you feel?”

The music is still playing in the background, a song that you can’t identify. You’re not going to look away from YangYang long enough to figure it out either. 

He opens his mouth, his tongue darts out to flick against the tip of your thumb. “Do you really need to ask? Is the way I feel not obvious?” 

When you feel YangYang’s hands wander to your thighs, drifting higher to your hips, you feel heat kick up in your belly. And then he nudges you to shift your weight, to kneel over his lap instead of just kneeling beside him. 

You settle over YangYang’s lap, still looking down at him, one of your hands rests beneath his chin. 

“Noona, I…” 

You wish he would cease cutting himself off. You want to hear him say it. You need to hear his confession to you. 

“YangYang, please.” You stroke your thumb along his bottom lip again, feel the heated exhale of his breath. 

He utters your given name, barely above a whisper. He doesn’t follow it with noona, just leaves it at that. Your name. His lips. His eyes never leave yours even while you seat yourself entirely in his lap. 

“I love you,” YangYang confesses breathlessly. His hands skim higher than just your hips, dipping beneath your shirt so he can feel the bare skin of your sides against his fingertips. “I am hopelessly, depthlessly in love with you. Drowning in it. Each day I sink deeper in love with you, which is saying something since I was in so far over my head even before the first night you kissed me. 

“But then you gave me a chance. You gave me that one night where you gave in and used me as your guilty pleasure. I knew you wanted only that, but as I said, I was already in love with you. I knew that was it for you, but I couldn’t help wanting more. More of your touch, your kiss, the heat of you wrapped around me. I needed you. I dreamt of having you like that again, but there was more than that. I dreamt of you, constantly. Of your smile, of holding your hand and walking down the street together. Taking you on dates. Random dreams that you starred in purely because you’re where my mind always turns to. I’m in love with you, noona. And I’m so tired of hiding it.”

 “Then let’s not hide it anymore.” You curl your hands around his neck, and you drag YangYang’s mouth to yours. 

He tastes like soju and salty chips, and he moans when you immediately sneak your hand to the front of his pants. YangYang is already delightfully half hard, his hips jerking up to push his semi-hard erection against your palm. 

Your tongue tangles with YangYang’s, and each of you tastes the moans of the other as YangYang’s hands on your body mirror the position of yours on him. He slides one of his hands inside your pants, inside your panties, finding your pussy damp and your clit already throbbing with the need to be touched. 

You grind against his fingers, suck on his tongue, and without even looking, you unfasten his pants and pull his cock out so you can properly touch him. 

“Noona,” he gasps, dragging his mouth away from yours. “Here?”

A surprised snicker escapes you. “You once begged me to touch you in a dressing room with all of the members and most of the staff about five feet away, but you’re nervous about doing this here? We’re alone.”

“I just… didn’t think this was really something you were into. Doing this in semi-public spaces.” YangYang licks his lips. “Like, touching each other beneath the clothes and making out, I can see how you’d be fine with that, but do you really want to strip down and have sex in here?”

Honestly, your main thought was that you were going to give him a blowjob that would have him crying out and moaning for you loud enough to test out just how soundproof this room really is, but now that he’s mentioned more…. 

“Absolutely.” You lean in, giving his lips a quick peck. “As long as you’re fine with that?”

YangYang nods. “Yes, noona. I’m so good with this.”

The song that comes on the machine in the background switches, miraculously becoming a sultry, sexy song right as you lift yourself from YangYang’s lap to stand in front of him instead. 

He sits there watching, face flushed and lips glossy from your kiss. His cock stands tall, rising from the opening of his pants, and he wraps his hand around himself as he looks at you. 

You drag your shirt over your head, letting it fall onto the table behind you. Next, you shimmy your pants down to pool around your ankles. 

YangYang’s hand works over his length, thumbing at the tip. He leans his head back, bites his lip, and watches you with his eyes half-veiled. “Oh fuck, noona. I— I can’t even tell you what I’m thinking right now.” His gaze roves hungrily over your bare legs, your barely-there thong, your bra that hugs your chest so well.

You lift your hands to your tits, making a show of unfastening your bra, letting it slide down from your shoulders before you drop it onto the table behind you. 

YangYang swallows, his throat bobbing around another soft moan. His eyes are glazed over with pleasure; his hand moves in slow, smooth strokes over his cock. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” you request. “YangYangie, tell me.” 

You sink to your knees despite the limited space, and YangYang’s eyes follow you all the way down. 

You try your best to ignore that the floor is sticky beneath your knees. Instead, you focus on tucking your hair back behind your ears before you lean in to lick up the pearly drop of precum beading at your boyfriend’s tip. 

“Fuck me,” he moans. He presses his thumb against his cock, applying just enough pressure to push the head between your lips. “Noona, I can’t tell you.” He shakes his head even as you’re sinking your lips around his cock. “You wouldn’t look at me the same if I told you what I’m thinking.”

There’s a thin string of saliva stretching between your bottom lip and his tip when you pull back. “Try me, baby. It must be really dirty if you’re worried.” You brush his hand away from his cock, letting your fingers take their place. 

He shakes his head again, whining as you only offer him teasing kitten-licks to his cock, avoiding the tip. “Noona, please!”

“Please what, baby? You haven’t told me what you want yet.” You trace your tongue along the length of him, and YangYang’s hands flex at his thighs, but he doesn’t move them from there. “What do you want?”

YangYang really sounds like he’s struggling with himself, whining and whimpering as you tease him with nothing more than light touches. It’s only when you spit on his cock and use just your fingertip to spread it around that he finally breaks. 

“Promise you won’t make fun of me, noona?” YangYang whines. 

God, what’s he going to say that he’s so worried you’ll take the wrong way?

“Hnng, please!” YangYang bucks his hips off the seat, trying to achieve more contact with you. “I feel gross, like a pervert saying this out loud. But you look so sexy right now, and I just really, really want to sniff your panties.”

Oh. 

YangYang goes still, waiting for your reaction. 

It’s gross, sure, but it’s definitely not anywhere near the worst thing that could have come out of his mouth. If that’s what he wants….

 “You want to sniff my panties, YangYang? Is that what you’re asking for?” You circle your thumb just beneath the head of his cock, making him squirm. “You want noona to make you feel good while you sniff my panties like a little pervert?”

YangYang nods, hips rocking against your touch again. “Please.”

“Okay, YangYang.” You stand up. “But we’re going to play by my rules, alright? We’ve only got so long before our time’s up in the room. So I’m gonna try to make this fast.”

You stand, and YangYang squirms in his seat as he watches you drop your panties, as you pinch the fabric between your fingers and you drop it right over his cock. 

YangYang snatches the thong up, brings the material to his nose. His fingers are clenched tight around the lace as he buries his nose in it, his eyes close, and his cock twitches. 

You must admit, the sight is a bit arousing. 

He moans, and his eyes flash open to look at you. You nod, encouraging him to keep doing what he wanted so badly. 

You straddle him, a knee on either side of his thighs, settling over YangYang’s lap. 

“Honestly, YangYang,” you tell him as you slide closer to him, spreading your legs a little more to shrink space between your body and his. “If I didn’t so badly want to test the limits of the soundproofing on this room, if the thought of hearing you moan for me didn’t get me so wet, I would stuff these panties in your mouth as a gag and let you soak in the taste of me.”

You swear his eyes roll back in his head. His cock twitches between your legs. And with a satisfied grin, you reach one hand down to guide YangYang’s cock to your entrance. Your pussy truly is so wet right now while you watch YangYang enjoying holding your scent right up against his nose. 

You drop your hips, sinking your pussy down around YangYang until there’s nothing left to take. 

“Mm, noona, you always feel so nice.” YangYang brings his hands to your hips, one of them still clasping your panties. “And you smell so fucking tasty.”

You drop your head forward to rest your cheek atop his head. YangYang wraps his arms around your waist, brushing his hands down to grasp at your ass again a moment later when you start moving on him. 

YangYang is immediately vocalizing — moaning loud enough to make it clear he’s feeling good, talking about the way you feel around him, rambling to you about how badly he’s wanted to ask to sniff your panties before. 

“And your tits, too,” he says, looking up at you with glistening eyes. “Fuck, noona, they’re just so pretty. I have to try so hard to not stare at them all day, to not let my thoughts hyperfixate on how much I wanted to suck on your pretty nipples all day. I just—“ 

YangYang’s face is at the perfect height right now as you’re perched atop his lap riding his cock. Your chest is right in his face. 

He leans in, and for a split second you feel the heat of his breath and then your mind clears out at the hot swell of his lips and tongue against one nipple, and his fingers are on the other, pinching and rolling, flicking the pad of his thumb over the hardened nub. 

With his face buried against your chest, his cock swelling inside you, and the all-encompassing heat of being with YangYang, you can quickly feel your orgasm rising. You knot your fingers in his hair, and you drag his mouth away from your tit. 

He looks fucked — eyes glazed over, cheeks flushed, lips glossy and parted with awe as he looks at you. A depraved moan spills through his pretty lips, and you can’t take it anymore. 

You kiss him. 

It’s a kiss of desperation, of overwhelming love and need and desire. You just need to be as close to him as possible in that exact moment. 

Your tongue dances with his while you hold his precious face in your hands. YangYang moans into the kiss something that could be your name, could be a swear, could be a plea for more or harder, or could be a warning that he’s about to cum. 

YangYang’s fingertips dig into your ass, palms bruising against your hips. He’s got you moving faster on him, and his hips are rocking up off the vinyl seat to drive himself to his orgasm. 

“Come on, noona.” YangYang murmurs against your chin when you momentarily break away from the kiss. “Cum with me, noona. God I need it. I need you.” His mouth slides back to yours, silencing whatever else he might say. 

He drags a hand from the curve of your ass, slipping it between your moving bodies. His fingers draw tight circles against your clit. His hand still on your ass pulls you down as he thrusts up, and all of it combines to have your orgasm sweeping pure bliss through your veins — your vision blinks out for a moment, toes curl, your nails bite into whatever part of YangYang you’re touching, your pussy pulses around YangYang, drawing him right into climax with you. 

Both of you are moaning into each other's mouth, clinging to each other, soaking in the sweet wonder that is a love confession followed by hot semi-public sex. 

YangYang laughs after a moment, and he tucks his cheek against your warm shoulder. “I think our time’s up tonight. But if we go back to your place, we can continue this.”

You don’t want to move, but you know that your time in this room is up. And the last thing you want is for an employee to have to come kick you out and find you both like this. 

You quickly gather your clothes and come to the unfair realization that YangYang actually remained fully dressed.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, just smirking while he watches you shimmy back into your pants. “And I’ll be keeping these, if that’s alright?” 

He’s already tucking your panties into his pocket, not even waiting for your response. For the record, you would’ve said yes; you would give him anything he asked for. 

One of your favorite perks to this job is the opportunity to travel overseas when the group has schedules to attend. A stylist is always necessary, and even if it’s a limited team, you’re always one selected for a trip. 

This time, only Ten and YangYang are going to LA. It’s a brief trip, just two nights. You’re flying in at midday on the first day, then one more full day, and leaving early the following morning. 

It’s been only a few short days since the noraebang. You’re still buzzing off the love confessions shared between you and YangYang. He’s been spending every moment he’s not at work with you, sleeping over at your place, still there when you wake up. These two nights you’re in LA have the potential to be rough; sleeping without him may be difficult now that you’ve grown accustomed to it these past few nights. 

“We’ll be okay.” YangYang brushes his knuckles against yours as you wait beside him to go through the security line. Under his breath, he says, “If anything, you can sneak over to my room.”

You have a feeling that you’ll probably take him up on that offer. 

Although you’d come to the decision together to no longer hide your relationship, you’re also not flaunting it or announcing it. You’re just being a bit more open, slowly wading out into these uncertain waters. You’ve told your families, but other than them, it’s still only Kun that knows with any certainty. 

Right now, that small brush of your hands together and an exchange of soft smiles is enough. Before, you’d have probably pulled away and made excuses to the nearest staff member about the minor moment of intimacy. 

While you wait to board the flight, you sit beside YangYang. Both of you are a bit sleep-deprived in an attempt to reset your sleep schedule to fit the needs of this LA trip, so you’re just sitting there quietly on your phones, occasionally joining in conversation with the two other stylists, two managers, and Ten. 

You’re separated for the flight. You have a seat back with the other staff members, and YangYang has a fancy first class seat. 

