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qqueenofhades · 4 months

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Hi! This question has been noodling in my head for a few weeks, and I’ve been really curious to hear your opinion. I’ve appreciated your very thoughtful commentary on the ways the online left in particular have hurt the real and concerted efforts that have been made to navigate through the Gaza war in support of Palestine. I’ve seen a lot of outrage online about Biden bypassing congress in order to make another emergency weapons sale to Israel, which does indeed read as counter to helping to the Palestinians facing endless and indiscriminate violence. I understand that you might not want to answer this ask, because the work that you already do in your life offline and the work that you do here on tumblr to respond to and explain these issues is exhausting enough. Thanks so much for your time and your thoughtful contributions! It’s always really helped me remember to slow down and think critically about the media I consume.

Because you have asked this thoughtfully and in good faith, I will return the favor and give you a careful and extensive answer to the best of my ability. However, obligatory top-of-post disclaimer that I will disable reblogs at the first hint of any wankery in the notes and I will not answer any follow-ups or secondary asks at this time (unless I decide to do so, but I engage with this topic sparingly, judiciously, and only in small doses, so don't count on it).

First, let me say that the moment, I disagree with substantial portions of how Biden is handling the two main foreign-policy crises (Ukraine and Gaza). In regard to Ukraine, I think he's backed off, taken his foot off the gas, and otherwise given Republicans ammunition to keep delaying or watering down a new aid bill, is refusing to disburse military aid packages from the $4 billion of funding remaining that was previously approved by Congress, hasn't sent long-range ATACMS and other critical military hardware that might bring the war to an end sooner, and is not (as of the moment, though recent reporting suggests this might change) pushing hard enough for frozen Russian assets to be transferred to Ukraine for military and/or humanitarian financial assistance. However, I am also aware (unlike, it seems, much of the left-leaning internet) that I am basing these judgments only on my personal impressions, on what is reported (or not reported) in the media (which has plenty of its own problems) and otherwise what is formed in my role as an ordinary American citizen without any kind of special, classified, high-level, or government access. I know nothing more than any of you, and I also know that a lot of what goes on behind closed doors does not appear on Political Twitter and/or the Washington Post or the Guardian or Daily Kos or whatever other aggregate sources of information I or any left-leaning person typically consumes. So it's highly possible (and this is my cautious academic instinct speaking) that I do not, in fact, have a full picture of events. There are also contributing factors that Biden cannot simply handwave aside, even if he did, say, dip back into the $4 billion pot in the meantime. Congress will need to pass a new funding bill for Ukraine aid and the MAGA Republicans have been enthusiastically blocking it to the point where Putin's cronies on Russian state TV praise them effusively for it. We all know about the Republicans and Russia's mutual love affair. So.

The same goes for Gaza, and even more because we have already had reporting about how the Biden administration is walking a behind-the-scenes tightrope in a number of seemingly impossible tasks: keeping the war from spreading to a larger theater, pressuring Netanyahu to dial down, y'know, the rampant genocide (when Netanyahu notoriously doesn't like Biden, was very close with Trump, and would be happy to keep the war going in order to boost Trump's chances of being re-elected and save Netanyahu himself from his own criminal prosecutions), and pursuing a complex policy toward the state of Israel that does not follow the antisemitic Western Online Left's fever dream of "Israel suddenly disappears overnight and falls into the ocean and all Jews die or disappear." We have had multiple credibly sourced reports about this. Blinken is back in the Middle East right now trying to keep the war from spreading. The US under Biden has criticized Israel's essentially empty policy document for post-war Gaza as not being remotely feasible (because it's so vague) and gone so far as to voice support for a two-state solution with Palestinian self-determination (which is itself quite radically different from previous administrations). However, they have also vetoed UN ceasefire resolutions and other essentially meaningless political theater (the UN as a whole has been ruthlessly exposed in the last few years for being completely useless) that are easy to gin up outrage about, and that's what the internet focuses on, rather than any of the other complicated actions taking place.

All of this is to say that no, in fact, I don't blindly support everything the Biden administration is doing in regard to either Ukraine or Israel right now, but I actually have a sense of real-world perspective about it and understand that there are certain immutable realities that we are working with and which will not be erased by some absolute jackasses yelling at Biden in a historically black church at the commemoration of an anti-black terrorist attack. Likewise, as I've said it before and I'll say it again, and as plenty of other people have noticed and pointed out, the Western left is using this as an orgy of pseudo-revolutionary fervor that focuses on using Hamas as a proxy for their own fantasies of violent uprising against their own governments. Because while yes, anti-zionism and antisemitism are two distinct things and represent different aims and goals, it's become more or less irrelevant in allegedly pro-Palestine Western leftist spaces. It's just increasingly rabid, accelerationist, and nihilistic antisemitism all the time, or the obvious usage of "Zionist" to mean "Jew." It's not good. There is no concept of actual restorative justice for Palestinians or other people, such as Ukrainians, Syrians, Uyghurs, Taiwanese, etc, either undergoing genocide or facing the threat of it, because Western leftists have latched onto this cause solely as a stick to beat the Democratic Party with and have no actual moral interest or concern in stopping genocide elsewhere in the world or repudiating it as a method overall. They just want the state of Israel (which they characterize as a "proxy state for white western colonialism" despite the many, many things historically, religiously, and politically wrong with that statement, because it means it now Contains the Right Buzzwords to Oppose It) to be destroyed altogether in the name of "opposing colonialism," but it really seems to be all about opposing Jews. Hmm.

Simply put, Biden is not ever going to pursue a policy of "let's totally abandon Israel tomorrow, never sell it any weapons or allow it to defend its own civilians, and agree that Hamas is actually a good representation or advocate for the Palestinian people" in the way a number of Western Online Leftists seem to think he should do. There is still the fact that Israeli civilians do exist and that Hamas has continued to launch missiles at them daily, inconvenient as that fact might be for the Hamas fanboys (and fangirls) who now populate much of what passes for Western leftist discourse spaces. (Either that or they don't care, because in their view, Israeli civilians are fully acceptable collateral damage by virtue of simply living in Israel in the first place, which -- yikes. Fucking yikes. That is all.) The number of people professing to be lifelong leftists who are Just Shocked at all the antisemitism, or thinking that any and all antisemitism is just artificially introduced into leftist spaces by bad-faith right-wing/Nazi psyops either has not spent any actual time around leftists, or (more likely) simply does not listen to what they openly say. The antisemitism is virulent, constant, and only getting worse. On the most basic level, regardless of the other difficulties around the founding of Israel as a state in 1948 and the fact that doing so on some of the most bitterly religiously, politically, ethnically, and culturally contested territory in the world for over two thousand years was always going to be a massive clusterfuck, the fact of its immediate post-Holocaust creation simply cannot be ignored the way many Online Leftists do. Israel exists because of the worst antisemitic mass murder in recorded history (and that's a high bar). That fact must be incorporated into any actual discussions about its right either to exist or to protect its own civilians. But this gets turned into "Israel exists only as a puppet state of white western colonialists" which is just bad on so, so many levels.

The collective Western Online Leftist feeling seems to be that Hamas are innocent and wronged freedom fighters who are begging for a ceasefire and the cruel Israelis aren't granting them one. This is not true. Hamas has rejected multiple ceasefire opportunities, and continued to launch missiles and retaliatory attacks, because they are terrorists and they do not want or represent any serious opportunity to negotiate in the framework of western liberal democracy. They are treated as helpless woobified blorbos by much of the Western leftist-leaning internet. They are not. In that case, Biden bypassing Congress to sell Israel weapons (which was just something like 100 million of artillery shells, which is not nothing but still not a huge systematic thing like, say, Reagan's Iran-Contra scandal) is not great. I do not support anything Israel is doing to Gaza. It is abhorrent. However, there are reasons for Biden to provide some limited amount of weapons to Israel without congressional approval that do not automatically and mindlessly equate to BIDEN SUPPORTS TOTAL GENOCIDE IN GAZA!!!!!!1 Especially when as I've said, the Online Leftists only care about stopping genocide when it fits their political self-righteousness, and absolutely not at all the rest of the time.

This is representative of the fact that Western Online Leftism has now completed its all-out descent into blind Noam Chomskyism. Chomsky has never met a "leftist" or "anti-Western" genocide he couldn't deny, excuse, or openly cheerlead (going all the way back to the 1970s and Pol Pot/the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia and going up to the minute with Russia/Ukraine and Israel/Palestine). Noam Chomsky is the leftist Henry Kissinger. His ethics and morals are equally abhorrent, he's just as willing to justify total genocide in the name of advancing his preferred political ideology, and while there were (justifiably) celebrations and gloating memes across Tumblr when Kissinger finally bit the dust, Chomsky's beliefs are replicated with slavish adoration in many other Tumblr spaces and spread in some form or another to the rest of the website, which now takes them as leftist gospel (and let's not even talk about Twitter). This represents my absolute frustration with the fact that Western Online Leftism has devolved to such a degraded, mindless, useless, and malevolent level that "cheerlead for any anti-western/Leftist TM terrorist group or state" is taken to be the be-all and end-all of their moral philosophy. Someone remarked that ISIS peaked too early; if they were still at the height of their powers today, they would have a legion of devoted white so-called progressive Twitter users shilling earnestly and angrily for them, and Christ, isn't that the fucking truth.

I know we live in a hard, frightening, complex, and difficult world, and it's hard to sort out what our moral responsibility and action should be at any given time, especially since the answer is always so frustratingly partial and incomplete. Nobody of basic good sense and decency wants to see Gaza leveled while the Israeli state continues to apply a number of violently cruel collective punishments even outside the actual daily bombing of civilians. But for the love of god, let's get rid of the idea that the continued mindless violence doesn't benefit Hamas (because it does; unsurprisingly, sympathy for their cause has soared in Gaza) as much as it does Israel, or that Hamas is some kind of benevolent peacemaker that is being thwarted by the cruel imperialist US/West. And going back to the incident that prompted you to send me this ask: white leftists have often and repeatedly demonstrated their withering disdain for black people, Democratic voters, "mainstream" Americans, and anyone else doesn't buy into the twisted tankie fantasy land where getting rid of Biden would somehow be a massive coup for social justice (by getting Trump, now openly announcing at every turn that he will be a dictator, back into office! Very praxis, much justice. Wow.)

