#Customized LED Panel Light

[jivahelectric786]

From Homes to High-Rises: Jivah Lights Every Space

Illuminate your spaces with Jivah LED lights—energy-efficient, long-lasting, and eco-friendly lighting solutions for homes and businesses. Smart, stylish, and built for performance.

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Neon11 - Innovative Custom Neon Signs & Lighting Solutions

Discover Neon11’s cutting-edge technology for vibrant custom neon signs and lighting. Offering creative designs with unique color effects for a bright future.

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Library Enclosed in Miami Family room library: A mid-sized, contemporary enclosed room with white walls, porcelain tile flooring, and a wall-mounted television.

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Kutchina Chimney Reviwes

Kutchina Chimney: Transforming Kitchen Spaces with Innovation and Efficiency

In the modern kitchen, where culinary creations come to life and family gatherings find warmth, the importance of an efficient kitchen chimney cannot be overstated. Among the leading names in kitchen appliances, Kutchina stands tall, known for its innovative and technologically advanced chimneys designed to revolutionize cooking spaces.

1. Kutchina: A Trusted Household Name

    A brief introduction to Kutchina as a reputable and established brand in the kitchen appliance industry.

    Highlight the brand's commitment to quality, innovation, and customer satisfaction.

2. Understanding the Need for Kitchen Ventilation

    Explanation of the challenges faced in the kitchen environment, such as smoke, odors, and grease, and their impact on indoor air quality.

    Importance of proper ventilation in ensuring a clean, healthy, and comfortable kitchen atmosphere.

3. Kutchina Chimneys: Pioneering Technology and Design

    Overview of the diverse Kutchina chimney models available, catering to various kitchen layouts and styles.

    Introduction to cutting-edge features, such as powerful suction capabilities, multiple filter options (baffle filters, cassette filters, charcoal filters), energy-efficient motors, and intuitive control panels.

4. Advantages of Choosing Kutchina Chimneys

    Improved indoor air quality: Highlight how Kutchina chimneys eliminate smoke, odors, and harmful gases, ensuring a fresh and breathable kitchen environment.

    Easy maintenance and cleaning: Emphasize the user-friendly design of Kutchina chimneys, making them easy to clean and maintain for optimal performance.

    Enhanced kitchen aesthetics: Discuss how Kutchina chimneys add a touch of elegance to kitchens, complementing various interior styles.

5. Customer Satisfaction and Testimonials

    Showcase positive testimonials and feedback from satisfied Kutchina customers, highlighting their experiences with the brand's chimneys.

    Discuss any awards or accolades received by Kutchina for its innovative and reliable chimney solutions.

6. Conclusion: Elevating Kitchen Experiences with Kutchina

    Summarize the key points about Kutchina chimneys, emphasizing their role in transforming ordinary kitchens into efficient, clean, and inviting spaces.

    Kutchina chimney options to enhance their kitchen experiences.

Kutchina chimneys are renowned for their innovation among homeowners. Here are some of the key features of Kutchina chimneys:

1. Powerful Suction Capacity:

    Kutchina chimneys come with powerful motors that offer high suction capacity, effectively removing smoke, odors, and grease from the kitchen.

2. Advanced Filter Options:

    Kutchina chimneys are equipped with various types of filters, including baffle filters, cassette filters, and charcoal filters. These filters efficiently trap grease, oil particles, and odors, ensuring clean and fresh air circulation in the kitchen.

3. Energy-Efficient Operation:

    Kutchina chimneys are designed to be energy-efficient, consuming minimal electricity while delivering optimal performance. This feature not only saves energy but also reduces electricity bills.

4. Low Noise Levels:

    Kutchina chimneys operate quietly, minimizing noise pollution in the kitchen. Ensures a peaceful cooking environment without disturbances from the chimney's operation.

5. Touch Control Panel:

    Many Kutchina chimneys feature touch control panels that offer ease of operation. These intuitive panels allow users to control various functions, such as fan speed, lighting, and timer settings, with a simple touch.