The hours of the flight drag by, stretching on forever, even when you sleep through a couple hours in the middle of the flight. 

Finally, your reunion with YangYang comes when you’re finally through customs. 

He and Ten stand within a cluster of security along with one of the two managers, waiting for you and the other two stylists to catch up. YangYang looks tired, eyes dim and shoulders slumped. He’s wearing a beanie pulled low over his recently bleached white hair, big headphones on to tune out the noise, and a mask hides most of his face. But he looks up as you approach, and his tired eyes brighten, he straightens up a little. 

“Hey, noona, how was your flight?” He asks, stepping towards the wall of security around him. They shift around, creating an opening that you easily slip through. 

Ten glances over at you, an appraising look followed by a small smirk as he glances between you and YangYang. 

“Too long. I’m ready to relax at the hotel for the rest of the day.” You run your fingers through your hair, and YangYang sighs softly. His eyes are on you, on your hair. “I’m thinking since there’s no schedule for you guys until tonight, it might be a pool day.”

YangYang nods. 

“Alright, everyone here?” The manager asks, doing a very quick headcount. “Let’s go.”

The other manager went ahead of everyone already. He took YangYang and Ten’s luggage, and he went to fetch the rental van, which he’s apparently got ready and waiting. 

As soon as your group steps out into the open, you’re bombarded by screams, camera flashes, people crying out Ten and YangYang’s names. 

“Fuck,” Ten mutters just ahead of you. 

You’ve traveled with them before, but you’ve never seen a crowd gathered this big. You’re also usually not directly clumped with them as they travel through the airport, but considering how small of a traveling party they’ve got this time, it would be silly for you and the other two stylists to navigate the airport separately. 

So when the security barriers break and fans come flooding towards their idols, that’s an all new experience for you. 

For one moment, you’re all safe surrounded by the wall of security guards, and in the next you’re a simple island in a wild sea, bombarded on every side by endless waves of pushing and shoving and screaming fans. Phones and photos and cards and gifts are being shoved into your face. Hands reach through the gaping security to grab at Ten and YangYang, grabbing you and the other stylists too in the confusion. People are touching and poking, pushing, pulling. 

And then someone falls. A fan outside the circle of security. 

One of the guards pushes a fan away. 

And then there’s a break in security just wide enough for a girl to slip through. She bulldozes into the circle, aiming for either Ten or YangYang, but she crashes into you, sending you straight to the floor. Several more fans close in, and in the rush, in the confusion, security breaks apart, allowing even more fans to flood in, separating you from them as security pushes Ten and YangYang away from the fans. 

Lost in all the noise and movement, you lie there dazed for a moment, curled in on yourself to keep from getting trampled. A spark of panic lights up inside you as you realize that you’ve been separated from the others. 

“Stop!” Someone calls out. 

You draw in, knees towards your chest, trying to cover your head as more of the fans step around you and over you. 

“Get back!” Another shout above you. 

You open your eyes when you feel a hand on your arm. 

YangYang. 

His face fills your vision, and his arms come around you. “Everyone, back off!” 

YangYang hauls you to your feet, tucking you protectively into his side as the security closes in tightly once more. You’re herded through the obnoxious crowd, and out through the airport’s doors. 

YangYang doesn’t loosen his hold on you. His fingers dig into your upper arm; your shoulder is shoved into his side. Somehow you’ve still got a good grip on your suitcase, although you’re just dragging it along behind you rather than rolling it. 

You reach the car. Security forms an arc around the open door of the van. Ten throws himself inside, the other stylists follow, and then YangYang makes sure you’re inside before he shoves your suitcase in after you, and then he follows, slamming the van door shut. 

Immediately, the manager driving pulls away from the curb. 

You haven’t even had time to buckle your seatbelt, nor has YangYang, but as you’re struggling with buckling it into place, YangYang is still distracted with you, his hands running over your arms, checking your hands, lifting to your face and feeling around your head. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt? Fuck, I swear, if I find even a bruise on you… God, I’m going to be posting furiously on Bubble. Are they crazy? Do they not care about our safety or those of the people with us?” YangYang is frantic, too busy worrying over you to even concern himself with his seatbelt, so you reach over to do it for him. “You could’ve been seriously hurt, noona. And no one was even stopping to help you. They could have stepped on you.” 

“I’m fine, YangYang.” You brush his hand away from your cheek. “I just got knocked down. I’m fine.”

His hand returns to your cheek as you click his seatbelt into place. “Noona.” 

With an exasperated sigh, you look up at him. “Yang—“

He cuts you off with his lips against yours. 

Everyone in the car gasps. The car swerves as the manager driving twists his head to see what’s happening in the backseat. 

Your mind whirs, a whirlwind, a mess of wanting to pull yourself closer to YangYang while also wanting to push him away because Ten and the other stylists and the managers are right there. 

YangYang jerks back from you, and you blink away your dazed, warm feeling. 

“Dude, what the fuck?” Ten has a grip on the back of YangYang’s shirt, holding him back from you. “You can’t just do that!”

“Unnie!” One of the other stylists cries, and her arm is thrust between you and YangYang, trying to create space between you. Her face twists as she looks at YangYang, “Yah, bastard, you can’t just force yourself on a woman like that! Everyone knows you have a crush on her, but that doesn’t excuse—“

“We’re dating!” The force of your exclamation shocks everyone into silence. Even YangYang’s mouth pops open in surprise. “We’ve kept it a secret because, well, the unprofessional nature of it. But it’s happening, and we’re happy, and he’s actually definitely allowed to kiss me and act protective over me.” You reach for his hand.

YangYang, beaming like he just won at life, quickly laces his fingers through yours. 

Ten swears and throws himself back into his seat, folding his arms across his chest. “Well, this is great. Just great.” His tone indicates quite the opposite. 

“Ten?” YangYang cocks his head slightly, addressing the older man. 

Ten rolls his eyes. “I guess I just lost a bet, that’s all.”

You shake your head in disbelief. YangYang scoffs, and asks, “Do we even want to know?”

“Everyone was taking bets about the two of you. There was a secret group chat with everyone but you, YangYang.” Ten digs his phone out of his pocket, ignoring YangYang’s sharp sound of indignation. “Some of us bet that she was going to file a harassment claim, some thought that you would just lose interest in your crush, some of us thought you would end up together even if just for a hook up. Fucking….. Kun, though, he was the only one to bet that you were secretly together. He had evidence, but we all thought he was reading into it too much just because he’s a romantic.” 

Goddammit, Kun. 

He could’ve easily revealed this relationship before you or YangYang were ready. 

“And which was your bet?” You ask. 

Ten frowns slightly. “My bet was that you would just play along with his crush until it faded. I could tell you were more comfortable with him over the last several months, like you would go along with it when he flirted with you.” Ten looks genuinely a bit annoyed, when he says, “As much as I hate to admit this, I didn’t really think you were together; clearly I missed all the signs that Kun picked up on.”

YangYang laughs. “Yeah, well, it helps that Kun was one of the only people that knew about us.”

“What?” Ten exclaims. “Oh, I’m telling the group chat that Kun’s disqualified.”

You open your mouth to stop him, to keep him from exposing your secret to all of the members of NCT. But then you stop, you close your mouth, and you look at YangYang. He’s already looking at you, ignoring Ten’s grumbling in the backseat. 

You don’t stop Ten from messaging the others. 

Let him tell them. 

This relationship isn’t going to be a secret any longer. 

No one says anything to you or YangYang about your relationship for the brief duration of the trip. 

You rein in his wild frustration and anger at the mob of fans at the airport, convincing him not to go on an angry messaging spree on Bubble. It’s easy enough to dissuade him when you’re sharing his nice, spacious, private room. 

The issue comes once you return to Seoul. 

Almost as soon as you’ve touched down, you get the message requesting your presence for a meeting with YangYang’s company. Oh shit. 

Obviously, you already know what this is going to be about. Your face has been plastered all over the place by YangYang’s fans blasting you online. You’ve tried staying off of social media these last couple days, but any time you have opened anything there it is: clips from every angle of you falling in the airport, of YangYang yelling at the fans, photos of YangYang’s arm around you, and so many posts of people analyzing the moment, and so many people just hating on you. 

And they don’t even really know about your relationship with YangYang. They’re only speculating. 

But as you take a seat in an intimidatingly large meeting room, you know that speculation on the status of your relationship with YangYang is more than enough to get you both in trouble. 

YangYang sits beside you, neither of you touching the other despite how much you want to hold his hand. He’s nervous. You’re nervous. 

It goes about as well as you could have hoped for. 

Important people file into the room, question you and YangYang about your relationship, the severity of the relationship, how long it’s been going on, all of the questions that seem to be leading to their decision regarding something. 

YangYang is reprimanded for how he’d reacted at the airport — yelling at the mob of fans, apparently pushing a couple of them out of the way to get to you, and there’s at least one girl alleging that YangYang grabbed her to yank her out of the way. They hand YangYang an official apology to post on his social medias for the incident. 

And then they turn their attention to you. 

Finally, YangYang clasps your hand in his beneath the table. 

“We just don’t think, given your romantic relationship, that continuing a professional relationship would be proper,” one of the officials says to you. “And we have already reached out to your boss to proceed with termination.”

“You can’t do that!” YangYang angrily jolts to his feet, still holding your hand. “There’s no valid reason to fire her. Us dating hasn’t affected my work or hers this whole time!”

“I’ve made sure from the very start to not let it affect us at work,” you say calmly from your seat. You tug on YangYang’s hand, and he sinks back down beside you. “I didn’t go easily into this relationship with YangYang because I knew from the start, back when he just had a crush on me, that I couldn’t let anything happen because of exactly this issue. The lack of professionalism. I never meant for this to happen, but it did. I didn’t go seeking him out, and although YangYang had a very obvious crush on me for most of the time that we’ve known each other, he didn’t pursue me. It just happened. Feelings grew, our attraction became undeniable, we acted on our feelings. We tried to leave it at that, but…” You look over at YangYang now, needing him to steady you as your voice has begun to shake. “If you’re worried about how it might go if we break up, well, we can draw up a contract or something that if that ever happens, no one will claim that it was harassment or anything like that. We can make a contract that says I’ll quit if we end things, or you can move me to styling a different group or something. Just, please, don’t fire me.”

“We could demand you end this now,” a cold-faced man says. He leans back in his seat and folds his arms across his chest. “Just be done with this altogether.”

YangYang scoffs. 

“I’m going to be perfectly honest,” you tell all of them gathered around the table. “If you force us to break-up, it won’t last and we’ll just get back together secretly.” 

YangYang laughs. “Exactly. I love her, I’m not ending things with her any time soon. No matter what.”

Somehow, the two of you resisting them seems to confuse the officials around the table. Did they really think this could all be resolved so simply?

“I’ll post the apology,” YangYang promises, “But I’m not letting go of her. No matter what happens.” The last part he addresses to you, fully turning in his seat to face you. 

“No matter what happens,” you promise him, too. 

The seats of power converge at the far end of the table from where you and YangYang sit, and they whisper amongst themselves for several minutes while you sit there in anxious silence. 

When they finally separate and return to their individual seats, staring at you and YangYang with their hands folded before them on the table, you want to bite your nails or scream or get up and just leave the room. You feel like a criminal sitting before the judge and jury, awaiting the verdict. 

If they choose that your boss should move forward with terminating you, then that’s it. Your career is over. You’ll be blacklisted, and you’ll have to start over as something new. 

The woman seated at the opposite end of the table seems to be the one in charge, and she makes the announcement.

She clears her throat, and shifts slightly in her seat. 

“We have decided that, given your decision and openness in admitting that splitting the two of you up is pointless, that we’ll not interfere with your relationship, but,” and here your heart skips, ceasing its beating almost entirely until her next words, “I believe our best course of action would be to move you to a different styling team. You can take over styling aespa or NCT Wish, perhaps. We’ll have to have someone find an appropriate team for you, shift some things around.”

“Oh, fuck,” you sigh with relief, leaning over and dropping your face against YangYang’s shoulder. He clings to your hand, squeezing comfortingly. 

“We want you, YangYang, to post that apology there.” The woman continues, “And you’ll be on probation for the next few months. Any further issues such as fighting with the fans, inappropriate conduct in general, and you’ll be placed on a temporary hiatus which we’ll excuse as health issues. Understood?”

Certainly. 

And you find yourself grateful as you and YangYang voice your thanks to the powerful people, as you leave the room together, as you walk down the hallway to the elevator. 

