#wip: the hostess

[dei-vt]

Your deivine angelic hostess 🍒🔆

Playing around on stream with an alternate character design for myself- an angel instead of a devil! A final piece for her is still in the WIP stages.

She do be kinda... 👀

[lumber]

☄️🚀💥 #Waaugh #WIP! Just in time for #SDCC, the #ExperimentalComicsSampler is hurtling at an incredible speed towards your atmosphere from yours truly (#JeauxJanovsky), and #GeneGreen (@swellegant_comics)! 🔥🦆🤘🏼🔥 ••• Spent the morning converting our #HowardTheDuck- I mean- "#LeonardTheDuck" fake #Hostess #SnackCake #ComicBook advertisement from color to black and white. It kinda came out way creepier! 😳😬😳 Our Leonard 1 pager made it's color debut in a page of the greatest #FanMade #Comic of all time- #ImageGrandDesign/#ImageGrandDisaster alongside other #CartoonistKayfabeRingsideSeats-ers. ••• #ComicArt #Comics #Comix #MakeMoreComics #ReadMoreComics #JeauxJanovskyArt #JeauxJ #ExperimentalComics #EXPTLComics #SanDiegoComicCon #CartoonistKayFabe #SteveGerber #RIPSteveGerber #ImageComics (at Culver City, California) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cfzb94KvfWf/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[knchins]

wakasa content coming soon....

[proxima-writes]

along for the ride

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count:

summary: when joel finds out tommy put out a craigslist ad to get him a date for valentine’s day, he doesn’t expect it to go as well as it does.

author’s note: i finally finished something! was it anything from my extensive wip list? no! don’t think about it too hard! anyways, if you enjoy this fic, please consider giving it a reblog, a comment, or dropping into my ask box 💕

warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors dni), no use of y/n, pre-outbreak!joel miller, no mentions of sarah, little shit!tommy miller, blind date, internet safety whomst, vaginal fingering, oral sex, woman on top, p in v, dirty talk, pet names. let me know if i’ve missed any!

“I have a surprise for you,” Tommy says at dinner. Joel pauses, fork scraping against his plate.

“That can’t be good,” he sighs. “What now?”

“Why do you assume it’s somethin’ bad?”

“Last time you said you had a surprise for me, I had chickens in my backyard.”

Tommy laughs. “It’s nothin’ like that this time.”

“Well, then, spit it out,” Joel demands.

Tommy reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper that he opens on the table, smoothing out the creases before sliding it over to Joel.

“Reservation confirmation?” Joel reads. He recognizes the name of the restaurant, the kind of place where the waiters dress in all black and the menu doesn’t have prices listed beside the items. 

“Yep. I got you your first Valentine’s Day date,” Tommy replies proudly. Joel glares at him.

“What do you mean?”

seeking valentine

36M looking to treat a lady to a date to remember. pic attached. email tmill@aol.com with a pic and bio for consideration.

[img01.jpg]

You’re half a bottle of wine deep when you stumble across the Craigslist ad. When you click on the picture, your interest is further piqued by the handsome man that appears on the screen. He’s standing in front of a black pick up truck dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that stretches across his tan muscles. His brown hair is cut short, just enough length for you to notice that it’s beginning to curl across his forehead and by his neck. His beard frames a bright smile that crinkles the corners of his dark eyes.

Whoever he is, he’s hot. He’d be the perfect way to get over being dumped two weeks ago by your boyfriend of two years.

Your logic was lost somewhere between your second and third glasses of wine, which is why you click on the e-mail address in the ad and start typing. The reply is normal, at first, facts about yourself like your name and age and occupation, but you quickly end up derailing the message with an explanation about why this handsome guy should pick you, making sure to include that you’ve already got a reservation at a popular restaurant for the occasion. The picture you add is a recent photo from a cousin’s wedding that your aunt had e-mailed to you. 

Before you can think better of it, you click send. You take one last look at the man’s photo before shutting your laptop and stumbling off to bed to dream of brown eyes and tan skin.

Joel taps his fingers against the white tablecloth, eyes fixed on the door of the restaurant. This is stupid, he thinks. Why did he agree to this? Why did he let Tommy convince him this was a good idea? He should have just told him no and been done with it but somehow he’s here, sitting at a table for two in a fancy restaurant and feeling like a sore thumb in the only suit he owns. 

He’s lost enough in his thoughts that he doesn’t see you when you first come in, doesn’t realize you’re here until the hostess is walking up with you close behind in a beautiful dress and he suddenly remembers exactly why he agreed to Tommy’s idiot scheme. 

“Joel?” You ask. He stands, nearly knocking the table in his haste to greet you. You lean in for a brief hug and he catches the warm vanilla scent of you before you pull away and smile at him. 

He rounds the table to pull your chair out for you and makes sure you’re settled before returning to his seat. A waiter swoops by to offer the wine menu and explain the pre fixe menu for the evening while he pours two complimentary glasses of champagne into the crystal glasses beside your plates. An awkward silence settles when he leaves, Joel’s leg bouncing anxiously beneath the table as he tries to think of something to say.

“This is weird, right?” You finally say. “This feels weird.”

Joel breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s just what I was thinkin’.”

"Oh, thank god." You take a long sip of your champagne. "I can't believe I actually responded to a Craigslist ad for a date."

"I can't believe my stupid brother came up with this whole thing," Joel replies. "I could'a killed him."

Your eyes go wide. "Wait, your brother made the post? Why?!"

"He seems to think that at thirty-six, I should have had a date for Valentine's Day by now," Joel explains. "Why did you respond to the ad?"

"I had been drinking a lot of wine and having a lot of feelings and the internet was unfortunately not helping the situation."

Joel laughs, tension leaving his shoulders as he does. "We're an interestin' pair, huh?"

"Cheers to that," you reply, lifting your glass for him to tap his against with a gentle clink. 

As the dinner progresses, the conversation starts to flow with surprising ease. No topic goes untouched, from jobs to hobbies to a long list of favorites. When you’ve exhausted those topics, you move on to swapping stories about your friends and families. By the time he finishes paying a hefty check (and declining your offer to split the cost), Joel feels like he’s known you for a lifetime.

"I had a really nice time, Joel.”

"Me, too," he replies. Christ, you're pretty, bright eyed as you look at him with a soft smile. He reaches for your hand, pulling you closer until your chest brushes his and can wrap an arm around your waist. "This okay?"

"Mhm," you hum with a little nod. Joel's gaze drops to your mouth and he finds himself wondering what your pretty lips would feel like as he kissed you. Would he be able to taste that chocolate torte from dessert on your tongue?

“Joel?” You whisper. He didn’t even realize how close he’s gotten, a few scant inches separating you now. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

He chuckles. “You want me to?”

“Please.”

Joel kisses you, warm lips moving in perfect harmony with yours. It’s chaste, until it’s not. It’s chaste, until his tongue sweeps against your bottom lip and dips inside to tangle with yours. It’s chaste, until his hands are pulling you closer with a tight grip on your hips and—

“Get a room!” 

You break apart, startled by the shout from someone passing by on the sidewalk. You can’t stop the laugh that breaks free, your shoulders shaking with the force of it.

“You wanna get out of here?” Joel asks. “I can walk you to your car.”

“I took a cab, actually.”

Joel smirks. “You want a ride, sweetheart?” 

Your face grows hot from the look in his eyes, the double meaning to his words not lost. He holds a hand out and you slip your palm against his, fingers folding together so that he can lead you to the parking lot down the street from the restaurant.

Joel opens the passenger door of the truck you recognize from the photo in the ad, helping you step up into the cab and going so far as to pull the seatbelt down, reaching across your body to fasten it. He looks up at as he pulls away, hand dragging across your stomach and making you shiver.

He shuts the door and gets in the driver’s seat, pulling out of the parking lot and following your directions toward your apartment. At the first red light, he settles his broad palm on your thigh, just above your knee, giving you a little squeeze. Feeling bold, you spread your legs the tiniest bit and Joel takes the invitation for what it is, sliding his hand higher. 

The light turns green and the sudden movement presses you to the back of the seat, jostles you enough that your legs fall open further. You move to close them, but Joel’s hand moves again, high enough now that if you moved the slightest bit, you could probably get some relief from the ache that’s been building since he kissed you.

His pinky stretches, barely grazing your pussy, but it makes you gasp nonetheless, squirming in your seat from the want. At the next red light, he abandons all pretense, slipping his hand beneath the elastic of your panties and dragging his fingers through the embarrassing amount of wetness that’s already gathered there for him.

“Fuck,” he groans. You turn your head to look at him, his sharp jaw clenched tight as he circles your clit with his index and middle finger. “This wet for me already, baby?”

You moan in response, unable to form words as he touches you, alternating between soft strokes and fast circles over your sensitive clit. Your hips chase his every movement, desperate for relief from the pressure building in your core. 

“Joel,” you whimper, grabbing his forearm, digging your nails into the muscle. Your eyes squeeze shut against the overwhelming sensations.

He turns the truck and hastily throws it in park, pulling his hand from you just as you were cresting that wave. You whine at the loss but he shushes you, undoing your seatbelt and getting out of the truck with a slam of the door. It takes you a second to realize he’s stopped because you’ve reached your apartment complex.

The passenger door opens and Joel is there, gripping the door tightly. “Let’s go.”

You lead him to your door on unsteady legs. He follows you inside your apartment, pressed close to your back while you set your bag on the table by the door. 

“Where’s your room?” He asks, hands already rucking up the fabric of your dress. “I gotta finish what I started.”

You hurry down the hall to your room together and you silently thank your past self for cleaning up before your date. Joel wastes no time reaching for the hem of your dress, tugging it up over your head and tossing it into a heap on the floor.

“Fuck, even prettier than I imagined,” he groans, dropping to his knees. “Soon as you walked in wearin’ that I knew I was a goner.” He eases your panties down your thighs, helps you step out of them without toppling over. “On the bed.”