6. LED Lighting:

    Kutchina chimneys are equipped with bright and energy-efficient LED lights that illuminate the cooking area. These lights enhance visibility, making cooking easier while adding a stylish element to the kitchen.

7. Auto-Clean Technology:

    Some Kutchina chimneys come with auto-clean technology, which automatically cleans the filters and removes accumulated grease. This feature ensures hassle-free maintenance and prolongs the chimney's lifespan.

8. Heat Auto-Clean Function:

    Kutchina chimneys with heat auto-clean function use heat to dissolve sticky and oily particles, keeping the filters clean and enhancing the chimney's efficiency.

9. Ductless Operation:

    Certain Kutchina chimneys can operate ductless, using recirculation technology to purify the air. This flexibility allows installation in kitchens where ductwork is not possible.

10. Sleek and Stylish Design:

    Kutchina Chimneys are known for their kitchen decor. The stylish appearance enhances the overall aesthetics of the cooking space.

11. Timer Function:

    Some Kutchina chimneys have a timer function, allowing users to set the operating time. This feature is useful for automatic shutdown after a specific duration, ensuring energy efficiency and convenience.

These features collectively make Kutchina chimneys a popular choice for homeowners, providing efficient and convenient solutions for kitchen ventilation.

Using Kutchina chimneys in your kitchen can offer many benefits, creating a healthier, cleaner, and more comfortable cooking environment. Here are the key advantages of using Kutchina chimneys:

1. Improved Indoor Air Quality:

    Kutchina chimneys effectively remove smoke, grease particles, and cooking odors from the air. Helps maintain high indoor air quality, ensuring a healthier atmosphere for you and your family.

2. Removal of Harmful Gases:

    Cooking processes can release harmful gases such as carbon monoxide. Kutchina chimneys help eliminate these gases, safeguarding the health of your family members.

3. Prevention of Grease Buildup:

    Chimneys prevent grease particles from settling on kitchen surfaces, including walls, cabinets, and appliances. Reduces the effort needed for cleaning and maintenance in the kitchen.

4. Enhanced Kitchen Hygiene:

    By capturing grease and other pollutants, Kutchina chimneys maintain a hygienic kitchen environment. A cleaner kitchen promotes better food preparation practices and overall hygiene.

5. Odor Control:

    Cooking odors can be overwhelming and can spread throughout your home. Kutchina chimneys efficiently remove odors, ensuring your kitchen and home remain fresh and pleasant-smelling.

6. Protects Kitchen Decor:

    Grease and smoke can tarnish kitchen interiors over time. Kutchina chimneys protect your kitchen decor and prevent discoloration, helping to maintain the aesthetic appeal of your cooking space.

7. Energy Efficiency:

    Kutchina chimneys are designed to be energy-efficient, consuming minimal electricity while providing optimal performance. This energy efficiency contributes to reduced electricity bills.

8. Peaceful Cooking Environment:

    Kutchina chimneys operate quietly, minimizing noise in the kitchen. Creates a peaceful cooking environment, allowing you to focus on your culinary creations without disturbances.

9. Extended Appliance Lifespan:

    By preventing the buildup of grease and grime on kitchen appliances, Kutchina chimneys contribute to the extended lifespan and improved performance of your cooking appliances.

10. Adds Elegance to Your Kitchen:

    Kutchina chimneys come in stylish designs. They not only serve a functional purpose but also enhance the visual appeal of your cooking space.

In summary, Kutchina chimneys offer a range of benefits, from ensuring clean air and hygiene to enhancing the overall cooking experience and aesthetics of your kitchen. Investing in a Kutchina chimney can significantly improve your kitchen environment and overall quality of life.

Installation of Kutchina Chimneys

    A professional technician installed your Kutchina chimney, including correct positioning, secure mounting, and appropriate ductwork if required.