As soon as the elevator doors close behind you, you turn to YangYang, throw your arms around his shoulders, and drag him into a tight hug. You rest your head against his shoulder, breathing in deeply. 

His arms surround you as well, his lips press against the crown of your head. “We’re alright now. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He laughs softly, but you can’t bring yourself to laugh about it just yet. “Now all of my coworkers and bosses know about us, what’s there to be so scared of? We’ve still got each other, still got our jobs.”

You draw back so you can look up into his eyes. 

YangYang smiles. His hand comes up to cup your cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You lean in and kiss him, your lips meeting just as the elevator doors slide open against behind you. 

“Oh, God,” comes the exclamation from outside the elevator. “Is this what it’s going to be like now?” 

Xiaojun comes inside, Kun and Renjun accompanying him. Xiaojun turns his back to the pair of you. Kun just laughs as he presses the button to close the doors. Renjun looks at the pair of you while he shakes his head in disbelief. 

“I almost didn’t believe Ten hyung’s text about this.” Renjun gestures at you both. “And I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, bro. I’d have been so happy for you.”

YangYang’s smiling again, his hand on your hip pulls you a little closer. “If it makes you feel better, we didn’t tell anyone. Kun just figured it out.”

“Because you two weren’t doing a very good job of keeping it hidden.” Kun glances over. “I don’t even want to tell you guys what I had to witness. Dressing room shenanigans.”

Xiaojun’s mouth drops open and he looks at you. “Noona?!”

Your face feels warm, and you hide away in YangYang’s chest again. 

“Regardless of shenanigans and secrets,” Renjun says, “I’m happy for you both.”

That’s the same sentiment you get from all of the NCT members in the following days. They’re happy for you and YangYang. Most of the other stylists act surprised, only Hyejin seems totally unsurprised, and she even confesses to you that she suspected as much during that trip home with YangYang. The other members of your styling team, those that worked directly with you for WayV as well as others who you’d only worked with on occasion, all express surprise and even some mild jealousy as well as a lot of wanting to gossip with you. You keep your lips sealed about your private details though since the last thing you want is to have your secrets leaked to any tabloids or sasaengs. 

You’re shifted over from WayV to work on styling NCT Dream since your style of styling fits better with them than NCT Wish. 

Your relationship with YangYang is not as easy as it was before when your schedules always lined up perfectly, but you keep making it work, making time for each other even if it means fifteen minutes together at your apartment, two minutes in a stairwell at the company, phone calls and video calls while you’re commuting. 

The greatest blessing is when Dream and WayV’s schedules overlap or when the company decides to throw all of the NCT units together for a project or anything when one of the Dream members (usually Renjun) participates in something with YangYang. 

“Remember you’re here for me and Chenle,” Renjun reminds you when the company remembers that NCT Life is something they can do. The cast for this season is composed of the Chinese members — Kun, WinWin, Xiaojun, Hendery, Renjun, YangYang, and Chenle. 

“Of course.” You agree, but also they’re going for a very natural look during this filming, so it’s not like they really required a stylist to come along. Hair and makeup, yes, that makes sense. But your focus has always been on the clothing and accessories. You’re hardly necessary.

Not that you’re complaining. 

The first night, after the dinner is done, after they’ve played games, after they’ve gone to bed for the cameras, the cameras get turned off and everyone comes back out to share some drinks before bed. The filming crew and staff members like yourself pack up and trek over to the house where you’re all meant to be staying. A couple managers and the director remain in the house with the members. 

And you kind of just hang out until the last minute, until one of the managers sends you a sideways look as YangYang takes you by the hand. 

“Can’t even go one night without each other?” Hendery teases as YangYang leads you down the hallway to the tiny single room that he won in their games earlier. “You should let noona go sleep in a real bed, YangYang!”

You both ignore him. 

The room he won in the games was easily the worst of the lot. It’s hardly more than a storage closet with only a pallet of blankets and a single pillow on the floor. There’s a single camera mounted in the hallway outside the door because the room isn't big enough to hold the camera and a sleeping pallet at the same time. 

“Sorry, noona,” YangYang apologizes as he closes the door behind you both. “If you want to go sleep at the staff house, I understand.”

“Absolutely not. I want you.” You make sure he’s got the door shut, one last glance around the room to double-check there aren’t any cameras in here, and you reach for the plaid button-down shirt he’s wearing. 

YangYang grins when you all but rip the shirt open. At least one button does pop off, but you don’t care because his bare chest is revealed. 

“I want you,” you repeat to him, and you step closer as you push his shirt down off his arms. You curl a hand around the back of his neck, and YangYang can’t stop smiling as you drag his mouth to yours. 

His fingers work your shirt out from where it’s tucked into the waistband of the skirt you’re wearing, lifting your top up by the hem as he bites your bottom lip. 

You moan. “Are you gonna be a bad boy, YangYang? Aren’t you still on probation? Do you think fucking me in here when there’s a camera for your reality show right outside the door is appropriate?”

“Didn’t you start this?” YangYang asks, tugging your shirt over your head, and his gaze drops straight to your tits. “Stripping me as soon as the door is shut?”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m innocent.” You put on an expression of pure innocence even as you’re reaching back for the clasp of your bra. The fabric drops away. 

YangYang’s eyes don’t waver from your chest. He swallows, and then, to your delight, he reaches for you. YangYang lifts you, his arms beneath your ass while you twist your legs around his waist. He backs you against the wall, and his head lowers to your chest. 

The first hot swipe of his tongue over your nipple draws a heated gasp from your lips. Your hands fly to his hair. 

“YangYang,” you sigh his name, which dissolves into a moan when his lips close around your nipple. 

He brings a hand up to your other tit, thumb circling the sensitive nipple, flicking over it, toying with you until you’re squirming between him and the wall, arching your chest into the heat of YangYang’s mouth, breathing heavily for him. 

“Noona,” he breathes against your chest. “Don’t hold back for me tonight, okay? Be noisy with me.”

You twist your fingers in his hair enough to elicit a hiss from YangYang. “You’re pushing your limits, you know that? Are you trying to annoy everyone? Or are you just excited to show off how good you make noona feel?”

In reply, YangYang lowers his head again to mouth at your breasts, his hands pressing both of your tits together so he can draw his tongue along the dip between them. His hips roll forward, and you’re pinned entirely between him and the wall. You swear you can hear voices on the other side, just behind you through a few inches of wall. 

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” You ask. “YangYang, you want the others to hear how good you’re fucking me? How I’m only yours? Are you jealous, or something? Who’s in there that you want to show off for?”

He captures your previously neglected nipple lightly between his teeth. He follows that with the soothing heat of his tongue, your nipple sucked into his mouth. 

“WinWin ge,” he whispers a moment later when he’s paid enough attention to your nipples to have you feeling quite wet. “WinWin ge was talking about you earlier. He’s been feeling testy lately, and I think I irritated him when we were sent on the grocery trip, so he decided to get back at me by talking about you. Questioning certain parts of our relationship.” 

You pull him in for a kiss. “You never need to doubt any part of our relationship, YangYang. I love you, and you have left me sufficiently satisfied every time we’ve been together.”

He snorts. “Even the first time?” He looks doubtful, amused too with the memory of him cumming so quickly the first time you were together. 

You nod. YangYang’s lips part as if to voice his doubt of that, but you lift your hand, fingertips tracing his lips as you reassure him, “Yes, you came a little too quickly for my liking that night, but you made up for it. With your lips, your tongue. Even though I tried to change things between us after that night, I hope you know I couldn’t stop thinking of how amazing your mouth felt on me, your tongue inside me.”

This draws his familiar smile into being. “Really? You’ve never told me this.”

You draw your pointer finger over the bow of his upper lip. “I must admit I touched myself a fair few times between that first night and the second, thinking about your head between my thighs, the sweet sounds you made as you got lost in tasting my pussy.”

YangYang’s lips close around the tip of your pointer finger, his teeth just barely grazing your skin. 

“I think you’ve got a little bit of an oral fixation, but that’s alright,” you tell him, “because since that first night I’ve honestly been pretty obsessed with your oral skills too.”

“Should I show them to you now again, noona?” YangYang brings his hands back to your thighs, and he steps back from the wall, his hands helping to ease your legs down. Your feet hit the floor. YangYang’s hands rise as the rest of him sinks down to his knees. He bunches your skirt up towards your hips, and you gaze down at him. 

You drop a hand to the front hem of your skirt, pinching it between your fingers and drawing it up so you have a clear view as YangYang situates himself comfortably between your thighs. You can feel his breath on the skin of your upper thighs, his hands are warm on your legs, and then one of his hands meets the fabric of your panties. 

His fingers are light, gliding along your slit through the material. 

“You’re soaking through, noona.” YangYang circles his fingers against the material where it's the wettest. “Do you want me so much? I want to hear you say it.”

“YangYang,” you moan his name. “God, please, I need you.”

There’s his smile again, so pleased to hear that you need him. He leans in, and with your panties still in place, YangYang flicks his tongue over your clit for a second before he really gets to work. 

He drags your right thigh up over his shoulder, opening you up a bit more for him, and he sinks closer. Still working over your panties, YangYang does his best to simulate eating you out, his tongue flat against your clit while you whine and roll your hips. 

“More,” you hiss. “More, YangYang! I need your tongue.”

He shifts back only long enough to drag your panties down your legs. You hear the elastic snap, a bit of the fabric rips, but then your panties are on the floor behind him, and YangYang’s diving back in, bringing your leg back up to his shoulder. 

You tip back until your shoulders hit the wall with a thud matched by the moan you let out as YangYang’s mouth finally comes in actual contact with your pussy. 

YangYang devours you, his tongue is magic, spiraling you quickly towards climax. 

His arms are there to keep you aloft when your orgasm weakens your knees and your one leg you’ve got to stand on (since the other is draped over YangYang’s shoulder nearly collapses. He keeps eating you out while you cum around his tongue, soaking his chin and lips. 

You don’t know or care how much noise you’re making. You’re sure if any of them really care about how loud you’re being, they’ll have no problem coming to the door to voice a noise complaint. 

When you can’t take anymore, you have to push YangYang away by the forehead. He gazes up at you with his pupils blown wide like he’s high on the taste of you. His lips and chin glisten in the light. “Noona, you’re my favorite.”

“Favorite what?” You gasp, still catching your breath from the last tremors of this most recent climax. 

“Favorite everything.” YangYang’s hands climb up your thighs, and you don’t have the energy to swat away his hand when his fingers find the heat between your legs. Instead, your knees just give out, and you sink down to straddle YangYang’s lap. 

Hands on his cheeks, you pull him in. You taste yourself on his lips and chin and tongue. Rivulets of your wetness have trailed over his cheeks, and he moans in soft delight when you trace those faint trails with your tongue. 

He’s so hard beneath you, a solid shape in his shorts that you rub against while his fingers press inside your pussy from behind. 

YangYang falls backwards, his shoulders hit the floor, and you hold yourself above him, hands planted beside his head. You don’t stop kissing him, unable to get enough of your taste blending with his.  

“Fuck me, YangYang,” you murmur. “I want to feel you inside me. I need your cock, fill me up like only you can.”

His fingers leave you empty, but you can feel him fumbling with the basketball shorts he’s wearing. You feel him pushing them down to his knees, feel his hands moving, and then at last you feel the head of his cock against your entrance. 

You break the kiss so you can sit up straight, and you sink down on YangYang’s cock. 

Your skirt pools around your hips and thighs, shielding from view the place where your bodies join. YangYang, clearly not a fan of not getting to see that, grabs your skirt and pushes it up. 

You fumble for the zipper at the side of your skirt, and you unzip it enough that you can drag it up over your head, leaving you entirely naked while you ride your boyfriend. 

YangYang and you move in tandem. He lifts his hips to drive into you while you grind down on him. YangYang’s hands rest on your hips and thighs, and you cover his hands with your own, lacing your fingers through his. 

“Fuck, noona,” he moans, rocking his hips off the floor, his fingers digging into your thighs.

You lean over his chest, sliding one of your hands along his torso until your fingers are brushing his collarbone. “YangYang, c’mere.”

He jolts up, his mouth on yours again, his tongue sliding against yours messily. You press your chest against his, and you take a seat on his cock, just clutching at YangYang while he holds you and kisses you, neither of you making a move for a moment, just feeling the throb of his cock inside you and the pulsing of your walls around him. 

“Love you,” you confess against his lips. “I love you. I love you.” 