You obey without hesitation, crawling across your familiar mattress and lying on your back, head on your pile of pillows. Joel removes his suit jacket, eyes dark as his gaze roams across your body and makes your skin prickle under the intensity. His shirt and pants follow in quick succession, leaving him in a pair of boxer briefs that highlight an impressive bulge.

Joel joins you on the bed and you’re hypnotized by the movement of muscle beneath tan skin. He urges your legs apart, calves draped over his broad shoulders to give him room to settle between your thighs. He looks up at you, holding your gaze as he takes his first taste of you with a deep groan you feel through your whole body. 

Your head drops back to your pillow with a shout, legs tensing around Joel’s head. You bury your hands in his hair, holding on tight while he devours you. His tongue circles your clit before dipping down to your dripping center to curl inside of you. A thick finger follows, pressing deep and withdrawing slowly.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” Joel says. “How’s that feel, huh?”

“So good,” you moan. “More, please, Joel.”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He eases another finger into you, curling them along your front wall with pointed focus. That knot of release tights again, your muscles growing tense with it the longer he moves with your body. He wraps his lips around your aching clit, alternating between sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth and working it with his tongue until you’re shouting a string of curses and shatter beneath him.

Joel works you through your orgasm until you’re gasping for breath, more puddle than human. He crawls up your body, leaving kisses on what seems like every inch of you as he does and you pull him close when he’s face to face with you, kissing him deeply and chasing the earthy taste of yourself from his mouth.

His hips press against yours, grinding his length against your inner thigh. The kiss turns sloppy, his breath coming in sharp pants and thrusts growing frantic, skin dappled with sweat in the warm air of your room. You tilt your hips, pushing a hand against his shoulder to get him flat on his back with you straddling his waist, stomach flexing beneath you.

He’s deliciously disheveled beneath you with messy hair and kiss swollen lips. His hands find your thighs, sliding upward over your stomach to find your breasts, pinching a nipple between his fingers and making you hiss. Your hips rock over the softness of his belly and you reach behind yourself to palm his cock.

“Look real good like this,” Joel pants, flexing into your touch. 

“Well, you did ask me if I wanted a ride,” you tell him. 

You lean over towards your nightstand, tugging the top drawer open and rummaging around for a condom. Foil packet in hand, you lift off of Joel for a moment to allow him the chance to hastily shove his underwear off before settling back down on top of his thighs and taking his length in your hand with a slow stroke that makes his mouth drop open, cock pulsing against your palm. You lean forward, licking the flushed tip clean of the pre-cum gathered there. 

“You’re killin’ me,” Joel says through gritted teeth. “Wanna feel you, quit teasin’.”

You decide to put you both out of your misery, ripping the condom wrapper and rolling the latex over him. You lift up and he holds his cock steady with a fist around the base as you position yourself over him on your knees and slowly take him into your tight heat, twin moans echoing in the room as you do.

When your hips are flush with his, the wiry curls at the base of his cock grow damp with your arousal as you rock above him, grinding your clit against him and clenching around his length. He holds your hips in a loose grasp, not urging your movements but feeling them as you chase your pleasure. 

“Christ,” Joel moans, head tipped back and eyes squeezed shut. He plants his feet, thrusting up as you grind down and making you gasp. “Ain’t lastin’ much longer, baby.”

You lean forward, changing the angle and allowing him to pound inside of you, his cock pulsing as his release nears. You’re right there with him, the drag of his cock against that sweet spot inside of you making you tip over the edge with a shout muffled into the sweat slick skin of his neck. 

He slams himself deep, cock pulsing as he spends himself into the condom inside of you. You collapse against his chest, the two of you catching your breath in the aftermath. When you roll off of Joel and onto the mattress, he’s quick to pull you back against him, your head resting on his chest.

“That was—“

“Yeah,” you interrupt breathlessly. “It was.”

After a moment, Joel quietly asks, “What now?”

“You can stay…if you want.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, fingertips brushing along your shoulder. “I want that.”

Joel’s phone rings at an ungodly hour the next morning. He struggles to find his discarded pants in the dark but when he finally unearths the obnoxious device, his greeting is a snapped, “What?”

“He lives!” Tommy cheers from the other end. “It was a fifty-fifty chance you were dead or in bed.”

“What do you want, Tommy?”

“Just checkin’ to see how the date went. Must’ve been pretty good, seein’ as how I’m at your house and you’re nowhere to be found.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Fuck off,” he says. He’s about to hang up when he hears Tommy shout, “Wait!”

“What now?” Joel asks.

“Ain’t you gonna thank me?”

Joel snaps the phone shut, tossing it into the piles of clothes and crawling back into bed with you.

Joel Miller masterlist

All masterlists

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All In 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, power imbalance, low self esteem, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you meet a mysterious man on a night out with your sister. (petite!reader)

based on the winning option for this poll

Characters: casino owner!Bucky Barnes

Note: Happy weekend.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The car comes to a stop. It takes you a minute to notice as you reel yourself back to reality. You blink through the tinted window as Merv turns the music down; a song about glory days or something. 

“Here we are,” he announces and cranes to look back at you, “have fun, miss.” 

“Have fun...” you whisper to yourself in confusion, “what? Where do I go?” 

He laughs, not mockingly, and he points through the window, “well, you’ll want to go into that restaurant and give them Mr. Barnes’ name. They’ll sort you out, I’m sure.” 

“Oh,” your brows draw together. A restaurant. What? 

You undo your seatbelt hesitantly and peer out through the glass again. This is strange. You’ve only had a few interviews and most of them were in cramped backrooms or closets. You pull the handle and let yourself out, thanking Merv before you step up on the curb. 

You shut the car door and hook your bag over your shoulder. You stare up at the restaurant’s marquee. It’s a bistro of some sort. Upscale by your measure, thought you have little experience beyond chain joints and fast food. The white facade with its tall windows is intimidating as you approach the entrance. 

As you step inside, you’re all but assured that you don’t belong. A woman greets you with a pearly smile, her hair in a wispy bun, as she sports a flowery white dress. You look back and forth as she cradles a tablet in one arm. 

“Do you have a reservation?” She asks. 

You look down at yourself. That’s a generous assumption. You don’t know how she’s not telling you to leave. 

“Erm, I... I think I’m looking for someone,” you say, “Mr. Barnes?” 

“Barnes, yes, party for two,” she taps the screen, “he’s waiting. Won’t you follow me?” 

She spins on her heels and strolls away. She’s tall and gorgeous, just like the woman at the casino. You peer around and find no less finery and beauty among the staff and diners. The table are all white and polished and the walls are hung with abstract paintings of heaping fruit and bright cocktails. You’ve never seen brunch done so extravagantly. 

You nearly trip as you look ahead just before you reach the stairs. The hostess climbs ahead of you. You envy her modelesque figure. How is she stuck here? She’s breathtaking. She could be in magazines. 

More importantly, where are you going? 

Several flights and you emerge into the open air. You've never been on a rooftop. You’ve seen things like these in movies. There’s a bar center to the space and tables beneath umbrellas set all about. There is only one diner despite the sunshine. It is strangely desolate for such a warm scene. 

You’re led to the only occupied table. Mr. Barnes stands as you near. He wears a pair of teal slacks and a patterned shirt with an open collar. Casual but just as refined as before. It hardly seems like job interview. 

“Doll,” he greets you with a kiss on the cheek to your surprise. You don’t comment on it, it might just be his way. “You made it.” 

“I...” you check your watch, “it was before noon when I got to the casino.” 

“That’s on me,” he insists as he pulls out the chair for you, “I got restless. Changed my mind. Please.” 

He gestures to the seat and you accept stiffly, moving your bag into your lap as he tucks the chair in under you. He resumes his seat and looks up at the woman patiently standing to the side, “Melody,” he says, “she’ll have a vodka cran, give me my usual. Thanks.” 

“Yes, Mr. Barnes,” she replies eagerly. 

“Oh, and the lunch menu,” he returns. 

She clacks off in her heels as you squirm and clutch your purse. You peer around the rooftop and finally at Bucky. You give a sheepish smile. 

“This is a nice place.” 

“Sure is,” he sits back carelessly. There is no tension in him but your wound tight as a spring. 

“Never been anywhere like this...” your eyes drift over and you stare at the city skyline. 

“Made sure we weren’t near the edge, doll,” he assures, “I remember you’re not a fan.” He rests a hand on the table, rubbing his index and thumb. “And I wanted to have this time alone so my pal did me a favour and cleared the roof.” 

“Oh, wow.” 

“He owns this place,” he shrugs. “Never got into the restaurant business. It’s fickle.” 

You nod, not knowing what to say. He knows about these things. Obviously, a lot. You’ve never even worked a full-time week of work. 

“How’s your sister?” He asks, “I assume you got home safe.” 

“Yes, er, thank you, again, for doing all that,” you bite your lip and his blue eyes catch the gesture as his eyebrow tweaks. “I’m really sorry she did that.” 

“Doll, you’re real sweet apologising for her,” he inclines his head slightly, “but you gotta worry about yourself, don’t ya? That’s why you’re here.” 

The hostess, Melody, reappears and sets down two glasses. Yours is bright red with a lime on the rim and his is dark, no ice. She lays down a menu in front of each of you and straightens her posture. 

“I have to get back to the door but Hailee will be up to help you shortly. Our specials today are a goat cheese and beet salad or a brown sugar salmon with seasonal veggies.” 

“Thanks,” Bucky says as he taps the menu. 

Melody leaves you again and you bend your neck to read the menu. You look for a price beneath the dishes and find none. That can’t be good. 

“I’m not very hungry,” you sit up straight. 

“Doll, don’t worry about it. It’s on me,” he circles his hand around his glass, “why don’t you try your drink? Make sure it’s up to snuff.” He sits forward and lifts his own, “cheers.” 