    Choosing the Right Location: Select a suitable location for the chimney, preferably above the cooktop or stove. Ensure no obstructions and enough space for the chimney to capture smoke and odors effectively.

    Ductwork Installation: If your Kutchina chimney requires ductwork, ensure it is installed properly. The ducts should be straight and short with minimal bends to allow efficient airflow.

    Electrical Connection: Ensure the chimney is correctly connected to the power supply. Follow the manufacturer's guidelines and safety instructions while connecting the electrical components.

Maintenance of Kutchina Chimneys:

    Regular Cleaning: Clean the chimney filters and surface debris. Follow the user manual for specific cleaning instructions. Some Kutchina chimneys come with auto-clean features that make maintenance easier.

    Filter Replacement: If your chimney uses filters (such as baffle filters or charcoal filters), replace them as recommended by the manufacturer. Clean filters ensure optimal performance.

    Check for Damages

Inspect the chimney for any damages or signs of wear and tear.

Pay attention to the motor, fan, and lights.

    Grease Tray Maintenance: If your chimney has a grease collection tray, clean it regularly to prevent overflow and ensure efficient functioning.

    Maintaining Ventilation: Ensure that the ventilation ducts are clear and free from blockages. Regularly inspect the external vent to prevent birds or debris from clogging the opening.

    Professional Servicing: Consider scheduling professional servicing of your Kutchina chimney at least once a year. Experienced technicians can conduct a thorough inspection, clean internal components, and make necessary adjustments for optimal performance.

    Avoiding DIY Repairs: If you encounter issues with your chimney, avoid attempting major repairs yourself. Contact the manufacturer's customer service or a certified technician to assess and fix the problem safely.

By following these installation and maintenance guidelines, you can ensure that your Kutchina chimney operates efficiently, providing clean and fresh air in your kitchen for years.

Customer Reviews and Testimonials

Performance and satisfaction levels of Kutchina Chimneys. Here are some potential testimonials and reviews based on customers' experiences

1. Satisfied Customer Experience

    "I am extremely satisfied with my Kutchina chimney! The powerful suction, quiet operation, and easy maintenance have made my cooking experience so much better. The installation was smooth, and the chimney looks great in my kitchen!" - Sarah M.

2. Impressed with Efficiency

    "I purchased a Kutchina chimney a few months ago, and I am impressed with its efficiency. It quickly removes all the smoke and odors from my kitchen, leaving the air clean and fresh. The auto-clean feature is a game-changer – hassle-free maintenance at its best!" - David P.

3. Clean and Stylish Addition

    "Not only does my Kutchina chimney keep my kitchen clean and odor-free, but it also adds a touch of elegance to the space. The LED lights are bright, and the touch control panel is very user-friendly. I highly recommend Kutchina Chimneys!" - Emily L.

4. Excellent Customer Service

    "I had a fantastic experience with Kutchina's customer service team. They were responsive knowledgeable, and resolved my query promptly. It's not just the excellent product, but also the outstanding customer support that makes Kutchina stand out!" - Michael H.

5. Lifesaver for Open Kitchen Layouts

    "We have an open kitchen layout, and our Kutchina chimney has been a lifesaver! It effectively removes all the cooking fumes and keeps our living area smoke-free. I can cook without worrying about the entire house smelling like food. Truly a great investment!" - Lisa C.

6. Value for Money

    "I was initially hesitant about spending on a chimney, but Kutchina proved worth every penny. The quality, performance, and durability are exceptional. It's a long-term investment in my kitchen's cleanliness and my family's health." - Jason R.

7. Easy to Clean and Maintain

    "I love how easy it is to clean my Kutchina chimney. The filters are simple to remove and wash. The auto-clean function works like a charm. It saves me time and effort, allowing me to focus on what I love – cooking!" - Amanda S.

These testimonials reflect the positive experiences of customers who have chosen Kutchina chimneys for their kitchens. Reading such reviews can help potential buyers make informed decisions, highlighting the satisfaction and benefits real users have gained from their Kutchina chimney purchases.