YangYang, again, smiles. “I love to hear you say that. Especially like this.” He kisses you again, and then suddenly he’s got you beneath him, your back on the floor and YangYang’s hands press against your inner thighs to open you up as they fall to the side. 

You rake your fingers through his hair and down the back of his neck, over his shoulders and down his chest. YangYang shivers, rolling his hips forward. 

“Baby,” you tease, “Cum for me. Show me just how much you love me. Cum deep inside me. Claim me as yours.”

“Am I yours?” He asks, the words breathed over your lips. 

“Always.” You lift your head to kiss him. 

YangYang covers you with his body, kissing you deeply as he starts moving. 

You both take each other apart slowly now, letting the swell of emotions take over as you touch and kiss and just simply enjoy being so close and intimate with each other. 

You know you’re not restraining your noises at all. If YangYang does something that feels particularly good, you moan loudly, you gasp, you call his name. He does the same. 

And the volume only increases as you grow closer to orgasm. 

A thump on the wall. 

“Shut the hell up!” WinWin’s muffled voice comes through the wall. 

You laugh, and YangYang does too, which does something strange and pleasant to your body to have you both joined together and laughing. 

It takes some readjustment before you continue. 

YangYang sits up again, and you fix yourself in his lap, facing him with your ankles crossed at his tailbone. You kiss him again, each of you smiling and laughing into each other’s mouths, and you move together. YangYang slips a hand down between your bodies to touch your clit, stimulating the bundle of nerves with tight circles of his fingers. 

Your orgasm comes hard and fast, stealing your breath away, and hitting you with all the force of a lightning strike. YangYang spills into you immediately after, his climax racing through him. 

You cling to each other, just holding each other while you breathe and come down together. Your hearts pound in tandem, chests rising and falling in time with the other. 

“That felt so fucking good.” You hug him tightly, resting your cheek on YangYang’s shoulder. “I love you.”

He kisses the crown of your head. “I love you, too. And I don’t want to move, but should we go clean up?”

You sneak to the bathroom down the hallway, and you both shower off quickly, then head back to his tiny closet bedroom. It’s not the most comfortable spot to sleep, but it’s so much more comfortable than the twin bed or air mattress you would’ve had in the staff house because here you’re able to sleep beside YangYang. 

You get comfortable, snuggling up to YangYang with one of your legs draped over his and your head pillowed on his arm. You’re happy and sleepy and satisfied. 

And you know in the morning the cameras are probably going to catch you sneaking out of YangYang’s room, but anyone who witnesses that or sees it on the raw unedited footage isn’t going to be surprised. 

It has always been a well-known fact among the group and the staff members that Liu YangYang has a ridiculously large crush on you. And now, you sleep with a smile on your face knowing that it’s also become common knowledge among them that that crush has become this love. 

a/n: it's been a long, long time since I posted parts 1 & 2 of this one, but this part 3 finale has been on my to-do list for a long time. I'm hoping that this is only the first of the ideas that I'll be crossing off my list before the year's over, and I'm hoping that you'll all be here to enjoy them!

If you've read this far, then thank you so much! Likes, reblogs, comments, and messages are forever and always appreciated! They're what keeps me writing and posting on here!

[felassan]

just burbling about the new screenshots from this Twitter thread from a few days ago :) -

I like how they are showcasing different Rooks in the promotional and marketing material (lineages, classes, ethnicities etc). ^^ it shows the wide variety of Rooks we can make in CC. this human dude Rook is the one in the release date reveal trailer. look at the eyebrow game! :D and if you compare his facial hair to DA:I and stuff, it's come a long way just like the hair-hair. looks great! the pattern at Rook's collar is a pair of wings. I wonder if this Rook is a Warden, and they represent griffon wings, or being that a rook is a bird, this motif is a more general Rook thing?

the design of the armor Rook is wearing here (bandolier of pouches, the shoulder pieces, curved lines on the breastplate etc) reminds me of the 'iconic' armor Rook wears in the key art, just sans helmet and with hood down, in a blue tone instead of purple, and without the Veilguard symbol on the breastplate. I wonder if this scene is from somewhere in the early game, when the companions are probably at that point just Neve and Harding? maybe it's like, before they get a Veilguard symbol, they first need to, well, form Voltron the Veilguard in the first place, and recruit the rest of the companions etc.

the background is the shifting surface of an eluvian, either about to be used or having just been used (cool visual effect btw). the curving gold architecture of the buildings that can be seen in the other location through the eluvian there is ancient elven, so Rook must have just come from (or be about to go to) somewhere which has those style of buildings. maybe Arlathan Forest, maybe Solas' Ritual site in the Forest, etc.

elf lady Warrior Rook and Davrin. again great eyebrow game. :D she is so pretty. she also has the wing motif at her collar. again her armor looks like the key art one. hers is in a purple tone rather than blue like the Rook above though - is this due a dyeing system? ^^ this one has the Veilguard logo on it, so maybe this shot is from a bit later in the game after the Veilguard has been brought together? a few details of the armor are also different compared to above, like buttons. I wonder if this is due to rogue version of the armor vs warrior version, armor customization, or armor upgrade.

Davrin is so ears. I love elves with big ears like this. :D 2 elf warriors yeyyy

wherever they are in this scene, it looks to be inside somewhere.

Davrin looks amazing! the design of his vallaslin reminds me a bit of the Ghilan'nain vallaslin design from DA:I. there are some neat thoughts on the design of Davrin's armor here. :>

the detailing and texturing etc on Neve's clothes in this shot is craaazy (as in crazy good). even the netting on her hat/fascinator has a lil pattern in it. Tevene snakey scales, the folds of the fabric, raindrops on her clothes, the fact that the snake pattern on her hat is three dimensional..

Davrin and Neve - some of our companions love huge cool collars :D

also, just like her saunter, Neve's half-smile/smirk (dimple.. 🥺) here has me weak in the knees.

location: looks like some kind of ruin maybe? ^^

I wanna believe that our dragon hunter Taash is looking up here into the sky at.. a dragon :D I loved getting to see this detailed close up of her dragonscale shoulderpieces and her jewelry etc. in this shot we can see that her gold-plated horn has spiky triangle bits on it and more detailing on the faces carved on her horn cuffs and the dragon piece at her neck. also I'm not sure if it's just the angle in this particular shot, but her brow looks strong, which I love and think makes sense when big horns grow from your head. :>

[images source]

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and exhales deeply. He lets all the air trickle out of his lungs until his chest feels concave, until spots dance behind his closed eyelids, until his lips start to go numb. Then he lets go and lets the air get sucked back into him like a vacuum.

“One more try,” he whispers to himself, conscious of Lance sleeping — finally — beside him. “One, and then we move on.”

He swipes the touchpad on his computer to wake it back up, dragging the blinking curser over the rarely-used blue ‘10’ under the Google logo. The page loads, and loads, and loads, and finally spits out the next few results.

Most of them he’s already seen before. Dozens of times. BARGAIN BALLET TICKET SUBSCRIPTION, reads one link, CLICK HERE FOR 20% OFF YOUR FIRST MONTH. Another reads, Rush Ticket Prices — Buy Now!

He’s been there. Clicked that. Priced it out. Looked at the worst possible, next-to-the-washrooms, garbage seats. Nothing. Not a single ticket within their limited budget — or even close to it.

Completely out of the realm of possibility even if they hadn’t agreed on a price limit for their Christmas gifts.

He keeps scrolling down a few pages that all advertise the same thing — a disgustingly costly subscription here, bargain-but-not-really tickets there, more scammy resell ads than one would believe possible. Even, notably, a still-active link from 1997 that Keith peruses for clicks and does not actually count towards his one-more-try limit. (It even tries to accept his Paypal, which is crazy and means that someone updated the site to accept modern payment for a show that is no longer running. Keith is so amused by the pure audacity that he has to fight the urge to buy one. Wild thing, ADHD.)

Just as he’s about to give up and buy his boyfriend yet another plant this year, a link catches his attention. It’s the very last result on page 13, with no description, no punctuation, hell, hardly even a sentence of text. Nutcracker ticket sales, it reads, for a website called ‘FeuillesBrillantAcademie.org’.

Keith shrugs. Might as well. Not like anything else has been promising.

He clicks the link and immediately wishes he hadn’t. The ugliest website he’s ever seen literally assaults his eyes — a bright blue and a neon purple, clashing in the worst possible way. It takes at least four solid seconds for his eyes to unblur enough to recognise the screen in front of him as having words rather than a solid wall of Bright And Bad. Even then, he has to squint, glasses practically touching his eyeballs.

Feuilles Brillant Academy is pleased to present the final performance of the hard-working dancers this season, is what he can finally make out. The show begins at 7 p.m. on December 23rd, tickets for $20 per person. In-person payment not accepted. Please pay via e-transfer using the link below. Call out administrative office if there are any difficulties.

Keith stares at the page for as long as his eyes can handle, then he looks up at the ceiling. (Where, he may add, he can still see the screen perfectly, because the damn thing has been burnt onto his retinae. He will never mock Matt for his web design degree again. Well, probably.)

This seems…too good to be true.

It’s outrageously cheap, for one. Keith has been looking for literal days and the cheapest he’s managed to find is $50 per person, for bad rush tickets. $20 is bonkers. For two, this is a perfect time, and nearby, as well. And there are still tickets left. Somehow.

Something is amiss.

Keith’s first thought is that it’s a prank page. But the page is buried so deeply — page thirteen of Google. The hidden archives, basically. If this is someone’s prank, it’s garbage. His second thought is that the link is a virus, which, while possible, is still kind of unlikely for the same reasons. Why on Earth would someone post something nefarious so obscurely? It doesn’t make sense. This might be one of those rare times when something isn’t too good to be true, it’s just good.

Then again. Keith just got his laptop back from the last time he fucked around and well and truly Found Out.

Time to get a second opinion.

Despite the disgustingly late hour, the phone picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, stinky,” says Pidge. Keith can hear the smile in her voice as clearly as the explosions and gunfire of Call of Duty in the background.

“Asshole.”

“Turd for brains.”

“Skidmark.”

“Rotting splatter of parking lot vomit at three in the afternoon in Arizona during high summer.”

“…Pidge, that’s disgusting.”

She snickers. “I win.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Keith freezes as Lance stirs next to him, curling his arm around Keith’s bent leg and muttering something in Spanish too fast for him to understand. Keith smiles, tucking a stray curl back under his fluffy frog-eye hairband, lingering over the scar on his temple from a skateboarding accident when they were fifteen. “I need your help.”

“Well, obviously. You’re calling me at three thirty four in the morning. Usually you’re in bed by nine because secretly you look up to Adam and emulate his habits.”

Keith flushes. “I don’t remember ordering a psych analysis, fucker.”

“Consider it a bonus! Tell Auntie Pidge about your troubles.” He can practically see the face she makes immediately after, and snorts. “Ignore that. My mouth is not attached to my brain. Carry on.”

“I need you to check out a link,” Keith says, choosing to be merciful. “It’s pretty buried and obscure, but honestly I think it’s fine —”

“Yeah, last time you thought a link was fine you fucked your shit up so bad I had to download another virus to cancel it out. I’ve never had to do that before. You fucked your laptop up so bad I’d actually never seen that kind of damage before, Kogane. And I do this for a living.”

Keith pouts. “No, you commit cyber crimes for a living.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m an angel and have never gotten so much as a speeding ticket. I am a law abiding citizen. Send over the link.”

Switching his phone to rest between his ear and shoulder, Keith does. “I need to know if the link does what it says it does.”

Pidge hums. He can hear the ding of her laptop as his e-mail goes through, and then the sounds of her clicking as she inspects the website, running it through her various programs that Keith cannot fathom for the life of him.

“What did you say you were looking for, again?”

Keith closes his eyes and tips his head back, letting it thunk gently on the thin wall under the big window, in the corner of the apartment where they’ve shoved their bed. He lets his eyes go blurry, lets the stars they stuck on the ceiling before they did anything else turn into bright green dots. They’re real constellations. The two of them spent hours on them; Lance on Keith’s shoulders, tripping and shouting and laughing.

“I need tickets,” Keith says quietly. He turns his gaze slowly to Lance, who is sleeping soundly again, who has bags under his eyes, whose hands twitch every few seconds, who frowns deeply. “And we can’t — these are the only ones I could find. That I can even pretend to afford. I need it to be —” He swallows. “I need you to tell me they’re real.”