Your hand slips up the condensating glass before you get a grasp on it. You raise it and clink it against his. You bring it to your lips slowly as he does the same, mirroring you as he watches you intently. You gulp and set down the glass as your cheeks strain. 

“You don’t like it?” He wonders. 

“No, I... well, I don’t drink much,” you take the cloth napkin and dab your lips. 

“Ah, if that’s too tart, you can have a look at the cocktails. Some of them are so sweet, you wouldn’t know the difference.” 

“I’m okay,” you assure him, “so...” you swallow and force out your breath, “about the job--” 

“Damn, doll, I’m so all over the place lately, I didn’t even tell you how good you look.” 

“I...” your eyes widen but you quickly wipe away your shock, “that’s nice. I mean, thank you.” Your voice shakes as you struggle to comprehend the compliment. What do you say? “You too.” 

He smirks, “yeah, you think so?” 

“What?” Your voice cracks. 

“You think I look good?” He combs his fingers through his long hair. Oh god. 

“Yes,” you answer cautiously, “I like your shirt.” 

“You’re adorable,” he snickers and shakes his head, leaning forward once more, bending his arms against the table. 

“Uh...” you peek down at the table and back to him. You can’t even blame the sun that you’re about to melt. The umbrella blocks out the bright beacon though a glare comes over the edge. “Bucky, sir, Mr. Barnes,” you shuffle through his titles, “the job. What would that be?” 

His brows rise and he brings a hand up to drag over his mouth and beard, his fingers brushing along the trim of his jaw. 

“The job,” he repeats as he narrows his eyes, “ah,” he lowers his head and presses a fingertip to the menu, “let’s order before we get into all that.” 

You look over the menu again then raise your chin, “I appreciate it, but it’s too much, Bucky. I wouldn’t want to... waste your money.” 

“It’s my money,” he looks at you, “so I’ll decide how I waste it.” 

“Oh,” your cheeks set alight, “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” he tilts his head again, “you’re just that type of girl. You don’t know what it is to be treated so allow me to show you.” 

You’re confused. This is the oddest encounter you’ve ever had. You almost feel like it’s a joke. You’re this poor helpless girl and he’s flaunting how rich and powerful he is. Is there even a job? 

“I’d feel worse if you didn’t eat, so doll, don’t step on my toes.” 

You chew your cheek and look down again. That’s it. You’ll have the cucumber sandwich. That’s not too much. It can’t be. 

The waitress arrives, a different woman but just as stunning. She introduces herself as Hailee. Bucky prompts you to order first before he gives his own. As she leaves, you rock slightly in your chair, stilling yourself before you can look weird. 

“So... I could clean or... I could learn something--” 

“Let me stop your there, doll,” he puts a large hand up, his palm rough and lined. “It’s my turn to apologise. I... haven’t been honest with you.” 

Your heart drops and you can’t help the glimmer in your vision. No. You’re going to have to go home and tell your mother you failed again. That you wasted her time and gas. You close your eyes and frown. 

“Doll, doll,” he says and you hear his chair scrape. You open your eyes as he pulls his chair around to sit closer to you, “hey, let me finish here.” 

You look him in the eye. Big mistake. You could drown in the blueness. He smirks and rubs your arm. 

“I’m not... it’s not a job I have to offer you,” he says deliberately, his other hand fluttering on your knee, “I would call it an arrangement. Mutually beneficial.” 

You stare at him. You’re entire being is on fire. You don’t understand what he’s saying, more so, you can barely think with him touching you. 

“But... I need a job,” you sniffle. 

He scoffs, not unkindly, “you’ll have money. I know you got a family, your sister, maybe your parents? Economy’s tough, I know it.” 

“Money? For what?” 

He squeezes your knee and sits up, draping his arm over the back of your chair as he leans even closer, “for your company. For yourself.” 

“What?” Your voice piques sharply. “I don’t...” 

“Look, let’s take it slow here, alright? Today is the taster. We spend some time together, see how we vibe, and go from there. Now I know you went to a whole lot of trouble to get so nice and pretty for me today,” he coaxes, “and I’m not gonna waste your time so you won’t go home empty handed. One thousand.” 

“Thousand?” You breathe. 

“Just for lunch,” he says, “I’d pay a lot more so I’m open to bartering.” 

“That’s... a lot...” you mutter. 

“Nothing’s too much for a girl like you,” his fingers dance along your shoulder. 

“I... I...” you heave each word. 

“Now don’t you freak out,” he’s on the edge of laughing, “doll, I mean it. Just lunch. You and me. Nothing...” he pulls away from you and puts his hands up, “untoward.” 

He stands and moves his chair back across from you. He sits and pushes his shoulders wide, “I mean it. Let’s get to know each other. I want to know all about you, doll.” 

“Me?” You gulp. 

“You,” he points over the table, “you must like music. You went to that concert, didn’t ya?” 

You nod and curl your shoulders. 

“What kinda music you like?” 

“Oh, I... old stuff, I guess. Destiny’s Child?” You give a sheepish cringe. 

“Old school,” he remarks, “I like it. Spice girls too?” 

“Yeah,” you clamp your lips together. 

“I’m not teasing ya. I can’t lie and say I never turned the radio up when I heard them,” he chuckles, “no judgment. That goes for you too, alright? When you find out how much I like ABBA, you can’t giggle.” 

Your cheeks dimple as you try not to smile. It’s hard to imagine him listening to Dancing Queen. You push your shoulders higher and look away. 

“Don’t laugh,” he chides. 

“I didn’t,” you turn back to him. 

“Yeah, you’re too nice, that’s why,” he purrs, “you gotta tell me your fave ABBA song.” 

You shrug and he squints cynically, “everyone has one. Come on. Fernando?” You shake your head at his guess. “Waterloo?” Again, no. “Mamma Mia?” Nope. “Take a Chance on Me?” No. “Alright, I surrender, tell me.” 

“Gimme, Gimme, Gimme,” you eke out. 

“Hm, not what I would guess but interesting,” he muses as his eyes wander from your face and back up, “but I at least knew you had taste.” 

He winks and you let out a giggle. Whether your nervous or something else, you can’t untangle all your emotions from one another. Yet you do feel a little better, a little lighter. It’s an unexpected situation but not as bad as you foresaw. 

[lovelyhan]

— KAI'S MASTERLIST ✧

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× all of these contain smut unless stated otherwise

× listed according to order of posting!

× completed (💐) on-going (🌷) coming soon (🌹)

× personal picks (✨) most popular (🌟)

✧  series masterlist

doting on you! | 💐🌟✨ × tags: fluff, angst

a svt hiphop unit pets series

inflection point | 💐🌟✨ × tags: polyamory, unresolved emotional tension, angst

a jeongcheol poly series

it’s complicated | 🌷✨ × tags: royalty au, magic, slow burn

one commoner, two princes, and three tales far too complicated to comprehend.

line by line | 🌹 × tags: soulmates, fluff, angst, comedy

a svt vocal unit soulmates series

just one night | 🌹 × tags: one night stands, fluff, angst

a svt performance unit one night stand series

game over | 🌷🌟 × tags: streamer au, eventual poly, sex tapes

a minwon streamer au

✧  seungcheol

inflection point | 💐✨ × tags: polyamory, unresolved emotional tension, angst

you love yoon jeonghan. no, scratch that. you fucking adore yoon jeonghan; so much that the moment he asks you to be in a exclusive set-up with his current partner, you accept the offer in a heartbeat. what you fail to consider, however, is who your boss’ boyfriend actually is.

thirst trap | 💐 × tags: established relationship, phone sex

when your boyfriend posts a deliberate thirst trap for millions to see, you end up feeling just a little bit sulky.

down bad (so, so bad) | 💐🌟 × tags: pet-sitter!reader, friends to lovers, daddy kink

it’s not like you’re curious about how the word would taste in your mouth whenever seungcheol calls himself daddy while talking to kkuma. nope. definitely not.

forced orgasm | 💐

when you’re having a bad day | 💐

“you sound pretty hot when you shut up” | 💐

saccharine | 💐

03:26 | 💐

02:55 | 💐

✧  jeonghan

inflection point | 💐✨ × tags: polyamory, unresolved emotional tension, angst

you love yoon jeonghan. no, scratch that. you fucking adore yoon jeonghan; so much that the moment he asks you to be in an exclusive set-up with his current partner, you accept the offer in a heartbeat. what you fail to consider, however, is who your boss’ boyfriend actually is.

ode to you | 💐 × tags: reincarnation, multiple lives, pining, angst, no smut

if there's one thing you've learned from all the lives you've spent together, it's that jeonghan isn't always someone you'll end up wanting. he can be crass. he can be secretive. he can be nothing short of vexing. but in the end, he's everything you need him to be.

every summertime | 💐 × tags: 70s au, hard to get, bad decisions, pining?

you’re not really interested in the record shop downtown. but people aren’t oblivious to the way you keep trying to get into the owner’s pants—not even the owner himself.

sexting | 💐

when you’re having a bad day | 💐

02:55 | 💐

03:05 | 💐

jeonghan as your roommate | 💐

✧  joshua

bad habits | 💐 × tags: exes w benefits, car sex, pining, angst

it’s common practice to not sleep around with your ex months after you broke up. too bad you and joshua are terrible at doing things by the book.

hoax | 💐✨ × tags: mafia!joshua, strangers to lovers, angst

you’re a hostess that’s drowning in debt, and jisoo is a man with too many secrets to keep. making a clean break for it isn’t as easy as you’d hoped.

eyes meeting, hearts apart | 💐 × tags: prince!joshua, requited unrequited love

you could’ve fallen for the childhood friend who owns a flower shop, the singer who takes the stage of the bar every other day. hell, even the landlord’s flirtatious son could’ve been a better choice. but you can’t really help it if your heart longs for a prince who’s in love with somebody else.

505 | 💐 × tags: coworkers, friends with benefits, angst

i'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck; or i did, last time i checked. 

