#if i could afford going to college for art

[goozeghost]

Ghost found once again ignoring his caring partner (many such cases) 😔💔

[bratzboykai]

I know it's kind of like idk lame but I think I will genuinely always have a lil "damn, what if" feeling about not being able to go to art school. I wanted to like really cut my teeth on that competitive environment and have at least some guidance on mediums and methods I'd always wanted to try. But goddamn I hate being poor....

[salenrooz]

Oh the indescribable feeling of dread after you get exactly what you're asked for

[sanchoyo]

i know the year isnt over but im already trying to figure out what my new years resolutions should be so I can plan. and actually do them (I did nottt do them all this year and ik like 2 of them were unrealistic but it makes me Sad) now that I have a car which was kind of my Big One for this year. i found a place in town that has sewing/clothes making classes and ive always wanted a sewing machine but also hesitated buying one bc what if I do it wrong and Break It and i spent So Much money on it :( they also offer art classes and ive never taken formal classes so...I might perhaps...look into that tomorrow more (they dont have prices on the website so id have to stop and ask so i know how much to save + if they would be willing to teach me on whatever machine I end up buying, or if they have ones there, but i do want to buy one at some point, maybe as an xmas gift or bday for myself) I think that would be a really cool thing to try !!

[paarksunghoon]

resignation | sunghoon

SUMMARY: For the last six years, you’ve dedicated your career to ensuring Park Sunghoon never misses a day of work in his life. But you’re tired of endless days that seem to blend together, and seeing him living his fun, luxurious lifestyle makes you think about what else you might be missing out on. When Sunghoon finds your resignation letter on his desk, he does everything in his power to convince you to stay.

NOTES: desperately need to rant about my life and I’m doing it by way of enhypen 😩 this is a small little chapter and I have no idea if I’m gonna make this a whole thing, but we’ll see. enjoy for now and let me know your thoughts! xx

WARNINGS: none :)

SERIES PLAYLIST + SERIES MASTERLIST

***

Like a bird stuck in a metal cage, you feel trapped in an enclosure that’s meant to prevent you from flying away. That’s what it feels like to work at Park Inc., an international venture capitalist firm that serves Asia and the greater North American and European landscape. Your job is boring and meaningless, and today is the day you decided to do something about it. 

Your alarm rings every morning at 5 A.M. on the dot and today is no exception. Since becoming Park Sunghoon’s assistant six years ago, you’ve learned the masterful art of never hitting snooze after hearing an earful from Sunghoon himself when he requested your presence the following hour (you failed to arrive in time and learned to never go back to sleep unless it was your day off). 

This life seemed like a dream at the ripe age of twenty-one. Freshly graduated from college with no real career goal in mind, one of your academic mentors suggested entering the workforce as a personal assistant to gain social capital and learn about different areas of industry that could potentially lead you towards a career. Your measly business degree left you feeling unfulfilled and your parents’ aloof demeanor towards the lack of job offers lining up after graduating wasn’t the kind of news you were ecstatic about. You jumped at the chance to work as a personal assistant with the assumption that it would be the kind of job that you could pursue in the meantime until something else came along.

This position at Park Inc. fell into your lap like some kind of dumb luck. The role wasn’t posted on any job site. Rather, your name had been submitted on behalf of your academic advisor, which got you your first interview. You suppose that must be some kind of nepotism. After six separate interviews over the course of three months, the job was yours.

You’d saved up enough money, working the night shift at a local restaurant to afford a rundown apartment and a new office-appropriate wardrobe from the local second hand stores in your neighborhood. Pencil skirts, fashionable blouses, heels that promised to last a long time, and blazers that looked professional enough lined your closets for future use. It was an exciting prospect and starting your new life after graduating university felt like a different ball park than when you were still pursuing your degree. 

Despite all of that, you feel listless.

Your days begin before the sun rises and ends just after sunset. Anticipating Sunghoon’s needs is seamless for you, to the point where you’re able to think on his behalf without second guessing yourself. He agrees on most days and doesn’t put up much of a fight when it comes to business matters because you’ve been by his side for over half a decade. You’ve picked him up from many late night rendezvous with women who definitely wanted more than he was willing to give, and you’ve accompanied him to events where he couldn’t bother asking somebody to be his date. You’re his assistant, and therefore you’re always available. 

But you’re just the help. You don’t have any real stake in Park Inc., nor does anybody take you seriously unless Sunghoon agrees with your opinion. You know this company inside and out, and you know exactly how Sunghoon envisions this company to succeed. You act like you’re a managing partner without the title because you’re by his side nearly every hour of the day, and it’s gotten to a point where people me either whisper about a silent affair, or look at you with sympathy because Sunghoon can’t seem to function without you. 

It was fun, at first. Learning how to stand on your own two feet while leaving everything you knew behind felt exhilarating. Abandoning your hometown to explore the big city was a dream come true, and you envisioned all of the late night food runs you’d go on in an attempt to explore each neighborhood within Seoul. The beginning was tolerable at best—if you count crying in your small apartment after thinking you’d never get the hang of this job—and Sunghoon knew to delegate tasks to you based on experience level. He had you fetch coffee and take care of his dry cleaning in the first few months, on top of organizing multiple reports until you were ready for more. He was kind like that, and you’re sure his willingness to help you in your career was why you stayed for as long as you have. 

Six years ago, receiving the amount of responsibility you carry felt like you’d reached the top of the tallest mountain after dreaming of the day Sunghoon could trust you enough to let you do your job without much supervision. You could complete a task for him before he delegated it to you, because you understood his workflow and what needed to be prioritized. The both of you worked well like that, and after six years of getting to know each other, many would say you’re both joined at the hip professionally. 

It comes to a point where you learn that the Sunghoon you see is far different than the Sunghoon everybody else sees. He’s naturally funny and a bit clumsy. He’s professional and stoic when he needs to be, but behind closed doors, Sunghoon laughs your ear off about old men who think they can walk all over his business tactics and people who are too rich to see that they’re the problem. Sunghoon is the best boss you’ve ever had, bar none. 

He’s unlike any of the wealthy, stuck up assholes you deal with on a daily basis. Sunghoon hides his witty, flirty personality behind a professional face in the eyes of higher ups and investors who he does business with. He keeps his personal and work life separate, as far as he can, with the exception of occasionally letting women he meets accompany him to select events that almost always end up in having to kick them out of his penthouse apartment the morning after if they haven’t left already. His lifestyle is one you’ll never get used to. Even after six years working beside Sunghoon, you go back to your humble one bedroom apartment, the same one you moved into once you were able to afford living without any roommates. 

It seems as though life moves for Sunghoon. He doesn’t have to do or say much to get people to fall to their knees or grant his every wish. He’s good looking (that’s something you’ll never deny because he’s objectively handsome), he manages to say all the right things, and he’s really good at his job. Sunghoon comes from a powerful and wealthy family that’s existed in Seoul for as long as anyone can remember, and there aren’t many bad things people say about him behind his back. He’s risky but strategic, gambling on chances that would typically slip through the cracks if not for his watchful eye and modern approach to business. 

You’ve learned a lot from him, too. Sunghoon grew into the man he is today. He’s no longer the overly arrogant and cocky person he was when you first met him, and he’s gained a deeper understanding of the company he’s about to inherit once his father transitions his title unto him. There’s much to be said about powerful men who choose to view everybody he works with as an equal, and while you might legally be his personal assistant, Sunghoon has allowed you to partake in the business too. You’ve been his right hand man ever since he realized you knew the company as well as he did. Yet, you can’t help but feel utterly stuck in this endless cycle of work, work, and more work.

There must be something out there for you that doesn’t consist of answering emails and letting your inbox pile up until the stress eats you alive. Being able to travel alongside Sunghoon for business opportunities has granted you a pathway to see the world, but it’s not enough to accompany somebody else. You want to explore the world by yourself and create agendas for your taste and likeliness, not Sunghoon or potential business partners while you sit in the back and take notes during every conversation. You want to live your life without being chained to a desk and learn what it feels like to try something new. 

For the past six years, your life has been dedicated to Sunghoon and only Sunghoon. 

“Sir?” You say tentatively, knocking on his door while pushing the heavy wooden door open. 

“Come in.” 

You know well enough he’s got nothing on his schedule that would impose a distraction. You slip into the room and close the door behind you with your fingers gripping a beige Manila folder behind your back. Sunghoon wears a suit that’s tailored to his likeness and his hair is slicked back like he’s trying to resemble Patrick Bateman from American Psycho. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure of an unscheduled interruption?” Sunghoon asks with humor in his tone. He knows you typically keep to your inbox unless something is imminently urgent.

He turns around from looking outside of his window and watches as you hesitantly walk towards his desk. The office space is huge, bigger than your entire living room, and the sudden realization that you’re about to make the biggest change of your life is weighing on your shoulders. Your feet feel heavy beneath you when Sunghoon glances between your face and the folder in your hands. 

“What’s this?”

You don’t hesitate to open it and put it on his desk facing up.

“My resignation letter.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Sunghoon stares at the letter you’ve typed out and notices the large, black signature at the bottom of the page. His eyes flicker back at you as if to detect any lie in your face before he scoffs with a short laugh.

“Right. April Fool’s Day has already passed. No need to keep me on my toes like you usually do, though I appreciate a good joke.” 

You shake your head. “I’m being serious, Sir. I’m quitting.” 

The seriousness of your voice seems to catch him. He takes a seat on his leather chair and pulls himself closer to the desk to fully examine the letter.

“Dear Mr. Park, I am writing to inform you that I will be resigning from my position as your personal assistant at Park Incorporated. My final day will be two months from the day I hand you this resignation letter. I am committed to ensuring a smooth transition, and will facilitate seeking a replacement while I complete projects and tasks on my docket.” 

He looks up at you.

“You’re breaking up with me.” 

“No, I’m quitting this job.”

“Which is the same as breaking up with me. You’re my business partner, for God’s sake. You come with me to every meeting and important event that requires my presence.”

“I’m your assistant. There are many people who would die to be able to do that for you.”

He looks at you like you’ve set his office on fire. “I will not let you quit.” 

You tilt your head. “That’s not how it works, you know. Soobin from HR will process my resignation, even if you beg him not to. I’m giving you a two months' notice because that is how much I value my time here.” Sunghoon clasps his hands as if trying to make sense of the matter.

“But why? Why now? You’re impeccable at your job. Is the pay not suitable enough for you? I can give you a generous bonus and pay raise, if that will convince you to stay. Do you want a bigger office or reduced working hours?” 

“I don’t need any of that. I’ve made up my mind, Sir.”

“Why?” 

With a sigh, you sit down in front of him. “I’ve spent nearly every day for the last six years catering to the needs of you and this company. I’ve loved my time here, and I credit my ability to navigate this industry to you and this job. You’ve given me incredible opportunities that I probably wouldn’t have gotten elsewhere, and it’s been fun learning the ins and outs of this business.

“But I don't have a personal life at all. My days are spent catering to your needs. I don’t have many friends aside from the people I see in this building. I don’t travel and I’ve had to miss important family milestones because of work obligations.”

“Is more time off what you need?” Sunghoon interrupts. “You’ve earned your fair share of requested time offs, even if it’s a personal day for no reason. You’re responsible enough for me to know you can handle your workload when you get back.” 

You shake your head. “It’s not just that. I…I don’t meet new people anymore. I don’t make new friends and I don’t date because this job eats up my life. I feel like I’ve been wrapped up in this company and doing whatever it takes to help it succeed while neglecting my own needs. I’ve had six incredible years, but it’s time for me to move on.”

“…Date?”

With a sigh, you respond. “Yes, Sir. Just because you can find women at the snap of your fingers doesn't mean that everybody else can too.” 

“You don’t date at all?”

You scratch the inside of your wrist at his question. “I can’t date. I don’t have the time to.”

“So you’re quitting because you want to date.”

“No. I’m quitting because I want to experience life without being on call for when you need my help.” 

Sunghoon purses his lips and you can’t read his expression. In the years you’ve worked with him, learning his every mood has been critical to maintaining cordial balance between the two of you, and with other people who Sunghoon isn’t particularly fond of. You’ve extinguished emotional fires just by glancing at him, but the way he looks at you is something you can’t seem to figure out. 

While you wouldn’t say you’re exceptionally close with Sunghoon, you’d argue your relationship to him is far closer than other assistants in the firm. He might be hard headed and stubborn, but he’s compassionate and understanding. He doesn’t expect you to stay in the office until he leaves unless explicitly stated (which consists of half the week, but you can’t complain when some of your colleagues are constantly working longer days than you). 

He compensates you well from time to time, buying you new wardrobe for events he’s requested you to be at. You have a drawer full of exquisite jewelry. You’ve had the privilege of accompanying him on international business trips. From the outside, your life looks like one glamour shot that’s been afforded to you through diligent work, which is partially true, but seldom do people see the dark circles underneath your eyes or how many meals you skip because you need to cater to Sunghoon’s needs. 

For as lucky as your career has been thus far, it’s all on company time, and nothing is ever because you want to. You get the perks, but it’s a transaction. There’s nothing you want more than the freedom to choose what time you wake up and what time you go to bed.

“I can’t say I’m too happy with this news,” Sunghoon says as he leans back on his chair. “You and I work together really well. I don’t think I’ve ever had an assistant as diligent and as smart as you.” 

“You had three assistants before I came into the picture.” 

“They were terrible. Why did you think you went through six interviews?” 

“I can train my predecessor to be as excellent as I can be. I can do it in two months because that’s the time it took me to get used to you and your habits.” 

Sunghoon remains silent for a moment. 

“They’ve got big shoes to fill.” 

Part of you thinks he’s accepted your resignation. He doesn’t immediately grab the Manila folder with the papers in it. Rather, he closes it and keeps it shut on his desk with his hands clasped like he’s afraid it’s going to materialize and escort you out of his office.  

“You’re still needed for events and other internal-facing meetings until your time comes to an end.” 

“Of course, Sir.”

The corner of his mouth tugs upwards. “There’s one tonight. I wasn’t going to have you come to this one initially, but given the circumstances, I think it’s fair that we squeeze in as many as possible before you’re off the hook, no?”

You can’t say you’re incredibly excited by the idea, but knowing Sunghoon, he’s either forgotten he needs someone to act as arm candy or one of his many flings bailed on him at the last minute. 

“I’ll have my car pick you up from your apartment at 8 P.M. Don’t worry about checking in early tomorrow, either. Come in at nine instead, and get some sleep tonight.” 

Nine is still early, especially if you’re going to accompany Sunghoon to an event this evening, but it’s better than getting four hours of shut eye before you’re needed the next day. 

***

A section of your wardrobe is dedicated to items Sunghoon has gifted you throughout the years you’ve been with him. They’re far more expensive and of higher quality than the garments you buy for yourself, and the jewelry is far too precious for you to mix in with your everyday wear. They sit in their own designated section, away from your business attire and weekend wear.

Back when you started this position, Sunghoon found it amusing that you refused the luxurious gifts he’d offer for large tasks such as acting as a liaison at black tie events or helping him with projects that required you to look more presentable than remaining in an office. He bought you enough dresses, shoes, and jewelry until you were able to rotate a few pieces so that you’d never have to wear the same thing twice in a row. To assuage your mind about the prices of each item, Sunghoon would tell you to wear it out on a date with a special someone or to important events that required you to dress up a bit.  

When you pull out a sleek baby blue powder dress that hugs your body in all the right places and jewelry to match, the memory makes you laugh. There hasn’t been any time for engaging in those types of things and your life does not reflect that of Sunghoon’s. They gather dust in your closet until you’re needed to make an appearance as his well-trained, capable assistant. His colleagues know to defer to you unless Sunghoon’s word needs to be confirmed, and that’s how the dynamic has been for the entirety of your working relationship with him. 