Pidge is quiet for a moment. The only sound is her breathing, her nail tapping slowly on the edge of her screen.

“The link is exactly what it says it is.”

Keith sits up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, man.”

Keith bites back a cheer so he doesn’t wake Lance up. Hell yeah! This is perfect! Exactly what they needed! Just — a little bit of luck. A little bit.

“Thank you, Pidge,” he gushes, hurrying to punch in his information. “Seriously.”

Pidge huffs fondly. “Okay, dweebus. Gross. Go be all affectionate somewhere else.” She pauses. “Take a picture when you tell him.”

Keith smiles. “I will.”

———

It takes every inch of Keith’s willpower to keep his mouth shut for a whole three weeks.

“I Know you are hiding something, Kogane,” Lance says while walking home from classes, while curling up into him as they watch TV, while cooking, while showering. “I see it in your face.”

“It’s nearly Christmas, you dweebus,” Keith says every time, and every time he softens it with an exaggerated kiss to Lance’s cheek, one to make him laugh despite himself and shove Keith’s face away. “Of course I’m hiding something.”

But it’s eating at them both. Lance’s blatant curiously makes it that much harder for Keith to keep things hidden, to stash the tickets between the pages of his corniest romance novel that Lance won’t touch with a ten foot pole. To wait, and wait, and wait, as they set up the three-foot high discounted Christmas tree and Lance changes their sheets to the flannel ones his mother gave them.

But the days pass. Finals come and go and so does the time. And finally, finally, it comes time to crawl onto the creaky mattress, knees on either side of Lance, nose kisses down his neck, and murmur, “We’ve got plans today.”

Lance groans. “No we do not.”

Keith smiles widely. He knows Lance can feel it, because he scowls harder, trying to hide his own fondness even as he melts into Keith’s affections.

“Yes, we do. I know. I planned them.”

“Well, then, un-plan them,” Lance grouches. He turns over so he’s facing Keith, now, trying hard to glare up at him, but late afternoon sunlight bleeds into his dark brown eyes and makes them shine golden, and they are as warm and bright as the rest of him, and his hands slide up Keith’s chest, over his shoulders, brushing through his hair, to rest on his cheeks. “Come nap with me.”

Keith turns his head to press a kiss to Lance’s palm, keeping his mouth there. Lance rolls his eyes, and can no longer hide his smile. “Later. I made plans. Dress up, I’m gonna pick us up some food for the way. We’ll leave in forty minutes.”

“Ugh.”

“I don’t know who you think you’re fooling, baby. I can see you eyeing the closet.”

“Shut up and get me a burrito.” He soothes the bite of his words by pulling Keith’s face closer to his, pressing their lips together softly. “Please.”

“Whatever you want.”

God, he’s whipped, and Lance knows it, because he grins, pleased, and pulls Keith even closer, kisses him stronger. It takes Keith a good five minutes to muster up the willpower to pull away, and Lance knows it, smirking.

He finally manages to yank himself away, stumbling backwards towards the kitchenette of their studio. Lance pouts at him.

“Menace,” Keith says sternly, deliberately turning away as he pulls on his boots and coat. He ignores his boyfriend’s grumbling and finally makes it out the door, hustling to their favourite bodega and hoping it isn’t too crowded.

Thirty-seven minutes later, burritos secured, Keith is shoving his frozen fingers around the door handle to jimmy it open. The bodega was indeed crowded and they are indeed late. The show starts in an hour. From what Keith remembers from Lance’s recitals — and he has been to many — people who are late are people who miss the show. The ballet does not fuck around with tardiness and disruptions; if you’re late, that’s tough shit for you. Plan better.

“You’re going to eat shit,” Lance says, amused, the fourth time Keith power walks right over black ice and nearly actually dies. “Slow down, babe.”

Keith does not.

“Can’t,” he huffs, keeping a half-eye on the pavement. A tourist walks into him, shoving him into Lance, who takes the opportunity to slide his hand into Keith’s back pocket and wink at him when his cheeks colour.

“Why can’t we slow down? Where are we going?”

“It’s like you don’t know what surprise means.”

“I do know. I also know that if I annoy anyone long enough they’ll snap so I’ll shut up.”

“Nah. I like it when you talk.”

He’d meant it as somewhat of a comeback, as a jab back to Lance’s teasing. But suddenly Lance stops, spine going rigid, something like shock flirting across his face for half a millisecond before he blinks it away and moves again. It happens so fast that Keith would almost be convinced he’d imagined it, except Lance’s cheeks are crimson.

Keith smiles. “Lance.”

“Shut up.”

“Babydoll.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m barely sayin’ anything, baby.”

“You are so fuckin — gay, you know that? God. Who fuckin — who says shit like that? Who on this Earth?”

Keith laughs, bending down to kiss right below Lance’s ear, to feel his flushed skin warm to frozen tip of his nose.

“You are so easily flattered.”

“Easily flatter this dick. How about that. Fuckin. Jerk.”

He lets Lance grouch at him, pleased and embarrassed about it, as he pulls them along the overcrowded streets. He checks his watch. Fifteen minutes ‘til the show starts, thirteen minutes ‘til they get there. Hopefully.

“Are we almost there? It’s cold and these shoes are pinchy.”

“I told you to wear comfortable shoes!”

“You told me to dress up! I can do one of those things, Akira!”

At the seven minute mark Keith starts running. Lance, surprisingly, doesn’t complain — a grin pulls at his sharp features, actually, and he wraps their hands together and runs faster, despite not knowing where they’re going. Every time they bump into someone in a suit he laughs. He laughs harder when they curse at him. Keith has to fight to keep his head in the game, to keep running, to not stop where he’s standing and watch Lance laugh for hours and hours and hours. It’s been too long.

He nearly pulls Lance’s arm out of his socket when he stops then abruptly, shouting “Here! Here! We’re here!” and pulling him inside a well-kept brownstone.

“Where’s…here?” Lance wonders, taking in the well-salted walkway and pretty red-and-green decorations all over the aged brick.

Keith doesn’t answer. “Close your eyes.”

Lance narrows his eyes. Keith makes his expression as wide and pleading as possible, and in seconds Lance caves, much to Keith’s satisfaction.

“You’re a pain in my neck.”

Keith kisses him quickly and chastely. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t let me walk into anything.”

Satisfied that Lance won’t peek, Keith shuffles them over to the box office, holding out their tickets. The stewardess smiles at him, scanning them, eyes twinkling at Keith wordless plea for her to keep the secret, and gestures towards a grand set of doors.

“Up the stairs, to your left, seat and row on your ticket,” she murmurs. “Enjoy the show.”

Keith nods his thanks and rushes them off.

“This sounds very fancy,” Lance observes as their shoes click on the — literally marble, how the hell were these tickets $20 — floors. “Dangerously so.”

Keith shrugs. “Perhaps.”

“…Not to be. A bummer. But please tell me you remembered our budget, Keith.”

“I did, Lance. I swear.”

Lance relaxes into him, and Keith realises for the first time how tense he was. He winces to himself. He probably could have made things a tad less stressful and still kept the surprise. He’ll remember that for next year.

“Okay, good. I trust you.”

They barely make it to their seats in time. Keith’s butt barely makes contact with the cushioned chair before the lights dim and the orchestra starts tuning, the rest of the audience lapsing into almost immediate silence.

Lance inhales sharply. “Keith…?”

“Open your eyes, sweetheart.”

Lance does, and they’re wide, and his mouth drops open, slightly, and for a moment he just stares, frozen, at the stage and the lights and the set, the familiar set, as the dim light casts shadows onto his face. The orchestra’s tuning note reaches its satisfying peak, harmonizing as one sound, and Keith’s full attention is on the lines of Lance’s face, the set of his jaw, the curves of his cheekbones.

“Merry Christmas,” he says quietly.

Before he can say anything else, before Lance can say anything else, the familiar sound of pointe shoes tapping delicately across the stage steals Keith’s attention. He turns his eyes to the stage, watching the dancers strut on the stage, and — stops.

He leans forward, squinting.

What?

Keith is…very familiar with the Nutcracker. He’s grown up alongside Lance’s family since he was eight years old. He’s been to more recitals than he can count. He’s been dragged to more performances than he can ever remember. Lance has lived and breathed and loved ballet his whole damn life, for the entire time Keith has known him, and that love bled well outside of the studio, has lasted even after he aged out of the program last year. Keith knows how the Nutcracker begins, and nothing about the program said this one was supposed to be any different.

Half of the dancers walking onstage are significantly shorter than they should be.

Now he knows damn well that there are kids in the Nutcracker. The main character is a kid. That’s the whole deal.

But there is not one adult on that stage right now. Hell, not even a teenager.

Keith looks down at the ticket — Feuilles Brillant Academy. He looks back at the stage. He looks at the other audience members — lots and lots of people with camcorders. And other small children.

Keith sinks into his chair, head in his hands.

His dumb ass bough a ticket to a children’s ballet recital.

Lord above.

“Lance, I am so sorry,” he whispers, “I was so caught up in the ticket being in budget I didn’t bother actually, like, looking deeper into things, this is totally — Lance?”

Keith leans forward in alarm, hands immediately falling on Lance’s knee, on his back. His shoulders shake and his hands are pressed to his eyes.

“Shit, babe, I’m sorry,” Keith says desperately, embarrassment replaced with panic. Everything feels like it’s crashing down around him, as dramatic as that is. He’d been so excited for this. Now it’s a whole mess. “I didn’t mean to — fuck things up, shit, we can leave.”

Lance shakes his head. Blindly, he reaches over the grasps Keith’s hand, holding tightly. His own hand is damp from his tears.

“No, no, it’s — perfect,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “I —”

His chin trembles, and more tears spill over his cheeks. As the music swells along to the climax of the first dance, Lance lifts the armrest separating their seats, half crawling over Keith until his head is tucked in the crook of Keith’s neck, arms folded between their chests, hands clutching at the fabric of his sweater. His voice is wet with tears and soaked in an emotion Keith can’t quite name, an almost — relief.

“It’s been so long. I didn’t want to — I thought I wouldn’t be able to do this again. I wouldn’t let myself think about it.”

Keith lets a huge, relieved exhale, sagging forward. He wraps himself more comfortably around Lance’s frame, squeezing him back, pressing a lingering kiss to his temple.

Growing up has been…hard. For the both of them.

They’d been told by everyone who knew them that they were being stupid and reckless. Keith has been promised that they won’t last more than two years by almost every grownup he’s ever known. Even his own brother had sighed his trepidation when Keith told him, stubborn and bold-faced, that he was moving in with Lance, that they were going to start their lives together the second they pulled off their caps and gowns, that they were ready for the next step. That they were eighteen and ready to face the world.

“Sacrifices,” Shiro had warned, “are going to be half your life now. It’s not that I think you can’t, Keith. I just. There’s a reason people don’t move in with their highschool sweetheart they summer after they graduate. Katy Perry wrote a whole song about it. It’s a banger.”

Keith hates it when his brother is right, and this time he was right about so many things in consecutive order. Living on your own is hard. Learning to live with someone else is harder. Doing it in a city far away from home, while balancing school and work and rent and groceries, is the hardest.

“I miss dance,” Lance croaks, and Keith closes his eyes and breathes deeply and holds Lance tighter.

He knows Lance misses dance. He knows that he hasn’t so much as listened to a ballet since they moved to New York, unless it’s in the dead of night, and he thinks Keith is asleep, and he puts in his headphones and moves their furniture as silently as he can to the edges of their tiny ass studio apartment and laces up his falling-to-pieces pointe shoes and dances like the very act of it is tearing him apart, and cries the whole time. And then stashes his shoes in the bottom of his gym bag and crawls back into bed and pretends again in the morning that he left his pointes back in Arizona. And Keith looks away and lets him because school is already twenty thousand a year and in no shape or form can they afford that and money to rent a studio.

But Keith can give him this. For a little bit, maybe, even if it’s little kids with handmade costumes pirouetting across a stage.

“I know, bluebell.”

Lance exhales, shaky, breath ghosting across Keith’s collarbones, and finally turns back towards the stage, keeping tucked under Keith’s chin. The kids dancing as the Snow Queen’s ladies-in-waiting are — three years old, maybe. At most four. They keep twirling right into each other like clumsy little bumblebees. It’s maybe the cutest thing Keith has ever seen in his entire life, and what’s better is the tiny smile that graces Lance’s face, despite the tears, growing bigger every time one of them wobbles back up to their feet and prances on, oblivious.