In short: if you, a white person, stand up in Mother Emanuel AME -- one of the most sacred sites for Black churchgoers, who are indeed often heavily Democratic voters -- in the middle of a remembrance service for victims of white supremacist terrorism, after the Black pastor has asked you not to protest inside the church out of respect for the Black community coming together to relive its trauma -- just so you can heckle Biden and feel good about yourself, then Jesus Christ. You don't care about restorative justice for people of color, or literally any justice at all, much less "stopping genocide." You just want to use them as props for your Chomsky cosplay revolutionary fantasies and your sense of self-righteous superiority over literally everyone else, regardless of the real-world consequences. So I have no hesitation whatsoever in telling those people to get fucked. Often and repeatedly.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts #israel hamas war #russia ukraine war #history #long post

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carolmunson · 11 months

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is he rich like me? (wealthy!s.h. x thick!reader)

desc: hi, we've missed you here at slate insurance hq. i've been working on this WIP since i think october, having the initial idea back then and then going back and forth on it for a million years. anyway, i finally finished it. you and big money steve are finally both on the same page, so here's some porn with plot. big money steve is big money steve, and he loves to spoil his girl. especially before a big dinner deal closing with a new client. tw: 18+ minors dni. p in v sex, oral (f and m receiving), some daddy kink (it's steve c'mon) but he's pathetic, some breeding kink. casual dominance. big wealthy tings. recommended listening: time of the season - the zombies

"what's your name? who's your daddy? is he rich like me?"

Big boxes and gifts were nothing new anymore. Selfishly, they'd become expected whenever you walked in the door from work. Though, if it were totally up to Steve, you would have quit your job the moment the last box of your things came past the threshold of his Tribeca apartment in January. But having at least some semblence of your old life was important to you -- and Robin would lose her mind if she didn't have you to share an office with anymore. Steve on the otherhand, was adamant that once the first baby was on the way, you'd put your career behind you. Presumptiuous of course, considering you weren't even engaged. Tonight was a dinner -- not for the both of you, but for business. Sales pitches, deal closings, re-enrollment. He'd never take you a steakhouse for a date, he'd rather die. But, always a steakhouse for business, 'It's just more -- I don't know how to explain it baby -- money talk, red meat, stuff like that. I know you hate it, I'm sorry, but it just looks good when I bring my girl with me.' He'd make it up to you every time with a new dress, a new pair of shoes, his lips on your neck, your knees to your chest. This dinner was no different, coming in from a nail appointment and a pedicure out to see an array of boxes laid out on your side of the bed. Your main component, which you were expected to wear to dinner tonight, was a black silk dress. "It looks small, Steve," you mumble, holding it up by the skinny straps. Sometimes your wonder if he forgets how full your hips are, how things that look chic on Kate Moss can sometimes look suggestive on you. Not that he minded, he was always very suggestive whenever you dressed up.

"It got it tailored to your measurements, so it shouldn't be," he explains while tying his tie in the mirror, "Just put it on, baby. The car's gonna be here soon."

You huff a little, turning on your heels to his walk in closet -- it might as well be a second bedroom with how big it was. You laid the dress down on the center island where he keeps all of his ties and watches in specially made drawers. You eyed the dress for a moment -- it really was beautiful. Black as night with a high slit on the right side -- of course he made sure it showed some leg so he could run his fingers along the hem under the table.

You take a look at yourself in the mirror in the long line black bustier he bought you. Breasts lifted and high, nearly spilling out of the cups. You'd never seen something without straps have so much support. But then again, you'd never had a bra be custom made either. The matching satin panties sat high on your waist, cut high enough that you'd never see the lines under the silk dress.

Moment of truth, I guess, you think, taking the dress and stepping into it. You waited for the resistance when you pulled it up over your hips but it never came. You waited for the uncomfortable pull of trying to get the skinny straps over your arms and shoulders, but it didn't happen. The dress slid on like butter, like it was made for you.

Oh yeah, duh, it was made for you.

"Can you help me with the zipper, honey?" you call out. Steve still loses his breath when you call him a pet name. So overwhelmed that you want him, that you call him baby and handsome and honey. Honey, honey, honey. Maybe someday husband. Maybe.

He steps into the room with purpose, stopping short when he sees you in the dress.

"Oh, wow," he gasps, "Wow, wow, wow."

"Stop," you bloom heat when he eyes you, "C'mon help me, we gotta go soon."

He steps behind you and you can smell the cedar and sandalwood in his cologne -- having long traded his Aqua di Gio for Creed's 1992 Bois du Portugal. His fingers are warm when he trails his middle and pointer up the skin of your back where the zipper opens, just to watch you shiver. He hooks the closure at the top carefully before pulling the tab at the bottom to slowly close the dress up. At the finish, everything is pulled into place. It was perfect. Dipping and flouncing exactly where you wanted it too, every curve perfectly showcased.

“Do you know where my clutch is?” you ask him in the mirror while his fingers trace your shoulders.

“It’s on the island in the kitchen,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss over the strap of the dress, “But I have another surprise for you.”

“Another?” you ask, eyes wide. He already bought you the dress, the shoes, the lingerie. What else was left?

"Close your eyes." You do, you hear him open one of the drawers and can feel him behind you when something cold hits your chest. He fastens it at the back of you -- you know it's a necklace but it must be nice if he's having you close your eyes.

"Keep 'em closed, baby."

You hear him come around to the front of you, adjusting the necklace, feeling his breath againt your ear. His fingers trail from your shoulder, down your arm to lift your left hand up, "Stay like that." Your heart hammers, but quickly fades out when you feel him put on a bracelet. His delicate touches quicken your pulse, his scent makes your mouth water. Steve had a way of making everything romantic -- getting coffee, going to the grocery store, taking out the trash, putting jewelry on you. Jewelry he bought. Jewelry you know you'll love.

"And lastly..." he continues, while putting your hand down. His nose brushes your cheek when his nimble fingers click a pair of earrings into place -- they're heavy and cold. "Harrington," you sigh, squirming at the pinch of the back going too far into your lobes, "I can put these on myself." "Don't be such a baby, Manhattan," he tsks, smoothing your hair away from your ears before standing back and looking at you. He smiles big at the sight, you simply adorned in his gifts. Steve doesn't know whether to cry or kiss you when he feels his heart leap in his chest. It happens all the time when he stares too long at you, no matter what you're doing. You're his. "Can I open them?" "You can open them," he encourages. When your eyes flutter open and adjust to the light, you see them in the mirror. A platinum set tennis necklace sat across your chest, a matching bracelet on your wrist. Earrings in your ears to complete the collection. You gape at your reflection, mouth hanging open while you try to wrap your head around it -- about how much money you're wearing right now.

"Steven -- they're beautiful..." you gasp out. He stands behind you in the mirror again, grinning at your reaction.

"Sorry there's no ring," he pouts before kissing your cheek, "Not yet, at least."

It was an every other day mention -- the ring. You'd only been officially together for half a year, but Steve knew what he wanted. It felt like you both had been together for six years anyway. You knew the ins and outs of each other, literally and figuratively -- there couldn't be anyone else quite like him. It helt like you both had PHDs in each other's likes and dislikes, needs and wants, goals and dreams.

"Don't worry," you breathe, still not over the sparkle on the rest of your limbs, "This is...this is plenty, babe." He burns in his cheeks -- babe. He's your babe! He presses a kiss to your cheek, settling by your ear to mumble a heady 'I love you,' from the deep base of his chest. His lower lip coasts your earlobe and your eyes roll back in your head, feeling his warm breath fan over your jaw. "I love you so much," he murmurs, hand gripping your waist, you can feel his grin against your skin, "But I need you to hurry the fuck up or we're gonna be late, angel." "You're so annoying," you glower when his sensual demeanor turns into a mean snicker, tapping your ass to get you to move out into the kitchen.

It took every ounce of will power in his body to not cover you in hickeys in the car. He had to give it to himself, he knew how to dress you for stuff like this, and God did your body alway deliver. He had to keep looking out the window so he didn't catch a glimpse of your crossed legs in the rear view mirror of the Bentley. It didn't help that you smelled like heaven, dirving him crazy with every movement, sending Mulger's Angel through his olfactory straight to his boy brain.

He helped you out of the car and waked you arm in arm to the door of the restaurant, always sure to be there at least 15 minutes before his guests. You got accustomed to the song and dance: exchange pleasantries, only ask the wife of whoever he's with direct questions, feign some form of old school obedience, let Steve do all the talking and so help you God if you roll your eyes once he has no problem letting you pay for when you get home. Always in good fun, of course.

Tonight is no different, you look over the menu, sharing sweet moments with each other before his guest arrives. Guessing the status of every couple there, what they're talking about, how long they've been together. A few celebrities come in laying low and you never get excited but Steve always does, still deep down a sweet boy from Indiana. "I think I'm gonna do the salmon," I say with a sigh, "I know that's boring."

"Not boring, honey," he shakes his head, taking off his glasses to clean them off before settling the silver frames back on, "The salmon's really good here." "You're really good here," you tease. "Yeah?" his brow quirks, a smile pulling at his lips, "I heard you're really good here." "Actually, you're really good here," you start to giggle. "Surprised to hear you say that because it was reported in the Culiniary section of the New York Times that you're actually really good here," he laughs, but you're both cut short when you see the m'aitre d guiding your guests to the table. You keep giggling, sitting up straight and crossing your legs under the table cloth so that your thigh peaked out of the slit of the dress. "No more fun, Harrington," you say faux seriously, "No laughing, we have to be boring now." "So boring," he agrees in a fake whisper, but his demeanor changes on a dime when his guest and his wife arrive. Steve stands immediately, hand out for a firm shake.

"Mr. Parker, good to see you tonight," he flashes an award winning smile, the kind that make older men wish he was their son and older women wish he was their husband, "Mrs. Parker, you look stunning. He let's you leave the house looking this good?"

Only Steve can make a joke like that and have it be charming. He pulls the fake string in your back and you start your performance as Business Dinner Barbie as soon as everyone sits down. When the sommelier arrives Steve orders a bottle of white and red for the table and when the waitress arrives he gets himself and Mr. Parker their second highest priced scotch. 'Just because it's the most expensive doesn't mean it's good, they just wanna get the suckers to buy it.' You could mouth the words as he says them at this point, the same schpiel every time.

"And would you like to put your entree orders in as well?" the waitress asks. Mr. Parker orders the steak dinner, rare, which doesn't surprise you because he sort of looks like someone who gets joy out of consuming blood. Mrs. Parker orders the salad because of course she does, she's never eaten a starch in her life, or at least not in the past forty years. Steve places his dinner order, always filet mignon medium rare with a side salad. Steve takes your menu from you to pass to the waitress when her attention turns to you for your order. You open your mouth to speak but Steve's hand finds yours with a light squeeze, keeping eye contact with the waitress. "She'll have the glazed salmon, medium. And I hate to bother the chef but can we pass the broccoli rabe on for asparagus?" he asks, eyes dropping from the waitress to yours as she answers 'Absolutely, Mr. Harrington'. You swallow when his gaze lingers on you, a smirk flicking on the ends of his lips, a moment only shared by the two of you.