You don’t put much effort into your appearance tonight. After touching up your makeup and slipping on a pair of black sling backs that match a black Italian clutch purse he had gifted you on your first international trip, you wait for the car to arrive at your doorstep. 

Surprisingly, Sunghoon steps out from the backseat and holds the door open for you.

“…Sir?” 

“Right on time. You look stunning.” 

His compliment flies over your head as you try to make sense of what you’re seeing. You’re used to meeting Sunghoon at the fairgrounds and not holding the door open for you in his personal mode of transportation. The only time the two of you arrive together is when you depart from the office. Sunghoon is a busy man who makes work his priority. He doesn’t escort you from place to place. That’s your job.

“What are you doing here?” 

He beckons you inside of the car. The partition is raised to give the two of you some privacy. Sunghoon slides into the backseat and puts a respectable distance between the two of you when the driver begins to drive away.

“It dawned on me that I rely you on you for so many things, and yet, I can’t seem to take an hour of my day to ride with you to events I’ve asked you to be at.” 

“It’s my job.”

“No, your job is to make sure I don’t lose my head.”

“If letting you work while I drive alone makes your head stay on your shoulders, I think that’s a job well done.” 

He purses his lips. “Still, I don’t think ending my workday early to pick you up will kill me.” You raise your eyebrow at him.

“This isn’t changing my mind, Sir. I still plan to leave the company.”

Sunghoon shrugs. “Worth a try. But I meant what I said about accompanying you. We’re a team, even if your position is just my assistant.”

“Sir—”

“Sunghoon,” he interrupts. “Call me Sunghoon.”

“...Sunghoon.” He smiles.

“That’s more like it.” 

***

will there be a part 2? who knows

[mokeonn]

"But if college was free, then people would abuse that and get useless degrees" hell yeah I would! If I could go to college without debt I would make it my job to get a degree in every little thing that interested me. I'd get a doctorate in film studies. I'd have a bachelor's degree for every science I like. I'd try to learn at least 5 languages with varying results. I would learn something "useful" like coding and then follow it up with a ""useless"" degree like art history. I'd be the world record speed run holder for getting every degree possible.

But I can't afford college without going into massive debt, so instead I spent the last 5 years trying to figure out what I am passionate enough about to consider going into debt over, because unfortunately being passionate about everything is extremely expensive to pursue.

[ego13]

歳 ׁ  ○𝇌 ֹ. SH𝔈 F𝓘NE, SHE MINE, 𝓘 GOTTA PRAISE THE LORD - YU JIMIN X FEM!READER

ೇ https://now_playing: JAEHYUN - Unconditional

𝅄  ︩︪𐀔 https://warnings: g!p jimin, switch!jimin, sugar mommy, praise kink, sex on the table, riding, unprotected sex, breeding kink, cockwarming (kinda), blowjob, jerking off (a little), drunk sex, dirty talk, possessiveness.

ㅉ https://synopsis: jimin clearly doesn't mind your "help" with the paperwork.

⊹ ִֶָ‧ https://pairing: yu jimin x fem!reader

ʾ 𖧧 ׄ‌ https://word_count: 2,8k

when you first met her, you had no idea where this would lead you and how much your life would change, after all, you were just a poor art college student who could barely afford to pay for her studies. you remember as if it were yesterday, sleepless nights before important exams, how your legs would fall off after eleven hours of work in a cafe on your only day off, but who could have known that all this would soon end?

you met her completely by chance, she looked into the cafe where you worked, and after good service, in addition to a tip in the form of such a large bill that you had hardly ever seen one in your life, she left you her phone number, asking you to call her if you suddenly wanted to unwind. It's obvious that you decided to call purely out of curiosity, without having any high expectations of what might happen, but as soon as she picked up the phone, you really understood that she was waiting for your call.

that same evening you both went to the best restaurant in your city, I think it goes without saying that you had never tried the food that was there in your life, and had only seen it on the internet in pictures. then she ordered some damn expensive wine that made you feel so drunk that you didn't want to go back to the dorm, to which she kindly offered to spend the night at her place, to which you, out of desperation, agreed.

"what a fucking big house", you thought when you first saw her mansion, you also thought about how she herself doesn’t get lost in her own house. she opened the door of her black mustang for you, kindly helping you out, you felt her hand on your waist as she led you inside the house. as soon as you touched any soft surface for the first time that evening, your eyes immediately began to close, until the moment you felt her fingers unfasten your heels.

"what are you..." you didn't have time to finish your sentence before she raised her head, meeting your eyes, "what am i doing?" she asked with a smirk, continuing to unfasten the clasp on your shoe, "helping drunk cinderella get rid of her shoes, poor girl, aren't your feet tired from wearing heels all evening?" this question threw you off track, for the first time hearing that someone cared about you...

"a little, but I got used to it, everything is fine, really..." without letting you finish your sentence you felt her strong arms lift you up, carrying you with ease through the dark, unlit corridors, "you are so light, like a feather, it feels like i can carry you in my arms forever and not get tired", these words made your cheeks turn slightly crimson, feeling your neck burn with embarrassment, you wanted to answer something, but from what you heard you literally lost the power of speech, just letting jimin carry you to the bedroom.

the door opened and you were presented with a large bedroom with an equally damn large bed, compared to the beds in your dorm it was literally heaven and earth, wonder why she has such a big bed? are all rich people this weird? you thought as she carefully laid you down on the soft mattress, which immediately made you relax, "comfortable, princess?" she asked, to which you immediately nodded, while your face broke into a drunken smile. as soon as she saw you smiling, she knew at that very moment that she would spend millions just to see that smile again.

her palm touched your cheek, but you, however, were not against it, you yourself did not understand what pushed you to do this, alcohol, or her sweet words about you, but at that very moment you placed your palm on top of hers without breaking eye contact with her, "you are beautiful when you are drunk", she said, this phrase immediately made you giggle, looking at her expression with interest, "and when I'm sober, am I not beautiful?" her brows furrowed, but despite this she smiled, leaning closer to you so that she was hanging over you, "don't talk nonsense, doll, you are beautiful to me in any case."

her lips touched your own carefully, as if afraid to hurt, as if afraid that you would push her away, but instead you were drawn into the kiss, moving your hands to her neck, could feel with your fingertips how tense her muscles were, her fingers began to slide under the hem of your dress, hand splaying across the soft, smooth skin of your back, at the same time causing you to get goosebumps. she could feel the heat of your body, could feel the way your muscles tensed and then relaxed under her touch, as you surrended to the gentle pressure of her fingers.

pulling away from the kiss, her eyes softened as she gazed down at your peaceful, resting form sprawled across her bed, she leaned in close, her breath warm against your ear as she murmured, "I want you", you bite your lower lip, looking into her eyes that were full of desire and hunger, you knew that if you agreed, there would be no turning back, but it didn't scare you, not anymore. you nodded, giving her free rein, to which she only smirked, touching her lips to the soft and velvety skin of your collarbone, causing you to let out a quiet moan, she reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, her fingers lingering to caress your cheek, as she continued her assault on your collarbones.

you felt her lightly nipping at your skin, but it only turned you on even more, knowing that she would leave her marks, that everyone would know who you belonged to now. her thumb brushed over your bottom lip, tracing the soft curve, finally pulling away from you, you smirked and reached out your hands, unbuckling her pants, which surprised her, but she fucking loves it when you take over, none of her subordinates or acquaintances would believe that she would allow someone to rein her in, but now she understood that it was in front of you that she would kneel if necessary.

"and you can handle it on your own, yeah?" throwing her belt aside, you wrapped her tie around your arm, causing her to straighten up and switch your positions so that she fell backwards onto the bed, jimin's hips buck slightly, pressing her hardness more firmly against the your hand, she can feel the heat radiating from the girl's touch, forcing her to throw her head back, as you you moved your hand for a long time, "f-fuck... mouth, princess, please..." she was like this for the first time in her life, so whiny, so desperate for someone's touches. you licked your lips, her hands move to the your shoulders, gently guiding you downward. as you settles between her legs, she takes a deep breath, preparing herself for the incredible sensations that are about to follow, her fingers immediately found their way into your hair, massaging your scalp.

when you lowered your head, you slowly touched the tip with ler hot tongue, tasting the slightly salt essense of her precum, that was leaking from the tip, jimin lets out a soft moan, her fingers tightened in your hair. she can feel the warmth of your mouth, the gentle pressure of your lips, "oh fuck... it so hot in your mouth, baby..."

her hips twitch as the you started to bob you head up and down, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head of her cock, as you continued to take more of her length into your mouth, her grip on her hair tightens, not enough to cause pain, but just enough to let her know that she's there, that she feels so fucking good, too good to describe in words.

soft moan escapes her lips as she feels your tongue and lips exploring her, causing her to arch her back, breathe heavily and squirm on the bed, she could feel your nose press against her pelvis as you took her to the hilt, swallowing around her length, jimin could feel your throat working around her, the muscles rippling along her shaft and making her see stars, "fuck, i-im close..." karina grunted, her grip on your hair tightening as she started to thrust faster, fucking the your face with abandon, she could feel the telltale tingling in her spine, the heat coiling tighter and tighter in her core, "fuck fuck fuck, baby... im gonna cum, fuck!" she demanded, her voice strained and rough with impending orgasm, with a roar, karina slammed her hips forward one last time, burying her cock deep in your throat as her climax crashed over her.

finally spent, she slumped back against the headboard, chest heaving as she caught her breath. she gazed down at you with a satisfied smirk, "you... you're good at this, even too good."

about a few months of your "interesting" relationship have passed, you have practically stopped spending the night in the dorm, to which your friends were surprised, happy that you finally found yourself a boyfriend, yes... that's right, a boyfriend... almost, of course, you wanted to introduce your girlfriend to them, but you didn’t even know if you should rush things.

jimin, as always, is up to her ears in work, sitting in her office, while her favorite girl in the person of you sits on her lap, watching with interest as she fills out important documents with difficulty and seriousness. she would occasionally look up to raise her head and let you kiss her face for the thousandth time, feed her strawberries from the box on the table with your hands, what touched her to madness, she was damn tired from work, but when her beloved girl was nearby - she didn't even think about it.

her hands slid down to your waist, stroking it, to which you looked at her in surprise, "are you finished yet?" to which she only smiled, resting her chin on your shoulder, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume, "no, but can't I take a little break?" her grip tightened, slightly pulling your shirt down from your shoulder to gently touch your lips, causing you to gasp, "that's unfair, yu jimin, finish your work first and then pester me."

she just smirked, pulling away from your shoulder so she could look into your eyes, leaning down and touching her nose to yours, "and you are the most obedient of the two of us", you just giggled, pecking her lips, weaving your fingers into her black strands, running them through your fingers, "okay so be it, twenty minutes, then you finish work and we go home."

"twenty minutes? it's enough for me to deal with you", she brushed a fallen strand of hair behind your ear, touching your lips, to which you immediately responded, wrapping your arms around her neck, allowing her to deepen the kiss, it's passionate and hungry, her tongue delving into your mouth to taste you, her hands roam over your body, cupping her breasts though the fabric of your shirt. After a few minutes she pulled away, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath, "fuck, you're driving me crazy, baby..."

"and you smell so sweet", she purrs, burying her nose in your neck and inhaling deeply, as her fingers slowly unbutton your shirt, letting them slide down your shoulders, falling to the floor, her hips grinding against hers. she can feel the heat building between them, the friction of their bodies driving her wild. she cups you breasts, pinching her nipples and rolling them between her fingers, enjoying the feeling of how soft and sensitive your skin felt in her hands.

your hands slid lower to the fly of her pants, causing her to sit up slightly, allowing you to pull them down to her knees, "come on baby, do as you please." you touched her hardness through the fabric of her boxers, causing her to let out a soft moan, leaning back against the back of her chair, you only lowered them a little, freeing her throbbing member and collecting the glitter precum that managed to appear on the tip of her cock, lubricating it fully, finally raising her gaze to jimin, looking into her eyes clouded with lust, biting your lip, you rose slightly in order to slowly lower yourself down on her cock, feeling her slowly stretch you, she sets a steady rhythm, fucking into you with deep, powerful but slow thrusts, placing her hands on your hips, lifting your skirt slightly, "so tight, I'll never be able to get used to this, fuck..."

jimin's eyes darken with lust as she watches you start to move without her help, your hips lifting and dropping in a sensual rhythm, she meets each downward thrust, driving deeper into your heat, the obscene sounds of your sloppy sounds coupling fill the room, mingling with moans and grunts.

she leans forward, her lips brushing against your ear, "do you like being fucked like this?" you threw your head back, unable to respond coherently, just nodding, and that answer was enough for her to push even deeper, "oh, i can say... such a good girl, gonna feel you squeeze my cock as you fall apart." she could feel the way your body yielded to the intrusion, could sense the way her greedy hole sucked at her cock, making her smirk, seeing how you are unable to say anything, silently giving in to temptation, letting her do whatever she wants.

she slid her hands up the smooth expanse of your back, feeling the play of muscles beneath her fingertips as you rode her with wild abandon, "my, my, so fucking beautiful like that", jimin praised, one hand fisting in your silky hair while the other gripped the curve of your ass, she pulled you down harder, grinding her hips against yours as she fucked up into clutching heat. her hands threw the papers and everything unnecessary off the table, causing it all to fall with a crash, but she didn't care, she easily lifted you up, laying you on your back on the cold glass table, fucking you from a different angle.

her breath came in ragged gasps as she felt your velvety walls clench and ripple around her throbbing shaft, she knew she couldn't last much longer, especially when you looked so sexy, seeing how your heavy breasts bouncing as she thrusts into you. she could feel your need, the way your body ached to be claimed, to be marked as her's, it set a fucking fire in her blood, a desperate primal urge to give you what you craved, mark you as hers, so that everyone knows whose you are, who can see you like this.

"fuck, gonna breed you, take it, fucking take every fucking inch of my cock like the good little girl you are", she could feel her orgasm building, her balls tightening, she could feel every little flutter and quiver, could sense the desperate hunger, "gonna knock you up, everyone will know that you are mine, only FUCKING MINE and no one else's", she growled this phrase through her teeth, feeling how lust and desire were taking over her, and she was no longer able to resist it.

"i-im so close..." the only words you could utter in the stream of endless moans, the desperation in your voice, the way you panted and mewled so sweetly, only served to drive her own lust to new heights, "so greedy for my cock, don't you? I will give you everything you want and even more, no one can give you as much, NO FUCKING ONE."

she tightened her grip on your hips, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room, you heard the table creak from her rough pace, but that was the last thing on your mind right now.

"cum with me, fuck, baby, please!" with a hoarse cry, she slammed you down one last time, burying herself to the hilt inside your spasming pussy, forcing you to cum with her, digging your nails into her back almost until it bleeds, ger body shuddered and jerked as wave after wave of ecstasy washed over her, her cock pulsing and throbbing as it pumped you full of her essence. she held you close as the aftershocks of your intense lovemaking rippled through you both, pressing soft kisses to yoursweat-dampened temple and cheek, stroking your thighs soothingly, "that's my good girl..."

pulling away from you, she smiled, seeing your disheveled hair, seeing beads of sweat running down your body, which made her feel proud of herself, "well... we have five more minutes, maybe a second round?"