17:12 | 💐

00:51 | 💐

03:05 | 💐

✧  junhui

the first circle of hell [1] [2] | 💐 × tags: vampire, reincarnation, angst, major character death

the first time you catch a glimpse of jun, you feel like you’ve seen him somewhere before. a magazine cover, a billboard, or a music show you watched in passing. jun, on the other hand, seems to know you a lot better than you know yourself.

✧  soonyoung

daylight | 💐 × tags: automaton!hoshi, sci-fi, angst

when hoshi first opened his eyes, the singular impulse hard-wired into his circuitry is to dance. a performer in every sense of the word, he simply finds another stage to set foot on in the planet of salax after the escape. people never overstay their welcome here, but he unexpectedly meets you—a mechanic born and raised in a place where no one deigns to linger for too long.

friends with benefits | 💐

untitled | 💐

i knew you were trouble | 💐

✧  wonwoo

underlying pretense | 💐🌟 × tags: enemies to lovers, sex tapes

being two of the most popular streamers across the board, your subscribers often speculate if your constant bickering with wonwoo has some underlying pretense. little did they know, the two of you have everything on display on a single, unsuspecting twitter account.

favorite poison | 💐🌟 × tags: enemies to lovers, sex tapes

no strings attached sex is easy. catching feelings for a person you supposedly hate is hard. it’s in times like this when wonwoo wishes he can set the dial on his life to easy mode forever, but everyone knows he’s nothing if not stubbornly competitive.

mirage | 💐 × tags: strangers to lovers, one night stands

he loves with a passion that bleeds into his actions, never his words. you can see it in how he doesn’t make a sound. how he’s seemingly on the cusp, teetering dangerously across the knife’s edge. you’re nothing but a stranger to him and yet he looks at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

meet cute of the century |  💐🌟✨ × tags: meet cute, strangers to lovers, pining

the last thing you expected when you volunteered at your city’s local animal shelter is to meet the hottest cat person in the world. now if only he’d just adopt one of them so you’d stop ogling him every time he drops by.

caught in the middle |  💐 × tags: established relationship, one-sided pining 

mingyu knows. he’s perfectly aware that his best friend’s girlfriend is the last person he should end up wanting. but who is he to refuse when wonwoo invites him to join something he never thought he could ever be part of?

don’t be lazy | 💐

02:35 |  💐

✧  jihoon

let’s fall in love for the night  | 💐

✧ minghao

rush hour | 💐 × tags: enemies to lovers, dancer au, public sex

you used to be good friends with the newest dancer in your agency, but your competitiveness gets the better of you when he overtakes your spot as the top performer of the month—for three straight months.

terrified | 💐✨ × tags: established relationship, marriage, having kids

minghao has a knack for keeping the things you tell him in mind. from your favorite brand of wine to how the idea of bearing children terrifies you—he remembers all of it. so your husband is in a bit of a crisis when he realizes that this newfound desire to start a family kind of clashes with something you trusted him to respect.

when it’s cold outside | 💐

✧  mingyu

again and again | 💐🌟✨ × tags: exes, fake dating, angst

your mother calls one day, asking if you’re bringing mingyu along for chuseok this year. in your panic, you end up giving her an affirmative—never mind the fact that you and mingyu have stopped seeing each other over half a year ago.

vices & virtues | 💐 × tags: enemies to lovers, bodyguard!gyu

being from one of the most opulent families in the city, you’re used to getting everything you want. but when you realize that your hot bodyguard is strictly off-limits, you treat him like anything else you can’t have: with unbridled hostility.

caught in the middle |  💐 × tags: established relationship, one-sided pining

mingyu knows. he’s perfectly aware that his best friend’s girlfriend is the last person he should end up wanting. but who is he to refuse when wonwoo invites him to join something he never thought he could ever be part of?

needy | 💐

✧  seokmin

20:32 | 💐

✧  seungkwan

1:12 | 💐

✧  vernon

divorce child | 💐 × tags: exes to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, angst

you like to think that your most recent breakup with vernon ended on relatively good terms. there’s only one issue left to sort out: who’s getting custody of the cat you got together?

friends with benefits | 💐

01:22 | 💐  

✧  chan

promise ring | 💐✨ × tags: fantasy, childhood friends, mutual pining

no one would’ve guessed that the only daughter of the town’s royal mage has a soft spot for the clumsiest fire elemental in the entire realm. but when the crown prince suddenly asks for your hand in marriage, you’re forced to consider how you feel about a certain lee jung chan a lot more seriously. 

2:40 | 💐

[wildemaven]

had me fooled | dave york

-> pairing: dave york x f!reader

-> word count: 1405

-> content warnings: 18+ blog; mentions of alcohol, reader is mentioned wearing heels and a dress, mainly fluff, Dave and Carol are divorced, established relationship, soft Dave, if Dave is a murdering man— we know nothing about it, zero descriptive information about reader, please let me know if I forgot anything

-> notes: this was written on minimal sleep and like 3 hours, so I apologize for how rushed and lacking in all areas it might be. I just wanted to get it done before the new year so it wasn’t glaring at me from my wip pile. It’s not beta’d in the slightest, so all mistakes are my own.

-> holi-dave masterlist / wm masterlist

“I’ll see you at the office on Tuesday. Get home safe!” You yell with a wave to your colleague turned friend from the front door as she settles into her awaiting Uber. The last of the party goers to make their way home. 

The house is calm now. No longer filled with echoes of laughter and cheers that had permeated the walls throughout the night. Close friends, old and new, once scattered in every corner of your home. Now emptied cups littered on surface tops and trails of confetti shimmer across the floor in their wake. 

You relax into the silence as soon as the door clicks closed. The endless duties of a party hostess slowly shift into party cleaning duties, even at this early hour. 

The cold floor almost stings as you ease your bare foot onto the wooden planks, soothing the ache that’s built up through the evening. You toss your metallic heels you had purchased for the occasion onto the bottom step of the stairs as you make your way into the kitchen. 

You're grateful for the few friends who hung back, helping you gather up used paper plates and other food covered items into several trash bags. Deciding the rest of the mess was a future you problem. 

A small whimper catches your attention as you grab the last few empty celebratory bottles of champagne and place them next to the sink. 

You're met with the sweetest face and a look of annoyance, having to deal with a house full of people instead of a quiet evening of cuddles and ear scratches. 

“Don’t give me that look. Your Dad gives me the same one when he’s grumpy and tired too.” Bending down to give Delilah, the French bulldog who’s pouting at you from the comfort of her plush doggie bed, a few pets as she begs for you to hurry up so she can make her way upstairs to sleep. 

“Which look?” A groan floats from the couch in the living room, causing you to snicker at the defensive tone. 

Giving Delilah a scratch to the chin, a silent promise of bed soon, you make your way to the living room. 

“The cute look you’re wearing right now. Half asleep and grumpy that you’ve been having to entertain people for the past few hours.” You plop down on the opposite end of the couch where Dave is sprawled out. Pulling his feet onto the couch, your hands working to undo the laces of his shoes, dropping the shiny leather dress shoes over the arm of the couch— another future you problem. 

Your thumbs slowly dig into the soles of his sock covered feet that are resting on your sequin covered lap. You watch his eyes flutter closed, his brows pinched in welcomed pleasure as you knead out the stress of the New Year’s party you had convinced him to throw. 

“I’m afraid this is how I always look, Sweetheart.” Dave manages to grumble out, looking at you from where his head rests against a decorative pillow. He slowly removes his feet from your grasp, his arms open, beckoning you to join him. 

“It’s still cute.” Accepting his invitation, you crawl over him, nestling between his body and the back of the couch. “You had fun though, right? Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.” 

“I did.” His fingers lift your chin, his lips finding yours in a soft kiss. “Even if I had to pretend like I enjoyed talking to half of them.”

“Had me fooled.” You playfully smirk at him. “Looked like you were really enjoying yourself most of the night.” 

“That’s because I had you by my side most of the night.” 

Dave’s hands had hardly left you the entire evening. Placed against the small of your back as you exchanged memories from the past year with your college friend who was into visiting for the holidays. Lightly brushing the length of your arm as he listened to a neighbor bore on about his new lawn mower that Dave had zero interest in hearing about. Your face in his hands, as the ball dropped on the tv screen, his eyes on you and only you— 5, 4, 3, 2, 1- HAPPY NEW YEAR! —That first kiss of the new year was shared as streamers and confetti exploded into the air. 

“Good point.” Your fingers begin to toy with the buttons on his shirt, as your mind reliving the entire evening, your head resting on his shoulder, his arms holding you close to him. “How are the girls?” 

“Asleep. They didn’t make it like they thought they would. Carol said they both passed out by 9.” You both laugh. Molly and Alice had both begged Carol and Dave to allow them to stay up until midnight, convincing them both they could make it the entire night. 

“There’s always next year.” A yawn escapes mid sentence, the evening and effects of the several glasses of champagne you indulged in finally catching up to you. “Let's go to bed, Dave.”

You start to push yourself up off of him, but you're stopped by his strong hand wrapping around your wrist. 

“Hang on a sec— there’s something I want to ask you. I’ve been meaning to ask you all evening actually.” There's a shyness in his eyes, one that you don’t see often with the confidence he possesses. 

You settle back into the couch, your legs tucked underneath you, your head falling back into the back cushion. Dave takes your hand in his, his breathing becoming a little erratic as he searches for the right thing to say. The silence between you drags on far longer than he means for. The soft snores courtesy of a sleeping pooch in the background are the only thing filling the room. 

“Yes!” Giving him an enthusiastic smile. 

“Yes? I didn’t even say anything.” His head lifts from the pillow, giving you a confused look. 

“My answer is yes!” A laugh bubbles up from your chest, you love catching him off guard like this. 

“To what? You don’t even know what I was going to say.” He sits up fully, face level with yours. Wondering if you truly know what he had intended to ask you. 