"Thank you so much," he replies, still looking at you, "She just doesn't really care for it." He smiles back up at the waitress as he finishes his sentence, pulse quickening when he sees you adjust slightly in your seat. You liked that, and he likes that you liked that. He continues the conversation with a winning smile, pretending like he doesn't know you're melting next to him. Staring at him in his suit acting like you care what he's talking about, like you're not watching the way the leather band of his watch hugs his wrist, how he gesticulates when he talks, his long fingers and big veined hands emphasizing his words. The way his brow furrows when he listens, the slight tensing of his jaw while he thinks of what to say next. While Mr. Parker discusses the potential pitfalls of partnering with Slate Insurance, you feel one of Steve's big hands under the table, resting on your knee. His thumb traces circles on your joint for a minute, you figure it's a comfort touch, something to ground him while he considers his next move. You learn quickly that it's not that at all. He lets a finger trace slowly and softly up over your knee and half way up your inner thigh before grabbing it, slowly and intentionally massaging the fat there, slipping his fingers under the black silk. Your back straightens in your chair, trying to keep your cool while he continues -- soft grazes with his finger tips, back and forth, inching further up as he goes. You grab his hand tightly under the thick white table cloth, catching his lips curl at the edges while he speaks -- no one else would be wise to it. You curse him silently at his ability to always play it cool.

"Have some water, honey," he says sweetly, taking his hand from your grasp and pushing your glass toward you, "You're looking a little flushed." You swallow, your smile a little tight while you take a sip and he watches. A battle between the two of you that you know you've already lost. The cool water passes your lips and you're nearly reinvigorated to try your hand but he comes in with a final strike -- a death blow -- "Atta girl," Steve grins. You've never wanted to pull him out of a restaurant by his collar more than you do right now. Just like always, dinner is a success. Steve always closes the deal before the second scotch so that the cool down conversation can feel more friendly. 'You want the client to feel like they made a friend when they leave so that they trust you. That's business, angel.' He'd say. You say your goodbyes and tell Mrs. Parker you'd be happy to join her book club -- you're unsure how many book clubs you've 'joined' at this point, how many invites got 'lost in the mail'. "Very darling woman you've got there, Steven," Mr. Parker says as he and Steve shake hands, the final seal.

"Isn't she?" he asks, giving you a quick once over. Your blood rushes in your ears at his look, the rest of their conversation muffled by an infuriating need for him. As Mr. Parker and his wife leave, he cleans off his glasses while you both wait for his credit card back for the bill.

"Beautiful job tonight, honey," he smiles, putting his frames back on.

"Do not speak to me," you say with a smile, heat pooling through you while a soft pink appears on his cheeks. "Don't worry," he shakes his head, getting his card back and signing off on the receipt. He helps you out of your chair like a gentlemen, passing you your purse as a means to press a kiss to your cheek, "We won't be doing any talking when we get home."

By the time you get home to the Tribeca apartment, all of your lipstick has been worn off. You're lucky if Vinny doesn't quit being Steve's driver after all of that. "Sorry," he says to Vin while you get out of the Bentley, "Won't happen again, I'm so sorry."

You try not to count how many hundreds Steve flips through when he goes into his wallet, you try not to see how many he slips his driver in embarrassment. Sometimes it still made your chest tight. "You say that every Friday night," Vinny laughs, taking the money, "And every Saturday I gotta get the interior detailed. Goodnight, Mr. Harrington."

The air is a little humid when you get out of the car, sticking to your skin slightly -- the soft rush of the river calms you in the quiet of the night, and there he is, in the glow of the lights outside of your building. He doesn't say anything when he approaches you, just pulls you in for another air stealing kiss. Steve's big hand pushing you in at the nape of your neck to give him better access to you. You frown when he breaks away, a small one, a gentle tug on your eye brows an lips. His hand drops to yours, taking you inside, greeting the doorman and front desk concierge by name as he does every morning and night.

The brightness of the lobby is a harsh contrast to the low light outside and the burst of air conditioning makes your nipples peak in your bra. Goosebumps trail up your arms, but you aren't sure if it's the blast of cold air or the way Steve impatiently waits for the elevator to get you both upstairs. The door barely closes when he's on you, shoving you against the wall of the front walk way. "How dare you," he murmurs, lips peppering kisses from your lips to your jaw, tongue licking hot at your neck, "Look this fucking good all night." "It's kind of your fault," you laugh, panting slightly while his teeth graze over a sensitive spot by your collar bone. You kick off your heels, leaving $2600 on the floor of Steve's apartment.

"Mostly yours," he grunts, pulling you over to the living room after taking off his own shoes. He opens the big vertical blinds so that the city glitters into the penthouse apartment. Steve wastes no time however, getting behind you the same way he did earlier, fingers nimbling unzipping your dress. You both watch it fall to the floor in a delicate puddle, black water silk at your feet.

Now there was $6600 on the floor. Steve takes a second to admire you in your skivvies, his bottom lip tucking between his teeth. He surveys you like a work of art, like a statue carved just for him. You shudder while he circles you, feeling the heat of his ambers eyes burning with need on your skin. He chuckles when he notices you get a flustered, settling down on the couch. He motions for you to you come forward and while you are never one to listen, you make your way over to him without question.

"You like when I spoil you?" he asks huskily, pulling you down to straddle his lap. One arm wraps tight around your waist while the other wraps delicately in your hair. Your stomach presses against him while your breasts heave in his face. He pulls your head down to kiss you, hungry and powerful, while his hips press up to grind against your satin covered cunt.

"Mhm," you whimper into his mouth. His hands reach behind you to the hooks and ties at the back of your bustier. Steve's fingers never met a bra that they couldn't take off in an impressive flick of the wrist.

"Let's get all this off you," he mumbles breathily before sliding his lips from your mouth to your neck. The bustier falls forward slightly before he gets impatient, pulling the straps down your arms before discarding it on the ground. You reach for the necklace but he stops you, reaching back up to capture you in a hungry kiss. "Keep the jewelry on," he says, ambers eyes meeting yours. He's stern in his request and you nod obediently, hands lowering down to meet his chest.

Now there was $8,000 on the floor.

His hands find your breasts and he lets out a rugged groan, massaging them with his hands while he presses kisses down onto the soft skin.

"You can't come with me to dinner looking like this anymore," he murmurs between kisses, "Barely closed that deal. Too busy staring at these tits."

"Steve," you gasp out, giggling, "You closed it just fine."

"Mmm," he nods, mouth occupied by taking a nipple between his lips. You can feel the flutter of his tongue over it while he looks up at you, eye shining wickedly. Your whine just encourages him to keep going. Your hips press down against him, reminding him what you want more than his mouth, than his hands. He pops his lips off of you, the sound echoing in the open living room.

“Is there something you want?” he asks sweetly, leaning back on cushions of the couch. You nod, rocking your hips over his hard cock in his pants, letting out a soft tiny moan at each bit of friction.

“You're so spoiled angel,” he teases, thumbs brushing over your nipples before rolling them between his fingers, making you whine. His voice still dripping in depth and heat, “I think you should work for it.”

“I thought the whole point of this was so that I didn't have to work anymore," you tease back, leaning forward to kiss him. He hums into your mouth and you can feel him smirk into the kiss. Bastard, you think to yourself.

“Hmm,” he considers, palm skating over your thigh, “You do make a good counter point."

“I think giving into my demands is a good return on investment,” you assure, hips rolling against him in a way that makes his thighs tense up, "Imagine the long term benefits?"

He groans when you parrot him, getting harder at the thought of you genuinely listening to his business speak when you do these dinners. He squeezes the fat of your hips, tongue gliding over his kiss bitten lower lip while you take off his tie and start to unbutton his shirt. “Take these off,” he says, looking up at you while his finger traces your panty line. You heat up when he says it, a smug smile blooming on your face. His actions only confirming that he’ll always give in, “If you ask for want you want, I'll consider it."

“Oh, you'll pass that on to your team? I'd love to be considered,” you ask with a laugh, but he's done joking around, a tap to your thigh reminds you that he asked you to undress. You stand up off of him, your feet meeting the cold hardwood, your panties sliding down your smooth legs.

Now there was $8250 on the floor.

He undoes his belt while you stand in front of him, eyes glued to yours while he does it. You swallow when he winks, thighs pressing together — you know he notices. Steve shimmies his pants down slightly, enough that he can keep his legs spread wide while pulling out his length. It's clear that he's painfully hard, a guttural groan escaping him while his hand offers him some minor relief, “Is this what you want?”

“Y-yeah,” your voice barely above a whisper.

“Why don’t you suck on it first and I’ll tell you when you can ride it," he smirks, and without thinking, you start getting to your knees. He stops you before you can make it to the floor, putting a throw pillow beneath you to protect you from the hardwood. Steve can't help but kiss you softly once you make it to your knees, he was never any good at being mean and forceful with you. You'd been right the whole time, he couldn't boss you around -- at least not for too long.

You unbutton the rest of his dress shirt that will now need to be dry cleaned and repressed. You let a hand trail down his chest, gliding through the hair there while pressing wet hot kisses down to his pelvis. Pulling some of the skin between your teeth to leave red and purple bruises behind.

“That’s it, baby,” his breath blends with his words as he adjusts on the couch, leaning back so you have more access to him. You kiss close to the base, tongue trailing over the crease of his thigh, breath ghosting over his shaft while your mouth stays occupied with his heavy sac. You feel him lean back, relaxing while you work him up, his hands coming behind his head, arms bending at the elbows. "Just like that, honey," Steve purrs, "Just like that."

Your hand reaches up to stroke him, slow and deliberate, mouth getting wetter while you leave sloppy kisses at the base and on his pelvis. Your thumb glides over the shining bead of pre-cum pooling out of the tip, teasing over the seam just under it. Your tongue finally glides up to the tip expertly, letting your lower lip catch on the head -- his eyes meet yours behind his glasses, burning with need. It feels cruel to keep him waiting when he looks at you like that, so you don't wait. While keeping eye contact you adjust, taking him all the way to the back of your throat without so much as a wince.

“Oh fuck, good girl,” he gasps into a growl, hand reactively entwining in your hair, “That’s daddy’s girl.”

You groan into the praise, sucking diligently on his cock, thighs pressing tight together. Your back arches into a posture he can only recognize as needy, making him grin while he runs his free hand through his own hair.

“Learned to like that, huh? Whose your daddy, angel?” You smirk up at him in response, tongue gliding from the base to the tip again, taking half of his shaft in your mouth before taking it out with a low laugh, "You are, honey."

His eyes roll back, hips canting up towards your mouth while his grip in your hair tightens. You press him by the thighs back down onto the couch eyeing him while he whimpers when your tongue traces the curve of his cock again. Always on top even on your knees. "Fuck, don't stop," he breathes out. He lets go of your hair, arm reaching behind him to clutch the back of the couch. His hips roll up again, disrupting your rhythm slightly. You taste the salt of him on your tongue while you continue, a soft giggle erupting from your throat, sending shockwaves through him.