[shewrites444]

pretty [ art donaldson x babysitter/age gap! reader smut ]

[ Hiii me popping up on here for the first time in forever lmao. I've been on a Challengers kick lately, let me know if I should write more on Art perhaps. :D ]

WC - 3.5k (unedited story, so apologies for any errors)

[ Summary - The reader and Art have been having an affair for the past few months after she became the Donaldsons' occasional babysitter. A lot of porn with a slight plot. ]

[ Warnings - Age gap (reader is college-aged, art is in his like mid-thirties), cursing, cheating/affair, oral (m&f receiving), dirty talk, tiny breeding kink mention, unprotected sex ]

-

It's not like it mattered to Tashi, well, anymore, what her husband did in his free time. A year or so ago, when Art found out about Tashi and Patrick's on-going affair at their challenger, he felt crushed, defeated, sickened, all emotions jumbled into one component, knowing what his wife was doing behind closed doors since they were teenagers. No amount of "I love you's" could make her drawn closer to him, no amount of care, compassion.. nothing. I mean, it would only make sense that an affair that lasted over ten years, especially with his former best friend and teammate, would fundamentally fuck up their marriage.

Tashi tried to fix it, she really did, by cutting off all connections to Patrick, promising Art she'd be better for not only him, but their daughter, Lily, and the careers and finances they shared together. She knew all the logic behind an affair was unjustifiable, and it made sense to fix a marriage with someone who genuinely cared for her and the family, careers, and finances they created together.

Art stopped playing tennis that year, and like they had promised each other months before, decided to work on the foundation full time, and with newer responsibilities, came the need for a sitter that wasn't only one of their parents when Art had a game or two.

That's where you came into the picture.

You were an undergraduate student at NYU, about to graduate in the spring with a heavy need for any sort of finances to help you afford your rent the rest of the semester. Knowing that your niece was in class with Art and Tashi Donaldson's daughter, that set up a fairly easy connection to a potential babysitting gig. They were millionaires, hell, maybe even billionaires at this point, so you'd be bound to get a pretty solid paycheck.

You were in luck. They needed an occasional sitter on the weekends, and a handful of nights during the week, and given that they both knew your sister, you were already trusted. Easy money.

You got along with Lily pretty well, too. Not to mention the Donaldsons were kind to you as well, and the amount of money they gave you for watching their one daughter, who was pretty self-sufficient other than needing to have a bedtime story or two read to her each night, was fucking ridiculous. Not like you were rolling in dough, but they surely overpaid you. Not like that was a problem for either parties, though.

Overtime, you talked more to Art when Tashi was starting to have more meetings, interviews, and other miscellaneous tasks that required her attention as they expanded connections to the foundation. At first, it was a bit awkward, given that when babysitting, usually the dad was a bit more absent, or quiet, but he warmed up to you after a few nights. He'd ask you about how Lily was, even ask you about school, or what you wanted to do after graduation, pay you, and that was really it. It was simple, really, until it wasn't.

And here you were, months later, standing at the small kitchen island in your apartment, which was, frankly, a bit inhumane in size for an inhabitant, but it's New York City, and it's what you could afford, even on the Donaldson's payroll. You had a small salad bowl in front of you, sliding the grape tomatoes off the cutting board in your hand into the mixture, as no other than Art Donaldson stood next to you, the tongs in his hand as you handed him the bowl.

Playing house with a married 35-year-old man wasn't on your list of things to do this year, but it's not like you were complaining.

From an outside perspective, it felt wrong, but to you, it felt just right. It was cliche, and well, bad, being apart of an affair for a multi-millionaire last name, and a man that was married, with a whole family, but you tried not to think about it.

Did you love him? You had never been in love, so you didn't really know, but probably not, at least not yet. Did he love you? You didn't think so, but he definitely favored you more than his own wife, and you weren't even thinking that because of the situation, you genuinely knew he preferred you.

"You want me to put a show on?" Art asked softly, glancing down at you as you walked over to the kitchen, rinsing off the cutting board. His eyes averted to your ass, glancing at the sweat shorts that hugged your figure, before looking up to meet your eyes when you turned around.

You knew he checked you out, it's not like that came to a surprise. Art was sweet, really, but it's not like he wasn't a sexual man because he was older. If anything, that made his sex drive higher. You shrugged, sliding past him to open the fridge and grab the salad dressing. "Eh, I'm good with whatever."

You can hear him set the bowl down, and his free hand travel to the side of your waist, over the thick cotton of your sweatshirt, as you grin to yourself, shaking your head while you set the dressing on the counter. "Shouldn't we eat first?"

"Just missed you today." Art muttered, lightly turning you around to face him before giving your forehead a light peck. "Haven't seen you all week, pretty."

Your cheeks redden, and the familiar pit in your stomach follows directly after. Fuck. Art was older than you, yes, but an emotional man at the fact of it, but he was so fucking needy. He'd come see you, not even two or three days between, and act like it had been two months without contact. He'd lay his head on your chest, play with your fingers, tell you how much he missed you, all because you hadn't seen him in not even a week. From the outside, that probably looked pathetic, a married man, who had a wife and child at home, coming to a college-aged girl's apartment, not even the size of his bedroom, cuddling her like he was a teenager. It was fucking toxic, actually, but again, you tried not to think about that part of it.

"Well, why don't we eat, and then you can show me that you missed me later, hm? That okay?" You step back slightly to look up to him, reaching forward to cup his rose-tinted, pale cheeks. You lean up to kiss him, pulling away to slide out of his embrace, your eyes following the meal you had just made together.

Art was pouting, basically, as he frowned at the corner of his mouth, walking towards the other side of you and gently taking the tongs out of your hand. "I'd rather show you now. You can't tell me you don't want me to fuck you right here, sweetheart."

"Art." You purse your lips together, shooting him a glare. You could pretend to be annoyed all you want, but he knew you weren't aggravated with him. It's not like you didn't enjoy him fucking the shit out of you on your kitchen counter, or anywhere, matter of fact. He'd fuck you right in your car when he walked you out of his house after babysitting, he didn't give a fuck. He liked you a lot, way more than he should, even in the given scenario of an affair.

"What?" He tilted his head, looking down at you with that stupid cheeky-ass grin he'd always give you when he knew you were fibbing. You wanted him, obviously. Sometimes, he didn't know why you even pretended to act like you didn't want it right then and there.

Art really wasn't even the most dominating guy, but if that's what you wanted, he'd put on a fucking show. He'd bend you over and fuck the shit out of you if that's what you wanted him to do. He'd make it hurt, if that's what you wanted him to do. But again, he liked you, so he'd never actually hurt you.

You glance down between you, the obviously erection in his sweatpants pointing right at you. You look back up to him, that look of pure want on his face so obvious. You glance to your bedroom. You don't have to speak, he already knows, and he listens so fucking easily.

The chemistry between the two of you was a fucking pain sometimes. You'd be so wet when he'd do as much as touch your back, it would piss you off sometimes, and you would think that after fucking him for a few months now, that feeling of freshness would go away, but it didn't.

You'd do more than just fuck, too. If he wasn't such a public figure, he'd take you out on real date, probably try to pursue you in some way if he wasn't married, and just a more normal-status guy, but that wasn't the case. He would make efforts though, buy you flowers sometimes when he'd come over, order the two of you something to eat, whether it was Chinese takeout or a 5-star review restaurant steak, he didn't care. He just wanted to please you, the best he could. All the time.

Right now, his definition of pleasing you was gesturing for you to lay down on your twin-sized bed, and plant his face between your legs, eating your pussy until you were begging him to fuck you with something other than his tongue.

You wiggled yourself out of your shorts and underwear in one, Art assisting you by pulling them off your ankles and onto the wooden floor. He spread your knees apart, kneeling on the hard ground before his hot breath was planting kisses between your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours.

You gulp, averting your attention to his mouth. You watch him get closer, and you can only gasp when he latches onto your clit. You feel him move his hand onto your thighs, wrapping around them from the back and holding your sides, his pale, calloused hands digging into your skin. It didn't hurt though, not at all.

"Oh my god." Leaves your mouth without a single thought. Art knew exactly how to please you. "Art, you're gonna make me cum before you even fuck me."

He looked up to you, lips still pressed against your pussy, his eyes locked with yours for a moment, before he focused his attention to your body again. He didn't care. Guess that was the point.

You shake your head in disbelief, your back naturally arching as he pressed his tongue harder against you. God, you couldn't even imagine what it was going to be like when his cock was inside you, even though you'd slept together plenty of times before.

His tongue kept pace on your clit, as he moved one of his hands off your thigh and closer to your pussy, gently pushing his middle finger through your folds. Fucking hell, as if he couldn't make you more turned on.

"Art." His name rolled off your tongue. "You're gonna make me cum. I wanna finish with you."

He listened to you, and he obliged, despite how much he wanted you to cum now. Art slowly pulled his finger out of you, and his mouth away from you. He leaned up, motioning himself on top of you, before you moved your hands to lightly push him off.

"What's wrong?" He asked, almost immediately, his eyes dropping, almost disappointed. You knew his cock was aching to be inside you.

You lean up, your hands traveling to rest against the sides of his broad shoulders. "Here. Lay down."

Art wasn't going to fight that. He eagerly nodded at your request, your positions switching in seconds as he laid down on your bed. Your hands began to pull at the waistband on his sweats, and his underwear, sliding them off his body in one.

You weren't one for sucking cock, but with Art, you fucking adored it. You liked to watch him fall apart at just your mouth, knowing that he'd crumble once he fucked your pussy. You liked edging him to the point he was whining, begging, pleading to fuck you, or you to fuck him. Just depended on the day.

"You gonna suck my cock, pretty girl?" Art asked you, softly, a half-smile on his pink lips as he moved one of his hands to cup your cheek, his elbow propping his body up slightly. "Gonna let me fuck your mouth?"

"Mhm." You murmur, nodding as you move down to spit on his cock, wetting the tip before you peck a few kisses against his tip, glancing up at him as you laid on your stomach towards the end of your bed, front of your body aligned with his middle. "Gonna let you fuck my throat, Art."

Art's grin followed the rest of his lips, his cheeks dark red as his mouth hung open. He watched you lean down, his cock enveloped by your mouth. You had pretty, plump lips. Pretty and full lashes you'd bat when he fucked your throat. He could watch you suck him off all day. He could just be with you all day.

"You're so beautiful, [Y/N]. My pretty girl." He praised you, his hand still glued to your cheek, bits of spit against his thumb as you bobbed your head, his cock hard and full in your mouth. "Gonna let me fill your mouth up, hm? Or should I fill your pussy instead? What do you want, baby?"

It's not like you could answer the question. You keep sucking him off, looking up to his blue eyes, before you force him down your throat, muffling any sort of gag that your body desperately wanted to let out. You wanted him to know you could take his cock.

"God." He moaned, his eyes never leaving yours. He rubbed your cheek. "Your mouth feel so good, but I really wanna fuck you. Please, baby. I wanna cum in you. That pretty pussy, please."

It didn't take you much convincing to slide his cock out of your mouth and lay down on your bed. It made you feel embarrassed, desperate even, with how eager you were to have him stuff his cock inside you. Not like he judged you for that at all, just internal thoughts you'd have occasionally.

He sat up, his cock hard and straight, as his knees dug into the mattress. He took his shirt off in one pull, tossing it into the pile of your combined clothes before he moved you more towards the middle of the bed. He aimed his cock at your pussy, your legs spread wide for him, before he leaned forward, slowly pushing himself inside you, the both of you moaning at the raw feeling.

Art could be rough if you wanted him to, and you'd do the same for him, but typically, he savored the moment he entered you each and every time. He'd told you several times, that you were no where near in comparison to any woman he'd been with. No competition. You were it. In every way. Part of him wished he had met you earlier, maybe at Stanford or even grade-school. God, he would've worshipped you back then, all the way to now, and the future. You checked off all his boxes, physically, emotionally, sexually, everything. In a different narrative, he would've married you and had a life with you. Fuck tennis. Fuck everything. He'd rather whatever life he could've had with you.

"You feel so good, pretty. You always do." Art leaned down to press a hard kiss against your lips. He pecked your cheek, his lips moving to your ear. "I'm gonna fill that pussy. Gonna make you mine, baby, my sweet girl.. You want that? You like that?"

You nod, your mouth open as you moan, rather loudly as he picked his pace up the more he talked to you. "Y-Yes, baby, fuck yes, fill me up. You're so fucking sexy.. You fuck me so good, Art."

Art groaned at your response, moving his head back to align above yours, his overgrown curls bouncing with his movements, the bed squeaking underneath you. He'd let his hair grow out a bit more lately since you complemented it awhile back.

"Gonna fill this pussy, pretty girl. Gonna give you my cum." He muttered, almost to himself, as he looked between your bodies at what he could see, watching himself fill your hole. It was obvious you were fucking a former pro-athlete. He could fuck you for hours if he wanted to with the amount of stamina he had, regardless of his age. It was fucking hot, how much, and how long, he could fuck you.

You could feel your orgasm increasing the more he penetrated you, the more he pulled his cock nearly out of you and forcing it back inside you, sending jolts through your body. You were already overstimulated enough from just slower sex, him fucking you like a bunny was almost too much for you to take. Not like that was a bad thing though.

"Come on." You talk to him, watching between the two of you, too. "Make me cum, baby. I wanna finish with you, Art. Please, baby. Fuck me so good."

He nods, his body rocking against yours, your legs moving up to wrap around his hips, keeping him closer, and more inside you. You wanted him to fill all of you, not missing a drop of his cum. You wanted him to make you ache when you woke up tomorrow morning.

"Fuck." He groaned, moaning into your mouth as he kissed you, his tongue sliding against yours as he came inside you.

You felt your body jolt, finishing at the same time, as he filled your pussy up. It felt so good to be on the same level, the same energy, as him. So fucking good.

He gave it a few seconds before he pulled out of you, sitting back up, making sure he fucked your right. He rolled to the side before he pulled you closer to him, his hand running through your frizzy hair, kissing the side of your forehead.

You smirked, looking up to him, a small laugh leaving your lips. "What? You can't be shocked, we've had sex so many times I can't even count it at this point."

"I'm not shocked." Art laughed, playing with your hair as he looked up to the ceiling. "It just feels so different with you. You know how much I like you, [Y/N]. Just feels good is all."

"Hm." You watch him look up. You wanted to bring something else up, more emotional topics, but, as much as you knew he did fancy you, you didn't want to fuck up the moment. "Feels good to me, too." Is all you say in return.

Art looks down at you after a moment. "Yeah?" He grins, moving closer to you as he kisses your lips. "Good."

"Yeah." You return his kiss, slightly leaning up as you look to the door. "You wanna eat now? Got your energy out?"

Art shrugs, sitting up. He pecks your bare shoulder. "Maybe not. Maybe can let the rest of it out later."

"God, you're hornier than me." You scoff, pushing him off with a red face, laughing to yourself at the man before you. "Let's eat. I'm starving."

"Whatever you say." He smirks, clearly teasing you, before stepping out of the bed, grabbing his clothes and tossing yours to you.

And that was what was odd about you and Art. It was casual, but not in a hookup sense. Casual in the way that you could sit down and eat with him, make a meal with him, watch shows and movies together, like a normal couple. It drove you insane sometimes. He felt the same way, but how the hell could he tell you that, when he could never actually be with you? He'd have to mask it some type of way, and usually that was through sex. Not like he didn't enjoy it solely for sexual reasons, because, god, he enjoyed fucking you, but he also enjoyed you.

He watched you finish your plate as you sat on the sofa together. You were gorgeous, the perfect picture of the woman he'd want to be with for more than just this. But that was something you'd have to figure out later.

[sakrafka]

life update (shop opening, diploma, moving...)

Hey just a little update on what's coming in the next few months! For a short version, you can read the bold text only!