Conclusion: Elevating Your Kitchen Experience with Kutchina Chimneys

In the heart of every home, where culinary creations come to life and cherished moments are shared, a Kutchina chimney is a testament to innovation, efficiency, and elegance. As we conclude our exploration of Kutchina chimneys, it becomes evident that these appliances are more than just kitchen fixtures – they are transformative elements that elevate your cooking experience.

A Clean and Healthy Kitchen

    Kutchina chimneys ensure your kitchen remains clean and free from smoke, grease, and odors. By eliminating harmful pollutants, these chimneys create a healthier environment for you and your family, safeguarding your well-being.

Efficiency in Action:

    With powerful suction capabilities and advanced filtration systems, Kutchina chimneys remove impurities, leaving your kitchen air fresh and pure. The ease of use, quiet operation, and intuitive controls make cooking delightful and hassle-free.

Aesthetics and Elegance:

    Beyond functionality, Kutchina chimneys add a touch of sophistication to your kitchen space. Their sleek designs, coupled with energy-efficient LED lighting, not only enhance visibility but also augment the overall aesthetics of your culinary haven.

Innovative Solutions, Lasting Satisfaction:

    Whether it's the convenience of auto-clean technology, the variety of filter options, or the outstanding customer support, Kutchina Chimneys offers innovative solutions tailored to your needs. The longevity and durability of these appliances ensure lasting satisfaction, making them a valuable addition to your home.

In choosing a Kutchina chimney, you're not just investing in a kitchen appliance; you're investing in the comfort, health, and joy of your home. Embrace the future of cooking with Kutchina, and let your kitchen breathe with freshness, cleanliness, and style. Welcome to a new era of culinary excellence – the world of Kutchina chimneys.

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Maintaining your boat regularly is essential to maintaining it in good working order and extending its lifespan. Oil inspection and replacement are two crucial components of boat maintenance. If you are not sure when it is time for a boat oil change in San Diego, here are a few signs that will help you make the right decision.

[luewashere]

Traditional Bathroom - Bathroom Bathroom - large traditional master bathroom idea with raised-panel cabinets, medium tone wood cabinets, a two-piece toilet, beige walls, an undermount sink, quartz countertops, a hinged shower door, white countertops, a niche, and a built-in vanity

[ashadamsphotography]

Home Office - Library Example of a home office library design with green walls, a standard fireplace, and a wood fireplace surround. It features a mid-sized classic freestanding desk, a medium tone wood floor, an orange floor, a coffered ceiling, and wall paneling.

[analogveins]

Chicago Kitchen Pantry Mid-sized mid-century modern l-shaped kitchen pantry remodel ideas with flat-panel cabinets, medium-tone wood cabinets, a green backsplash, paneled appliances, a white island, and white countertops.

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Alpha ATEEZ x Assistant Omega Reader

Warnings: omega reader, alpha ateez, scenting, heats, ruts, slow burn, eventual smut, forced command, more to come!

When Y/n accepts a position as assistant to alpha K-pop group ATEEZ, she's prepared with professional skills and scent blockers to hide her omega status. What she's not prepared for is the immediate, inexplicable connection she feels with all eight members—a resonance that defies her careful boundaries.

As Y/n becomes eerily attuned to their needs, her suppressed omega nature begins to emerge: purring for the first time in years, responding to alpha growls, feeling safe in ways she never has before. When a protective incident reveals the depth of the members' attachment to her, Y/n must confront the possibility that what binds them together is something ancient and profound.

<<Previous Next>>

Masterlist Ko-Fi☕️

Chapter 20: Hidden Pages

The afternoon sun cast dappled shadows through the trees as you and Yeosang made your way down a narrow side street in one of Seoul's older districts. The buildings here were different from the gleaming skyscrapers and modern structures that dominated most of the city—older, with character etched into their weathered facades and stories hidden in their architectural details.