“You might be a man of the government, Babe. But you’re still easy to read. And I’m going to assume that the bulge you’ve been sporting in your pants all night, isn’t due to the effects of the dress I’m wearing. So, my answer is yes— I will marry you, Dave.” Your hand caressing the side of his face, his expression softening at your gaze. 

It was the same when he’d asked you to move into his home after only 6 months of dating. The girls were away with Carol for the weekend, the two of you enjoying a quiet summer dinner on the back patio. His quieter than usual demeanor wasn’t the first give away. He’d offered up space in the closet for you, a few drawers in the bathroom. He kept your favorite coffee in stock for when you stayed over, always brewed and waiting in a mug for you each morning. So when he said he had a surprise for you, all signs pointed to the obvious. Presenting you with a newly cut shiny key to his home, you promptly added it to your keychain after you both talked over how excited the girls would be once you were officially moved in. 

He reaches into his pants pocket, revealing the small velvet box he had tucked away all evening. Waiting for the perfect moment, only to realize a room full of people and all eyes on you isn’t what you would want. So he let the night carry on, watching everyone slowly trickle out the front door, until it was just you and him— alone. Just how you'd want it. 

“Dave, it’s beautiful.” He places the gold shiny ring on your left finger. Holding your hand out, admiring the diamond as it sparkles brilliantly in the dimly lit room. 

“It doesn’t hold a candle to you, Sweetheart.” His lips capture yours in a slow passion filled kiss, his hands pulling you closer, both of you falling back onto the couch.

“Are you going to ask me properly, Dave?” You tease, knowing he’ll be annoyed with himself if he doesn’t.

“Marry me? Make me the happiest man alive and marry my grumpy ass.” 

“Yes!”

[jtl-fics]

Math nerd au 👀 i love that funky lil accountant

WIP Wednesday Game 8/16/23 (Closed) | Math Nerd AU

"What's 8 x 42?" Matt says as they head towards the front door.

"336." Neil answers without any hesitation waving to the hostess.

".02 x 85?" Matt tries for something harder." Matt asks opening the door for Neil.

"1.70" Neil returns opening the second door for Matt.

"You're seriously just doing that all in your head?!" Matt exclaims as they walk out into the warmth of the South Carolina sun.

"Well, I am here to get my degree in accounting." Neil says with a shrug and Matt can see him visibly enjoying the warmth after sitting in the cold of the restaurant.

"Oh cool!" somehow their own majors and future plans had not come up at any point during the course of their lunch conversation. "I'm in business administration, though I'm hoping to be able to play Exy professionally." Matt says scratching his cheek a bit in embarrassment.

[blighted-lights]

very old wip of my radio hostess/bartender transformers oc, cadence,,, whoag. not only is she a radio host but she is Also the jukebox of her bar.

i gotta redraw her at some point, this is old, but,, love her

[poledancingdinos]

A Very Merry Unbirthday

Pairing: Captain Syverson X OFC

Word Count: 1179

Warnings: Fluff

Taglist: @amberangel112 @utterlyhopeful-fics @marantha @kebabgirl67 @littleone65 @omgkatinka @luclittlepond @elizabetharegina @enchantedbytomandhenry @narnianaos @geralts-yenn @peaches1958 @avengersfan25

A/N: Another one from the forgotten WIP file

Masterlist

At oh-five-hundred on the dot, Sy’s eyes cracked open to find sunny rays beginning to light up the bedroom. It was Saturday and he had no obligation to be up so damn early but it seemed that his body had yet to register that he was now a civilian. Instead of staying in bed a while longer like he normally would have, he slowly slipped out from between the sheets and gathered some fresh clothes before exiting the room.

He showered and shaved then went downstairs to get the plastic shopping bags out from the under seat storage at the back of his truck. He’d hidden the contents there, knowing that if he were caught with them in the house, his girlfriend would have his hide.

You wouldn’t think that wrapping paper and ribbon would be the worst kind of contraband he could sneak into his home but it was something she felt very strongly about.

After retrieving the scissors from the kitchen and letting Aika out in the yard, Sy sat in the den and began meticulously wrapping the small box. He marked and folded each side of the paper, ensuring the edges were crisp and neat before placing the box in the center and taping everything in place.

Finally, he pulled out the card he’d had printed specifically for the occasion. He’d been agonizing all week over what he wanted to say and what words to use. He wasn’t very good at sharing his thoughts or emotions, being more of a “show don’t tell” type of guy, but the woman sound asleep upstairs deserved that he at least make an attempt.

By the time he’d finished it was only a little past six. He still had at least two more hours to kill so he made a pot of coffee and kept himself busy by cleaning the kitchen, living room and dining room before setting the table and heading out the door.

It was a quick drive to his chosen restaurant where he placed an order to go. The enticing smells perfuming the place made his stomach rumble, reminding that he’d forgone breakfast in order to eat with his girlfriend once she woke up. Luckily, the restaurant was mostly empty still and the hostess quickly returned with two full bags of food.

Now came the hard part: waking his girlfriend without getting too many pillows thrown at his head.

The door creaked as he pushed it open and his sleeping beauty stirred. He knelt by the bed, pecking her nose and cheeks.

“Mornin’ Sugar.”

She hummed but didn’t open her eyes as she sought his lips for a deep, slow kiss.

“Hey handsome.”

“Happy—”

Her eyes darted open and she gave him a stern frown. “If you know what's good for you, you will not finish that sentence.”

Sy chuckled, giving her another peck between her tightly knit eyebrows.

“Come on…,” he coaxed. “Birthday girls get coffee and food from the good breakfast place.”

He’d hoped the promise of her favorite food would pull her from the bed and he’d been right. She pouted comically as she stood, wearing only underwear and one of his old shirts. Sy watched shamelessly as she walked to the dresser to retrieve a pair of soft fleece shorts, pulling them up her legs.

He followed her down to the dinning room where their breakfast awaited. Though she continued to pout out of principal, the little satisfied sounds she made as she ate let Sy know that she was very much enjoying her surprise breakfast.

When they both finished their meals, Sy cleared the plates and replaced hers with the card he’d prepared.

“Sy…” she warned.

He pulled her chair closer to his and placed his arm around her shoulders.

“I just want to celebrate my woman and know she's as happy as she makes me.”

“Happy would be no special attention,” she argued, leaning into his side.

“What are ya gonna do when it’s our kids wakin’ ya up first thing in the mornin’ by jumpin’ up and down on the bed and screamin’ that it’s their birthday?”

“Our kids?” she repeated, pursing her lips as she pretended not to smile. Sy only shrugged, like it was no big deal that he’d just assumed with so much certainty the two of them would have kids one day .

She focused her attention on opening the card, ignoring the way her stomach fluttered at the thought of her and Sy trying for a baby.

“A very merry unbirthday to you. Yes, you,” she read aloud. She turned the front of the card towards Sy, pointing at the image from the movie Alice in Wonderland. “Okay, I have to admit that’s pretty funny.” She opened the card, reading the inscription.

After a few seconds, she looked up at Sy. “I don’t get it.”

“Maybe this’ll help.” He placed a box on the table which his girlfriend hadn’t even noticed was on his lap.

“Sy…”

“Open it.”

Her eyes flickered between Sy and the box as she reached out and gently peeled back the clear tape until she revealed the black velvet box. She slipped the cardboard sleeve off and slowly lifted the cover.

“Sy…” She didn’t know what else to say. Well, “yes” might be an appropriate response but he hadn't actually asked a question yet.

“I know ya hate birthdays but this is the first time I’m not overseas on the day of… I hope you’ll forgive me, I just wanted to make it special this one time to celebrate the amazin’ woman I’m hopin’ will be my wife.”

If you say one word, I will promise you a lifetime of very merry unbirthdays, the card read.

“So,” Sy continued, taking the ring from the box and getting down on one knee. “Sugar, you are the light of my life. I love you and all your quirks, even if it means I don't get to spoil you on this one day of the year. I am incredibly grateful to wake up by your side every day and I never want that to change. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

“Yes,” she quickly answered, tears beginning to pool in her eyes. “Of course I will, yes!”

Sy couldn't hold back his smile at her answer, nor did he want to. He ran his thumb tenderly over her knuckles as he took hold of her left hand and slipped the ring onto her finger. When it fit almost to perfection, he made a mental note to thank his future brother-in-law for the insider tip.

She let herself be pulled onto Sy’s lap, cupping his face as she locked her lips with his.

“Thank you for waitin’, Sugar. I know I put you through Hell these last few years. I’ve got a lot of time to make up for.”

She shook her head, her nose brushing against his as she remained wrapped in his embrace. “I don’t need you to make up for anything. Having you here now is all I need.”

[abridgerton]

Ballroom Banter (Anthony X Reader) {WIP}

Prompt: “I believe we met last spring”

Characters: Anthony Bridgerton X Reader

Triggers: romance, kissing, suggestive content, drinking

Perfection. Everything must be perfection.

This ball is to be like none other this season - it is hosted by the highly esteemed Lady Danbury herself. With her as hostess, Her Majesty the Queen is sure to be in attendance. Another layer of stress for you to resolve.

As you walk into and close the door to your room, you notice a smooth, powder blue silk dress with silver embellishments is hung on your wall - ready to be worn to the ball tonight.

Your prospects this season have been very few, and your mother, Mrs. Westing, is beginning to think you are going to die a spinster. It is not because you are undesirable or unattractive, but you want to marry for love and passion - the things you so often read about in epic romances. That is the end goal - that is what you want. Though, if your mother had the choice, she would marry you off to the richest mans she could. Lord Berbrooke would be your next husband, no doubt.

Three shrill knocks pull you back to earth, as someone is waiting on the other side of your door. You clear your throat and say, "Come in!" Annalise, your ladys maid, quietly opens and shuts the door, and reveals a pile of linens for you. "It is time to get ready for the ball ma'am," she says, "I have your skirts and busts." You nod, and begin undressing. The white nightgown you had on moments before was now laying on your bed, and stays were being laced around your chest.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Such a pretty round face, delicate nose, and exceptional bone structure; your deep green eyes match your fair complexion and light hair - a sight for sore eyes, indeed.