I'm currently finishing university, I'm super busy with my thesis and making my diploma portfolio (my thesis is about the representation of trans people in media btw! Unfortunately it's in Hungarian but google translate translates it pretty well)! My thesis defense is on June 18th and I'm very excited, even though no one will really read it since... it's in Hungarian. I worked so hard on it, it's over 30 pages and it came out so well :-(

Since university is ending, me and my partner (@/lonipacs) are moving out of college where we've been living in the past 4 years. Some of you who have been following me for a while might know that my girlfriend is homeless, since she was abused and had to escape from home (her father almost killed her and her family multiple times and threatened/phisically abused them daily) and she's been living in college full-time and has nowhere else to go. Now we have no choice but to move, but we don't have money at all for rent/food/bills etc. because we couldn't work in the past 1,5 years due to intership/university shit + both of us being chronically ill. Me and my partner together maybe about 700 USD which isn't even enough for one month's rent, so we will have to work extremely hard from July to keep the roof over our heads.

I know I haven't been very active lately on social media, but from July/August I'll officially start working as a full-time freelancer, and I'll be extremely grateful for any kind of support on my work! I'll focus all my energy on posting, shop opening and commissions! I'm very afraid that I won't be able to make a living from my art alone, especially in a country with the highest taxes and inflation :"-) The thought genuinely keeps me up at night, even more so since we don't have a "safety net" we can fall into if anything goes wrong (luckily we have some very good close friends who said we can sleep at their places in case we lose our home, if the worst happens). I wish I could have a "real job" but as a disabled/chronically ill person, I genuinely have no choice but to try make a living from my social media.

I'm genuinely shitting my pants, every day feels extremely stressful, full of tears, anxiety and sleeplessness, but I'm trying to stay positive! I feel extremely grateful for each and one of you who ever supported my work with a purchase, comment or like! I know it's very hard to build up an art account nowadays (not to mention the cost of living has been rising everywhere, and art is a luxury that only a few can afford), and I feel privileged to be in a place where I've already managed to build such a kind and supportive audience!

This is a very hard time for me and my partner, everything is very uncertain and changing, but I'm trying to hold onto my love for her and my faith in my work!

[chezzywezzy]

Yandere Edward Cullen (1/8)

*R stands for reader, essentially a y/n. Takes place in college instead of high school, but you can imagine it as high school if you so please. WC: a short 2k.

R made her way up the stone steps to her new destination and community for four years: Forks College. It was a small yet decently prestigious liberal arts college known mostly by surrounding Washington residents. However, it was exactly what R was looking for due to her background. She had scrolled through the lists of selective, not too well-known, and rural colleges. 

R was made for the pre-med path, and no career challenges were going to threaten that. Even after being forced to transfer from her state’s big university due to the sheer amount of harassment, stalking, catcalling, and threats, she needed a break. R didn’t understand why her only means of becoming independent and affording her education and life - and in a very understanding company - needed to be demonized or sexualized in her real life.

However, on the plus side, she was capable of choosing her path with the support of the company she worked with, of which was hardly a job, considering she was flown out for photoshoots or major events around twice a month for very high pay. Yes, to those who knew her more infamous persona, she was a Playboy Bunny. 

She removed herself from her stupor, glancing around. As a pre-med, that meant a packed schedule, most classes essentially being twice the workload and time because of labs. And just her luck, her first 8am on a Monday was the cursed O-chem.  

As she trotted up the steps, a man with a rather outdated haircut trailed beside her. “Hello. I’m Eric. I write for the campus newspaper, as much of a campus as it is - and considering our student body rarely sees man y transfers to the college —“

“If you’re asking to interview me, I’d prefer not,” R replied eloquently. “But if you’re going to show me around and be a friend, I don’t see a problem.”

Eric seemed taken back by the straight-forwardness. Although R was certainly a striking woman from her appearance, it was more so her mature yet warm aura that intimidated him.

Eric gulped and nodded. “Yes, of course! I can take a look at your schedule. The campus is small enough, so I’m sure I’ll hardly be needed.”

The half hour passed and Eric left her at the O-chem entrance. R had felt on edge, but except from curiosity and few clearly embarrassed men, glances were far and few between. She felt refreshed. While R hated being defined by her line of work, it is what she had to be aware of other people defining her as. She wasn’t even doing the acting - shouldn’t that be seen as somehow more virtuous from only being in photoshoots?

She sighed and cleared her head, greeting the middle aged professor who she could already tell would not make O-chem harder than it needed to be. He had an assortment of interesting decor on his desk — and R swore that only fun professors made intricate introductory slideshows to get to know the class.

R sat at a table next to a pale yet incredibly good looking man. He had trimmed hair that seemed to fall perfectly into place, beautiful brown-red eyes, and was dressed in a dark, long-sleeved shirt. Once seated, she was finally able to disrobe her several layers of winter clothing — far more than her peers had, but she was traveling from a warmer climate and was unused to temperatures below 30 in the winter. She nodded and smiled to the man, who glanced back and forth from his notebook to her, but reciprocated. He seemed tense, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he recognized her. 

“I’m R,” she introduced politely. 

“I’m Edward Cullen. You’re a transfer student.”

“Yes,” R replied, smiling. “All the way from [university]. Are you pre-med as well?”

“You could say that,” he answered, his words drawling out as though he was telling an inside joke. Making eye contact with him was so intense that she had to break it, despite the fact that he had a gentle, unthreatening demeanor. “What brought you all the way out here?”

“I just wanted to find a quiet college. I value privacy and education, so…” She felt herself at a loss for words. Even though she was fiddling with the setup of her desk, she felt unnerved. The man hadn’t done anything wrong, but it was always a gambler of whether a man was anxious or if he was creepy.

“Privacy from what?”

In R’s head, a vision of the many hells men and women alike had put her through played. She shuddered, and there was a sense of empathy and understanding in Edward’s eyes. “Oh, just too many creeps. It’s complicated.”

Edward did not prod. He turned to face the front, and R’s sense of distrust turned to faint interest and curiosity. His posture loosened up throughout the class period, and so did R’s. By the end of it, the professor had made it clear that those sitting next to one another were working in pairs for the lab reports, and thus, held one another’s grades in their hands. So R made a mental prayer that this man was not lazy.

R had tai chi next,. But made sure to make some more small talk with Edward on the walk over before he split off. Edward was much taller than he had been slumped in the chair, and although R was completely average height, she had to crane her neck upwards to maintain eye contact on the walk over. 

“What drew you here?” she asked.

“I’m a local, if you can call me that,” he said gently. Despite his appearance, he exuded a calm and collected aura that if not for it he would exude something more intimidating and sexual. “The rest of my foster siblings also attend.”

“Oh! That must be… nice.”

R made another mental note to avoid developing a proximity crush on him; not from anything of his background, but he seemed withdrawn and unsure of himself and his future, something which R found innately unattractive. Yet, it almost seemed as though that was a joke she was not a part of. 

“Do you have any family around here?”

“No, I don’t. My parents are especially poor, so I wanted to find a financially stable way to trade care of myself and them when I can afford to. They’re from [place] — oh, this is my stop,” R announced, about to enter the door that led to the open-ceiling gymnasium. She had signed up for a tai chi class in hopes it might spare her some post O-chem stress. 

Edward nodded politely. “Good bye.”

“Good bye.”

R made a note that beseemed smart, but it was off-putting how he spoke — it was as though he was far older beyond college level age. He spoke like… an elder. Or maybe she was overanalyzing. It was simply rare for someone her age to say the full god bye to a stranger, rather than a ‘bye’ or ‘see you.’

She walked into the gym, glad to have worn sweats rather than anything nice for a first impression. It was forecast and frigid, but that was external. It didn’t help to set a relaxing mood for tai chi, though. 

R grabbed a mat as instructed by the professor and sat next to two chatting girls. “Hello.”

“Oh… hi! You must be the transfer student,” greeted a woman with long, black hair and glasses. “I’m Angela.”

The blonde girl beside her waved. “I’m Jessica.”

And although it was hardly worth retelling, R spent the class period asking the typical mundane questions about majors, clubs, and where they’re from.

~~~

“These are our friends,” Angela introduced, walking the two girls over to the indoor cafeteria. Although normally, Jessica explained, they’d sit outside at the bench, it had decided to hail during the tai chi class, and that was better avoided.

R recognized Eric, who gave her a Cheshire smile and a wave. There were two other men, who introduced themselves as Mike and Tyler. It begrudged her slightly, but she could immediately clock that Tyler would be far too flirtatious and Mike had a thing for her, as subtly as he tried to hide his blushing cheeks. R sat and pulled her out her lunch, assessing the typical chatter they engaged in before answering the occasional questions. Despite her profession and general ambition, R tended to run out of a social battery fast, especially when socialization was not paired with a resume-building activity. She zoned out while eating, all until she was alerted by Jessica’s scoffing and Angela’s giggling.

“… You’re just upset because he’s not into you back,” Angela teased.

“That who isn’t into you?” R spoke up, intrigued by the scent of gossip.

“Any of the Cullens,” Jessica whined with a note of sarcasm. “I mean, just look at them - they’re gorgeous.”

R glanced toward the opening doors, noticing that a group of rather pale yet stunning individuals walked in - one of them being Edward.

“Are those Edward’s siblings?” R wondered.

Jessica quirked a brow while Angela inquired,” You know Edward?”

“Yes. He is my lab partner for O-chem. He was friendly enough, but I can’t fault him for not being too talkative at 8am.”

Jessica seemed in awe. “You talked to him and he talked back? You’re so lucky!”

“Let me explain,” Angela continued. “The Cullens are foster siblings, but they’re also together-together. Those two are together, and so are those two. Edward is the only one who hasn’t dated. I wish Dr. Cullen would adopt me.”

“But he’s so aloof and introverted that he doesn’t give any girl a chance,” Jessica huffed. “Not that I care or anything. There are plenty of cute boys around.”

“Like me,” Tyler broke in with a wink in R’s direction.

“Yeah right, Tyler,” Jessica retorted. “Third time is not the charm in your case.”

The table snickered, and as the Cullens walked past, she waved at Edward. He waved back.

~~~

R couldn’t help but notice as Edward’s family drove away that day across the parking lot. R had never felt much interest in romance, but there was something that innately drew her in to Edward. Even though she cursed the idea of entering a relationship until she was done with school - even hook-ups and flings weren’t her style - she felt like Jessica or Angela, completely enamored by that strange family. 