"Having fun, honey?" he asks, pulling himself away from you slightly. You sit back on your heels and smile, nodding. He leans forward, blessing you with kisses, deep and slow, "Let's take this to the bedroom."

"I'm on top, right?" you ask. He smirks, watching the jewelry glitter on you in the low light. "Not a chance," he giggles darkly, "Not tonight. Really wanna show you how bad I want you tonight."

"Oh, just tonight?" you ask smartly, getting up from your knees to head to the bedroom.

"Every night," he says with a roll of the eyes, getting up and tossing his dress shirt and tie on the couch. He watches you as you walk slowly to the bedroom, eyeing your smooth skin, the way your hips and waist twist when you walk. He knows you're walking like this on purpose, but he'll never complain. You fall back on the sheets you've been sleeping in for six months and he watches your breasts and thighs and tummy jiggle when you land. Steve grins, sliding off his slacks, socks, and boxer briefs before stepping between your legs, standing over you while you lay on the bed. "Hi," you say, a genuine smile pulling at your mouth when you look up at him. A stripe of amber light from outside pools into the room from between the billowing white curtains, coating you both in a dreamy haze.

"Hi, baby," he says back, his hands reaching down to slide from just under your breasts to your waist, "So beautiful," he whispers to himself.

"Move up a little for me," he instructs, his voice sweet and deep. You scooch up the bed, settling between the mountain of pillows leaning against the short head board while he settles between your legs again. He watches you and the way your body manipulates when he reaches down behind your thighs, pressing the tops of them to your chest. He leans forward, pressing his own chest against what can be felt of yours. Your knees are at your decolletage when he leans in closer to give you another deep kiss before leaning back again, quickly tossing his glasses on the bedside table.

You both stay quiet while he strokes himself a few times, smirking down at your glistening core while he lines himself up to push in. You aren't sure why, but every time he does, it feels like the first time.

"Oh my God," you whine while he pushes in slow, "Stevie." "I know, angel," he nods, gliding in all the way to the hilt. He grunts when he feels you grip him tight, trying to pull out slightly only to get sucked back in. He grips the back of your thighs for leverage, pulling back half way and pressing in, feeling you get wetter around him while he picks up a rhythm.

"Shiii-Steve, that's so deep," you whine. It only encourages him to push in deeper.

"Gotta practice, honey," he grins, starting to pant while he looms over you, letting go of your legs to get close to you again, "Need it to stick when we do it for real."

You pulse over him when he says it, back trying to arch despite your position beneath him.

"You like when I talk like that?" he whispers, his voice sliding back to gravely in your ear, "When I tell you how bad I wanna cum inside you?"

"Mhm," you whimper, nodding against his searing kiss, working himself up the more he thinks about it. "Get you all fuckin' full with me?" he growls, "Keep you nice and pregnant the second I get that ring on your finger?" You burn with lust while he babbles on, wrapping your legs around his waist while his thrusts get rough and desperate. Your body shakes and quivers while his hips slam against you, filthy wet squelches filling the high ceilings of the room. Mixing with a symphony of both of your sighs and moans, the smell of your sweat mixing with his cologne. Slam, slam, slam, slam, slam. The headboard beating the wall between the windows with a thud over and over again. "I fucking love you," he grits out. "I love you, too," you whine, eyes rolling in the back of your head. Heat licks at your lower belly, building while the slight curve of his cock makes the head brush over your g-spot in rapid succession, "Baby, I'm..." "Yeah?" he asks with a knowing smile, "So close for me, hm?" He sits back on his calves, still able to thrust while he looks down at you. His thumb presses against your lips, asking for entry. You let him in, making sure to get it extra slick with your spit before he takes it out, reaching down to slide it in circles over your clit. "How's that, angel?" he asks, thrusts not showing a hint of slowing down, "Does that feel good?"

Your thighs shake, eyes pricking with tears, shining while they look up at him. Well he's pleased with himself, you think, making a mental note to throw him on his back tomorrow and ride him into next week until he's a babbling mess. "It does, huh?" he asks softly, nodding down at you while you nod up at him. "Shit," he huffs, "Oh fuck."

"Not so...oh my god, oh wow -- not so t-tough now, are you?" you giggle. He groans when you giggle, Why are you so fucking precious? he thinks to himself, Who allowed this?

Heat rises even more, the jewelry starting to feel clingy as it sticks to your shining skin. Steve keeps his pace, eyes closing softly while he leans his head back, the column of his neck begging to be bitten and kissed by you. You whimper, pulling at the clasp of the bracelet, tossing it onto the carpet next to the bed. Now there was $48,250 on the floor. Feeling less trapped and more desperate to destroy his neck and chest, you sit up, your manicured hand pressing against his hair covered pecs. It doesn't take long for him to allow it, looking up at you while you climb on top of him.

"That's it, honey, give it to me," he breathes, "Show me how bad you want it."

Your hips move with a slutty percision that he loves, grinding against him for your own pleasure and his. He hisses when you bite down on his neck, letting out a soft laugh when you pull at his hair, "Come for me, angel, c'mon." He hears you pant in his ear while you lean over him, the diamonds in your necklace shimmering in his eyes. You sigh, sitting up straight, unclasping the necklace while you bounce on top of him, gently tossing it to meet the bracelet. Now there was $198,250 on the floor. "Do not," he groans out, hands grabbing your hips with bruising grip, "Put those earrings on the ground, we will never find them until a post ends up in my fucking heel." You laugh, your own head leaning back, making him yearn to taste the column of your neck this time. But your laugh doesn't last long, it morphs into guttural moans while he holds you in place, thrusting up into you in an unforgiving speed. Steve gasps, watching your breasts bounce in front of him while he continues on unrelenting. "Baby..." You squeak out, "Steve...oh fuck, oh Steve -- Steve, Steve, Steve..." The heat builds and builds and builds. Your eyes water while his cock bullies into you. The head hitting your g-spot, pushing in deeper while he goes. You let out a cry, nails digging into his broad freckles shoulders while our hips slam down on him, thighs vibrating while white blooms behind your eyes.

"Good girl," He coos while you shake, collapsing onto his chest, "That's it, angel, that's my girl." He eases you onto your back again, giving you slow kisses on your neck and chest while he chases his own orgasm. It doesn't take long, nearly on the precipice of cumming since he zipped you up in your dress earlier in the evening. His mouth gapes while he sends his seed over your tummy, painting you with ropes of glistening white. "Jesus Christ..." he gasps, settling himself with some big deep breaths that expand his sculpted chest. You both look at each other, panting and sweating, the passion wearing off to a pure and gentle love for each other. You both start laughing. "We swear we're sexy," you laugh up at him. His smile makes you melt all over again. You watch him ease up off the bed, leaning forward from the side to kiss your forehead. He picks up the jewelry, inspecting it for missing gems, or - god forbid - a scratch, and places it carefully on the side table with his glasses. "Wanna get cleaned up with me?" he asks, tilting his head, "Can you stand?" "Oh please," you roll your eyes, sitting up slowly, "I can..sort of stand." You already feel the ache between your legs from taking him, knowing you'll need at least a day to recover from something so big. He helps you up, taking you into the en suite bathroom and getting the water just right for you to step into. "I'll be right back," he says, pulling you in for a kiss on the temple before he disappears in the steam. When he returns behind the glass of the standing shower, covered top to bottom in dark green tile, he passes you a glass of Malbec that matches his. "A little celebratory night cap," he says sweetly. "To closing the deal," you grin, giving his glass a clink to cheers. "To closing the deal," he says back before you both take a sip.

"I know you're not wearing those earings in the shower, Manhattan," he sighs, putting the glass on the product shelf out of the water. He reaches for you ears but you yelp playfully, stepping away from him, "You're gonna be the fuckin' death of me, honey. I swear."

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x thick!reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fan fiction #pbv!steve #steve harrington fluff

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kaban-bang · 2 months

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My piece for the @sulemiozine! If you missed out on your copy, there's gonna be a sale of leftovers next week, be sure to get yours! It was a lot of fun to work on this, plus it was an honor to have worked with so many talented artists to bring the zine together.

High res available you know where

#gundam #sulemio #suletta mercury #miorine rembran #mobile suit gundam the witch from mercury #sulemio zine #muh art

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wlykjh · 19 days

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how to write a love song

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

masterlist

taro has been heavy on my mind for the last 24 hours and i’ve always wanted to write a fake dating fic so here we are

summary: you have been a solo idol under SM for years now. unfortunately, you’ve seen a decline in your popularity in the last year. sm’s newest boy group, riize, on the other hand, is blowing up in korea and overseas. in an attempt to generate buzz around your upcoming album, your company sets you up in a PR relationship with riize’s shotaro. (not proofread)

date: 04/07/24

scenario themes: fake dating, idol!au, lowkey grumpy x sunshine lmao

idol: osaki shotaro of riize

concept: fluff, angst-ish

warnings: swearing

word count: 5.3k

"fucking hell." you curse to yourself, alone in your private studio. you were looking at the sales for your last mini album. this was the lowest number you've seen since your debut. flopping onto a chair, you opened up youtube to check your streams, then spotify, then naver, and so on and so forth.

you were beginning to become obsessive, looking to numbers for validation. you put your phone down, sighing. looking up at the wall in front of you, you were greeted with your debut poster.

you were so young, so passionate. you didn't care about streams or sales, you just wanted to share your art with the world. feeling a bit ungrateful, you began to gaslight yourself into feeling better: it's not like the figures were that low, and many artists would kill to have half of what you're complaining about.

it didn't work. you felt even more like shit. somewhere along the way you fell in love with stardom. you became used to high-end brand endorsements, sold-out stadiums, and paparazzi everywhere you go. life has changed a lot for you in the last year.

you got so caught up in everything that you haven't been able to produce as much music. and if you're being honest, the only music you have put out hasn't exactly been your best work.

you initially stood out since you were an idol who didn't dance or put on flashy performances but instead wrote and composed captivating songs with meaningful lyrics. this attracted the attention of a nation, and later on, you developed a global fanbase. a fanbase that is currently fighting for their lives to defend your shitty mini-album.

somewhere along the way, you lost your spark. your lyrics which used to be about raw emotion and life experiences now seemed out of touch and cliche. your instrumentals had so much care poured into them, with most of them containing your own playing of the guitar, piano, drums, and more. now, they were created electronically for the most part by multiple big-shot producers.

you followed the formula for success, so why weren't you reaping the benefits?

your phone screen lit up, notifying you of an email sent by your manager:

RE: Staff Meeting

Y/N,

The numbers aren't looking too good. We need another drop, and soon. We’re having a meeting and you can show us what you came up with so far. We brought in the PR team and they're going to share some ideas with us. The meeting's at 6, don't be late.

you glanced over at the clock. it was 4:44 p.m., which means you still have an hour and 16 minutes to come up with something to show your team.

no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't come up with anything. it used to come so easy to you. your love songs in particular were always so easy to write, and guaranteed hits at that.

unfortunately for you, being in love is nearly impossible when you're a full-time idol. between hectic schedules and invasive fans, you can't find the time or place to catch feelings for someone.

before you knew it, it was 5:50 and all you had done was mope about how hard it is to make music. packing your belongings, you headed out of the studio and made your way to the SM company building.

once seated at the meeting, you were greeted by your manager and the PR professionals he invited. "so, y/n. we're looking forward to hearing about any progress you might have made for the album." your manager encouraged, smiling at you.