"It's just around this corner," Yeosang said, his voice carrying a note of anticipation that made you smile. You'd never seen him quite this animated before, his usual quiet composure brightened by genuine excitement about sharing this special place with you.

As you rounded the corner, he gestured toward a narrow building squeezed between a traditional tea shop and a small art gallery. The bookstore's exterior was understated—a simple wooden door with glass panels, a modest sign in both Korean and English that read "Hidden Pages," and large windows that offered glimpses of towering bookshelves within.

"This is it," Yeosang said, pausing at the entrance. "It doesn't look like much from the outside, but..."

"But the best treasures are often hidden in plain sight," you finished, looking up at him with warm eyes. "Just like some people I know."

The compliment made color rise to his cheeks, and he ducked his head slightly before pushing open the door for you. A soft bell chimed as you entered, and immediately you understood why this place was special to him.

The interior was a book lovers dream—floor to ceiling shelves packed with books in multiple languages, cozy reading nooks tucked into corners, and that distinctive smell of aged paper and ink that seemed to permeate everything. Soft classical music played from hidden speakers, and warm light from vintage lamps created an atmosphere that felt more like a private library than a commercial bookstore.

"Welcome back, Yeosang," came a gentle voice from behind the main counter. An elderly man with kind eyes and wire-rimmed glasses looked up from the book he'd been cataloging. "And you've brought a friend."

"Mr. Park, this is Y/n," Yeosang said, his hand finding the small of your back as he guided you forward. "Y/n, this is Mr. Park, the owner. He knows more about books than anyone I've ever met."

"A pleasure to meet you," Mr. Park said with a warm smile. "Any friend of Yeosang's is welcome here. He's one of our most valued customers—always finding treasures that others overlook."

"I can see why he loves this place," you replied, already enchanted by the atmosphere. "It feels magical."

"Books have a way of creating magic," Mr. Park agreed. "Please, explore as much as you'd like. The poetry section is upstairs, along with the café. And Yeosang knows where to find all the hidden gems."

As Mr. Park returned to his cataloging, Yeosang turned to you with an expression that was both proud and slightly nervous. "Where would you like to start?"

"Show me your favorite section first," you suggested. "I want to see what draws you here."

Yeosang's face lit up as he led you deeper into the store, past sections of contemporary fiction and bestsellers, toward a quieter area in the back where the shelves held older, more eclectic collections.

"Philosophy and poetry," he explained, gesturing to the carefully organized shelves. "But also some rare editions and first prints. Mr. Park has a talent for acquiring books that you can't find anywhere else."

You watched as he moved through the stacks with the easy familiarity of someone who'd spent countless hours here. His fingers trailed along the spines of books with gentle reverence, and you found yourself captivated by this side of him—passionate, knowledgeable, completely in his element.

"This one," he said, pulling a slim volume from the shelf, "is a collection of translated Korean poetry from the early 1900s. The translation work is incredible—it manages to preserve the emotional resonance of the original while making it accessible to English readers."

He opened the book to a page he'd clearly marked before, his voice taking on a different quality as he read a few lines aloud. The words were beautiful, but it was the way he spoke them—with such care and understanding—that made your heart flutter.

"That's beautiful," you said softly when he finished. "You have a lovely reading voice."

"I used to read to my sister when we were younger," he admitted, closing the book but keeping it in his hands. "She said poetry sounded better when I read it aloud."

The small personal revelation made you want to know more about his family, his childhood, all the experiences that had shaped the thoughtful man beside you. But before you could ask, he was already moving to another section, eager to show you more treasures.

"And this," he said, reaching for a higher shelf, "is a first edition of—"

His words cut off as he stretched upward, his shirt riding up slightly to reveal a strip of toned stomach. You found your eyes drawn to the lean muscle there, the way his body moved with unconscious grace. When he noticed you looking, a different kind of heat entered his gaze.