She drove home and life went on. That week, she focused on strengthening her friendships, and despite being begged to go to La Push in traumatically cold winter weather, she had a photoshoot in Miami that weekend. A nice escape from the cold. In O-chem, the conversation between her and Edward turned from polite to friendly, and R was happy to keep it that way, forcing her bubbling crush further and further down.

~~~

She returned home exhausted late Sunday night. Half of the job was traveling - six hour plane rides plus the hour drive to Seattle and then home. R was grateful for the luxury of being able to take convoluted planes, as she never had left her home area until her job. Either way, she kept up with the immediate study, as most of her stem classes were already beyond the syllabus. 

As she brought her small backpack inside, she took a glance around the quiet neighborhood. The economy was much more affordable here, and so rent for an entire two story house was half her paycheck for a shoot. However, R wasn’t used to the silence living rurally brought. And she wasn’t used to the only sounds being from nature. 

R locked the door behind her a turned on the porch light. The home was a two bedroom one bath, so she made sure to utilize the space well without hoarding too much - and R was quite pleased with her interior design skills. She admired her bedroom as its own feat - a balcony window with thin, flowery curtains, a rotating bookshelf in the corner, a nice dresser with an organized jewelry and make-up stand, a quaint bedside table with a lamp, and cute pillows and blankets. 

She passed out not soon after clicking off her lamp. 

R woke with a start that night, eyes shooting open and her body suddenly on high alert. She wasn’t quite sure what had stirred her senses, but she glanced around the bedroom. Her eyes glazed over every corner until came to a halt near the window. The porch light, which usually bled through the curtains, was off, and the curtains seemed to billow and allow a wispy, willowing wind. She gulped, shivers rolling up her spine. She did another glance over.

She always left the porch light on. She always left windows shut. R carefully slid out of bed, fumbling over to the window. Her bedroom door was still cracked as minimally as usual, so she surveyed the dark lawn and road, not even lit by streetlamp. 

R pulled her head back in and shut the window, making sure to lock it extra tight. She was already so alert that she decided to make a cup of coffee and do what she could with the rest of the night. It was an hour or two away from when she usually woke up after all. She meandered downstairs, still slightly cautious of her surroundings. She went to wash her favorite mug while the coffee was brewing in the pot - but it had already been washed from use a few days ago.

Perhaps she was misremembering a few details.

[iz-belljolie]

“𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞”

dilf!art donaldson x reader

authors note- hope you guys like! This is a little different from what I usually write but I think I'm gonna start a series of this!

cw: daddy kink, age gap, and ofc sexual conent.

You met him at the club. He was sitting alone, and you felt bad. You ditched your friends and went over to him and started talking. You guys really clicked; the conversation never became boring. But you started pushing him. "Do you have a girlfriend...or maybe a wife?", "how old are you?", "do you live around here?". When you asked if he's ever been with a younger girl, he decided that it was enough. He chuckled and shook his head. "I think we should part ways."

"I didn't scare you, did I?" You smirked at him, picking up your drink and putting the straw in your mouth and sucking, all while keeping your eyes focused on him, and his nervous expression.

Art's too lonely...he couldn't keep putting on the facade that he didn't want you. So that's why you ended up in his car, your feet up on the leather seat, your head turned towards him, smiling as you felt the wind blowing through your hair.

"Stop driving like a grandpa, go faster Art." You shouted over the sound of the wind. You felt him speed up. He glanced at you and smiled before putting more pressure on the accelerator, the mph going from 45 to 75, then 80. For the first time in forever, Art felt adrenaline pumping in his body, like drugs.

You stuck your head out the window and grinned as the wind crashed into your face. After a moment you brought your head back in and looked at Art.

"So, how'd you afford a car like this?" You asked, closing the window.

"I was a tennis player. And uh I guess I still have perks from that being my career." He replied.

You hummed. "Wow, tennis. That pretty cool." You stared at the side of his face, admiring his features. He glanced at you and gave you a small smile.

"I guess." He said coldly.

"Tennis is fucking sexy. The way players moan when they hit the ball, the way they can move their body, It's all so intense. Like, it's something completely different than a sport."

Art hummed. "I guess." He said again.

"And they put so much into it...physical training, mental training... it's a lot." You murmured, putting your hand on his thigh, keeping your eyes on him the whole time.

"Yeah...it- it really is a lot." He sighed.

"What do you do?" He asked.

"Little ol' me?" You smiled. "I'm in college."

He took in a sharp breath, his body tensing up.

"Fuck, you're younger than I thought."

You laughed. "God you're acting like I'm in high school. I'm almost 20."

He scoffed. "You might as well be in fucking high school y/n, Jesus Christ."

At this point you guys were driving through a neighborhood of mansions. Art clicked a button that was on the sun visor and the gates of an upcoming house opened. He pulled into the driveway slowly, the gate closing behind the car.

You let out a scoffed laugh. "Holy fuck, this is your house?"

"Yeah."

He put the car into park, then turned it off before exhaling sharply. You unbuckled your seatbelt and leaned in closer to him.

"I don't care about your age Art. You seem like a really good guy, you're hot, respectful, and everything I've dreamed of."

He turned his head to look at you. His eyes had this glassy look, like he was about to cry.

"Are you sure?" His voice a whisper.

"Yes." You whispered.

His house is fucking huge, and just beautiful. The decorations, furnishings, just the whole aesthetic.

He poured you a glass of wine while he lit a cigarette for himself.

"I though tennis players weren't supposed to smoke."

He laughed, which caused him to choke on the smoke and cough.

"I'm not a tennis player anymore sweetie."

"Right." You smiled, taking a sip of the expensive wine.

"You're so interesting Art; I could talk to you for hours." You sighed contently.

"You're fucking drunk y/n." He laughed.

You shook your head. "No, no, you're like so complex, it's amazing, no guy my age is like that."

"You seem really smart. You shouldn't be hanging out with someone like me." He said, his voice light and breathy.

"I want to..." You murmured, walking up to him, your faces inches from each other.

He put out his cigarette on the ash tray that was placed on the marble island in the middle of the kitchen. He lifted his hand and stroked your cheek with his knuckles, his eyes observing your face intensely. You grabbed his wrist softly, guiding his hand so his fingers were near your lips. He took the hint and stroked your lips with his pointer figure, before pushing it through your pillowy lips. You suck gently on the tip of his finger, licking around it, soaking it with your spit. His breathing increased, and the next thing you knew he ripped his finger out of your mouth.

"We can't do this." He said.

"Please..." You whispered, looking up at him through your lashes, tears glassing over your eyes, attempting to both make him feel bad and seduce him.

"I can be a good girl...daddy." You whispered.

He gasped softly. "don't fucking say that." He scolded. Although the bulge in his slacks hardened.

"I'll do whatever you say Mr. Donaldson..."

"How do you know my last name?" His eyebrows furrowed.

"I know all about you Artie...I'm a big fan..."

"You're sick." He whispered.

You laughed. "Then why are you so fucking hard?" You tilted your head and cupped his bulge.

He moaned softly. "W-what are you doing to me?" He murmured under his breath.

"I wanna worship you." You murmured, setting your glass down before running your hands up and down his strong arms.

You ended up in his king size bed, laid out on his silky bed sheets. He ripped your clothes off effortlessly, and treated you like you weighed nothing.

You fucked into you like you were a sex doll, your legs over his shoulders, your hands gripped onto his arms, which were holding him up above you. You were so wet you could hear the squelching of his cock thrusting in and out of your hole.

"You were just so thirsty for my cock huh? You can't help it, you just need to be filled by your daddy, right baby?" He gritted out, moaning from pleasure immediately after speaking.

"Yes, yes yes daddy, I need you." You blabbed in between desperate, punched out moans.

"You-you're so big, it's stretching me apart daddy." You whined, your eyes squeezed shut.

"It's okay princess, you'll get used to it." He panted.

He kept slamming himself into your abused pussy, the wet white ring around his base causing him to moan as soon as his saw it.

"I'm gonna cum" You whimpered, gasping for air, your grip on his arms getting tighter.

A moment later, your mouth opened in a silent scream as your orgasm rushed through you.

"Fuck!" You gasped, letting out a cry, your legs squirming.

He moved onto his knees and wrapped his arms around your thighs, going even faster.

"So close baby, m' almost there." He panted, his voice a pitch higher. His hair was soaked with sweat, and all messed up, facing every direction.

You cried out. "too much-s' too much Art!"

A second later he groaned and gripped your thighs so tight you were sure they would bruise. You felt spurts of his seed surround your walls. He gasped for air as he pulled out and gripped his cock, stroking your puffy red pussy, mixing his release with yours. You eyes were shut and your body was like dough in his hands. He left your sensitive cunt alone and flopped down next to you with a huff.

"You okay?" He murmured.

You smiled to yourself.

"Perfect." And the only reason you were so perfect is because you knew you fucked with him good, and now Art Donaldson was wrapped around your little finger.

[chronosdawn]

Hi, what would the LIs do in a situation where the reader lives as a middle/lower middle class and cant afford to provide for another person. For example im a student who lives on my scholarship, and its kinda hard to provide for myself, let alone someone else. What would they do? They can't exactly get a legal job since they don't even exist in this world :^, I think that'a fun scenario :)

Anon you're so valid for thinking about this. I'll start by saying upfront that absolutely none of the LIs would let you struggle for money, and would likely get very frustrated at the whole legal side of things.

I think Rafayel has the best skillset for getting around the legal issues of trying to get a job without a valid ID, as while he would be an unknown artist in our world, he is still a very good artist and you can sell his work under your name. If you already have art supplies lying around, he can use those, otherwise the local college's art department might mysteriously find a couple of things go missing. He's initially pretty offended by the idea of taking commissions but if you're desperate he'll eventually cave. Admittedly he will complain the whole time and expect a healthy amount of gratitude from you in the form of your undivided attention.

Zayne is probably in the toughest spot when it comes to the ability to do his actual job in our world, as on top of the usual paperwork, he also doesn't have a valid medical licence here. However, if your willing to loan him your laptop or tablet for a bit, I do think he would be able to set himself up as an online tutor (even if it did require a bit of photoshopping to fake a couple of certificates) and he'd be good at it as well. At least one med student messages him after their lesson telling him's saved their life.

Now Xavier is an interesting case as he's been through this scenario before, just with the LaDS version of Earth rather than our version of Earth. He admittedly doesn't have access to a lot of the resources he had there, but I reckon if any of the LaDS LIs could fake an ID here, it would be him. As for what he uses that ID for, well his priorities for a job are as follows: 1) earning money for you, 2) still being able to spend time with you, 3) sleep. I think if you're a student, he ends up getting a job at your university, likely in the physics department. He still sleeps on the job, but he has a better understanding of the subject than most of the Professors so he somehow gets away with it.

I'll be honest with you, I really struggled with coming up with something for Sylus as while he also had to establish himself in the LaDS Earth, he did so by becoming a crime lord. However here is what I think goes down in this scenario: it starts with you bemoaning your money troubles as you go through your grocery list for the week. Sylus listens to you, a serious expression on his face and then tells you to go to bed, while he goes out for a bit of fresh air. You're woken up by him letting himself back into your room at 4am and dropping a thick wad of cash on your desk. Where did he get it? Well, if you really push him, he'll tell you but it's probably safer for you if you remain ignorant.

And finally we get to Caleb, who is in a similar boat to Zayne in the way that there is no chance of him being able to pilot a plane while lacking any sort of valid documents. I think Caleb has a lot of skills, but the one that it would probably make it the easiest to earn money without getting you in trouble with the law would be his cooking. It's easy enough to set up a baking business under your name, while he does all the actual work. Caleb would rather just cook for you but if this is what it takes to put food on your table then it's what he's going to have to do.

[skyguytoast]

maybe.. just an idea.. will beeman with a young wife 🥺

WILL BEEMAN X YOUNG!WIFE

WARNING: at a certain point there is sexual content

A/N: hii, baby, i love the request, Will is a underrated character, i love him so much. I didn't know if you want headcanon or a fic, so, i wrote this, hope you enjoyed ;)

REQUESTS ARE ALWAYS APPRECIATED!!

• You met at a city hall charity gala. Will, as a famous and influential businessman in the city, was invited to lend his support. The moment he first laid eyes on you, the words disappeared from his mouth. He tightened his grip on his champagne glass, his gaze fixed on you as the mayor proudly announced you as the newest prosecutor.  • Will wasted no time seeking you out to congratulate you. During your conversation, he discovered that you had just graduated from college and carried the fiery ambition of someone eager to change the world. You wanted to fight for those who couldn't afford legal representation and free the wrongly accused. Your unwavering sense of justice fascinated him. Perhaps your methods differed, but your goals aligned: ridding the city of criminals. • Will was nothing if not persistent. As the gala wound down, he insisted on driving you home. You could hardly refuse his charm. He made a point of walking you to your door, ensuring you got inside safely—though not before securing your number. • It didn’t take long for things to escalate. Dinners at high-end restaurants, strolls through art exhibitions, Will showing up at your office under the pretense of business at city hall. The chemistry was undeniable. • After just a month of dating, Will proposed. He was already in his 40s and saw no reason to delay happiness. His proposal was romantic yet intimate—an evening at his family's country house, dinner under the stars, and a simple, heartfelt question. You didn’t hesitate to say yes. • Being Will’s youngest wife was no easy task. Whispers followed you—claims that you had seduced him for power or were only in it for the wealth. But, honestly? Who cared? Your husband was incredibly attractive, and you were undeniably in love. • Navigating his family dynamics was another challenge. Surprisingly, you and his ex, Laura, got along well, and Danny was a kind, respectful child. Will deeply appreciated how you made an effort to be present for family moments. You even took Danny to pick out a Father’s Day gift, something that made Will’s heart swell with gratitude. • Will had a possessive streak. He made it clear that you were his, and he wasn’t one to tolerate wandering eyes. Whenever you were out together, his hands were on you—an arm around your waist, a protective hand on your back, fingers laced through yours. His presence was a constant reminder that you belonged to him. • At one of his infamous barbecues with friends, Will didn’t bother with subtlety. He pulled you onto his lap, one arm draped over your exposed thighs, his fingers idly tracing patterns on your skin. A silent declaration to everyone present. • Will wore his wedding ring with pride, almost smug about the fact that you were his wife. Sometimes, he’d call you ‘wife’ or ‘wifey’ just to hear the word roll off his tongue, the sound of it sending a thrill through him. Knowing you were his? That was intoxicating. • Despite his possessive nature, Will also had a softer side reserved just for you. He loved coming home to you, seeing you curled up on the couch, greeting him with a warm smile. Those quiet moments, when it was just the two of you, made everything else fade away. • Will had a habit of spoiling you, even if you protested. Jewelry, designer clothes, weekend getaways—he never let an opportunity pass to remind you that you were cherished. But the best gifts? The ones where he simply held you close, whispering that he’d never let you go. • The age gap never bothered him, but he took it upon himself to make sure you always felt respected and heard in their relationship. He valued your opinions, your ambitions, and took pride in the fire that made you who you were. Because, in the end, you weren’t just his wife—you were his equal.

SPICY HEADCANONS (+18)

• Will Beeman radiated a commanding presence, both in and out the bedroom. He was a man who craved control, and he wielded it with the same unyielding determination he brought to his work. In bed, he liked to be the one setting the pace, dictating the rhythm of your pleasure with each powerful thrust of his hips. His large hands would grip your waist, guiding you, positioning you exactly how he wanted you, as he drove into you with deep, relentless strokes.  He would loom over you, his muscular frame shadowing your smaller one, his eyes, those piercing blue eyes, would bore into yours, watching your every reaction, reveling in the way your face flushed and your lips parted under his onslaught. You were his to claim, his to conquer, and he took great pleasure in reducing you to a writhing, mewling mess beneath him.

• After a long, frustrating day at the office, when the stress and tension had built to a fever pitch, there was nothing better than the release of straddling his hips, sinking down on his thick, hard cock as you both sought solace in each other's bodies. You would ride him with wild abandon, your hips undulating sensually, your breasts bouncing as you chased your pleasure. Will's hands would grip your ass, helping to lift you, to pull you down, driving you to take him even deeper. In those moments, the rest of the world fell away, your worries and concerns dissolve like mist beneath the scorching heat of your joining. All that mattered was the slide of your bodies, the slap of skin on skin, and the building pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your core.

• It was a thrill to sneak up on him in his office, to find him hunched over his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration as he grappled with the intricacies of his latest paper. You would slip in on silent feet, your heart already racing with anticipation as you slid your hands over his broad shoulders, feeling the tension coiled in his muscles. With deft fingers, you would undo his belt, unzip his slacks, before freeing his already hardening cock from the confines of his boxers. The thick shaft would pulse in your hand, growing even harder as you wrapped your lips around the swollen head, your tongue swirling teasingly.  Will bit down hard on his cheek, stifling the moan that threatened to escape from his throat as you took more of him into the wet heat of your mouth. He could barely concentrate on the meeting, his fingers would tighten their grip in your hair, gripping the strands almost painfully as he fought to maintain his composure on the call.  You could hear the slight hitch in his breathing, the tightness in his voice as he continued to negotiate the sale of a property, when you took him deep, your nose pressing against his pelvis, your throat squeezing deliciously around his length as you swallowed around him.It was a dangerous game you played—pushing him to the brink of ecstasy while he struggled to maintain the facade of the cool, collected Wall Street broker. But you knew him, knew the effect you had on him, and you reveled in it.