"i... don't have anything," you admitted. the room was dead silent and you were holding yourself back from cringing at your own words. "I was hoping we could maybe just look at a couple of demos?"

"y/n, that's what we did last time, and it clearly isn't appealing to the fans. they want your music. we need the finished album from you by next month." your manager stressed.

"i know, i know. i'm working on it." you muttered. clearing his throat, your manager looked to the PR team, "since there's no new music for us to listen to, i guess you guys can take it from here."

"right, thank you." an unnamed woman in glasses began, "we were thinking of creating a fabricated relationship between miss l/n and another idol here at SM. his group is having a comeback around the same time you are."

you were about to protest before she cut you off, "the relationship doesn't have to go on for long, just until you release new music. it'll generate buzz and people will be more likely to tune in if they think your songs are about him. just consider it." she pleaded.

"who is it?" you questioned, still apprehensive. "shotaro from riize. the group is still recovering after a member of theirs has gone on hiatus following a scandal free seunghan until it's backwards. the two of you are close in age and he's been an idol for a few years now so he's perfect." she persuaded. you saw your manager nod in agreement in the corner of your eye.

"isn't dating as an idol a scandal in itself?" you argued. "yes, but you would generate more good exposure than bad. fans online have been talking about how good of a couple you would make for a while now." your manager butted in.

great. so you're not only going to get death threats from delusional fans but also affirm crazed shippers' beliefs. as badly as you wanted out, you really did need more attention on you as you were preparing to come back. besides, any publicity is good publicity, right?

"fine." you agreed begrudgingly. "wonderful! shotaro has also agreed, we'll have another meeting tomorrow at 10 a.m. with the two of you to go over everything." the lady exclaimed, clasping her hands together excitedly.

smiling politely, you excused yourself and left the room. your manager rushed after you, stopping you from leaving the building. "y/n, listen. I know this is all probably really uncomfortable, but I think it'll be good for you." he insisted.

good for streams, maybe. "i'll be fine. it's only a month, right?" you smiled. "right." he affirmed, patting you on the back before walking in the opposite direction.

once he was out of sight your smile immediately dropped. you made your way out the doors of the building preparing yourself for the lonely commute home.

despite being surrounded by fans and paparazzi constantly, you felt pretty lonely most of your days. you rarely had time to see your friends and family, and you didn't have any group members to share the burden of loneliness with.

making your way to the parking lot, you bumped into an energetic figure, causing your keys to drop. the two of you bent down at the same time and your heads collided. stepping back, you looked up at the stranger that had just made your already shit day even shittier.

he picked up your keys first before standing straight and looking back at you. laughing, he handed them over to you, apologizing for the inconvenience.

to your surprise, it was shotaro. the man you had to act like you were in love starting tomorrow. he had incredibly soft features and the brownest, biggest eyes that you could get lost in forever.

"hey, I recognize you!" he chirped, "I was told you would be at the meeting tomorrow for..." he trailed off, the air between you suddenly awkward.

"yeah." you added dryly. "well it was nice meeting you." you pushed past him. "nice meeting you as well!" he called out, enthusiastically waving.

he's so sweet it's sickening.

maybe you're being a bit of a bitch, but your life feels like it's falling apart. stepping into your car, you took a moment to breathe before starting it and heading home.

the next morning, you wanted nothing more than to rot in bed, but your annoyingly loud alarm reminded you of your impending meeting with shotaro. you didn't see the harm in getting a few more minutes of beauty sleep so you hit the snooze button and drifted back off.

unfortunately, those few minutes turned into an hour, and the next thing you know, you had twenty minutes until your meeting. panicking, you rush to wash your face and get dressed, sprinting down the stairs of your apartment.

once you're seated in the car, you're greeted with a blaring sign: empty tank. just your luck. you have under 10 minutes to get to the SM building and it's a twenty-minute walk from your place.

you checked the bus schedules frantically but none of them seemed to come in time. mentally cursing yourself, you began running in the direction of the company building.

there was no way you were going to make it in time. but this was better than nothing. after about 5 minutes of sprinting like your life depended on it, you saw a familiar face in a car waiting at a stoplight: shotaro.

you don't know how you managed to bump into him yet again but you couldn't really afford to care at this moment. knocking on the window lightly, you saw him look at you shocked.

he rolled down his window, "are you okay?" he asked, slightly freaked out. "i'm so sorry i promise i'll explain but could you please let me in because the light is about to turn green." you begged.

he stared at you shocked for a few seconds before you practically yelled at him to let you in. unlocking the doors, he watched you jump in. he definitely thought you were crazy.

and you couldn't blame him either. looking in the window, you saw your reflection for the first time since you left home: sweat beading on your forehead from running and your hair frizzy and half out of your bun.

while putting together your appearance as best as you could, he coughed loudly, "you said you were going to explain...?" he cautioned.

"right. I slept through my alarm, my car ran out of gas, and I was planning on booking it for the interview since there were no buses available either. oh, and sorry again for scaring you." you rattled on.

you expected him to react like most people if put in this situation: slightly annoyed but accepting of the situation.

he simply laughed. "well then I'm glad you ran into me!" he cheered with a genuine smile on his face. what the hell was his problem?

you knew idols would put on cheery, cute personas for the camera, but you never met someone so honestly enthusiastic. you would be lying if you said it wasn't refreshing, but it felt too good to be true.

you arrived at the building within a matter of minutes. "thank you, once again." you turned to shotaro once the two of you reached the elevator. "no worries." he smiled.

you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t extremely handsome, and his kind demeanor made him even more attractive.

you caught yourself staring at him intensely, suddenly feeling nervous in the cramped elevator alone with him.

he kept trying to make conversation but you were completely zoned out, only being able to focus on how good he looked in his oversized black sweater.

your eyes kept nervously flitting between him and the elevator door, and you were beginning to sweat. has he always been this hot?

after what felt like an eternity, the elevator door opened and you practically sprinted out, making a beeline for the conference room. never have you been more relieved to see a room full of PR professionals.

you and shotaro sat down a safe distance away from each other. you’re not sure what overcame you in the elevator.

you haven’t had any romance in your life for so long that every little thing gets you flustered, including being alone in a small space with a good looking man.

“thank you both for coming today.” the same woman from yesterday greeted. “if you don’t mind, we’d like to walk you through the month-long plan of your ‘relationship’” she shared, using quotation marks.

“firstly, we want the two of you to be spotted out together. going to cafe’s, the movies, even just for a walk. hold hands, hug, kiss if you feel like it.” you couldn’t help but look at shotaro for the last bit and you were shocked to see he was already looking at you.

“we’ll call on paparazzi and companies like dispatch to ‘catch you in the act’ and post your photos online for people to catch on.” she continued, nodding at a man next to her.

“then we’re going to make an official announcement on behalf of the company that you two are officially dating. you know, ‘the pair are getting to know each other and we would appreciate your privacy bla bla bla’” the man said, far less professionally.

“right. you two will continue your outings for another week or so after and then you come back, and we will make a statement on behalf of the company that you have broken up to focus on your schedules. how does that sound?” the lady wrapped up.

“sounds good to me.” shotaro replied coolly. “yeah, um, sounds good.” you sputtered, a bit overwhelmed.

suddenly, you heard a loud ping on the woman’s phone. she looked down and looked up again between you and shotaro, “well, it looks like you two have already set the plan into motion.” she chuckled.

looking closer at her phone, you saw an online article showing pictures from just an hour ago of you in shotaro’s car titled “y/n and shotaro: potential lovebirds?”

what the hell? how did those photos get out so fast… and when were they even taken?

although you were growing increasingly anxious about your lack of privacy, you had to admit the PR team knew what they were talking about, people were going insane over the article.

“since you’ve already been spotted together today, you might as well go on a ‘date’ later in the afternoon to seal the deal.” an older man opposite you added in air quotes.

you and shotaro simply nodded in agreement and before you knew it, the meeting was coming to a close.

grabbing your bag, you prepared to speed-walk out of the room and avoid shotaro until your inevitable ‘date’ but he seemed to have other plans.

“wait up, y/n!” he hollered, catching up to you. “i know we’re kind of being forced to hang out, but that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other’s company!” he began, “what’s your favorite coffee shop? mine’s-”

“look i appreciate you trying to make light of the situation, but this is just a marketing strategy, nothing more and nothing less.” you cut him off, “let’s just go to the bakery across the street, make lovey dovey eyes at each other, and go our separate ways, yeah?”

his smile faded a bit which made you feel guilty, but he recovered quickly and nodded, following you out the company building.

once you arrived at the bakery, you tried to seem as interested as possible in whatever shotaro was talking about, but your brain was still foggy from the hectic morning you had.

“anyways, what about you?” the singer excitedly asked, “…what about me?” you repeated through gritted teeth, forcing a smile in case any cameras were on you.

“i was asking if you started preparing for your new album.” he smiled. “oh. um, yeah.” you shrugged, avoiding eye contact.

“you know i’m a big fan of your music,” shotaro started, “i loved your debut album, i listen to at least one song from it every day.” he shared shyly.

well great. now you felt even more bad for being so unnecessarily rude to him. softening your demeanor, you replied with “thanks… i really liked ‘get a guitar’, too.”

his eyes lit up upon you mentioning his track, which you took as a sign to continue, “but i can never get the dance quite right.” you added, grinning.

“i can always teach you!” he beamed.

“that would be nice-”

“oh my GOD, is that shotaro?” a stranger gasped, causing both your and shotaro’s heads to snap in opposite directions.

even though you were technically trying to get caught, old idol habits die hard. dating scandals are every idol’s biggest fear: an entire dedicated fanbase turning on you just for experiencing romance? true nightmare fuel.

“and i think that’s y/n with him! why are they here together?” another stranger spoke up. you and shotaro swiftly picked up your belongings and left, worried you’d attract more attention.