"Sorry," you said, not sounding sorry at all. "You're just... very nice to look at."

"Y/n," he said quietly, your name carrying a warmth that made your pulse quicken.

"What? I'm just appreciating the view while you reach for books. It's called multitasking."

Yeosang laughed, a genuine sound of delight that transformed his entire face. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Among other things," you replied with a playful smile, stepping closer to him. "But please, continue. I'm very interested in... rare books."

The way you said it, with that slight emphasis and the mischievous glint in your eyes, made his breathing catch. There was definitely a new energy building between you, something flirtatious and charged that made the quiet bookstore feel intimate and full of possibility.

"Well," he said, his voice dropping slightly as he pulled the book from the shelf, "this particular volume is quite... special. It requires very careful handling."

"I can be very careful," you assured him, moving close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "When something is worth taking care of."

Yeosang's eyes darkened as he caught your meaning, the book momentarily forgotten in his hands. "Are we still talking about books?"

"Are we?" you countered, looking up at him through your lashes.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you crackling with tension and possibility. Then Yeosang cleared his throat softly, glancing around the store.

"Perhaps," he said, his voice slightly rougher than usual, "we should continue exploring. There's so much more I want to show you."

"Lead the way," you replied, though you made sure to brush against him as you moved, enjoying the way his breath hitched at the contact.

The next hour passed in a delightful haze of literary discovery and increasingly bold flirtation. Yeosang showed you rare manuscripts, beautiful art books, and hidden alcoves filled with volumes on obscure subjects. You found yourself drawn not just to the books, but to watching him—the way his eyes lit up when he found something particularly interesting, the gentle way he handled even the most worn volumes, the quiet passion in his voice when he explained why a particular work was significant.

And he seemed equally captivated by you—your genuine interest in his explanations, your thoughtful questions, the way you laughed at his dry observations about some of the more pretentious literary critics whose works lined the shelves.

"You know," you said as you browsed through a section of vintage travel guides, "I never expected to find book shopping this... stimulating."

Yeosang, who had been reaching for a volume on the top shelf, paused and looked down at you with raised eyebrows. "Stimulating?"

"Intellectually stimulating," you clarified with mock innocence, though your smile suggested otherwise. "All this talk of rare bindings and... careful handling. It's very educational."

"I see," he said, climbing down from the small step stool he'd been using. "And here I thought you were just being a diligent student."

"Oh, I'm very diligent," you assured him, stepping closer as he descended. "I always pay close attention to my teachers."

The way you said 'teachers' made his eyes flash with something that was definitely not scholarly, and you found yourself backed against the bookshelf as he moved closer.

"Is that so?" he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "And what have you learned so far?"

"That you have excellent taste," you replied, your voice equally quiet. "In books and... other things."

"Other things?"

"Places," you said, gesturing around the intimate bookstore. "Atmosphere. The way you choose to spend your time with someone special."

Yeosang's hand came up to rest against the shelf beside your head, his body creating a small cocoon of privacy around you. "Someone special?"

"Very special," you confirmed, looking up into his dark eyes.

The moment stretched between you, charged with possibility. You were acutely aware of how close he was, the way his scent—clean and warm with hints of bergamot—surrounded you. His eyes dropped to your lips for just a moment before returning to meet your gaze.

"The café upstairs," he said softly. "Would you like to see it?"

"I'd like to see everything you want to show me," you replied, the words carrying layers of meaning.

Yeosang's smile was soft but held an edge of something more intense. "Then let's go up."

The narrow staircase to the second floor was tucked away in the back corner of the store, barely wide enough for two people. As you climbed ahead of Yeosang, you could feel his presence close behind you, the warmth of his body and the way his breathing had become slightly uneven.

The upstairs café was even more intimate than the bookstore below—small round tables scattered among more bookshelves, soft lighting from table lamps, and large windows that looked out over the quiet street. Only a few other patrons were present, all absorbed in their own books and conversations.