• Will was a man who lived for the chase, the tease, the build-up of tension before the explosive release. And he could tell by the way your blouse fluttered at your neck, the quickening of your breath as you suckled him, that you were just as pent up, just as desperate for the relief only he could provide. He would make you wait, make you beg, before he'd flip you onto the desk, sweep the papers to the floor, and take you right there amidst the chaos of his workday. He'd fuck you hard and fast, pounding into your needy cunt with a wild abandon, determined to make you scream his name loud enough for the whole office to hear. Only then would he allow his own release, his hot seed spurting deep inside you, claiming you, marking you as his. And as you both caught your breath in the aftermath, he'd press his mouth to your neck, your collarbone, your chest, leaving a trail of dark hickeys and bite marks, a temporary tattoo of your passion. 

• As the weather grew warmer and the days longer, you found yourself reaching for lighter, more revealing clothing. The crisp, summery dresses and flimsy blouses that bared your shoulders and hugged your curves in all the right places. And with each outfit,Will had to adapt, to find new territory on which to stake his claim. He began to leave his mark in the secret places, the hidden valleys and curves of your body that hungered for his touch.  No longer content to simply lavish attention on the column of your throat and the swell of your breasts, he started to venture lower, to trail his lips and teeth along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. The first time he did it, you were caught off guard, a surprised gasp escaping your lips as you felt the sharp nip of his teeth sink into the tender flesh.  It was a thrilling sensation, the mix of pleasure and pain that raced through your nerves like lightning, making you shudder and Will seemed to take your reaction as encouragement, and he doubled his efforts, determined to map out every inch of the creamy skin he'd revealed. 

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Education

I'm always asked what sort of education different people recieve throughout different historical eras and since I'm heading back to college soon, I thought it was high time I made this guide.

Disparity

Education is viewed as a right by many but for some and thoughout history it was a privilege. For the wealthy and those of high status, education can be easily accessed. They can afford to tailor an education to fit their needs, they can hire tutors, and they can afford tuitions to top schools. For the poor, education was a luxury. However this doesn't mean that it was available. Some communities would fund a school or send their children to a local teacher - usually they had to pay a daily fee or at least bring kindling for the heating. Many poorer children also worked so they could not attend school consistently or were pulled out very early into their education. However, some poorer students could gain access to high level education if they were extremely bright or caught the attention of a wealthy benefactor who could fund their education.

Education as a Weapon

Education could also be banned for certain groups in society. It could be illegal to fund schools or host gatherings for students of a certain background, race, religion or gender. Education against the law could be punished by imprisonment, exile or execution. This is a measure usually taken by oppressive governments in order to follow a moral code or restrict the betterment of a certain group. An example would be the Irish Catholics under the Penal Laws.

On the otherhand, there is education that is influenced by the state to inject certain values, moralities and Opinions into a population. This is the intense restriction of reading material, removal of books that contest the teachings of the government or the kidnap of children from their culture, in order to forcibly educated them in alignment to their beliefs. An example would be the residental schools of North America and Canada and the AHS schools of Nazi Germany.

Content

As above, content of what children learn usually falls into a certain category. This is also true for the education offered to the wealthy and the poor. The poor would be offered a basic education, learning literacy and arithmetic, usually with an expectation that the children would not go on to any jobs that needs a broader education. Any higher education would be hard to obtain because of cost and the discriminatory view of the enrollment panels. The wealthy would have access to an array of different subjects including: The arts (drawing, music, painting, poetry, dancing), sports (riding, martial skills, rowing, hunting), arithmetic, geography, languages, geography and history. While progression to higher education will still be difficult, any affluent families are legacies of prestigious colleges or can make a donation to grease a few palms. These schools would be where the wealthy make lifelong connections and get springboarded toward opportunities.

Private Tutoring

Whilst some affluent, aristocratic and Royal families send their children to schools, private tutoring in the home was a popular choice. Children would be educated at home but tutors who either lived in the home or come to the house. The children would be educated alongside siblings or the children of courtiers or neighbours. Private tutoring sessions would often be the only education for upper class women recieved, taught by governesses and tutors.

Premises and Equipment

As mentioned above, wealthy and aristocratic families would usually attend established schools or attend school at home. They would be provided any equipment they needed. If they attend school, they would often wear a uniform. Some schools had multiple variations of the uniform for different activities. Many of the schools attended would be boarding schools. Boarding schools offered education to those who boarded and day students, however day students were often looked down upon as lesser than.

Poorer schools would be relient on donations and fees paid by students. As mentioned above, there may be a building reserved for classes - sometimes an designated schoolhouse or a teacher's home or a public building such as a gathering house or sometimes even outside - hedge schools. Equipment would be provided by the school. Uniforms at poorer schools were not a thing but students were expected to show up neat and tidy.

Corporal Punishment

Corporal punishment at schools was the go to punishment for students. Teachers had free rein to strike children for mistakes and bad behaviour. Punishments include insolation, physical stress positions such as standing on a chair all day, getting objects thrown at them, being slapped on the back of the legs with a cane, being rapped on the palms or knuckles with a crop or ruler. Students may also be humiliated by teachers through the use of dunce hats, encouraging other children to bully them or by the use of verbal abuse. Corporal punishment did extend to all classes except for royal children since that was either taken by proxy by whipping boys or left up to parents.

[dreamersworldduh]

RISKY DECISIONS

• Oliver Queen x Male!Reader

SUMMARY — being an assistant is supposed to be an hell of a job, at least that was how the movies make it seems. Yet somehow it’s the complete opposite for you when you become an assistant to Mayor Oliver Queen.

WARNING! 18+ MDNI. Suggestive Langauge. Swearing.

WORDS! 9.3k

AUTHOR’S NOTE! Hi! Sorry for the delay, I couldn’t choice which fic I wanted to do between Oliver Queen and Nate Jacobs, plus I have my first request that I’m writing, so I did to them all. Enjoy! 😚

You never imagined that living in a place like Star City would lead you to be sitting across from its enigmatic and undeniably handsome mayor, Oliver Queen, on a date of all things. Life has a funny way of throwing curveballs when you least expect them, and this was certainly one of those moments. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you'd go from an ordinary citizen in a bustling city to sharing an intimate evening with one of its most powerful and mysterious figures. But, as they say, fate works in mysterious ways.

It all began on what you thought was just another ordinary day, one where you were desperately scouring job listings and hoping to find something, anything, that could help pay the bills. As an art major fresh out of college, you'd always envisioned a life filled with creative pursuits—painting, galleries, exhibitions, and maybe even a small studio of your own someday. However, reality had other plans. The bills didn't stop, and your bank account certainly wasn't growing any larger. That's when the job posting for an assistant position in the mayor's office caught your eye.

It wasn't exactly a dream job, but it was stable, well-paying, and honestly, you couldn't afford to be picky. So, you applied, never thinking you'd actually hear back. To your surprise, you received a call within days. A whirlwind of an interview followed—though, admittedly, the moment you saw Oliver Queen walk into the room, you barely remembered what you said. His presence was larger than life: sharp blue eyes that seemed to see right through you, a confident smile that somehow managed to be both charming and intimidating, and the kind of charisma that could make anyone feel like they were the only person in the room. By some miracle (or perhaps your desperation showed just enough to make you seem dedicated), you landed the job.

At first, the position was everything you anticipated—and maybe a little less glamorous than you'd hoped. Your days were filled with the predictable rhythm of office life: fetching endless cups of coffee, juggling the mayor's ever-changing schedule, filing documents that seemed to multiply overnight, and acting as a buffer between your boss and the chaotic world of Star City politics. The office buzzed with constant activity, from council meetings to press conferences, all of it demanding your attention. You often found yourself staying late to meet impossible deadlines or untangling last-minute crises that seemed to pop up without fail. It wasn't the creative dream you'd envisioned, but it was stable work that kept your head above water. For that alone, you were grateful.

Still, the job came with its challenges. You quickly learned that Star City's political landscape was as turbulent as its streets. Factions bickered over funding and policies while the media scrutinized every move the mayor's office made. More than once, you found yourself running interference during heated debates or smoothing over tense situations with quick thinking and a calm demeanor. The work was demanding, but it left little room for boredom.

What you didn't expect, however, was how involved Mayor Queen was with his staff—or, to your growing surprise, how often he interacted with you personally. You'd heard the rumors before you took the job: that he was aloof, enigmatic, and often kept to himself. His reputation painted a picture of a man who carried his secrets like armor, a leader whose complicated past made him both a hero and a mystery to Star City's citizens. But the man you came to know was so much more than the headlines suggested.

Oliver had a presence that was hard to ignore. Whether he was striding into the office with his signature confidence or leaning over a conference table to make a point, his sheer charisma filled the room. What struck you most, however, was the surprising warmth behind the stern exterior. He wasn't just the brooding figure the tabloids made him out to be. He had a sharp wit and an easy, disarming sense of humor that could catch you off guard. He took the time to remember the little things—your favorite coffee order, your comments about your artwork, and even the days you looked particularly tired after long hours.

At first, your interactions were brief, professional exchanges—a quick thank-you for a report or a casual nod as he passed your desk. But those fleeting moments gradually grew into something more. Conversations in passing turned into longer discussions during late-night work sessions, where the two of you often found yourselves the last ones in the office. He'd linger, asking questions about your background, your aspirations, and what had brought you to Star City. You found yourself opening up in ways you hadn't expected, drawn in by his genuine interest and the way he seemed to truly listen when you spoke.

And then there were the glimpses of vulnerability, the cracks in his armor that revealed the man beneath the title. You could see the weight he carried—the burdens of his position, the responsibility he felt for the city, and perhaps even the ghosts of his past. There were moments when his smile faltered, when his gaze lingered on something unseen, and you realized just how much he gave of himself to lead Star City. It made him more human, more real, and in turn, it made your admiration for him grow.

Before long, you began to notice the subtle shifts in your dynamic. The way his gaze would linger just a moment too long when you spoke. The warmth in his voice when he addressed you by name. The private smiles he seemed to reserve just for you. It was as though he saw something in you that no one else did, and the realization sent a flutter through your chest every time. What had started as an unassuming assistant job was slowly transforming into something far more significant—something you never could have anticipated.

It wasn't long before the dynamic between you and Oliver began to shift in ways you couldn't quite define but couldn't ignore either. At first, it was subtle, so subtle that you wondered if you were reading too much into it. A fleeting glance, a brush of fingers when he handed you a file, the way his voice softened slightly when he said your name—these small, delicate moments began to stand out amidst the chaos of your daily responsibilities. It was easy to dismiss them at first as coincidence, or perhaps just a byproduct of your overactive imagination. After all, this was Oliver Queen, the mayor of Star City—your boss.

But the signs kept coming, and they became harder to rationalize. Like the way his gaze would linger on you during meetings, just a beat longer than it did with anyone else. Or the way his entire demeanor seemed to change when you spoke about your artistic ambitions, a rare spark of curiosity lighting his usually serious eyes. He'd ask questions—not the polite, cursory ones people ask out of obligation, but genuine inquiries that made you feel like he actually cared about what you had to say. And then there were the smiles, small and fleeting but entirely private, as though they were meant for you and no one else.

One moment in particular stuck with you. You'd been working late on a policy briefing, your desk cluttered with papers and a cold cup of coffee. Oliver had come by to check on your progress, leaning casually against the edge of your desk as he skimmed through a draft you'd prepared. When he handed it back, his hand lingered just a moment longer than necessary, his fingers brushing against yours. It was barely noticeable, but it sent a jolt through you nonetheless. He'd given you one of those rare smiles then—soft, almost shy—and for a moment, the bustling office around you seemed to fade away.

Still, you told yourself not to read into it. He was your boss, after all, and the last thing you wanted was to create some awkward misunderstanding that could jeopardize the job you'd worked so hard to secure. But the moments kept adding up, like puzzle pieces that refused to fit into the neat, professional boundaries you'd tried to maintain.

And then, one evening, Oliver made it clear that you weren't imagining things. It had been an exhausting day, the kind where the tension in the office was almost palpable. A city council crisis had thrown everyone into overdrive, and by the time the dust had settled, the office was nearly empty, save for you and a few other stragglers finishing up loose ends. You were at your desk, methodically packing up for the night, when you heard his familiar voice behind you.

"Long day," he said, his tone warm but edged with fatigue. You turned to find him standing a few feet away, his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up—a rare, unguarded version of the polished mayor the public usually saw. He looked tired, but his gaze was steady, focused entirely on you.

"It's an understatement," you replied with a tired smile, reaching for your bag. You expected him to make a quick comment and head out, as he usually did after late nights like this. But instead, he lingered, his hands resting in his pockets as though he were trying to decide something.

"I've been meaning to ask you something," he said finally, his voice low but firm. There was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, a vulnerability you'd never seen before. You straightened, suddenly very aware of the shift in the air between you.

"Of course," you said, trying to keep your tone casual even as your heart began to race.

He took a small step closer, the distance between you shrinking. "I've really enjoyed getting to know you," he began, his words deliberate, as though he'd been rehearsing them. "And I'd like to spend more time with you—outside of work."

The room seemed to grow quieter, the hum of the office fading into the background. His words hung in the air, carrying a weight that made your pulse quicken. There was no mistaking his meaning now, no room for misinterpretation. This wasn't a casual invitation to discuss a project over coffee or grab a quick lunch. This was personal, intimate—a step into uncharted territory.

"Are you... asking me out?" you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

His lips curved into a soft, almost sheepish smile, the kind you rarely saw from him. "Yes," he said simply. "If you're interested."

For a moment, all you could do was stare, your mind racing as you processed the enormity of what was happening. The mayor of Star City, the man who had once seemed so untouchable, was standing in front of you, vulnerable and waiting for your answer.

You agreed, of course—how could you not? But even as you said yes, a thousand thoughts raced through your mind. How had this even happened? How had a job you took out of sheer necessity led to this? As you sat across from Oliver now, his attention focused entirely on you, you couldn't help but marvel at the twists and turns life had taken to bring you to this exact moment.

As the evening unfolded, the boundaries between professional and personal seemed to blur, dissolving into something warm, candid, and deeply human. The weight of Oliver's office—of city budgets, policies, and public appearances—felt like a distant memory. For the first time, the man across from you wasn't Star City's mayor, nor a public figure surrounded by layers of protocol and mystery. He was just Oliver, and his curiosity about your life was genuine in a way that caught you completely off guard.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table as he spoke, his piercing blue eyes never straying from yours. "What made you choose art?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with a genuine interest that made your heart skip.

At first, you hesitated. It wasn't often someone asked about your passions with such sincerity, and you weren't sure how much to share. But there was something in the way he waited—patient, attentive, and utterly engaged—that made you feel safe enough to open up. You spoke about how art had always been your refuge, a way to process the chaos of life and transform it into something meaningful. You told him about the quiet joy of sketching in a sunlit room as a child, the long hours spent perfecting your craft, and how your dream of making a living from your passion had always seemed just out of reach.

Oliver nodded thoughtfully as you spoke, his expression shifting between admiration and understanding. He asked questions that went deeper than surface-level curiosity: What inspired you? What challenges had you faced? What did you hope to achieve? It wasn't just polite conversation; it was as though he wanted to piece together every fragment of what made you who you were. His attention made you feel seen in a way that few ever had, and the ease with which the words flowed from you surprised even yourself.

Then it was his turn. Slowly, carefully, he began to share pieces of himself—pieces you'd only glimpsed through the carefully curated image of Oliver Queen the public knew. He spoke of his years away from Star City, the pain of losing people he loved, and the weight of the mistakes that had shaped him. His voice carried a quiet intensity as he described the sense of purpose he had found upon returning home, the drive to rebuild a city he felt responsible for.

"I never thought I'd end up here," he admitted, leaning back slightly, his gaze momentarily distant. "Running a city, leading people—it wasn't part of the plan. There were times I didn't even think I'd make it through the day, let alone find a reason to keep going. But Star City... this place, these people, they gave me that reason."

His honesty was raw, vulnerable, and it struck a chord deep within you. It was one thing to admire him as a leader, a symbol of resilience for the city, but hearing the weight of his struggles made him feel more real, more human. He wasn't just the polished figure on campaign posters or the commanding presence in a boardroom—he was someone who had fought to piece himself back together, someone who had chosen to carry the burdens of an entire city on his shoulders.

Of course, it wasn't all heavy confessions and heartfelt exchanges. This was Oliver Queen, after all—a man whose charm was practically legendary, a weapon he wielded with precision even now. Throughout the night, moments of levity broke through, lighthearted and flirtatious in a way that left you both blushing and grinning.