“i’ll-um-see you, bye.” you mumbled with your head down as shotaro gave you a small thumbs up underneath the table.

the two of you set off in different directions and you began dreading the long walk home. you were wearing a mask and a beanie, which meant your chances of getting recognized were pretty low, but they definitely weren’t zero.

however, you loved walking through seoul, especially this time of year. the weather was nice, and the streets were bustling. you used to love brainstorming song lyrics and melodies during walks.

deciding to take advantage of your situation, you racked your brain for any potential lyrics.

nothing.

how could you have lost all your creativity? did your songwriting talent just disappear? how would you get it back?

doubts filled your mind as you realized you were already halfway home and failed to come up with a single verse.

maybe you were lacking inspiration. your life was filled with romantic endeavors prior to your debut, which filled your mind with several ideas for new songs.

but you seemed to have forgotten all of them, and as cheesy as it sounds, you might have forgotten how it feels to be in love as well.

nearing your apartment, you felt a vibration in your pocket. taking out your phone, you opened up an email from your manager:

Re: Dating News

Hello Y/N,

Seems like your bakery date is already going viral on SNS. A pair of fans spotted you two and uploaded a photo of you sitting at a table together. Keep up the good work.

[1 Attachment]

clicking on the attachment, you saw a screenshot of a tweet exclaiming ‘RIIZE SHOTARO AND Y/N L/N ON A DATE???’ with a picture of the two of you smiling and sitting across from each other at a table.

it freaked you out how happy the two of you looked in the photo, almost like a real couple.

shutting off your phone, you couldn’t help but smile as you entered your apartment, maybe shotaro was starting to grow on you.

in the next few weeks, you and shotaro would go on several public outings, getting spotted almost immediately.

before you knew it the two of you were the hottest topic in k-pop, headlining several media outlet articles and trending on social media.

you would periodically receive correspondence from your manager and PR team praising you for how well you were pulling the stunt off.

although you wouldn’t admit it, you were really starting to enjoy shotaro’s company as well. the two of you began texting until late hours at night and planning ‘dates’ without instruction from your team.

you’d be lying if you said you weren’t starting to feel a bit attached to him but you reminded yourself that this was simply a work thing. besides, it’s not like he’s interested anyway… right?

you couldn’t read shotaro at all. he always had a sweet smile plastered on his face and seemed excited about everything and anything.

weirdly, you felt your writing ability start to come back slowly as well.. but it obviously has nothing to do with shotaro!

it’s just a coincidence that you draw on your memories of him to come up with lyrics; that you describe his mannerisms to a T in your potential choruses and scribble about how he makes you feel in your notebook on your off-days.

yup! definitely just a coincidence.

“y’know i used to love these growing up,” shotaro shared as the two of you stood at a street food stall indulging in dango.

“you must miss japan a lot, huh?” you asked, staring at the side of his face. his expression faltered slightly.

“of course i do, but i’m glad i chased after my dreams. it sounds cliché but it paid off. i get to do what i love, even if i’m hundreds of miles away from home.” he replied softly.

you don’t know what it was, but in that moment you wanted nothing more than to kiss him. you stared at his lips for a few moments before he caught on.

“do i have something on my face..?” he questioned, raising a finger to wipe his mouth.

you leaned in, centimeters away from touching your lips with his when he stepped back.

shit. way to go, y/n.

“sorry, i just- i don’t think we should…” he stammered,

“no, i’m sorry. i don’t know what came over me. we-i should go.” you said awkwardly, biting your lip.

you headed off before he could reply, mentally cursing at the world and wanting to crawl into a hole and die.

how could you let your guard down like that and embarrass yourself?

that night, you didn’t receive a single text from him like you usually do, so you tried reaching out.

no response.

every time you contacted him afterwards or tried to set up another ‘date’ he would flake last minute or respond dryly until he full-on ghosted you.

you stopped heading out together and your manager seemed content with it as you had already generated enough anticipation for your comeback.

the next time you saw him would be at a company meeting, discussing the end of your ‘relationship’.

you zoned out the entire meeting, barely hearing anything coming out of anyone’s mouth. you focused on trying not to look at shotaro and keeping your thoughts preoccupied so you felt less embarrassed just being in his presence.

your manager briefed you on the contents of the meeting afterwards, sharing that all you had to do was release a joint statement that confirmed you were now broken up.

“it’s easy enough, you mostly leave it to the social media managers. just send them your virtual signature and be sure to post it on your instagram as soon as possible. got it?” the man asked.

you nodded wordlessly with your head still in the clouds. for the first time in a long time your mind was filled with new ideas for lyrics, ranging from lovestruck to heartbroken to enraged.

you opted to walk home that day, even taking the longer route, furiously typing in your notes app and recording several voice notes on the way. you must’ve looked insane to everyone else around you but you didn’t care.

if you couldn’t get your mind off shotaro, you’d at least make it work in your favor. that night, you wrote an impressive 10 drafts of different songs, staying up until late and getting up early the next morning to head to the studio.

you drowned yourself in your work, hoping you’d forget about the boy whose presence was still all around you in both your thoughts and lyrics.

eventually, you refined and recorded all 10 songs, ready to release them in your new album.

shortly before your album announcement, you posted your official ‘breakup’ statement, feeling empty as you tapped on your screen.

you never would’ve predicted the somewhat annoying and yet incredibly charming guy that you were forced into a relationship with would haunt you this much.

you even found yourself looking through old posts and articles about the two of you, reminiscing on your time as a fake couple.

it stung knowing it was completely one-sided, and it stung even more knowing you could’ve still had him as a friend if you didn’t stupidly act on impulse.

you saw him here and there entering and leaving the SM building and the two of you would share a polite smile and bow before rushing off.

the response to your breakup announcement was unprecedented, and the amount of people heartbroken for the both of you took you by surprise.

riizeandrealize: ‘love isn’t real after all 💔💔’

y/n4eva: ‘at least we know the new album is gonna hit’

y/ntaro: ‘NOOO MY PARENTS’

tarosho28: ‘awww… so that means shotaro’s single again? 😁’

scrolling through the comments absentmindedly, one in specific caught your attention:

user1129399: ‘she always seemed more into him than he did. he’s probably the one that broke it off’

you felt hot with rage, what does a stupid netizen on the internet know? and why is their comment making you so upset?

maybe because they were partially right. you obviously were more into him or he would’ve been more receptive to your humiliating attempt at a kiss.

your album was set to come out in a week and you had a set track list recorded and ready.

and yet, you felt compelled to add one more song.

you went to work immediately, writing so fast your words were barely legible but you could read it perfectly fine.

you wrote as intensely and specifically as you could about everything—from your first encounter to your last. you tried to keep your other songs vague enough to avoid any suspicion on shotaro’s part about the subject of the lyrics, but you didn’t care anymore.

you were in love with osaki shotaro and you needed to express it in the only way you know how.

“are you insane?” your manager’s voice boomed over the line.

“it’s already recorded, and i have the backing vocals done too. i just need one more day to get the production team together and it’ll be done and ready to add to the album.” you pleaded.

“fine.” he sighed, “this better be worth it.”

“it will be.” at this point you weren’t sure if you were assuring him or yourself.

this was your most personal and emotional piece of work yet, and you were worried shitless about what response it would receive.

luckily for you, it did amazing on the charts and with your fans. in fact, your fanbase almost doubled in size and you were experiencing even more success than you were already.

unluckily for you, you still felt like shit.

your life felt empty without shotaro in it and no amount of fans, cameras, or praise could fill that void.

as you were preparing to go out onto stage for a music show, you ran into a familiar figure heading out of the green room.

of course it was none other than the one person you have been thinking about nonstop for the past month, wrote an entire album about, and the same guy who probably cringes every time he hears it play on the radio.

you gave him a polite smile before rushing towards the hair and makeup room.

“wait. y/n, can we talk real quick?” he began nervously.

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfu-

“y/n?” he repeated, snapping you back to reality.

“yes. of course.” you responded, trying to sound as collected as possible.

“i-uh listened to your new album. it’s amazing. i loved track 11 the most.” he smiled softly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

of course you liked that track, it’s obviously about you.

“thanks! is that all?” you rushed, preparing to sprint away at any moment.

“no! honestly, i wanted to apologize for the way things ended.” he confessed,

you knew how this was going to end. he was going to give you some bullshit excuse for ghosting you instead of just telling you he wasn’t interested and waste 5 minutes of your time.

but you don’t have 5 minutes to waste. you need to get up on stage and sing about how bad he hurt you.

pathetic, but at least you’re self aware.

“save it. i know you don’t feel the same way and that’s fine. but you could’ve at least told me. you didn’t have to shut me out, I thought we were friends at the very least.” you exploded, suddenly feeling a burst of adrenaline.

“but y/n-”

“and i’m not in the mood for excuses. you had a month to think of a good excuse but i guess there just isn’t one. you know i just hope you can take this experience and learn to never do this to some other girl because-”

“y/n you’re not listening to me.”

“why should i? you didn’t bother listening to me when i called you all those times. and about track 11, yes it’s about you. the whole fucking album is about you and i bet you already knew that-”

your petty rant was cut short when you felt something press gently against your lips… but he definitely wasn’t kissing you.

oh my god. did he just physically shush me? he carefully removed his finger from it’s place in front of your now-closed lips.

“did you just shush me?! have you lost your damn mind-” you began again,

“y/n!” he practically yelled, now gaining the attention from several staff members.

“i know what i did was shitty and I’m sorry. you’re right, i shouldn’t have ghosted you. but it’s not because i didn’t feel the same way. i’ve loved you for a while now.”

your jaw dropped, along with several eavesdropper’s jaws throughout the now dead-silent hallway.

“i was scared that you didn’t see me in that way but when i found out that you did… i panicked. i was too scared to tell you how i felt and i know i’m an idiot for it.” he looked down. “i’m not going to beg you to take me back or anything, but can we at least go back to the way we were? friends?”

“y/n, you need to get to hair and makeup NOW! you’re running out of time before your performance!” a staff member called out before you could respond, dragging you away.

well great. now you have to pretend everything’s alright and sing a little song on stage when your whole world has been flipped upside down.

as you sat in the makeup chair, you pondered over what would happen if you did agree to start over with shotaro, would you be happy?

before you knew it, you were on stage facing a crowd full of people staring right at you. you usually wouldn’t mind, you’re an idol after all. but the whole situation was just overstimulating you.

luckily the backtrack began playing before you could overthink and you were able to escape from reality for a few minutes to sing and perform.

you missed this feeling. you missed staying up writing, listening proudly to your new music you poured your heart into, and giving your all on stage every performance.

at the end of your song, the crowd erupted into cheers. you looked onto all the banners with your name and face plastered onto them gratefully.

whether you liked it or not, shotaro brought your spark back. yes it caused you immense pain and suffering, but it also gave you moments of joy, including the one you were experiencing right now.

once you wrapped up, you headed backstage, surprised to see shotaro standing by the monitor. was he watching your performance?

“i made up my mind.” you announced, walking up to him.

“are you sure you don’t need more time?” he asked, nervous.

“you’re a dumbass for what you did,” you started, noting how his face fell, “but i’d be an even bigger dumbass to pretend i don’t want to be with you.”

the contagious smile you’re used to seeing slowly reappeared on his face, causing you to slowly smile as well before you quickly corrected yourself.