"Corner table?" Yeosang suggested, nodding toward a small table tucked between two tall bookshelves that would offer relative privacy.

"Perfect," you agreed, following him to the secluded spot.

As you settled into the comfortable chairs, Yeosang caught the attention of the café server and ordered tea for both of you—something called "poet's blend" that he assured you was exceptional. When you were alone again, the atmosphere felt different. More intimate, more charged with possibility.

"This place is incredible," you said, looking around at the combination café and library. "I can see why you love it here."

"It's peaceful," Yeosang agreed. "A place where you can think, or read, or just... exist without the noise of the outside world."

"Is that what you do here? Just exist?"

"Sometimes," he admitted. "When the schedules get overwhelming, or when I need to process something complex. I come here and let the quiet settle into my mind."

You reached across the small table and took his hand, enjoying the way his fingers immediately intertwined with yours. "Thank you for sharing it with me. For letting me into this part of your world."

"Thank you for wanting to see it," he replied, his thumb tracing gentle circles across your knuckles. "I wasn't sure if you'd find it interesting."

"Yeosang," you said seriously, "watching you talk about something you're passionate about is one of the most attractive things I've ever experienced. The way your whole face lights up, the way you handle the books like they're treasures... it's beautiful."

Color rose to his cheeks again, but he didn't look away. "You make me feel like the things I care about matter."

"They do matter. You matter."

The server arrived with your tea, providing a brief interruption to the intensity building between you. But as soon as you were alone again, the charged atmosphere returned.

"This is delicious," you said after taking a sip of the aromatic blend. "Complex. Layered."

"Like you," Yeosang said quietly, his eyes holding yours over the rim of his teacup.

The simple compliment sent warmth spreading through your chest. "Is that your professional opinion, Professor Kang?"

"My very professional opinion," he confirmed with a slight smile. "Though I may need to conduct further research to be completely certain."

"Research?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "What kind of research?"

"Extensive research," he said, his voice dropping to that low register that made your pulse quicken. "Thorough investigation. Very... hands-on methodology."

The academic language delivered with such obvious double meaning made you laugh, but it was breathless laughter that carried heat. "I do appreciate thorough research methods."

"I thought you might," he said, his gaze dropping to your lips again. "I'm very dedicated to my research."

"How dedicated?" you asked, leaning forward slightly.

"I believe in exploring every possible angle," he replied, his own body language mirroring yours as he leaned closer across the small table. "Leaving no stone unturned."

"Very admirable," you breathed, acutely aware of how close your faces were now, how his eyes had darkened with unmistakable desire.

"Y/n," he said softly, your name carrying a question and a promise.

"Yes?"

"I think," he said, his gaze flicking around the café to confirm that your corner table was relatively hidden from view, "that I'd like to begin my research now."

"Here?" you asked, though your tone suggested the idea was more thrilling than shocking.

"Just a preliminary investigation," he assured you, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. "To determine if further study is warranted."

Instead of answering with words, you closed the remaining distance between you, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was anything but preliminary.

Yeosang's response was immediate and intense. His hand tangled in your hair as he deepened the kiss, the careful control he usually maintained slipping away in the face of his desire for you. The small table between you became an obstacle as you both strained to get closer, the need for contact overwhelming rational thought.

"This table," he murmured against your lips, "is very inconvenient for research purposes."

"Terrible design flaw," you agreed breathlessly, your hands fisting in his shirt to pull him closer despite the physical barriers.

Yeosang glanced around quickly, then stood and held out his hand to you. "There's a section in the back," he said quietly, his voice rough with want. "Poetry. Very quiet. Very... private."

Without hesitation, you took his hand and let him lead you away from the table, leaving your tea forgotten as you moved deeper into the maze of bookshelves. The poetry section he mentioned was indeed tucked away in the back corner, surrounded by tall stacks that created a sense of complete seclusion.