After your ladys maid is done fussing about the way your dress fits, you go downstairs. She spends so much time primping and preening over you that it gets on your nerves sometimes.

As you walk down the stairs and into the dining room, you notice something of about the air of the room. No one at the table is talking - not even your three little siblings. The entire family is gathered in their respective seats, intently staring at your mother holding a long, thin pamphlet.

The lettering was hard to make out from afar, but you notice the distinct font on the front - Lady Whistledown. The gossip column was widely known, and often the subject of scandal, but why is my family acting so tense?

Your questions are soon answered as your mother rises to her feet and says, "did you know about this?" your breath begins to shallow, as a wave of confusion clouds around you. "Know about what?" you ask.

She slides the paper up over to you, looks at it intently, and says bluntly, "Read it." Not wanting to upset her any further, you read the first paragraph on the front fold:

"Dear reader, how busy we have all been with the festivities of the season! With all the fuss from the mamas this courting season, you would think they would be monitored at all times. But some of them, namingly Countess Westing have been letting their daughters slip through the cracks. I have it on good authority that Miss Courtney Westing and Viscount Bridgerton had a hasty hallway rendezvous upstairs at the Hearts and Feathers Ball while the rest of us were exchanging pleasantries. Dear reader, I should dare to say there is a wedding in our near future!"

The shock of the writing was to much to withstand, and you began apologizing profusely, "Mother you do not understand - it is not what they have written - it is not the truth-"

But the issue is: that is the truth. You did have a hasty bedroom rendezvous with Viscount Bridgerton. When you think about it, you can feel his touch lingering on your skin - burning hot. God, you have never seen such a sight in your life; the image of the Viscount hastily tearing off his collar and peeling your dress down the side of your body. It was forbidden - it was wrong - it was everything. His touch was the remedy to your fiendish cravings.

None of that can matter right now. Your mother is staring at you - horrified. You begin to speak again, to say something convincing, but she storms off down the hallway and into her room. You take a deep sigh, and begin to leave the dining hall. On your way out you spot your father, who had not once looked up from his newspaper the entire exchange. He continued to look intently at the paper, and you pass by him into the hallway and into your room.

You sit there - trussed up like a cow - waiting for your ladys maid to escort you to the carriage. There is to be a ball in London tonight. Of course, after this Lady Whistledown fiasco your reputation is going to be positively soiled. Anthony will be forced to make a decision: marry you, or leave you jilted. Both thoughts unsettle you. At any rate, you have to see him; you have to know what he wants to do about it. If he were to propose, you would cheerfully accept. You've always had a little bit of a thing for him anyways.

The three knocks on the door come again, and your ladys maid is on the other side. You say, "Come in." and the ladys maid opens the door and says, "your carriage, ma'am, is ready." You nod your head, and begin the journey with her down to the carriage. The walk is not long, so you do not exchange much banter. Once you arrive at the carriages, your mother is sat inside - glaring at you. This carriage ride is no doubt going to be a battle zone. Nonetheless, you trudge on into your seat in the carriage. You cannot help but wish you were staying home this night. But you comfort yourself with the knowing that the ride into London is rather long, perhaps two hours - plenty of time to sort out your story.

During this two hour ride, nobody speaks. The discomfort is felt by every member, but nobody is brave enough to break the silence. You spend these quiet moments plotting and planning how you will get out of this. Perhaps you will call Whistledown a liar, and try and deny the grievances. As the carriage slowly approaches the docking area, your father finally breaks the silence by saying, "alright, lets go," and leads the family into the magnificent home. Lady Danburys house is one of taste and refinery; covered with ancient artifacts and wonderful art pieces. The sight is truly something to behold.

Your moments in raptures are quickly ended, as you spot a group of prissy girls giggling and muttering in your direction. They are talking about your so called, "scandal," no doubt. Instead of confronting them, you choose to break from your family and take a turn about the room to examine your prospects.

You scan the ballroom floor and, after a few paces, decide to venture over to your mother - who seems to be talking to a man over a bowl of lemonade. She looks at you with her great , big eyes, and shoots you a stern, cold gaze.

As you walk over to your mother, you recognize the mysterious man - Anthony Bridgerton. The man - standing tall in black riding boots, with chestnut hair and deep brown eyes - was turned towards you. Your breath halts, and for a moment, you are entirely breathless.

Your moment is interrupted by your mother, who begins your introduction, "Viscount Bridgerton, this is my daughter, Cathrine; I believe you've met before - perhaps at the last ball?"

You did not need the reminder. You had indeed met the Viscount last spring at Mrs. Bridgerton's annual Hearts and Flowers ball. The thought of that night sent rippling chills throughout your body. His warm touch was all over your body once again - as you relived his every move from memory.

The viscount paused for a moment, but promptly responded, "Yes, I believe we have met. She is a most accomplished on the pianoforte, if I recall."

The compliment makes you blush, as your mother continues, "Yes! You remember quite well. She is also proficient in her needlework and dancing!"

Anthony gives a slight uncomfortable smile, and takes his leave, "That is wonderful to hear Mrs. Westing, do send your husband my regards. I think I see my mother ..."

And with that, he walked out into the back garden. Your mother watched him leave - almost disappointed he did not drop to one knee and propose right there. Desperate to get some answers, you turn to your mother and say, "I think I'll go freshen up." and walk in the direction of the retiring rooms. Once you are down the hallway, you turn around and leave out of the back exit - leading you into the back gardens. The walk is muddy, and your shoes are being ruined, but you know hes out here somewhere.

After a five minute search, out of nowhere, you hear his hard, raspy voice, "Catherine, is that you?" Your body tenses up, reacting to hearing his voice so close. He steps closer to you, and puts his hand on your shoulder. "You shouldn't be out here without a chaperone, it isn't proper. " Your words are caught in your throat, and you can give no response. The memories of him are poisoning your mind, and causing you to act so scandalously. Just as you are about to consider turning back, he lightly grabs you by the arm and pulls you in, "Unless .. you wanted to stay .."

His warm breath grazes the back of your smooth neck and gives you chills all over. Anthonys hands move up the back of your legs, grabbing at your thighs. His breathing becomes shallow, and heavier. "God," he panted, "I've missed you." Before you can think to stop him, he pins you against a large wall of vines, and begins his journey with his hands. He moves them around your face at first, swirling around your cheeks and holding your face - then down to your collarbones, wrapping his hands around your neck and squeezing gently. The touch is so welcomed, and you cant keep your hands off him either.

Through quickened breath you say, "What are - we going to - do?" Anthony paused from kissing your neck and said, "Nothing." His reply sends fear through your body. Nothing? I will be ruined! Your body tenses up, and you begin to protest, "How can you leave me after defling me so? I will be left a jilted, lonely spinster." Anthony rose up to meet you at face level, and met your eyes with a dead gaze. "I cannot marry you. I am sorry. I can pay your dowry, but we cannot be married." These words felt like being ambushed by a million tiny thorns. "What is so awful about me that he refuses to marry me? "I do not understand," you think, "why you will not marry me. Am I so horrible? Would I not make a suitable wife?" He takes a deep breath in, leans away from you, and begins, "I will ruin you."

You step back so you may take a better look at him. Anthony is dressed in a stunning royal blue suit, with a creme colored neck tie and a pair pants that fit wonderfully. The sight is much to behold - and his confident aura makes him downright irresistible.

[edwardian-girl-next-door]

Just a random thought on "The Second Stain", at least as presented by Granada Holmes.

For a WIP I've been looking into the (cursory) workings of 19th-century British politics and also how it operated in the realm of society. It seems interesting to me that 1) Lady Hilda seemingly knows nothing about politics, and 2) that her husband desires to keep her so far out of its affairs. Female relatives, especially wives, of upper-class politicians were often indispensable to them through their social functions. They could bring influential people together by being seen at key social events, involving themselves with philanthropic and charitable activities, hosting dinners and dances, and taking part in activism (such as the Primrose League), among other things. Many times their web of friends, relatives, and even lovers could bring valuable 'ins' for them and their husbands. Also, even if they were not expressly educated on the subject at home of boarding or finishing school, many came from families with some involvement in politics (as the heads of the aristocracy held seats in the House of Lords, for example) and grew up with it in their natural environment. Some of the most influential hostesses of that era that come to mind are Lady Jennie Churchill, mother of Winston Churchill and wife to Lord Randolph Churchill; Hannah de Rothschild, later Countess of Rosebery and wife to former Prime Minister Archibald Primrose; and Margot Asquith, second wife to former Prime Minister H. H. Asquith.

Obviously, there are exceptions to this fact -- men could make it to the top without wives to help them along. Gladstone, four times the Prime Minister between 1868 and 1894 had a wife that was rather shy; and Arthur Balfour had no wife at all. Although they were anomalies, it could be that Trelawney Hope is among them, and takes rather a more... traditional? line of thought when it comes to women's roles.

(Also, fun fact: in the episode, but not in the canon, Holmes mentions that she is the daughter of the Duke of Belminster. Therefore she is addressed as 'Lady Hilda Trelawney Hope'. Her husband, on the other hand, is just addressed as plain old 'Mr.' This is because daughters of earls could keep their titles if they married down, even to a commoner)

Source: edwardian promenade (my beloved)

[disastrouscanasta]

You should show an excerpt of one of your wips >:3

……so you’re getting some of Webgott cruise ship adventure because modern au webgott >:3

here is 1200 words of… bickering & Señor Frog’s bar. Day 3/7 from their cruise :)

** “Ooh, pocket dictionary. Just when I thought you couldn’t be any more of a nerd–”

“This pocket dictionary is about to get us booze.” David said, flipping through the thin pages maniacally. If he wasn’t careful, he’d rip right through it. Wasn’t like they needed it, though.