"You have this way of pulling people in," he said at one point, his lips curving into a sly smile. "It's not just your art—it's the way you see the world. It's captivating."

You laughed, trying to brush off the compliment even as your cheeks warmed. "That's rich coming from you," you teased. "I'm sure you've had plenty of practice captivating people."

He chuckled, a low, warm sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "Maybe," he admitted, his gaze locking with yours, "but that doesn't make this any less real."

The weight of his words hit you like a jolt. It was playful, yes, but there was an unmistakable sincerity beneath the flirtation. He wasn't just flattering you; he meant every word, and the realization left you momentarily speechless.

And then there were his eyes. You'd always thought they were striking, but tonight, they were utterly mesmerizing. In the intimate glow of the room, they seemed to hold a depth and warmth that drew you in completely. There was an intensity in the way he looked at you, as though you were the only person in the world, the only thing worth his attention. You found yourself hanging on his every word, not because he was Oliver Queen, the mayor, but because of the way he made you feel: seen, valued, and undeniably alive.

By the time the conversation began to wind down, you glanced at your watch in surprise. Hours had slipped by without you even noticing, the world outside fading into irrelevance. You weren't sure what the future held—what this connection would mean or where it might lead—but in that moment, you couldn't bring yourself to care. All that mattered was the man in front of you, the shared laughter and confessions, and the undeniable spark that had taken you both by surprise.

Your relationship with Oliver had evolved into something that neither of you could easily define, but it was becoming clear to both of you that the lines between personal and professional were growing increasingly blurred. You found yourselves spending more and more time together—not just outside of work but during long hours in the office as well. Though you both tried to maintain a semblance of professionalism in front of others, it was becoming harder to keep up appearances. Especially when Oliver seemed determined to test those boundaries every chance he got.

One afternoon, you were in his office, helping him sort through a mountain of paperwork that needed his signature or review. The large space, usually a hub of activity, was uncharacteristically quiet, with most of the staff out to lunch. You sat comfortably in one of the plush lounge chairs positioned across from his desk, your legs crossed as you sifted through a stack of documents. Oliver was seated behind the desk, but you couldn't help noticing that his attention wasn't exactly on the papers in front of him.

"Okay, so this one is for the new community center funding," you explained, glancing up at him briefly before returning to the next item in the pile. "And this one is for—Oliver, are you even listening?"

He didn't respond, not really. Instead, he leaned back slightly in his chair, his piercing blue eyes fixed on you in a way that made your stomach do a little flip. You furrowed your brow, confused, and a little exasperated by his lack of focus.

"Oliver?" you prompted again, your tone carrying a hint of warning. That's when he stood abruptly, pushing his chair back and rounding the desk with a purposeful stride.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your voice a mix of confusion and curiosity as you tilted your head to look up at him.

Still, he said nothing. Instead, he reached out, his hand brushing against yours before firmly taking it in his grasp. Your heart skipped a beat as he gently tugged you to your feet, leading you behind the desk. Before you could protest or even fully process what was happening, he dropped back into his chair, pulling you into his lap in one swift motion.

"Uh, no, sir," you said quickly, shaking your head even as your cheeks flushed with heat. "This is definitely not happening. Do I need to remind you that your sister, who also happens to be my boss, would kill me if she saw me sitting on the big boss' lap?"

Oliver threw his head back and laughed, the rich sound filling the room and sending a shiver down your spine. "Relax," he said, his voice low and teasing as his hands rested lightly on your hips. "Everyone's out to lunch. We have the whole office to ourselves."

As if to further his point, he leaned forward slightly, brushing his lips against the side of your neck in a way that made your resolve falter. You wanted to protest, to remind him of the risks, but his charm—and the warmth of his touch—was dangerously persuasive.

"Oliver..." you began, your tone meant to be scolding but coming out far weaker than you intended. He smirked against your skin, clearly enjoying how easily he was unraveling your composure.

"You worry too much," he murmured, his voice soft but laced with mischief. "You work hard, you're brilliant at what you do, and you deserve to take a little break every now and then."

His lips pressed another soft kiss to your neck, and you felt your resolve slipping further. You glanced toward the office door, half-expecting someone to barge in despite Oliver's assurances that you were alone. But no one came, and for the moment, it was just the two of you in the quiet, sunlit office.

"Fine," you relented, though your tone carried a mix of exasperation and amusement. "But if anyone walks in, you get to explain this."

His grin widened, and he leaned back in the chair, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt protective and intimate all at once. "Deal," he said simply, his voice low and satisfied.

For a few stolen moments, the world outside the office seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in your bubble of shared laughter, quiet teasing, and the unmistakable spark of something neither of you could quite put into words.

Suddenly, Oliver's lips claimed yours in a kiss that was anything but hesitant. It was heated, passionate, and filled with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. His hands, firm and commanding, cupped your face as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a hunger that made your heart pound wildly. The world around you blurred and disappeared, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the electricity crackling between you.

Before you could fully comprehend what was happening, Oliver's hands slid down to your waist, guiding you with a confidence that left no room for second-guessing. With a slight shift, he maneuvered you to straddle his lap, his strength evident as he adjusted your position as though you weighed nothing at all. Your knees pressed into the soft leather of his chair as you braced yourself on his shoulders, your breaths coming in shallow, rapid bursts.

His hands found their way to your hips, gripping you firmly as though grounding you in the moment. But he didn't stop there. His fingers moved lower, kneading your curves with a mix of control and reverence, until they rested on the swell of your ass. His touch was possessive, his palms squeezing with a deliberate pressure that sent shivers racing down your spine.

Your body pressed closer against his, and that's when you felt it— his dick—hard, undeniable, and pressing against you with a need that matched the fire in his kiss. A quiet gasp escaped your lips as he tilted his hips slightly, guiding you against him with a motion that made the heat between you both nearly unbearable. His hands urged you to move, rolling your hips against his in a slow, deliberate rhythm that left no doubt about his desire for you.

The friction was electric, a spark that ignited something primal within you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your lips parting to let him take the lead as his kiss grew deeper, more consuming. His tongue teased yours, each movement of his lips and hands drawing you further into the whirlwind of his passion.

"Oliver..." you murmured breathlessly against his lips, your voice barely audible. But he didn't stop. If anything, your quiet plea only seemed to fuel him further. His grip tightened, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to leave you tingling, and he pressed you down harder against him, making sure you felt every inch of him.

The sensation was overwhelming, his touch, his kiss, the way he looked at you with a gaze that burned with both desire and something deeper, something more tender. It wasn't just lust—it was connection, raw and unfiltered, as though the barriers between you both had finally shattered.

In that moment, there was no office, no mayoral responsibilities, no rules or consequences. There was only Oliver, his body against yours, his hands guiding you, and the all-consuming pull that neither of you could resist.

Your fingers moved almost instinctively, as though they had a mind of their own, reaching up to loosen Oliver's perfectly knotted tie. The soft silk slipped through your fingers, and with each tug, you felt a thrill rush through you at the sight of his reaction. Oliver's lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile, his eyes glinting with delight as he watched you work. There was something utterly magnetic about his gaze, the way it locked onto you with unrelenting focus, making you feel like you were the only person in his world at that moment.

"Taking charge, are we?" he teased, his voice low and rich with amusement, though the heat in his tone betrayed just how much he was enjoying this.

You didn't respond, not with words at least. Instead, you let the tie fall free, the fabric sliding between your fingers as you dropped it onto the desk behind him. The small act felt bolder than it should have, but the way his smile deepened, his sharp jawline relaxing just slightly, made your pulse quicken.

Your fingers hesitated for just a beat before moving to the top button of his crisp white shirt. As you slipped it free, your fingertips brushed lightly against the warm skin of his chest, and you felt him draw in a slow, deliberate breath. The air between you seemed to crackle, the quiet tension growing with every passing second. You glanced up at him, your eyes meeting his, and the intensity in his gaze sent a shiver racing down your spine.

Encouraged by the way he was watching you, you continued. One button became two, then three, and with each flick of your fingers, more of his chest was revealed. The smooth, taut skin beneath his shirt was a distraction all its own, and the heat radiating from his body only seemed to amplify the electricity between you. His collar loosened, exposing just a hint of his collarbone, and you couldn't help but let your fingertips trail lightly against the edge of the fabric as you worked your way downward.

Oliver's hands moved to rest gently on your hips, his touch grounding you even as your heart raced. "You're full of surprises," he murmured, his voice quieter now, softer, but no less filled with that unmistakable heat. His smile had turned from playful to something deeper, something laced with admiration and desire.

As you undid the next button, the edges of his shirt began to fall open, revealing more of his toned chest, and you couldn't help but let your fingers linger for a moment, brushing against the smooth lines of his skin. His muscles tensed slightly under your touch, and his eyes darkened, the playful glint replaced by something far more intense.

You were acutely aware of the closeness between you, the way his breath mingled with yours as you leaned closer, your fingers still working on the remaining buttons. The quiet intimacy of the moment was intoxicating, each small movement drawing you both deeper into uncharted territory. With every undone button, every fleeting touch, the barriers between you seemed to fall away, leaving only the undeniable connection that neither of you could ignore.

Oliver's lips crashed against yours with renewed intensity, his kiss deep and commanding as he lifted you effortlessly by your legs. You barely had time to gasp before he was standing, his strong arms supporting you as if you weighed nothing, and placing you on the cool, polished surface of the desk. The sudden shift in position sent a rush of heat through you, but practicality took over for a brief moment as you broke the kiss to hurriedly push the paperwork to the side.

The sound of the papers scattering across the desk made him chuckle, his lips curling into a mischievous smile. "Really?" he teased, his voice low and filled with amusement.

"Shut up," you shot back playfully, grabbing his face and pulling him back into another kiss before he could say anything else. Your lips silenced his laughter, and his hands settled on your waist, pulling you closer to the edge of the desk. The kiss was fiery and relentless, leaving you breathless as your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan softly against your mouth.

Then Oliver broke the kiss, leaving you gasping for air as his lips trailed down your jawline and onto your neck. His hot breath sent shivers racing down your spine, and the scrape of his stubble against your skin made your heart race. His hands, steady and deliberate, found the buttons of your shirt, and you felt the subtle tug as he began to undo them one by one. There was no rush in his movements—each button was undone slowly, almost torturously, as though he wanted you to feel every second of the moment. His lips followed the path of his fingers, brushing against the newly exposed skin and leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

Your hands, seemingly acting of their own accord, moved to his waist. You fumbled slightly as you found his belt buckle, your fingers trembling with a mix of anticipation and urgency. The clink of the metal as you unfastened it filled the quiet space around you, and you wasted no time pulling the zipper of his tailored pants down.

The pants slipped down his hips, falling into a crumpled heap around his feet, revealing a pair of tight black briefs that left very little to the imagination. Your breath hitched as your eyes were immediately drawn to the prominent bulge straining against the fabric, impossible to ignore. The sheer size of him made your pulse quicken, and a faint blush rose to your cheeks as your gaze lingered. He was rock-hard, his dick was pressing against the material, begging to be freed from its confines. The sight alone was enough to make your thighs press together, a rush of heat pooling low in your abdomen.

Oliver caught the way you were staring, and his lips curled into a knowing smirk. "See something you like?" he asked, his voice dripping with amusement and desire as he continued working on the last few buttons of your shirt.

You didn't answer—words felt unnecessary. Instead, you reached out, your fingers grazing over the waistband of his briefs, your touch tentative yet deliberate. The sensation of his hard length beneath your fingertips made him exhale sharply, his movements pausing briefly as though savoring the contact. The tension between you was palpable, every touch, every glance fanning the flames of a fire that had been building for far too long.

With a deliberate tug, you slid Oliver's briefs down, revealing him in all his glory. His nine-inch dick sprang free, thick, hard, and pulsing with need. The sight of him, fully aroused, made your breath hitch, your eyes lingering for a moment as you took him in. You bit your lip, a mixture of nervous anticipation and sheer desire coursing through you, before glancing up to meet his eyes. The way he looked at you—raw, hungry, and utterly captivated—only fueled your confidence.

Without breaking eye contact, you placed a hand on his chest and gave him a gentle push, urging him back into his chair. He complied willingly, sinking into the plush leather, his gaze never leaving yours. His lips curled into a faint smirk, but there was a flicker of tension in his jaw as though the anticipation was almost too much for him.

You slowly sank to your knees in front of him, your hands trailing down his thighs as you positioned yourself between them. The power dynamic had shifted slightly now, the usually confident and composed Oliver watching you with uncharacteristic vulnerability. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, his hands gripping the armrests of the chair as he waited for your next move.

Your hand reached out to wrap around the base of his shaft, your fingers barely managing to encircle his impressive girth. His skin was warm to the touch, the velvety smoothness contrasting with the hardness beneath. You gave him a tentative stroke, marveling at the way his body responded to you, the way his hips shifted slightly at your touch.

Leaning forward, you let your tongue dart out, flicking it lightly against the head of his dick. His sharp intake of breath was music to your ears, and the faint groan that followed sent a thrill rushing through you. Encouraged, you let your tongue trail along the length of him, your movements slow and deliberate as you tasted him for the first time. The salty, masculine flavor was intoxicating, and you couldn't help but savor every inch.

"God," Oliver murmured, his voice rough and strained. His hands twitched on the armrests, as though fighting the urge to grab you and take control. But he didn't—he let you set the pace, his trust in you evident in the way he surrendered to the moment.

With one last teasing lick, you parted your lips and took him into your mouth, inch by inch. The stretch was intense, but you relished the challenge, the way he filled you completely. You hollowed your cheeks, creating a tight seal as you began to move, your tongue swirling around him with each stroke.

Oliver's reaction was immediate. His head fell back against the chair, a low, guttural moan escaping his lips. "You're... amazing," he managed to say, his voice heavy with pleasure. His hands left the armrests, one of them tangling in your hair as though he needed something to anchor himself.

You glanced up at him as you worked, his jaw clenched and his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The sight of him, undone and vulnerable, sent a wave of satisfaction coursing through you. You adjusted your angle, taking him deeper, and the way his grip tightened in your hair told you exactly how much he appreciated it.

The rhythm you set was slow at first, deliberate and teasing, but as his moans grew louder and his hips began to move in sync with you, you quickened your pace. The room was filled with the sounds of his pleasure, the quiet groans and gasps that made it clear you had him completely under your control. Every movement, every flick of your tongue, every pull of your lips was designed to drive him closer to the edge—and judging by the tension in his body, you were succeeding.

Suddenly, you pulled away, letting his length slip from your lips as you caught your breath. The moment lingered, both of you flushed and panting, the heat between you almost unbearable. Without a word, you rose to your feet, your movements deliberate, your eyes locked onto Oliver's. His gaze followed you intently, dark and filled with desire, as though he could hardly wait to see what you'd do next.

Your hands moved to your belt, the faint sound of the buckle clicking open breaking the tense silence in the room. Slowly, purposefully, you slid the leather strap free and let it drop to the floor. Oliver's lips parted slightly, his chest heaving as he watched you with rapt attention. You moved to your pants next, unbuttoning and unzipping them with agonizing slowness, letting them fall to pool at your feet. With one final motion, you slid your briefs down, freeing yourself completely.

Your length sprang free, hard and ready, the cool air sending a slight shiver down your spine. Oliver's eyes flickered down, his gaze darkening even further as he took you in. A low, appreciative growl escaped his lips, and you felt a rush of satisfaction at the way he looked at you, his hunger evident in every line of his body.

Without hesitation, you climbed back onto his lap, straddling him. Your thighs pressed against his hips as his strong hands immediately found their place on your waist, gripping you possessively. His fingers dug into your skin just enough to make you gasp, the pressure grounding you as you shifted into place.

Oliver let out a guttural groan as your length grazed against his, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through both of you. The heat and hardness of his arousal pressed against yours, the friction intoxicating as you rolled your hips slightly. The faint slickness between your bodies only heightened the sensation, and you couldn't help the quiet moan that escaped your lips as your movements grew more deliberate.

"Damn," Oliver muttered, his voice rough and low as he tilted his head back slightly, his grip on your waist tightening. His usual composure was gone, replaced by pure, unfiltered desire. "You're going to make me cum."

You smirked, leaning forward just enough for your breath to ghost against his ear. "That's the idea," you teased, your voice soft but dripping with mischief.

Oliver growled again, his hands sliding down to grip your hips firmly. With an ease that spoke to his strength, he lifted you slightly, aligning you above him. The heat of his length pressed against your hole, and you felt a pulse of anticipation ripple through you. He held you there for a moment, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

"You ready for this?" he asked, his voice rough but gentle, a stark contrast to the raw desire in his gaze. His hands steadied you, his touch a perfect mix of control and care.

You nodded, your lips parting as your breath hitched. "Always," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