“but… i want a proper apology. maybe you could give me one at the bakery tomorrow morning?” you mused.

“it’s a date.” he responded warmly.

#kpop reactions #kpop scenario #riize #riize x reader #riize imagines #riize fluff #shotaro #osaki shotaro #nct u #shotaro x reader #riize reactions #riize scenarios

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avatar-anna · 7 months

Note

What are youngdad! H and the kids doing in break

Harry, Y/n, and the kiddos are in full school mode

Harry helps get everyone ready for school: making lunches, setting out clothes for the younger kids, making breakfast for everyone and getting everyone in the car.

Y/n takes the kids to school and Harry stays with GiGi and Natalia and gets them all fed and dressed. He watches cartoons with them and plays with their toys, etc.

Sometimes Y/n goes to work (once upon a time I mentioned very briefly that she took up styling hair), it's really the only time she gets to work and Harry encourages her to do her thing when he's home.

So Harry takes care of the babies while Y/n is at work. Some days he visits with the Natalia on his hip and Geneva holding his hand and they have lunch together, other days he makes baked goods for the school's bake sale—never store bought because Harry was a baker for goodness sake. He takes the girls shopping and to the park and takes care of pickup from school and goes on even more shopping trips and trips to the park and to get food because even though he packed the best lunch a dad could pack, Collette is still hungry.

Then it's time to get Simone, Collette, and the twins ready for after school activities—Collette goes to dance, Simone has volleyball practice, the twins go to soccer practice, and Natalia and GiGi have toddler classes. This is a divide and conquer type situation, and it leaves Harry and Y/n exhausted by the end of the night.

Everyone comes together at the end of the day for dinner. Most days it's something that Harry or Y/n picked up between practices, but sometimes one of them makes dinner. Everyone sits around the dinner table, talking over each other about their day and what they got up to. Harry feeds Natalia from her high chair while Y/n makes sure Jules and Geneva keep from making a big mess with their dinner.

Sometimes they share looks over the tops of their kids' heads at the madness, but they know they'll recap all of it over a glass of wine later, once homework is completed and everyone is tucked in bed and fast asleep.

Bedtime is also a divide and conquer situation. Brushing teeth and showers and bubble baths and affirmations and getting bags packed for the next day all needs to be done. On non-school nights, the whole family will pile onto the couch or Harry and Y/n's big bed to watch a movie together, which usually ends up with half their children sleeping in bed with them. On school nights, Y/n reads to Collette and Simone while Harry sings the twins to sleep and vice versa.

Then when it's all over, Harry and Y/n collapse on their bed, exhausted by a full day of parenting. Harry pulls Y/n into his lap and clinks his wine glass against hers before asking about her day. Then they fall asleep watching some show they've been binge watching but keep having to re-watch because they keep sleeping through episodes.

It's crazy and exhausting and some nights Harry feels delirious by the end of it. But he loves it, and he loves raising his family with Y/n and being home and feeling normal. It's a different kind of adventure, but one that he doesn't love any less.

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #young dad! harry #young mom! reader #young dadrry #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

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thebirdandthebee · 1 year

Text

Mighty Fine (18+)

Just a little slump-buster ft. our favorite aviator. Taking requests for TGM and The Bear in my inbox. Smut ahead. Painfully pining Rooster. 18+ only! This is not edited, so please excuse any glaring issues.

Title: Mighty Fine Caroline, see, Caroline - all the guys would say she's mighty fine WC: 3716

The Hard Deck was not in a poor financial state – in fact, since Penny took it over five years ago, she’d done better business than the establishment had ever logged.

Sure, some positive changes, listening to customer feedback and stocking just the right kind of beer helped. But Penny knew that for the past year, there was specifically one woman who helped bump sales big time.

And tonight, a Friday night ahead of the fourth of July, Penny knew they’d hit record numbers.

The leggy brunette flitted about the full bar – packed asses to elbows – with a smile that held a secret and lashes longer than a summer afternoon.

Caroline was all perfume and warm skin. A promise of what could be behind a beauty mark and cherry gloss.

Tonight she’d tucked her white tank into a pair of cutoff shorts and knotted an American flat bandanna around her neck, the tip of the triangle teasing her cleavage. The low-slung cowgirl boots did nothing to interrupt the long lines of her legs and she trusted them with each pivot she needed to make through the crowd.

When her attention landed on you, it felt like you were the only person in the room. She knew how to work a crowd. A small gallery assembled to watch her re-stock the tray of cherries – one of her favorite snacks throughout the night.

“Caro, sweetheart,” Penny called, topping of a lager pour.

“Penny, my love,” Caroline countered, popping the tabs on three ciders.

“Can you let me these men live for one night?” Her boss teased, nipping at the fabric around her employee’s neck.

“I can’t show my love for America the beautiful?” Caroline replied with a wink. Penny laughed with a shake of her head.

Caroline had started at the Hard Deck last summer, asking for a few weekend shifts – the ones no one else wanted to take in order to enjoy their own weekends – since her classes for UCSD ran from Tuesday through Thursday.

“Rent’s due this week, Pen!” Caroline called as she ducked under the counter, greeting her adoring audience as she head to the stockroom to grab a crate of Sam Adams.

Rooster entered the bar that night with his hopes high and his buddies trailing close behind.

He’d had his sights set on Caroline for months. A squeezed shoulder here, a bat at his biceps there and he was hooked. Sometimes he felt like a cartoon, floating behind her like a cherry pie on its way to cool in the open window.

“Oh Rooster, you’re so fucked,” Fanboy commented, catching sight of the brunette wonder first. She was pouring a line of shots across the bar top, handing them out to a group of sailors who wished she was their treat instead. Taking a clear glass for herself, they all clanked their shots before tossing them back.

Penny didn’t mind if Caroline drank on the job – she was a grown woman who knew her limits who could always use working as an excuse to get out of it.

“Here’s trouble,” Caroline announced, “G&T, Fanboy?” She asked as they saddled up to the bar – their first stop before heading back to the darts.

“Please,” Fanboy grinned, basking in the glow of her attention.

“A rum and Coke for Coyote, Hefeweizen for Phoenix and porter for my Rooster,” she listed off, gathering glasses and stationing herself over the beer taps. “That sound right?” She asked with a tilt of her head, locking eyes with Bradley.

“Perfect as always,” he replied, his honey brown eyes melting into hearts.

“Ladies first,” Caroline simpered, handing Phoenix her beer, “then, we go in order of beauty,” she added. “Fanboy,” she passed over the gin and tonic, “Coyote,” she listed next, giving his rum and Coke a swish, “and, last, but certainly not least, Rooster,” she pulled the tap of the porter, leaving just the perfect thin band of foam at the top.

“You trying to break my heart?” Bradley asked, leaning over the bar, willing her to lean in closer.

“I gotta keep you humble, Rooster,” she replied, pushing his glass toward him, “because I know they don’t call you that due to the size of your ego,” she said, turning on a heel to attend to the other side of the bar while Jimmy grabbed the trash to bring out back. Though she tossed a wink over her shoulder that made his upper lip tremble beneath his mustache.

“When you going to let me buy you a drink?” He called out, voice nearly blending in with the buzz of the bar. She shook her head with a laugh, focusing on the task at hand, but they both knew she heard him.

Rooster joined his friends back at the darts. The Fourth of July weekend was guaranteed chaos at the ‘Deck – not too unlike Homecoming weekend at UVA. Bradley loved the liveliness of it all. However, it meant that Caroline’s attention was pulled every which way except his.

“I just think if I could get her alone for 10 minutes…” he said, eyeing her hopefully as she moved about the establishment.

“Rooster, give it up, she’s way out of your league and half the bar in here is hoping she’ll go home with them tonight,” Coyote said honestly.

“You’ve been drooling over her for months,” Fanboy agreed, “it’s getting pretty pathetic.”

But Rooster was more confident than ever. He knew they’d be great together – he just had to show her.

A little time passed, they took up a game of darts and after not too long, Caroline found herself making a sweep for empty glasses.

“Another, Phee?” She asked Phoenix, who nodded with a smile.

“We’ll do another round,” Coyote supplied. Caroline stacked up empty glasses, swinging around the space, aware of Rooster’s eyes on her as he leaned against the side rail that ran the length of the back wall.

“Grab your glass?” She asked, matching his posture against the drink rail, her open hand effortlessly clasping a tower of glass. Rooster pushed his empty toward her, a little downturned twitch of his mustache giving him away. “Why so glum, Rooster? It’s the Fourth of July,” she said, a little pout on her lips that made his stomach flip. “Have to imagine it doesn’t get better than that, huh?”

“What’s it going to take for you to have a drink with me?” He asked. “You know I’m eyein’ you up every time I come in here,” he elaborated.

“Maybe,” Caroline began, “I don’t want to have a drink with you at my place of work?” She suggested lightly. “But if you invited me to Buzzards, your odds would be a lot better,” she shrugged. “Thanks for the glass, Rooster, you can pick up a fresh one in 10.”

Caroline flitted away, making her journey back to the main bar with two tall stacks in her hands, gracefully hip-checking the counter to step inside.

“Maybe you do have a shot after all?” Phoenix asked, raising her brows as she turned back to the game of darts at hand. Bradley’s eyes tracked her as she moved about, pouring beers and mixing cocktails, his eyes zeroing in as she popped a maraschino cherry into her mouth before doing the same to a young, blonde sailor on the other side of the bar.

He wiped the back of his mouth off, crossing the room and heading over to the piano, his first initial plucks of the keys enough to clue a patron in to pull the plug on the juke box.

He cleared his throat as the intro grew stronger and louder, some already recognizing the tune.

“Where it began, I can’t begin to knowing,” he crooned. “But I know it’s growing strong.”

A few cheers rang out.

“Was in the spring, and spring became the summer, who’d have believed you’d come along?”

Caroline’s attention pulled over to the far wall, it now impossible to ignore with half of the bar singing Neil Diamond.

Hands, touching hands Reaching out, touching me, touching you

“Sweet Caroline!” Rooster belted, “good times never seemed so good!”

The crowd sang back, fists being pumped in the air.

So good! So good! So good!

“I’ve been inclined to believe they never would,” he focused his attention back down on his hands, but he could feel the brunette’s stare on the back of his neck.

Caroline shook her head, topping off another drink before grabbing a tall one and making her way through the crowd, which was packed near the piano as he carried on.

One, touching one

“Reaching out, touching me, touching you,” Rooster remained as focused as he could when he felt a paper-light touch travel across his the span of his shoulders, followed by a full beer being set on the top of the piano.

“Okay,” Caroline grinned, “you’ve got my attention,” she said, her arm resting across the top of his back. “So what are you going to do with it now that you have it?”

“The Deck is open until 11 – Buzzards is open till one, meet me there when you’re done?” He asked.

“I’ll be there,” she agreed, running her hand up his spine to squeeze the back of his neck. Rooster could barely keep playing as he nearly twisted his head all the way around to watch her walk away.