After a moment, David made a small noise of triumph. Joe couldn’t help but roll his eyes as David sounded the words out. It was choppy and Americanised at best, his pronunciation didn’t get much better as he continued muttering it softly under his breath as they stood in line

“Hola,” David started as soon as it was their turn at the till. “Dos margaritas por favor.”

The worker at the cash register blinked. “Two margaritas?”

“Yes,” David said dejectedly, then, ever polite, he tacked on a quick: “Please and thank you.”

“Can we have some of those funky cups?” Joe asked, since the cashier clearly spoke enough English to understand.

Sure enough: “Two frozen margaritas in souvenir cups.”

Joe smiled at David, who still looked put out that his shitty Spanish was actually shitty.

David paid, then they found their way onto a pair of seats straddling the line between the main bar and the patio. It was close enough to the ocean, just off the side of the port, for David to enjoy the view. But it was also far enough away that Joe didn’t get any strange impulses, like jumping in, or– the more fun and likely thought– pushing David into the water.

“We’re in Mexico!” David griped, despite the fact that he had reminded Joe, time and time again, that Cozumel wasn’t really Mexico, just an island.

“We’re in a tourist capital.” Joe shrugged. “Everyone speaks English, it’s to help rich dicks like you feel at home. So you spend more.”

“But I was making an effort.”

“Effort is wasted compared to cold, hard, cash.” Joe scanned the bar, looking for whichever waiter would bring them a pair of big ass drinks in neon cups. Señor Frog’s knew how to party. “Plus, you can try again in the next place.”

“The official language of Belize is English.” David said, reading the imaginary Wikipedia citation in his head. “Goddamnit, I knew I should have downloaded one of those language apps.”

David could barely hold a confident conversation in German, let alone manage his way through Spanish.

“If you really give a shit, why not talk to someone when we get back home? Everyone and their dog speaks Mexican.”

“Spanish.”

“Right, anyway. We’re still getting the booze here.”

David, still moping, hung his head with his elbows against the table to hold him up. Joe reached across the table, patting David’s shoulder awkwardly. It was hard to console David while Joe himself was on the brink of laughter. It was his own fault for bagging a guy so dramatic.

Eventually, David was stirred from his self-pitying by a waiter, who carried a tray with two precariously balanced cups. Hell, those were the cups. They looked even better in person, even more neon.

Joe took the Mile-Long souvenir cup that was handed to him, adorned with a small paper umbrella. It even came with a long ass plastic straw.

“This is incredible.” Joe said. His voice was tight with the kind of childlike wonder that he didn’t think was physically possible. The last time he’d been so happy over something like this, he’d been in the 6th grade.

(He’d been bet by a friend to do something stupid. He didn’t even remember what he’d done to get the five bucks, but he’d done it. And 12-year-old Joe Liebgott had used that hard earned money to buy not one, not two but an entire box full of Hostess Twinkies. He’d scarfed them down all by himself, sitting on the curb outside the 7-Eleven.)

“It… sure is something.” David said, eyeing his own drink with not nearly enough whimsey.

“This is the something, Web. The best thing in existence. Mister Señor Frog should be the next big icon. Who doesn’t want this much alcohol?”

“Señor means mister.”

“I know that, jackass. I just respect him that much.”

“You’re insane.”

“Hey, you paid for it. What? 20 American dollars a drink?”

David nodded a small ‘affirmative.’

20 bucks was a lot. This whole cruise was a lot. It astonished Joe every time. The whole trip would have been a lot cheaper for David if Joe hadn’t been there.

“Thanks, Web.” He said sincerely, hoping that David would get the message. He probably did, David was smart like that, even if he couldn’t speak Spanish to save his life.

He’d find a way to pay David back, if not in equal price, then equal effort and thought. Or, alternatively he’d get David something cheap and corny. He could give him a blowjob. He could buy him something cheap and corny and also give David a blowjob. Birthdays for David must have been great.

Joe swirled his drink, admiring the slush of it. He picked the tiny umbrella out and tucked it behind his ear.

When he looked up, just after taking as long of a sip as he could, Joe found David staring at him.

“What?” He asked.

“Nothing.” David said, but it was hardly believable. Joe blinked, and when he opened his eyes again, David still watched him, looking horribly fond.

“Get your goo-goo eyes off me– Oh fuck, oh shit, oh fuck.” Joe was gripped by a sudden, searing pain directly behind his eyebrows.

“What’s wrong? Lieb, what’s going on?” Gone was the softness from David’s eyes, replaced immediately with concern.

“Fuck– it’s just brainfreeze but fuck.”

Joe rode it out while Davis brought a hand to his side, stroking his fingers reassuringly up and down Joe’s ribs. Joe had half a mind to brush him off, and, well, the only other thought process in his head was ‘brain cold.’ That one won out, and David’s awkward affection got to stay.

Once it passed, fairly quickly considering the agony. Joe leaned back, moved David’s hand off of him and then took another sip from his drink. David rolled his eyes.

“You know, this trip is not nearly National Lampoon's enough.” Joe stated after a moment.

“Would you want it to be more National Lampoon’s? Doesn’t every vacation go horribly for the Griswold family?”

Joe shrugged. He’d grown up watching movies like Vacation, European Vacation, Vegas Vacation, etc. It had always been funny and looked exciting. It wasn’t Joe’s fault if he was naturally drawn to trainwrecks.

“They had fun, though.” He said. “Plus it always brought them together.”

“And you think we need over-the-top 80s hijinks to bring us together?”

“It could help any relationship, I think.” If Joe was honest, yeah, they probably didn’t need anything to unite them. David was firmly cemented in Joe’s mind, past his protective barriers and well settled within the soft, vulnerable parts of him. It hadn’t even been intentional. Joe had woken up one day, and realised yeah, David’s not so bad, and the rest was history. “80s Vacation hijinks could save marriages.”

He’d shown the movies to David, who had grown up in a household which frowned upon the innuendo-filled comedies that Joe thrived on, (“This is a Christmas movie, we can’t watch it in July!” “Why the fuck would I care about that?”)

“What do you think would make this more like that?”

“Hell if I know, I don’t write that shit.” Joe sipped loudly from his drink.

[alectoperdita]

My goal today is to commit time theft so I've been combing through my WIPs. This should be for chapter 11 of mob. Annoyed to find I have like 40% written but chapter 10 should probably happen first but I'm afraid of writing drugged sex poorly, so we're here at this impasse.

Enjoy the mob fluff!

---

"Sorta," Katsuya muttered. "You got anything with less pink in it? Red's fine, but pink's not really their color."

(Except when it was the peach of Seto's flesh brightening under Katsuya's mouth.)

Bakura hummed as he gave Katsuya a scrutinizing once-over. It was the sort of discerning look that seemed to see right through him. In fact, it reminded him of Seto.

Now that Katsuya thought about it, he could guess what kinds of customers frequented this shop. The interior was a veritable garden of peacocks, each bouquet was flawless and extravagant. Exactly the kind besotted salarymen would gift to their favorite hostesses. Mai frequently received them from her most devoted customers.

Was that what the shopkeeper thought he was—a lovesick schlub trying desperately to impress someone out of his league?

The worst part was he couldn't say Bakura was wrong either.

[that-guy-sleepy-miles]

Aizawa Undercover

Two of The Many Faces of Aizawa Shota! (fic wip name hehe)

I think the most interesting and unexplored MHA concept is underground heroes going undercover, so I made two concepts for an undercover Aizawa to test if I can keep a character's recognizably while also having them w/ different personalities and outfits! I think I might make a fic based off of these two undercover stories, especially Zukyō! I even have a design for one of the hostess girls 'she' watches over :]!

Identity 1: Shout ('Shout'a, obviously, and also Present Mic influence)

Aizawa went undercover to bust a drug smuggling ring via underground raves. The character traits of Shout are based off of Present Mic and Oboro, very excitable and easy going. He took down the ring via just kind of making his way into people's good graces. He still goes to raves as Shout occasionally, if only because he's nostalgic.

Identity 2: Zukyō (図強) (a mix of 指図 'command' and 強力な 'powerful'), also known as Mama-san (a woman in a position of authority, especially one in charge of a geisha house or bar).

'She' works at a dingy hostess club in a red-light district. The place is frequented by villains and people who run in those circles, so Aizawa's job is to pick up on conversations had with the girls. Aizawa was sent there instead of an actual female pro hero because of worries for a woman's safety in such a situation. Most people don't notice his more masculine features because of his undercover makeup skills, and the girls think their Mama-san is trans and protect her femininity with their lives. The character traits of Zukyō/Mama-san are based off of Midnight.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Crushed 15

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, manipulation, cheating, sleazy behaviour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your next door neighbours hook up, bringing to surface deep-seated feelings.

Characters: Colin Shea, Jonathan Pine

Note: Please scream at me!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like my dog loves belly rubs (that’s a lot). Take care. 💖

After an early morning phone call, your mother insists on coming to town for lunch. You couldn't bear to tell her everything over the phone and frankly, you don't know how much you should tell her. You remember in high school when you were sent home after Kelly Harris dumped mud in your lap, your mother was more irritated to have you home than empathetic. 

You watch through the peephole before you sneak out. You haven't slept but you can't be sure Colin hasn't returned. There's enough noise in the building that it's hard to discern who's coming or going. 

When you do emerge, you flit quickly to the first floor and dip out, looking over your shoulder for either Colin or his vengeful girlfriend. You get through the lobby without trouble but you're not in the clear. Surely the day holds nothing but trouble, regardless of where it comes from.

You check the time as you wait for the cab. You refer to the text your mother sent before she set out and give the driver the name of the restaurant. You've never been there before and you're certain it's well out of your price range. Another debt for the tally.

This is the last thing you ever wanted. It makes all this drama seem all the more ridiculous. You’re a grown woman and this is what you’ve come to. Back to square one.

You approach the restaurant doors and enter with a sheepish grin. You don’t know that you own anything that wouldn’t be underdressed for this bougie brunch locale. Once more, you look at your phone. Crap, she’s there first. That means you're late even if you agreed on nine.