They watch the rest of the play in silence, Lance hands entwining with his sometime around the Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy and holding fast. They stand and clap as loudly as the gathered parents, louder even, at curtain call, as each kid jumps and twirls across the stage to thrown roses and cheering. It’s adorable.

They’re among the first to walk out, because the majority of the crowd surges towards backstage to collect their kid, so the walk is blessedly unrushed. They take their time, observing the pictures of grinning ballerinas that line the walls and numerous awards on endless shelves. Keith is filled with a deep and strong longing, a strange feeling of coming home — years of waiting on plastic chairs for Lance to finish solo practice when they were thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Of taking his boots off at the door and quietly sneaking in the back of the studio, ducking away from other dancers’ boring stares, to watch Lance shine under the studio lights, reflected a thousand times by mirrored walls. Of the smell of lemon cleaner and polished hardwood floors and satin.

He notices a poster on the wall, among dozens of drawings and pictures of intricate sets, and freezes.

“Lance,” he says, tilting his head, “look.”

At the end of a hallway, right next to a door, is a hand-painted banner, reading: WE’LL MISS YOU, MISS RAULA! HAPPY RETIREMENT!

He squeezes Lance’s hand. “I bet they’re looking for a replacement.”

Lance stares at the poster for a long time. “You think?”

“I think it wouldn’t hurt to shoot them an e-mail.”

Smiling, Lance stops them in the hallway, puts his hands on Keith’s shoulders, stands on his tiptoes, and kisses him, long and sweet and loving.

“I’m already in a pretty tight spot now,” he murmurs, still standing so close to Keith and smelling so sweet that he has trouble focusing on his words, “‘cause this is already kind of the best Christmas gift ever. If that ends up being true I’m never topping you again.”

Keith laughs, suddenly, not expecting the turn, and Lance grins, pulling Keith down to him and kissing him again. It’s less of a kiss and more of a press of smiles, a clack of teeth, a shared laugh.

“I love you, Lance. Merry Christmas. I will be the Gift Giving King forever.”

“Shut up, goober.” He lifts Keith’s arm, tucking himself under it as they walk back out into the snowy December night. “I love you too.”

———

based on this post (third slide)

[usedtobecooler]

if it's not with you | tom grant x fem!reader

Pairing | Tom Grant x Fem!Reader

Warnings | sexual content 18+ minors dni, unprotected piv sex, vaginal fingering, general banter, flirting, all around fluffiness.

Word Count | 5k

A/N | eeeee i'm so excited to share this fic with you all!! honestly i've fallen in love with tom all over again writing this, i hope you all enjoy this flirty fluffy cuteness!!

This caravan park was easily the worst place you’d ever been on holiday to. You couldn’t even lie to yourself — the entertainment area was outdated, the food was far from good, the staff were mostly rude and unhelpful, and the caravan you’d rented for the week was the biggest piece of shit.

Your idea of a nice, relaxing beachside break from the city was basically down the pan the moment you arrived, though you had to admit the one saving grace was in fact the gorgeous beach, barely thirty steps away from your rental, all golden sand and crashing waves. It was peaceful, quiet — the school summer holidays were over so it only left the caravan owners and the odd few stragglers without kids behind. 

Summer was barely clinging on, the nights were beginning to close in fast and the air was feeling that bit crisper once the sun set, like it had done every Summer since you could remember. There was still the odd humid, hot day, and this was one of them. 

Muggy beyond belief, despite the cool sea breeze rolling in from the East. You were sweating, skin feeling sticky as you sunbathed in peace, laid out in a one piece on your towel. Regardless of the factor thirty, you already knew you were going to burn — you always did, no matter what. The harsh rays from the sun were unforgiving to your sensitive skin, leaving you flushed and freckled.

You feel the figure looming over you pretty quickly. The slight darkness on your left hand side as said person blocked the sun. You let out a deep sigh, using your hand as a makeshift sun visor as you open your eyes carefully, squinting up into the sun.

You spy the caravan park logo on his polo shirt immediately — site worker, clearly. He’s all curly hair, pale skinned and a goofy grin on his face as he clutches onto the magazine you’d taken with you to read, obviously blown off in a gust of wind when you’d been blissfully unaware, “Think this was trying to do a runner on you,” His voice is unexpectedly deep, though still chirpy, as he extends his arm out with the magazine rolled up in his hand.

“Thanks, mate,” You bark out a little embarrassed laugh, propping yourself up on an elbow and taking the magazine from him. Your fingers brush, and you can’t help the flush that creeps up to your cheeks at the barely-there touch, “It’s shit anyway — one of them magazines people get paid fifty quid to share their fake stories to, y’know.” 

The man snorts, shoves his hands into the pockets of his cargo shorts, “I know the ones, my mums obsessed with them. Surely nobody believes the ghost stories?” He’s making conversation, not in any rush to get off, and it’s strange. He’s maybe the second worker you’d encountered who was genuinely an alright person. 

“Oh I know, in this one they’re claiming the ghost made toast in the middle of the night. Didn’t realise they could open a loaf of bread, who’d have thought it?” You humor him, and he properly laughs at that, kicking his toes in the sand as he looks down at you. 

He’s awfully pretty, you notice, as you look up at him properly now the glare of the sun has been blocked a little. Big brown eyes and a freckled nose, tinged pink from too much sun and not enough sunscreen, no doubt. Nice full lips and a cute chin, chains dangling on his neck. Very typical English boy, but that was always your type.

Your mouth runs dry, now that you’re suddenly aware of how attractive this man is and you’ve just called him mate. Ground swallow you now.

“Anyway, I’ve got to get going,” He looks sullen at that, nose scrunching up a little, “Duty calls — these old fuddy-duddies who arrive this time of year always find something to moan about.”

“Well, you enjoy that…” You blush, giggling like a dickhead, suddenly aware of the fact you’re lusting over a man who’s name you don’t even know,  “Sorry, I never got your name. No nametag?”

“Tom,” Tom digs in his pocket, a small triumphant noise escaping him when he pulls the old nametag out between two fingers proudly, showing you it, “I usually don’t wear it. Can’t be fucked when these arseholes complain about the staff and name us to management.” 

“Well, I’ll make sure to name you to the staff when I check out and let them know you were a very helpful young man, Tom,” Your voice drips sarcasm and humour, and you know you’ve got him hook, line and sinker when he bellows a true laugh, throwing his head back and exposing the vast expanse of his neck, veins protruding. Your thighs clench.

You’re both shook out of the little bubble when somebody starts shouting Tom’s name from behind you both, startling you. He rolls his eyes, tapping the watch on his wrist, “Gotta go, darling. You need anything just ask for me personally when you phone, yeah?” 

You nod, dumbstruck as he smiles wide at you, pearly white teeth on display. He takes off in a jog, and for the first time you truly understand the term ‘hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave.’ 

You bump into him again two days later, in the laundry room as you’re banging on the washing machine that currently had four days worth of clothes and underwear locked in it. It’d swallowed your token, locked the doors then refused to start, and you were raging — three quid down the fucking drain, just like that.

He knocks up behind you unexpectedly, his hip catching on the soft flesh of your ass as he leans over to pop a token into it. You suck in a breath and hold it, watching with awestruck eyes as the tendons in his wrist flex when he turns the dial. The machine whirs to life, water beginning to fill the drum in just mere seconds.

“What’d I tell you about just shouting for me if you needed anything?” Tom’s smug, lips so close to your ear they’re almost brushing the shell and you have to literally shove down the gasp that almost makes its way up your throat. He’s so close to you that you can feel the heat radiating off of his body, and a shiver ripples up your spine. 

“I didn’t expect to need maintenance help for washing my underwear,” You bristle, trying to act calm as he brushes past you and opts for leaning against the machine, hands once again buried deep into his pockets — he’s wearing grey joggers this time, clearly to match the miserable and dreary weather outside. You avert your gaze from the obvious bulge in his trousers, willing yourself to just get a fucking grip.

It doesn’t help when you lock eyes with him, and he’s all gooey brown orbs and long eyelashes. It’s embarrassing how much you fancy him, and now you feel like a right slob — down here in your leggings, hoodie and crocs of all things. Hair up in a messy bun and no makeup on, on account of the severe sunburn on your nose and cheeks.

“C’mon, we’ll go back to the token machine and I’ll get you your money back,” Tom nods towards the door, a small smirk tugging at his lips. You want to tell him you don’t need the money back, but a little part of you wonders — and hopes — that he’s offering to do this so that you have an excuse to wander off with him.

“Sure, lead the way my saviour,” You joke, extending an arm out towards the open door. He scoffs, rolling his eyes with a look that could only be described as fond on his features as he saunters past you. You feel your cheeks heat up, and it’s not from the sunburn this time.

“What’s brought you to Cornwall, then?” He asks conversationally — you’re bumping arms you’re that close, and the corridor isn’t even that narrow, he’s just naturally gravitating towards you. You plod along slowly and he matches your pace, your heart thudding in your chest as your hopes were confirmed; he was being nosey, interested in getting to know you.

“Not much, I like the beach but I live in London so I don’t get to see it much,” You admit, shoving your hands into your hoodie pocket, “I work from home, too. So I thought I’d maybe get some work done whilst I was here. The wifi is shit, by the way.”

Tom winces, shooting you an apologetic look, though it’s clearly a mockery, “Yeah, this place doesn’t have much going for it, darling. Though it’ll give you an excuse to actually enjoy your break instead of worrying about work, right?”

You’re walking so slowly you may as well be at a standstill, and you know it’s because the token machine is barely ten feet away, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” You admit, because it’s true — you’d hardly even thought about your job since you got here, enjoying your time soaking in the sun and the peace away from your roommate, “What about you? You from around here?”

“Born and raised,” Tom shrugs. You glance to the side, watching as his adams apple bobs up and down when he swallows, “I live on the site now, though, have done since I was sixteen. I’m here all year with Kai, you’ve probably seen him around, angry looking dickhead with a buzzcut. A girl called Jade used to live here too but eh, she’s gone now.”

You hum, acknowledging what he’s saying. You want to pry, the way his voice changed when he spoke about this ‘Jade’ character leaves a bitter taste in your mouth — an ex, maybe. But you were basically a stranger to Tom, so why would he explain that to you? 

The both of you stop right at the token machine, and Tom fumbles for his set of keys, flipping them until he finds one with a red tag on it. You watch his hands the entire time, thirsting silently — god, his hands were so nice. For a maintenance guy, they were clean, nails manicured, the skin soft. You could tell he took care of himself, and that made him all the more attractive to you. 

He slips the three pound coins into your hoodie pocket, knocking you out of your daze. His hand bumps against your waist when he pulls it out of said pocket, leaving you feeling flustered. There’s no way he’s just being nice, he’s flirting, albeit subtly. 

“Thank you,” Your voice is breathy, catching in the back of your throat as your eyes search for his again, though it doesn’t take long before his eyes are locking on yours once more, “Don’t know what I’d do without you. Or that three quid, actually, that’ll get me another shitty magazine from the shop and a bottle of Coke.”

Tom laughs, showing off his ridiculously perfect teeth once again, “You’re right, it will. Hopefully the ghost story in this one’s a bit better —” 

There’s a sudden harsh knock on the window behind your head that has you leaping out of your skin. He glances up to where the source of the banging came from, and he’s huffing, rolling his eyes, “Gotta go, darling. Another dickhead to deal with. Remember what I said, need anything just shout for me, yeah? Enjoy your magazine.” 

He lands a soothing hand on your shoulder just barely before he’s taking off, and your skin burns even through the thick material of your hoodie. 

There’s one day left of your holiday. One miserable day. You hadn’t seen Tom at all since your encounter in the laundry area, and you had to admit you were feeling deflated over it. You hadn’t been avoiding him, in fact quite the opposite, but your paths had just never crossed again. 

The weather was unbearably hot once more, worse than the first day you’d met Tom, not even a breeze coming in off the sea, and you were desperate for a cold shower to rinse off the sweat from your now sunkissed skin.

The caravan door slams shut behind you as you step foot inside, basking in the little bit of cool air in the living area that’d been bathed in shade the entire day. You strip off your two-piece without a second thought — your caravan doesn’t look onto any others, and you don’t see anybody around, so there was nobody to scar when you stripped naked. 

At the beginning of your holiday you didn’t believe you’d ever become accustomed to the tight living quarters, especially the bathroom, but now that you’d been at the park for a week you almost couldn’t imagine going back home to your shitty little flat in Central London. You actually enjoyed the peace and quiet, and you were saddened about leaving.