Buzzards Bar was different than the Hard Deck – younger, louder, and for Rooster, much less likely to run into his superiors. Sure, lots of sailors and aviators ended up there, but it wasn’t a dedicated bar like their usual haunt. Without the uncertainty hanging over his head, he really loosened up and had fun with his buddies at the Hard Deck, but they didn’t join him a Buzzards, opting to go find some fireworks instead.

It was 11:45 and Caroline hadn’t shown up yet, at least that he could see. He grabbed a round of drinks, another beer for him and a dirty Shirley for Caroline. If nothing else, he knew she loved cherries and this could be a pretty safe assumption.

Keeping a barstool warm near the back, Rooster’s gaze scanned the growing crowd on the dance floor. He could feel the air shift as Caroline approached the table, dressed in her same little outfit, bandanna around her neck like a little pack of goodies he’d like to unwrap. However, an unfamiliar man, who was standing just a bit closer to her than either of them liked, was closely trailing her. He was obviously trying to carry on a conversation with her over the loud bass of the music and she couldn’t be less interested.

Without effort or hiccup, Caroline waltzed right up to Rooster, standing between his legs that were angled outward on either side of his body, his feet on the bar of the stool. She leaned up against him, her elbows on resting on his thighs with her back to his front. Rooster’s arm immediately looped around her body, resting just below her neck, spanning across her chest.

The man immediately got the message and backed off, but she remained snug in his embrace when he walked away.

Caroline tipped her head back to look up at Rooster.

She knew she had a reputation as a flirt. It was silly to be a bartender and not take advantage just a little bit of what God gave her. But she loved Rooster’s attention. He was safe, simple and straightforward. He didn’t play games and treated her with respect.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she smiled, sending the breath rushing from his lungs.

“Happy Fourth,” Rooster said, using his free hand to offer her the cocktail.

“Mm, cherry – how’d you know?” She asked, taking a sip through the small black straw.

“Watchin’,”he replied, missing her warmth already as she put a little space between them, standing with her back to the dance floor.

“You watchin’ me?” She asked innocently enough, elbows on the high-top table. It took everything in him to keep his eyes on her face and not her cleavage that was winning the fight against her little white tank top.

“Hard to look away,” he said, taking a drink of his beer. “Though I think this is the most time you’ve ever spent looking back at me,” he added.

“Then you’re not as observant as you think, aviator,” Caroline said, setting her drink down reaching for his hand, pulling him off the chair and leading him into the throng of bodies. “Because I look at you plenty.”

Rooster was so surprised and exhilarated he wasn’t sure where to put his hands right away as she leaned back into him, moving her body to the beat of the song.

Cause great scenes might be great But I love your bloopers

“Rooster, relax,” Caroline purred as he ducked his head down to be closer to hers – his height difference over her apparent. She reached back, taking his hands in her and placing them on her body – one on her ribs and the other just inside of her hips. “You got me right where you wanted me.”

And perfect's for the urgent Baby I want forever

Caroline’s hands drifted up to cradle the back of his head, her back arching in the slightest. And while Bradley Bradshaw was a man of morals, they were mostly forgotten as he lowered his mouth to Caroline’s neck.

Caroline, don't you see that I want you to be mine?

“You request this one?” Rooster asked, his mustache ticking her in a skin, which immediately went to her nipples, hardening them beneath her tank.

“Just lucky I guess,” she breathed, rolling her head to the side to give him a little more access to her skin.

“I think luck follows you around,” he said.

“It must if you’re here with me,” she replied. Rooster didn’t even justify her comments with an answer. If she thought she was lucky because he was there with her, she wouldn’t begin to comprehend the amount of times he’d dreamt of this moment.

“Rooster?” She asked, threading her fingers through his hair, giving it a little tug as a test. The groan in her ear told her all she needed to know.

“Caroline,” he huffed out an exhale.

“I don’t want the rest of that drink,” she said, looking up to lock eyes with him. “I want you to put me in that big blue truck of yours and take me home.” Rooster felt his heart skip hard enough that it shot him with adrenaline.

“Honey, lead the way,” he replied, sober as a judge.

She’d seen the blue Bronco pull up to the Hard Deck a hundred times – it was as much a calling card of Rooster’s as his mustache or Hawaiian shirts. Now, she was thrilled to be inspecting the inside, her back to Rooster’s side with his arm draped over her shoulder again as she made the most of the bench seating.

Leading Caroline by the hand from the car to the house, she gladly stepped into his bachelor pad.

Rooster was just grateful that Bob was out of town for the weekend.

“Roommate?” She asked, walking along the picture rail in the family room – something Bob put up. It was mostly his stuff, anyway.

“You know Bob?” Bradley asked, tracking her movement as he stepped out of his shoes.

“Bob the sweetheart is your roommate?” She asked, looking over her shoulder, eyes dilating in the slightest as she took in the view. Rooster with his big shoulders, broad chest and handsome face – honey brown eyes focusing entirely in on her.

“Bob the sweetheart?” He asked, a small quirk to his lips.

“Bob the sweetheart, Bob the puppy dog…” she trailed off. “Pen and I have many nicknames for perfect Bob.”

“I think I’ve heard enough about perfect Bob,” Rooster said, advancing her like a predator stalking its prey.

“Want me to tell you what we call you behind your back?” She asked, a glint in her eye as he scooped her up with one arm, holding her tightly to his body as he carried her back to his bedroom.

“What’s that?” He asked.

“We – well, more like just me, because Penny babies you,” she screamed as Rooster gave her ass a hard squeeze. “But I,” she leaned in close, whispering into his ear, “I call you Oh My God Rooster,” she giggled, tracing the shell of his ear with her tongue. “Want to know why?” She asked.

“Tell me,” he said, kicking in his bedroom door.

“Because I always knew one day you’d make me say,” she fisted his shirt in her hands and tossed her head back, “Oh my God, Rooster!” She moaned, quickly gasping as he dropped her on his unmade bed.

“That shit isn’t fair,” he pointed an accusatory finger down at her before reaching for the fly on his shorts.

“Why not?” Caroline asked with a tilt of her head as she leaned back on her elbows.

“Because ever since you started at the Hard Deck, you haven’t given me the time of day,” he crawled over her on the bed, sealing his mouth over hers.

“I was avoiding you, I’ll admit,” she smirked, hips lifting as he began to pull her shorts off. “I knew as soon as this happened,” she paused, lifting his chin up to kiss her once more, “there’d be no going back.”

“You didn’t want to be my friend?” He asked, running his nose down her jawline as he reached behind her, pulling off her tank.

“Oh Rooster, we’re going to be much more than friends,” she purred, unhooking her bra. She reached for her little bandanna, but he stopped her.

“Leave it on, cowgirl,” he said, licking his lips. Stunned, he found himself down on the mattress, Caroline swinging a leg over his body to land gracefully on his hips. She pulled her bra down her arms and tossed it somewhere into the darkness – Bradley’s bedroom illuminated by the bright light of the moon through his window. He thought his tongue might roll out of his mouth like a yoyo.

“Does that make you my bucking bronco?” She giggled, reaching behind her to give his erection a quick, firm pump.

“Jesus,” he hissed, all the air leaving his lungs at once.

“Just Caroline,” she grinned maliciously.

“Why don’t you get up here and let me find out how sweet you are, Caroline,” he cajoled, tipping his chin up. The brunette threaded her fingers through his hair as she settled over his mouth, a long, low moan drawn from her lips as he licked a broad, flat swipe up the seam of her sex. Rooster’s hands slid around her sides and up to her lower back holding her body tight against his face.

“You’re never allowed to shave that mustache,” Caroline panted, followed by a high-pitched whine as she felt his whiskers against her clit. “Right there,” she mewled.

Rooster was a generous lover and apparently had a voracious appetite.

“Jesus Christ, Rooster,” she shivered as one of his thick fingers teased her entrance, circling her slowly as his lips cradled her clit. She could feel each and every one of his taste buds against her. “Roo, please,” she panted, “I want your cock.”

Bradley lifted her, a squeal on her lips as she landed back down on his abs. She couldn’t help but smile broadly at his wet mouth.

“If you smile at me like that again, I’m going to fucking marry you, Caroline,” he threatened, absolutely captivated by her.

She untied the bandanna from her neck, reaching down to cover his eyes and tie it loosely behind his head.

“Then don’t look, because I think I’m going to enjoy this a lot,” she said, smiling just the same as she lined up his cock and slowly sank down on it.

“You’re amazing,” Rooster crowed, “God you feel so good,” he said, hands resting on her soft thighs.

“You’re big,” she huffed, “like shit, Rooster, how do you have such good posture?” She asked, making him bark out a laugh. She settled herself all the way down and squeezed him on an upswing, making his abs flex as he tried to keep from busting immediately.

Leaning down, while still riding him smoothly, she pressed a kiss to his scarred cheek, tracing the line there with her tongue. He jumped as she dragged her teeth against his jawline, biting him gently while rolling his balls in her palm.

“Caroline,” he sounded worried, “I-fwa,” he lost his words as she did it again.

“Want me to stop?” She asked innocently enough.

“Don’t you dare,” he grunted while she tweaked his nipple.

“I can see it now,” she giggled, the action sending a ripple of pleasure down his spine. “C-a-r-o-l-i-n-e,” she twirled a finger across his pec.

“I’ll go tomorrow,” he promised, a sweat breaking out across his brow. He could feel her fingernails just grazing his happy trail as Caroline circled her clit, wanting to meet him at his level.

“Rooster?” She asked, and he could hear the breathlessness in her voice.

“Caroline?” He countered, his face screwed up in conversation.

“Cum,” she commanded, finding her own euphoria, setting him off just moments later, thrusting up into her as he rode out his orgasm. Caroline grinned, pushing off his blindfold to reveal his beautiful face again. “Hi gorgeous,” she greeted, a lazy, satisfied smile on her face.

“What did I tell you about that smile?” He groaned, palming her ass in his hands.

“I know the consequences of my actions,” she sighed dreamily. Climbing off of Rooster, she wandered her way into the bathroom, cleaning up and grabbing the T-shirt that was slung over the bathroom door before pulling it on.

Rooster was sure he was delirious as she joined him back in the bed, hiking a leg over his hip and throwing his comforter over both of them.

“Rooster?” She asked, sparing a glance over at his alarm clock, which was flashing nearly two in the morning.

“Caro-line,” he sang back.

“I want my eggs scrambled in the morning,” she said, eyes closing gently as she curled up on his chest.

“Yeah? And what would you like to eat?”

#Top Gun #Top Gun Maverick #bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #Bradley rooster bradshaw x you #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw smut #rooster #rooster smut #rooster fluff #rooster x oc #bradley bradshaw x oc #bradley bradshaw x ofc #smut head #rooster is a big simp

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