The hostess shows you to the table where your mother waits. She has her compact out as she touches up her mauve lipstick. She doesn’t acknowledge you or the hostess as you sit. She snaps shut the mirror and sips from her stemmed glass of orange juice.

“About time,” she drawls, “oh, and nice to hear from you after all these months.”

Her eyes finally deign to land on you. You gulp. You should’ve taken the chance of talking to your father but ultimately you know it’s not up to him.

“You’ve been so busy with Geri’s wedding–”

“Don’t try to guilt me for your neglect,” she warns, “you should be happy for your sister. Her fiance is a charming man. You’ve met Colton, haven’t you?”

“Once or twice,” you grumble. Family get togethers weren’t exactly your favourite memories. “I’ve been waiting on my invite–”

“Invite? You’re a bridesmaid. Geri sent out that email months ago. Is this why you weren’t at the fitting?”

“I didn’t… I didn’t get an email.”

“You’re wrong. Certainly, you must be. You and the rest of the girls are bridesmaids. You have to be. And it might be good for you to be involved in a wedding at least once,” she tuts. You don’t miss the jibe. Yeah, not like you have much hope of walking down the aisle.

“I’ll… I’ll call Geri and clear things up,” you say, “how are the others?”

“Well, Maeve is graduating this year. Always exciting. She’s thinking of joining Audrey at her alma mater. And Livia is somewhere in Spain again.”

“Ah, yeah, she sent me some pictures,” you say.

“And you? What are you up to?” She challenges. She’s not genuinely curious.

“Well,” you take a breath, pausing as a server comes to ask what you’d like to drink. You get the same as your mother and peruse the menu.

“Well…” your mother prompts.

“Yeah, um, I…” you shake your head, you can’t even look at her, “I am on leave from work so… not much.”

“Leave? What does that mean?” She hisses.

You feel your eyes tinge. You look at her. Why is she so different to you? Your other sisters can spill all their worries and whims but you, it’s always judgment. You can never do anything right.

“Uh, I thought maybe it might be a good time to–”

“Ah, pardon,” you’re interrupted before you can sputter out the revelation of another failure. You cringe as you recognise Jonathan’s silky lilt. Why? How? Do you even dare questioning fate anymore? “I just, I had to say hello.”

You force a smile and look at him, trying not to falter in front of your mother’s all-seeing gaze. She sits up, and lets out a hum of surprise as she sees Johnathan. Her lashes give a telling flick.

“Hello?” She utters quizzically.

“This must be one of your sisters,” he says as he runs his hand up the sleek lapel of his blue jacket, “very pleased to finally meet you.”

“Sister? Oh, do not flatter me. I am her mother, Eugenia,” she introduces herself with a smug smirk, “and how do you know each other?”

“Uh, oh,” you stutter and send Jonathan a desperate look. Do you tell her you’re his disgraced former employee? Or maybe just business acquaintance. She’s going to know eventually, that’s why you’re here. “Jonathan is–”

“Jonathan Pine,” he introduces himself, “honoured to finally meet you.” He looks at you, arching a brow before turning his attention back to his mother, “you both must be so excited for your elder daughter’s upcoming nuptials?”

“British?” She intones with intrigue.

“You’ve caught me out,” he grins, “your daughter’s been rather helpful in getting me acquainted with this country. Very lovely…” he peeks at you again, “hardly as lovely as her. You’ve raised a rather endearing daughter.”

“You…” she blinks in confusion, sending you another flabbergasted peek, “you and my daughter…” she lets the suggestion hang. Jonathan does too as he gives you an option; come clean or take the bait.

“I was waiting to introduce you at the wedding,” you blurt out, “I… it’s new.” You say, each word jarring as the lies piece themselves together on your tongue, “and I thought,” you look at Jonathan pointedly, “he was out of town.”

“Business trip was canceled, rescheduled to a business breakfast,” he slithers, “I’m meeting Gerry soon,” he checks his watch, “but I will be sure to tell the hostess to put your bill with mine.”

“Oh–” you squeak.

“Oh my,” your mother trills, “you are too kind. That is…” she gapes at you openly, “you… you’re with my daughter. Her?”

He chuckles lightly, “why wouldn’t I be with such a beautiful woman?”

“I didn’t mean– I don’t– I’m very surprised,” she exclaims shrilly, “she never mentioned, but then again, she’s always been so private. So shy. And you seem like such a lovely man.”

“I like to think so, but please, she is not the lucky one,” he preens and steps towards you. He places his hand on your shoulder and bends, grazing his lips across your cheek, “go with it,” he whispers. 

You turn your head just as his lips aim for yours. He kisses you and the air leaves the room. Your chest ties tight and your entire body tingles. Oh, wow. You’re too swept up in the sensation of his unexpected kiss that you can’t remember why you were so off-kilter a moment ago.

“Now let me not interrupt further. A mother-daughter reunion,” he puts his hand to his chest, “how sweet.”

He backs away and dips his chin. He turns on his heel and crosses the restaurant as you stare after him. The server approaches and sets your drink in front of you. You drink it in the silence of your mother’s disbelief.

“Well, you’ve done finely,” she says in a stunted cadence, “I… he’s so handsome. And tall. And blond!”

“Mom,” you plead as you nearly choke on the orange juice.

“Well. Even you must realise he’s very… dashing as they’d say in his home country,” she flutters her lashes dreamily, “oh, yes, you must bring him to the wedding. He’ll look wonderful in the photos.”

You wet your lips with your tongue and nod. You look down at the table, still buzzing as your lips warm up. You can’t stop thinking about that kiss. It nips away at the anger that kept you up all night, but hardly solves your anxiety.

You can’t tell your mother you expect to be evicted in the next month or that you lost your job. So what now? How do you untangle the knot that only grows bigger and bigger?

💗

For once, your time with your mom is less than torturous. She keeps her barbs dull enough to leave you only bruised. Her mood is a touch above neutral, which for you, is an accomplishment. You’re content but not entirely at ease. You have a lot to figure out.

You bid her goodbye just outside the patio seating and wave to her as she unlocks her luxury car. You watch until you see her get in and let out a sigh. Shit. Not only do you have Jonathan to worry about, but you don’t expect Colin to be AWOL much longer.

So what do you do? Go home and face the music or call Jonathan and try not to melt into a puddle of embarrassment. It was a nice favour of him to pretend but you don’t want to assume anything. High hopes and stupid girlish fantasies got you into all this.

As you walk along the curb, a short toot draws you to a stop. You turn as the whir of a car window steals your attention and you face the familiar car. Jonathan leans over the passenger seat to see you.

“You’re not going to run away again, are you?” He asks.

You twist your heel into the pavement and bend down. You furrow your brows as that big question needles between them. You can’t lie anymore, you can’t just wait for the truth to come out, you just have to ask.

“How did you know I was here?”

His brows lift and his eyes roll to the side. He gives a guilty grin, “I hope you don’t… misinterpret it but I… staked out your building.”

“What?” You puff out.

“Yes, I know, it sounds very bad. And I won’t claim it was entirely sane but I wanted to see the police take him away after I filed the report. To be sure you were safe and then… I sat stuck in my own head. Wanting to run up those stairs and knock on your door but also terrified you wouldn’t answer,” he shrugs, “and I followed you because I worried you might run into him, but that’s only half the reason…”

You swallow and step closer, “Jonathan, what are you doing?”

“Being crazy,” he lowers his eyes bashfully, “I know, you don’t need two madmen after you.”

You shake your head and reach for the handle. You open the door and get in. He sits back, watching you as you move your purse into your lap. You stare at the dashboard.

“What is going on?” You turn your head and look into his beautiful blue eyes, “what is this?”

“I don’t…” he begins.

“You’re my boss.”

“I was.”

“I never should’ve dragged you into this–”

“I’m so happy you did,” he murmurs.

“Jonathan, please,” you beg, “it’s not right–”

“You quit,” he insists, “so what isn’t right?”

You pout and sit back, turning straight and looking up at the upholstered ceiling of the car. You don’t know what to say. No, you don’t know how to say it. Except…

“I’m stupid.”

“What?” He scoffs.

“I’m stupid because… I’m scared and lost. And I can’t make you follow me through that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Feelings don’t just go, they just get complicated,” you explain, parsing through the stirring in your gut, “I hate Colin, I’m scared to hell of him, but I still… feel some of those things I felt.”

“Oh, but darling,” he reaches over and rests his hand above your shoulder, “I know feelings don’t just go. Mine certainly won’t.”

“Feelings? For me? Are you sure it’s not pity?”

“I only pity myself for how deeply I’ve fallen,” he breathes as you sense him leaning in, “the first day I saw you, I knew. I’ve never been much of a romantic but I have to confess something.”

“What?” You shy away, sensing how close he is.

“I knew how to use the coffee machine,” he admits, “I just needed an excuse.”

“You… did?” You look at him. He’s so much closer than you thought.

“Oh yes, if you hadn’t helped with the machine, I would’ve failed miserably in front of you at making copies. And if that didn’t work, well, I suppose I’d just have to make a mistake in my numbers,” he purrs, “you would’ve helped me, wouldn’t you?”

You quiver out a breath. You want to collapse into him, you want to let him make you forget everything but him, and yet, you’re so afraid. You’re afraid to believe that this could ever be real for you.

He doesn’t let your fear win. His lips are on yours again and that’s all you need. Nothing is left but that moment, the feeling of his mouth on yours, how his hand comes up to frame your jaw and cradle your cheek, his other creeping behind your head as he clings to you desperately. You can’t help by latching onto his collar, diving into his need.

You don’t stop until you're dizzy and breathless. He pulls back, hovering before you, thumb tracing your cheek bone as his other hand tickles your neck. His eyes search you, admire you, you’ve never been looked at like that.

“May I drive you home?” He asks softly, nuzzling your nose with his.