With that, Oliver guided you down slowly, the pressure building as he pushed against you. The stretch was intense, but his firm, steady hands on your hips kept you grounded, helping you adjust inch by inch. The combination of his strength and gentleness left you breathless, and you couldn't help but marvel at the way he seemed to read your body so effortlessly.

As you sank lower, the feeling of him filling you completely sent a wave of pleasure through you, making you gasp and clutch at his shoulders for support. Oliver let out a deep, satisfied groan, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he finally buried himself within you. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, every nerve ending in your body alive with sensation as you both paused, letting the raw, intimate connection settle over you..

Oliver's lips claimed yours once more, a kiss that was deep and fervent, filled with passion that left you breathless. His hands remained firmly on your hips, his grip strong and steady, guiding your movements as you began to lift yourself slowly. The sensation of him inside you was intense, every inch of his length pressing against you in a way that made your entire body tremble.

You moved cautiously at first, rising up just enough for the stretch to ease before sinking back down, taking him in again. The friction was exquisite, a slow, deliberate rhythm that made your breath hitch with every motion. Oliver groaned against your lips, the low, guttural sound reverberating through you and spurring you on. His fingers dug into your hips, not enough to hurt but enough to ground you, to remind you of the control he still held even as he let you set the pace.

Breaking the kiss momentarily, you gasped for air, your hands braced against his shoulders for balance. His gaze met yours, piercing and filled with a hunger that sent a shiver racing down your spine. He leaned forward, capturing your lips again, his tongue teasing yours as your movements grew more confident, more fluid. Each rise and fall of your body sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, the connection between you both deepening with every thrust.

Oliver's head fell back against the chair, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as a groan escaped him. "You feel... so damn good," he murmured, his voice thick with pleasure. The praise only fueled you, making you move faster, your hips rolling as you adjusted to the rhythm that had both of you teetering on the edge.

You could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles tensed beneath your hands as you rode him, the heat radiating from his skin. His hands slid from your hips to your lower back, pulling you closer against him as if he couldn't bear to have even the slightest bit of space between you. His lips found your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there, his hot breath sending jolts of electricity through your body.

"Oliver..." you gasped, the sound of his name escaping your lips in a breathless moan. He responded with another low growl, his hands gripping you tighter as he began to meet your movements, thrusting up to match your rhythm. The chair creaked beneath you both, the quiet sound lost in the symphony of your ragged breaths and the unmistakable sounds of your bodies moving together.

Each motion brought a fresh wave of heat, the pressure building with every rise and fall. The connection between you was raw and consuming, the kind of intensity that blurred the world around you until there was nothing left but him—his touch, his kiss, and the overwhelming sensation of him filling you completely.

Oliver's lips found yours again, his kiss searing and desperate, as if he needed to feel every part of you, to lose himself completely in the moment. And you let him, your movements growing bolder, faster, as you gave yourself over to the intoxicating rhythm of pleasure and passion that bound you both together.

You never imagined yourself in a situation like this—having sex in an office, no less the mayor's office—and with the mayor himself. The fact that Oliver Queen, your unofficial boyfriend, was the one making you unravel so completely felt like something out of a fever dream. But here you were, straddling him in his plush leather chair, your bodies moving together in a rhythm that sent shivers down your spine. The taboo nature of it all—the high-powered setting, the risk of someone walking in—only seemed to heighten the intensity, making every sensation feel sharper, more electrifying.

The thought of the unlocked door barely crossed your mind. If it had, you didn't care enough to stop. The pleasure coursing through you was too overwhelming, too consuming, to let the fear of being caught disrupt the moment. Oliver's hands gripped your hips possessively, guiding you as you moved, his strength grounding you even as your world felt like it was spinning out of control.

His head tilted back slightly, exposing the sharp angle of his jaw as he groaned deeply, the sound echoing through the otherwise empty office. His usually composed and polished demeanor had completely unraveled, leaving behind only the raw, passionate man beneath. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, filled with a hunger that made your breath hitch. The way he looked at you—as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered—sent a rush of heat through your body.

"You're doing so good," he murmured, his voice rough and low, each word dripping with sincerity and desire. His praise sent a jolt of pleasure through you, spurring you to move faster, to take him deeper, to draw even more sounds of pleasure from his lips.

The documents behind you probably held the future of Star City in their inked words, but they were the farthest thing from your mind. All you could focus on was the way Oliver's hands explored your body, the way his lips occasionally captured yours in a searing kiss, the way his dick filled you completely with every movement.

The faint hum of city noise from the windows seemed a distant backdrop to the symphony of your shared breaths, quiet moans, and the creak of the chair beneath you. The unlocked door stood as a silent reminder of just how risky this was, but it only added to the thrill. Anyone could walk in—his other assistant, a council member, even Thea—and yet neither of you could bring yourselves to stop.

The sheer recklessness of the moment made it all the more exhilarating. The polished, professional space of the office felt almost surreal as a backdrop to something so intimate, so primal. This was the same place where press conferences were planned and city policies were crafted, and now it bore witness to a completely different kind of connection—a connection that was raw, electric, and undeniable.

You hadn't planned for this, hadn't expected to find yourself in a whirlwind romance with Star City's most powerful man. Yet, as you moved together, his hands gripping you tighter, his name falling from your lips in a breathless moan, you realized you wouldn't trade this moment for anything. Locked door or not, the passion between you was too powerful, too consuming, to be denied.

Suddenly, Oliver's eyes darkened with a new intensity, a spark of determination flickering across his face. Without a word, he tightened his grip on your hips, and in one fluid motion, he stood, his incredible strength evident as he lifted you effortlessly from his lap. The movement made you gasp, your body clinging to his as his dick stayed buried deep inside of you, the sensation making your head spin.

Before you could fully process what was happening, he turned and laid you down flat on the cool, polished surface of his desk. The contrast between the hard surface beneath you and the heat radiating from his body was electric, sending a shiver racing down your spine. Papers and folders scattered to the floor, forgotten in the haze of passion, as Oliver positioned himself over you, his hands firm and commanding as he held your legs in each of his hands.

He pushed your thighs apart, lifting your legs slightly to give himself the perfect angle. The possessiveness in his touch sent a thrill through you, making you feel utterly exposed yet completely safe at the same time. His grip was steady, his fingers pressing into your skin as he adjusted your position, and you couldn't help but marvel at the raw power in his every movement.

Without hesitation, Oliver began to thrust into you, his pace quickening with a new fervor that left you gasping for breath. The desk creaked slightly beneath the force of his movements, the sound mingling with the quiet moans and gasps that spilled from your lips with every powerful stroke. Each thrust was deliberate, his hips snapping against you with a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure radiating through your entire body.

"God, you feel so good," Oliver groaned, his voice rough and strained, every word dripping with raw desire. His gaze flickered between where your bodies were joined and your face, his expression a mix of concentration and unrelenting hunger. His intensity was overwhelming, consuming, and you couldn't tear your eyes away from him.

Your hands instinctively reached out, gripping the edge of the desk for support as his thrusts grew deeper, harder, the angle sending shockwaves of pleasure straight through you. The fullness of him, the way he moved with such precision, made your head fall back, your lips parting in a breathless moan. Oliver leaned over you slightly, his strong hands keeping your legs steady as he drove into you with a pace that bordered on relentless.

The sounds of your bodies moving together filled the room, a symphony of desire that drowned out everything else. Each thrust sent the desk sliding ever so slightly against the floor, a subtle reminder of the raw power behind Oliver's movements. His hands shifted slightly, his grip tightening as he adjusted the angle again, hitting a spot that made your entire body arch in response.

"Oliver!" you cried out, his name escaping your lips in a breathless moan as pleasure coursed through you like fire. He grinned at the sound, his usual smirk replaced with something darker, more primal.

"I love hearing that," he muttered, his voice low and gravelly as his pace quickened even further. His fingers dug into your thighs, anchoring you to him as he drove you closer to the edge. Each thrust was purposeful, each movement designed to wring every ounce of pleasure from your body, and you couldn't stop yourself from surrendering completely to him.

The desk beneath you seemed almost insignificant compared to the connection between you both, the way he moved, the way he looked at you as though you were the only thing in the world that mattered. The vulnerability of your position, the strength of his control—it was intoxicating, overwhelming, and utterly perfect.

The pressure in your body had been building steadily, each thrust of Oliver's hips pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your fingers curling tightly around the edge of the desk as the overwhelming pleasure coursed through you, making your entire body tremble. The intensity was almost too much, each wave of sensation crashing over you faster than the last, until you felt yourself teetering on the brink.

With one final thrust, the tension inside you snapped. Your back arched off the desk, your head falling back as a guttural moan escaped your lips. Heat rushed through you, your cum spilling out in hot, pulsing streams against your stomach, the release leaving you breathless and utterly consumed. The slick warmth spread across your skin, a stark contrast to the cool air of the office. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, the aftershocks of your orgasm still rippling through your body.

Oliver slowed his movements for a moment, his gaze dropping to your stomach, where your cum glistened against your skin. His lips curled into a satisfied smile, the dark, hungry gleam in his eyes telling you just how much he enjoyed watching you come undone beneath him.

"Beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough and low, filled with both admiration and desire. But he wasn't done yet.

His hands tightened their grip on your legs, holding you firmly in place as he resumed his thrusts, this time with a newfound urgency. His movements grew faster, more erratic, the sound of his hips snapping against you filling the room as he chased his own release. The sight of you, still trembling from your climax, seemed to spur him on, his breathing ragged and heavy as he drove into you with relentless intensity.

The raw power of his movements left you gasping, your body still hypersensitive from your own pleasure. Each thrust sent another jolt through you, the rhythm pushing you to the edge of overstimulation even as it brought him closer to his peak. His head fell forward slightly, his jaw clenched, and his hands flexed against your skin as his pace quickened.

"God," he growled through gritted teeth, his voice rough and strained as the tension in his body built. You could feel him throbbing inside you, his muscles taut as he edged closer and closer. His eyes locked onto yours, filled with a fiery intensity that made your breath hitch, and you knew he was seconds away from unraveling completely.

With one final, powerful thrust, his body tensed, his head tilting back as he let out a deep, guttural groan. His release came in hot, pulsing waves, filling your hole completely as his hands gripped you tightly, as though anchoring himself in the moment. The warmth of him, the way his body trembled slightly as he came, left you breathless all over again. His chest heaved with the effort, his gaze slowly returning to yours, softened now with a mix of satisfaction and something deeper, something intimate.

As the tension eased from his body, Oliver leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips—a stark contrast to the intensity of the moments before. "You're amazing," he murmured against your mouth, his voice still husky with the remnants of pleasure. The tenderness in his tone made your heart flutter, a perfect end to the wild, exhilarating ride you had just shared.

Suddenly, the faint murmur of voices drifted through the office door, snapping you out of your blissful haze. Your head whipped toward Oliver, your eyes wide with panic.

"Oh shit," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Oliver, ever calm under pressure, smirked slightly and grabbed your hand. "Come on," he said, tugging you down toward the space under the desk.

"This is not gonna work," you hissed, glancing at the scattered papers strewn across the floor—the remnants of your earlier passion—and the very visible evidence of what had just transpired. Your heart pounded as the sound of footsteps grew louder, accompanied by the unmistakable clack of heels.

The door creaked open, and you froze, crouched under the desk with Oliver. The sound of heels clicking against the floor sent a chill down your spine as the familiar voice of Thea Queen, Oliver's sister and your boss, echoed through the office.

"Ollie?" she called out, her tone sharp and inquisitive.

From your vantage point, you could see her shadow moving closer, her figure pausing as she took in the mess you'd left behind. Papers were scattered across the desk and floor, and—oh no—your pants and briefs were still in plain sight, lying in a heap next to Oliver's discarded clothing. You could only imagine the look of horror that must be dawning on her face as she pieced it together.

"Oh my god, Oliver!" Thea exclaimed, the disbelief in her voice palpable. "If you're going to have sex in your office, the least you could do is lock the damn door!"

You turned to Oliver, glaring at him with an expression that screamed, I told you so! He met your gaze with a sheepish grin and shrugged, mouthing, "Oops."

"Duly noted," Oliver replied aloud, his tone surprisingly casual for someone caught in such a compromising position. His calmness would've been impressive if you weren't on the verge of wanting to strangle him.

From her position above the desk, Thea sighed loudly, clearly exasperated. "Unbelievable," she muttered before she turned toward the door. But before leaving, she paused and glanced back over her shoulder. "Oh, and tell Y/N when you're both...dressed that those papers still need to be on my desk by the end of the day. Got it?"

You cleared your throat, trying to keep your voice steady. "Gotcha," you managed to reply, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

With one final huff, Thea walked out, but not before locking the door behind her. The sound of the lock clicking into place was strangely reassuring, though it did nothing to ease your mortification.

As the silence returned, you turned to Oliver, who was now sitting back on his heels under the desk, a smug smile plastered across his face. "See? Everything's under control," he said with a wink.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't help the small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Oh, whatever," you replied, shaking your head as the two of you began gathering your clothes and the scattered papers. Despite the embarrassment, you couldn't deny the absurdity of the situation—or the fact that you wouldn't trade it for anything.

[vodika-vibes]

Okay so I had a thought.

So imagine—

You work at the Senate, your job is important but you're one of a dozen people who do this job day in and day out. And somehow—miraculously—you've managed to catch Fox's eye.

And it's great! Fantastic even! He's kind and considerate and completely devoted to you and your happiness, which is great, because you're just as devoted to him.

There is one, little bitty problem.

You don't get paid enough.

Oh sure, you've made it work, with some heavy budgeting, but Fox doesn't get paid. So if you want nice-ish dates you have to pay for then.

Which, again, is fine. He's worth it, but it does leave your end of the month bank account looking at little...bare.

So, what are your options?

You could ask for a raise, but you'd get laughed out of your boss' office.

You've never been much of a crafter, so a side hustle like that is out.

And you respect Fox too much to even consider any kind of sex work. Not that you have anything against it, but you'd want to talk to him about it first, and you absolutely do not want him to know about your money issues. So that's out, too.

And you've never been good at gambling, so that's off the table, too.

So you think and think, and then you remember. There's an underground, very illegal, fighting club that accepts participants of all ages, genders, species, and skill level. And the pay is very, very good.

You did martial arts as a kid. And only stopped when you were in college because of a lack of time, so you might have a chance of winning a bout or two. And if you're careful, Fox will never find out about your illegal fights.

You win your first fight, and the next three after that. Earning enough to go on several dates with Fox and have money left over for your rainy day fund. And so, the fights become a regular thing, once or twice a week.

You win more than you lose, but you do lose every now and then. So you have to learn to treat your injuries before Fox can see them. His head might very well explode if he knew you were fighting for money.

But Lady Luck has never favored you, and it was only after a matter of time before the club ended up getting raided by the Corries.

Which is how Fox finds you, sitting in a holding cell with several of the other fighters, all of you several different types of beat up. You have an ice pack pressed against your eye and a split lip, and when Fox stands there and stares at you, you can't look him in the eyes.

"I...can explain?" You offer hesitantly, not actually sure you can explain.

"With me." Fox's words are clipped as he let's you out of the cell, and you trot after him.

"Are you mad?"

"No."

"Are you sure? Because you're using your 'I'm mad but I'm trying not to show it' voice."

He pushes his office door open, "In."

You slump, "Yeah, you're mad."

He slams the door shut behind you, and motions for you to sit in a chair, before he plucks the ice pack off your eye, "What the hell were you thinking?"

"I like fighting!" You blurt out, a blatant lie that he doesn't believe for a second.

"Try again."

"Uhm..." he arches a brow, and you look away, "I needed the money."

"For what? What's so important that you had to put yourself in harm's way to get money for?"

"I...stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Stuff."

"If you don't tell me the truth I'm going to assume you're cheating on me." Fox says bluntly.

"I would never!"

"So tell me."

"I...can't afford our dates."

He blinks. Twice. And then leans back slightly, "Come again?"

"I don't get paid a lot and my apartment is expensive and I can't afford your dates but you're important enough that I want to keep going on them, so...fighting."

"You...are the dumbest smart person I've ever met." Fox finally says, "Why didn't you say anything?"

You shrug, "Didn't want you to worry or whatever."

"So you made me worry more?"

"...I didn't say it was a good idea. Just the only feasible one I had."

He sighs, "I love you, but I'm so mad right now."

"Fair."

"No more cage matches. No more fighting. Promise me."

"I promise."

"We can work out something different for our dates. And next time, just talk to me. Please."

"Yeah. Yeah. Can I go home now?"

"No."

"...what?"

"You're going back to the holding cell."

"WHAT?"

"You're spending the night. You'll be released in the morning. Just like everyone else."

"I...but...Fox!"

"Thems the rules, cyare. Here's your ice pack back."

You stare at him, speechless. But he just smiles at you as he motions for Thire to return you to the holding cell.