You couldn’t deny that Tom was part of that, too. Though you’d hardly gotten a chance to know him you were drawn in, and the thought of heading home the next day and never seeing him again was weighing heavy on your shoulders. 

Stepping into the tight shower, you twist the dial to turn on the water, only to be engulfed in a roaring hot heat that has you yelping and gasping. The sharp sting of the scalding hot water hitting your sunburnt chest brings tears to your eyes, your hands flapping to turn the dial back until the stream stops.

You jump out of the shower, grabbing for your fluffy towel that you’d set in the open window that morning, pulling it around your bare body and tucking it in until it’s sat nicely. The ends of your hair drip wet, the water cooling fast, an almost pleasant feeling in comparison to what you just felt.

There’s not a second thought before you’re dialing 0 on the phone in the living area and asking for a maintenance person to come look at the shower, reeling off that the water was scalding hot and had burned you. The person on the other end sounds bored, uninterested and far from shocked when you tell her what happened. You hang up and, in your anger, stick up your middle finger at the phone. 

You didn’t even think to ask for Tom. You perch your ass on the arm of the U-shaped sofa, nervously chewing on your bottom lip and shaking your leg as you wait, wondering who it’d be that showed up to your call. You really, really hoped it’d be him.

Not even five minutes go by before you’re hearing a rapping of knuckles on the glass pane of the door, and you answer it quickly, all street smarts going out the window as you pull the door open just clad in your towel. Tom stands on the narrow step, clutching onto a metal tool box, and you breathe out a sigh of relief that it’s him.

“Fucking hell, that burn looks sore,” Tom looks with bug eyes at your chest, taking in the look of your skin tinged a deep red, much darker than the rest of your sunburnt body. You flush, moving out of the way to let him in, “If you put in a claim for that this place would be shut down.”

He laughs about it, but visibly looks nervous. You can’t help but wonder if, as much as he complained about the job, he genuinely liked it. Or maybe it was all he knew, which was also probably true, considering he had told you he’d been here living since he was just a teenager. A pang in your chest asserts itself at that realisation.

“I wouldn’t worry about that, it’s my own stupid fault for stepping into the shower before turning it on like a silly bitch,” You shake it off, a wobbly little laugh escaping you, “Nothing a bit of lotion won’t fix, Tom.” 

“No, it’s fucking ridiculous that this even happened,” Tom grunts, stepping past you and wandering the short distance into the bathroom. You follow him like a lost puppy, clutching at the top of your towel with one hand, standing in the doorway as you watch him flip his toolbox open, grabbing for something and banging the shower door open. 

“Dunno why they still rent out this caravan every summer there’s so much shit wrong with it, told the manager it was fit for the scrap yard two years ago,” Tom’s conversational, unscrewing the shower tap and fiddling with it as if you’re not standing there basically naked and still slightly damp from your failed attempt at hosing off.

You’re trying to look anywhere but right in his direction. It’s hard, though. Out of the corner of your eye you can see his arm bulging and straining under the tight material of his polo shirt as he uses his wrench to tighten a bolt, “S’okay, I got it pretty cheap. I’m away home tomorrow, didn’t want the next poor sod to get burnt like I did.”

Tom shoots a glance at you, brows marrying for a moment until he’s turning back to the job at hand, “I didn’t realise you were away so soon, fuck sake. If I’d known I would’ve come and seen you earlier. You’re alright, y’know?” 

“Thank you?” It comes out as a question, and you can’t help but feel somewhat offended by his choice of words, “I suppose you’re alright yourself. Probably the only decent member of staff I’ve spoken to this entire week.” 

“Yeah, the nice face and banter are just a bonus, eh?” Tom flashes you his teeth again and it has you rolling your eyes, though a fond smile tugs at the corners of your mouth, “Not like those posh London boys, they’re stuffy and boring.”

“You’re right about that,” You agree, watching as he throws the wrench back into the toolbox blindly, the tool landing correctly in its place. It’s now or never, you think, as he screws the tap back on. This is it, after this last chance meeting you’re not gonna see him again. “Who’d have thought something as simple as catching a blown away magazine would have a girl weak at the knees?” 

You cringe at yourself, though Tom’s head shoots around. He looks at you with a confusion etched on his features, and you have to physically stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Surely you were being obvious enough, right?

You watch him dumbly step out of the shower, even going as far as to shut the screen door behind him, “What do you mean?” He asks, quirking a brow. Clearly you weren’t being obvious, then. 

“Is it not totally obvious that I’m into you?” You scoff, wanting to lean forward and rattle that devourable looking neck. He’s clearly so clueless, it would actually be kind of endearing if you didn’t find it so infuriating. 

Tom balks at you, taking a step closer to you, which has him almost right up in your face, with how enclosed the space of the bathroom is, “Really? I’m really shit at reading signals, sorry, love.” 

Love. You melt at the pet name, going all gooey. You take your chance, fingers tugging at your towel until it’s loosening on your body. He watches you with curious eyes that soon turn lust filled, when you let the towel drop to the floor and pool around your feet.

You blush under his intense gaze, taking in the swell of your tits, the pebble of your nipples, the curve of your hips, the mound of your cunt. He takes another step, so you’re basically toe to toe, and he exhales loudly.

“Not done this for a while,” Tom admits, as his large hands engulf your waist, pulling you closer to him until your naked body is flush against him, the soft material of his worn-in work polo a pleasant feeling against your skin, “Can I kiss you?” 

You nod, far too fast, too eager, but he clearly doesn’t seem to mind, leaning in until his plump lips are capturing yours. You melt into it, arms wrapping around his neck to tug him in closer, fingers burying in the hair at the nape of his neck.

Tom deepens the kiss quickly, tongue running over your bottom lip and you open up willingly, letting him slip his tongue into your mouth. His own tongue glides along yours deliciously, has your pussy clenching and your legs shaking. He moves you blindly backwards, like he knows the entire layout of this caravan — which he probably does, has probably been here many a time.

The backs of your legs hit the bed and you let yourself fall backward, opening your legs for Tom to nudge between them, one hand still on your waist tightly, other slipping down your leg, fingertips digging into the meat of your thigh. You shiver, unable to contain it, the feeling of the hands you’d thought about so much the last week finally on you was almost enough to drive you crazy.

Tom’s hand skates higher and higher up your thigh, until he’s cupping the heat of your cunt. He’s the one to break the kiss, pulling away from you to look you in the eyes properly, like he’s looking for confirmation that you’re still good and you’re okay to keep going, “You okay if I touch you?” 

You melt. You nod, and he dives in, kissing the side of your neck with spit-slick lips, leaving you gasping and writhing below him. He bumps his hips down into you, and you feel the outline of his hard cock brushing against your inner thigh.

Suddenly, your carnal desire for him overcomes your every being, your hands falling from the back of his neck to fist into his shirt, bunching up big handfuls of the material, “C’mon, you too?” You beg, voice whiny, completely distracted by how Tom bites and kisses at your neck, “Need to see you too.” 

He sits back on his haunches, smirking down at you, hands leaving your body and in turn leaving you cold — though it’s not for long, as you watch him pull his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side. He dives back down into you quickly, bumping those godforsaken hips down against your pussy this time, leaving you gasping.

That stupid, shit eating grin never leaves his face until he’s burying his face back into your neck, peppering your skin with kisses, hand nudging between your legs again, until the pads of two of his fingers finally dip in between your slick folds, gathering your juices on them. He grunts against you, rutting his hips down again, “Fuck, you’re so wet.” He mumbles, caught off guard by it.

“Mmph, all for you,” You gasp, breath catching in your throat when he finds the swollen, sensitive bud of your clit and starts rubbing in small, tight circles, until your hips are pushing up into the air, “Oh God —!”

You lose yourself in the feeling of Tom lathering you in kisses, the way his plump lips ghost along the stinging, burnt skin of your chest and soothe it, his fingers working on your clit until your cunt is gushing wetter than before. He’s so sensual, passionate, taking the most attentive care to your body, and it’s driving you wild.

“You feel so good on my fingers,” Tom groans in between kisses, looking at you with those pretty, chocolate brown eyes, now mostly blackened with lust, “Can’t wait to feel you on my cock, babe.” 

You squeal, a moan punching out of you when his fingers leave your clit just barely to dip into the entrance of your pussy and glide back up, taking some of your milky wetness with them. You clench, quivering at his words, a deep heat blooming in the pit of your belly, alarmingly fast, “I’m so close,” You admit, losing yourself in the pleasure of Tom’s fingers catching on your clit, winding you up tight, tight, tight.

Tom kisses the swell of your breast, lips dragging down until they latch onto your nipple, licking and sucking until you’re crying out. He can’t take his eyes off of you, watching every contortion of your face as he makes you fall apart. Your fingers grip into his curls, tugging lightly until he’s groaning, vibrations echoing up your chest.

His fingers work at that same torturing pace, sliding in circles until you’re arching off the bed slightly, coil in your tummy snapping, your entire body tensing and going lax just as fast as your orgasm washes over you, a gush of slick slipping from your hole as you shake through it.

Tom works you through it until you’re jerking away, fingers unwinding from his hair and pushing at his shoulders instead. He presses a light kiss to your nipple, pulling himself up and slipping his fingers from your cunt, “Was that okay?” He asks, though he’s smiling, proud of himself, clearly.

You nod, catching sight of the prominent bulge in his grey joggers, sudden desperation to get to his cock overtaking you — you lean up, tugging at the waistband of the offending material until it’s bunched around his thighs, uncut cock springing out proudly, you gasp, “No underwear? You always wander around like this, you slag?”

Tom laughs, shaking his head, “No, I wasn’t on shift but took the call because I knew this was your caravan,” He admits, and you giggle, a little swell of pride in your chest. That little admission was enough for you, he did like you as much as you liked him. 

He dives back into you, capturing your lips with his own, and you take that opportunity to get a feel for his cock, deft fingers blindly wrapping around the length and giving him an experimental tug, pulling the foreskin back. He gasps into your mouth as you work him up and down, your thumb swiping over the tip, and he’s punching his hips into your hand.

“Keep doing that an’ I’m gonna cum before I get to fuck you,” He mumbles against your mouth, nibbling at your bottom lip just a little. You take that as your cue to stop, hand dropping from his cock and instead wrapping around his bicep.

He makes a show of it, like an arsehole, grabbing a hold of his cock and sliding the tip through the mess of your cunt, catching on your clit and gliding it back down, until you’re gasping and silently begging for it, digging your nails into the meat of his tanned arms.

“C’mon, Tom. Please?” You whisper, looking up at him with pleading eyes, and he takes the bait — he slips his cock into you in one fluid motion, until his balls are flush against your ass. You couldn’t have been prepared for the sheer thickness of him stretching you from the inside out, a gasp escaping you when the head of his cock brushes along your frontal wall.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Tom moans, burying his head into the other side of your neck this time, kissing and biting at your flesh until it’s raised. He pulls out, slamming back into you to the hilt, and you clench around him, unable to help it, the curved head of his cock brushing against the spongey part of your cunt perfectly, “God, babe, don’t do that, I’ll cum so quick.”

You moan, clenching around him again until he’s groaning, fucking in and out of you properly, your cunt sucking him in, gushing around his length. You’re overwhelmed by the feeling of him all over you, his lips and teeth on your neck, his hair tickling your face, his toned torso crushing down into yours, his cock sliding in and out of the tight heat of your pussy.

“You feel so good around me, fuck,” Tom’s mumbling against you, words almost getting lost in your skin, but you’re fucking melting for it, the praises having you keening up into him.

You feel your orgasm building quickly, unaware of how loud you’re moaning until Tom’s picking up the pace of his thrusts, the slap of his hips against your ass echoing in the room, the wet schlick of your pussy mixing with the other sinful noises. 

“M’gonna cum,” You cry, tears pricking at your eyes as your tummy blooms with heat once again, orgasm building a lot quicker this time than the last time, and Tom pulls himself away from the crevice of your neck, looking at you with his lust blown eyes, swollen red lips open in a constant moan, “Fuck, Tom, s’good, so good,”

You’re babbling and Tom groans, fucking you so rough you’re sliding up the bed — your high hits you so hard you see stars, eyes squeezing shut as your cunt flutters and gushes around the girth of Tom’s cock, fingernails biting into his arms so hard that you know you’re going to leave behind broken skin.

“Oh shit, oh fuck,” Tom’s voice goes high pitched, eyes rolling into his skull as your pussy grips him like a vice, and he’s coming too, hips stuttering as he paints your walls in his release, cock pulsing in the tight heat of your cunt.

You mewl, spent body giving into everything. You feel like you’re floating, unable to comprehend what just happened. Tom’s looking down at you with this big dopey grin and you smile back, leaning up to kiss him languidly as his spent cock goes soft.

Tom slips out of you with a hiss, collapsing down next to you, chest still heaving on breath, “You sure you’ve gotta go home tomorrow, darling?” He asks, voice quiet as he tugs you into him, those big arms engulfing you in a tight cuddle. Your whole body melts into his, your mind blank of anything but him. Maybe you didn’t have to go home just yet. 

“I suppose I could see about hanging around for another week… or two,” You admit, and Tom cackles in triumph, squeezing you tighter until you’re giggling into his chest, heart swelling.

[4pplec0re]

okay. okay. site thoughts. here are my thoughts

obsessed with the layout

big fan of audios playing when you click on or hover over certain things

really cool carnival theme, of course

so many lesbian colored things ??? they fw the lesbian palette

i really like the fan land <3 i hope i can get up there sometime. i wonder when/if they plan to switch it up. like how often

I LOVEE THE YEARBOOK <3

they will never let noel live down the taco bell thing... GET A JOB! STAY AWAY FROM HIM! /ref

i like the ferris wheel and carousel designs! suuuuper cool!!!

my merch thoughts get a whole separate category

at first glance--super lame. horrible colors. not much visual interest. my favorite is virgil!

after exploring the actual shop, you can see that they have a lot of different color options. better color options. why they used that lame fucking gray to advertise the logo shirt rather than my FAVORITE shade of green is beyond me. even the white is better. why is gray even an option its so boring.

pink virgil shirt is hard

still, not a lot of variety. while i am happier with the actual options, i wish most of them weren't just text. i wish there was more visual interest. the site looks super cool in my opinion, making the merch even MORE underwhelming.

anyway, i will probably be buying the cyclone logo in kiwi and potentially pink virgil <3 overall, love the site, still disappointed with the merch

also they need to get on tumblr dude why are they on insta of all things. im also shocked theyre not more active on tiktok. come on folks get with the program we're all on the tumbley

also they need to ship to asia because oomf lives in asia and i think he deserves cyclone merch too

[shinestarhwaa]

FELINE FANTASIES || MINNIE YONTARARAK

Genre: Smut

Pairing: Minnie x Female reader

Word Count: 2K

Tags/warnings: sexworker!Minnie, sexting, phonesex, masturbation, cunnilingus, squirting

Taglist: @anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @pyeonghongrie-main @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @changbinslovelylegs @jonghostie @lovjensoo @mjyungi @bratty-tingz @sugarnspice630 @stardragongalaxy @bro-atz @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisg00dgirl @wh0re4yunsangho

ENJOY!

This was not your proudest moment.

It's also isn't a very expected moment. At least, not to you. You had never imagined yourself dialing the number of a phonesex company for women. You just couldn't get yourself to press the call button yet. You felt your hands getting sweaty with anxiety and you looked around nervously as if anyone was gonna catch you in your own apartment.

You had stumbled upon an Feline Fantasies ad while trying to find a good porn video to get off to - spoiler alert: you couldn't. But on the bottom right side of the page a certain ad had caught your attention instead and the impulsive person in you immediately dialed the number. ''No,'' you spoke to yourself, deciding you should check if there's a website first. You typed in Feline Fantasies in the searchbar and quickly spotted the pink logo you saw earlier in the ad. You clicked the link and you were directed to the website.

The pink and white logo was centered at the top of the page and you scanned the text below it. You scrolled further down and saw they provided phonesex and sexting services. You bit your lip and decided to click on the button reading 'Sext with one of our girls now!' Your heart was pounding in your chest as you waited.

The site first told you to create an account and you did it mindlessly, answering several questions for confirmation. Then a new page opened, showing girls in various skincolours and sizes to suit anyone's taste. Every girl on the top row seemed to be available and you looked at their profiles for a bit, but your eyes quickly landed on 'Minnie' and you nearly dropped your phone. Fuck, she is hot. You clicked on her profile and read her intro text. ''Minnie is often called the Thai princess in our company but don't let her beauty fool you. With her quick wit and seductive tone she is a dreamlady for anyone. Do you wanna sext with Minnie? Click here.''

You scrolled through her pictures. She wore a revealing black dress and her black bangs fell a little over her seductive cat-like eyes. Her full lips were parted slightly and she bit her pointer finger seductively. When you scrolled a little further you were met by pictures from a nude photoshoot of Minnie. Your breath hitched in your throat when you saw the girl laying naked on a purple velvet sofa. Her hand was cupping one of her breasts and she winked seductively at the camera. If you weren't already wet you definitely would have been now.

The horniness takes over your brain and you click on the button, being redirected to a messaging page. A few dots started moving immediately, raising your anxiety. ''Oh God what am I even doing,'' you cursed at yourself.

Minnie: Hey there darling. Welcome to Feline Fantasies

Minnie: Is this your first time using our services?

You: Hi Minnie! Yes this is my first time

Minnie: Thank you for choosing me for your first experience! What can I do for you sweetie? ;)

You: I was trying to watch porn to help me get off and relieve some stress but I haven't been able to do so unfortunately... Then I saw the FF ad and I hoped you could help me..

Minnie: Oh I surely can help you cum sweetheart, are you alone? What are you wearing?

You: Yes I'm alone in my apartment, I'm laying in bed in a top and panties

Minnie: Touch your breast darling, fondle yourself gently to ease yourself in.

You sighed and brought your free hand up to your covered breast, your hard nipple poking through the material. You gently fondled your breast and took a deep relaxing breath.

Minnie: Take your top off baby and touch your nipples for me

Minnie: S that feeling good baby?

You: Very good, Minnie, I wish it was you, you'd look so hot touching me and talking to me You: Please continue

You took off your top and licked the tips of your thumb and pointer finger, wetting them before you circled your nipple and rubbed them between your fingers. You pushed your thighs together as you feel yourself throbbing at the thought of what's coming - you.

Minnie: Put your hand in your panties now baby, how wet is my princess for me?

You: Oh Minnie I'm so wet for you, I'm soaking my panties, I wish I could hear your voice

Minnie: That's possible if you switch from messaging to a phonecall, it will just cost a little extra babe x

You: That'll be worth it

You switched to phonecall and quickly completed the payment. Soon enough you heard Minnie's voice through your phone. ''Hey darling, here I am again, did you miss me?'' she giggled. You smiled and put your phone on speaker. ''For those 2 minutes? Yeah, very much so,'' you grinned. ''Are you ready to continue?'' Yes, ready.''

''Take your panties off baby, spread your legs for me.'' You obeyed her orders and slid two of your fingers through your folds. ''God, Minnie I'm so wet, I wanna cum so badly,'' you whined. ''Don't worry baby, I'm gonna make you cum, touch your clit... Circle it lightly...'' she spoke seductively into the speaker. You moaned when your fingers touched your clit. You circled it slowly, slowly pressing down on it. ''Hm, you sound so pretty baby, like an angel... Rub it quicker for me, go faster.''

You picked up the pace and started to rub your clit uncontrollably. ''Please keep talking Minnie, talk dirty to me, fuck, talk to me, I wanna hear your voice too, wanna hear you moan too,'' you panted. ''Whatever my babygirl wants,'' she said with an audible smirk plastered on her face. ''I'll tell you just what I'm doing. I'm sitting here and I'm rubbing my pussy through my pretty... lacy black lingerie... and you've gotten me so wet babygirl... My pussy got so excited for you,'' she moaned. You had no idea if she actually spoke the truth or if she was just playing an act like many callgirls did, but it didn't matter for you in the moment. Wetness was flooding from between your legs as you kept rubbing your clit as you listened to Minnie gush about how wet you got her.

''Hm, putting two fingers inside my wet pussy now baby, oh~ Oh God Y/N,'' she cried. Her moans sounded so pornographic and it raised every hair on your body and made you tingle. ''M-Minnie, fuck, I can already feel it!'' you whined out. ''Yeah baby? Does that make you cum? Then cum for me baby, oh yes, fuck!'' she moaned. She kept encouraging you while she moaned and panted into the speaker, sending you over the edge. You spasmed uncontrollably and rode out your orgasm.

''That's a good girl,'' she praised you in a soft voice, ''cumming so beautifully for me.'' You sighed contently, tired after the long process of trying to cum, but you didn't want it to be over just yet. ''What's wrong princess?'' ''I'm tired but I don't want it to stop...'' ''Well this doesn't have to be the last time we're in contact right baby? Plenty more opportunities for us to call and maybe next time we'll cum together,'' she giggled.

In the weeks after that it became a regular thing for you to call Minnie. It embarrassed you how many money you spent on her but it was worth it for you, it was your own dirty little secret.

On a regular Friday afternoon you were walking out of your work office and stopped at the nearby coffeeshop to pick up an iced americano and a cupcake but you nearly choked on your own saliva when you saw a certain someone sitting in the café. Your body trembled but it led you to stand in front of her. She looked up and smiled softly, ''Hi... Can I... help you with anything?''

She looked ten times more beautiful in real life and she looked so cute in her denim dress. ''You... You are Minnie, right?'' you asked hesitatingly. ''Um, yes,'' she said, ''Do we know each other?'' ''I'm Y/N, we... we spoke on the phone a few times,'' you said, cheeks burning up. Her expression changed, showing her beautiful smile and her eyes sparkled. ''So you're Y/N? Wow, you're even more beautiful than I had imagined,'' she grinned, ''Do you wanna sit down?''

You nodded and took place next to her. ''So, what are you doing here...? I've never seen you here before,'' you said, fidgeting with your jewelry. ''I had lunch with a friend and ran some errands here in the neighbourhood. Is this where you live?'' ''Yeah I live a few streets away from here, I just got off work,'' you explained. She smiled and nodded, taking a sip of her green tea.

''Minnie... I was wondering... This might be a really weird request and I don't think you even do this but... Instead of a phonecall, do you think you could come over to my house instead...? Ofcourse I'll pay you,'' you whispered. Minnie was taken aback but smiled. ''I've never done a professional home...session before. So I shouldn't let you pay for it... Maybe I can give it to you for free? As a thank you for the contributions you've made,'' she grinned, ''I have time right now, actually.''

Your cheeks got even redder and you stammered before nodding and agreeing to take her to your apartment. Half an hour later you were sat next to her on your freshly made bed. ''So this is where the magic happened for you,'' she grinned. You smiled and nodded, ''pretty much, yeah.''

Minnie didn't waste any more time, pressing her plush pink lips on yours and pulling you close. Your lips moved together and your hand dove into her lucious black hair, pulling it slightly when she bit your lip. Minnie moaned into the kiss and started unbuttoning your blouse, grazing her fingers over the sheer material of your bra. She rubbed your nipples through the fabric, making you moan into the kiss and squirm in her arms.

She pulled away and took off your skirt and panties, revealing your wet, glistening cunt. The woman nearly moaned at the sight, getting on her knees in front of you and parting your legs. You leaned back on your elbows and threw your head back when you felt her tongue flick on your clit. You cursed underneath your breath when her tongue dipped into your core. You rolled your hips slowly, riding her tongue as you ran your hands through her hair again, pushing her head deeper between your legs and locking her there with your legs.

The pleasure Minnie gave you was nearly unbearable and made you see stars. No one had ever been able to pleasure you like this, not this easy. You felt like you were on cloud 9 when Minnie's tongue rubbed against your inner walls, her nose brushing on your clit. You'd seriously pay insane amounts of money to get her to do this daily, but you immediately told yourself not to be impulsive and go too overboard with the entire situation. She quickly pulled you out of your thoughts as she seemed to be touching some kind of sensitive spot inside you, pleasuring you just right.

''T-That's it! F-fuck my pussy with that tongue! Fuck!''

Minnie moaned against your pussy and ate you out like there was no tomorrow and soon enough you started to feel your abdomen tighten and your body was trembling. Your orgasm washed over you and you let go of yourself, cumming hard and squirting on her tongue. She lapped up your juices hungrily and rode out your orgasm, letting you catch your breath again. ''Fuck, that was incredible, do that again.''

And by the judgement of Minnie's feline eyes, she didn't mind at all to fulfill your fantasies.