The moment you were hidden from view, Yeosang turned and pressed you gently back against the bookshelf, his body caging you in as his mouth found yours again. This kiss was different from the tentative exploration at the table—hungrier, more desperate, full of all the desire that had been building between you throughout the afternoon.

Your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the lean muscle beneath his soft sweater, while his fingers traced along your jawline, your neck, everywhere he could reach. The taste of tea lingered on his lips, mixed with something that was purely him, and you found yourself addicted to the combination.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered against your mouth, his hands framing your face as if you were something precious and rare. "I've been wanting to touch you like this all afternoon."

"Then don't stop," you breathed back, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him down for another deep kiss.

Time seemed suspended in your hidden alcove among the poetry books. Yeosang's mouth moved against yours with increasing urgency, his careful composure completely abandoned as he lost himself in the taste and feel of you. His hands had found their way to your waist, pulling you closer against him, while yours mapped the strong lines of his shoulders and back.

"Y/n," he gasped against your neck, having moved to trail kisses along the sensitive skin there. "We should... people might..."

"Let them," you replied recklessly, your head tilting back to give him better access. "I don't care."

The declaration seemed to snap something in him. His mouth returned to yours with renewed intensity, and you could feel the full force of his desire in the way he held you, kissed you, breathed your name like a prayer.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathing hard, your clothes slightly disheveled and your lips swollen from kissing. Yeosang rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he tried to regain some semblance of control.

"That was," he started, then seemed to lose track of his words.

"Research?" you suggested with a breathless laugh.

"Very thorough research," he agreed, opening his eyes to meet yours. The heat still burning in his gaze made your pulse quicken all over again. "Though I think I need to collect more data."

"I'm always willing to contribute to scientific advancement," you said solemnly, though your smile was anything but serious.

"Good," he said, leaning down to press one more soft kiss to your lips. "Because I have a feeling this research is going to require multiple sessions."

"I look forward to it," you whispered back.

Reluctantly, you both began the process of making yourselves presentable again—smoothing rumpled clothes, finger-combing disheveled hair, trying to look like you'd been innocently browsing poetry rather than making out among the verses.

"Should we head back downstairs?" Yeosang asked, though he seemed reluctant to leave your private alcove.

"Probably," you agreed, equally reluctant. "Before Mr. Park wonders what happened to us."

As you made your way back through the café and down the narrow staircase, Yeosang's hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in a gesture that felt both intimate and claiming. When you reached the main floor, Mr. Park looked up from his work with a knowing smile.

"Find everything you were looking for?" he asked innocently.

"And more," Yeosang replied, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. "Thank you for the recommendation on the poetry section. Very... inspiring."

"Poetry has a way of moving people," Mr. Park agreed with a twinkle in his eye that suggested he wasn't entirely naive about what had transpired upstairs. "I hope you'll both come back soon."

"We definitely will," you assured him, meaning every word.

As you and Yeosang stepped back out onto the quiet street, the late afternoon sun painted everything in golden hues. The air felt different somehow—charged with new possibilities and the lingering heat of your encounter among the books.

"So," Yeosang said as you began walking back toward the main road, "how did you find your first visit to Hidden Pages?"

"Educational," you replied with a mischievous smile. "I learned a lot about... poetry."

"Poetry," he repeated with a laugh. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Among other things," you said, echoing your earlier flirtation.

Yeosang stopped walking and turned to face you, his expression serious despite the heat still simmering in his eyes. "Y/n, I want you to know that this—today, sharing this place with you, being with you like this—it means everything to me."

"It means everything to me too," you replied sincerely, reaching up to cup his cheek. "Thank you for trusting me with something so special to you."

"Thank you for making it even more special," he said, turning his head to press a soft kiss to your palm.

As you continued walking, your hands linked and your hearts full, you couldn't help but think that Hidden Pages had given you more than just a glimpse into Yeosang's world—it had given you both a perfect afternoon of discovery, connection, and the kind of romance that belonged in the pages of the poetry books you'd been kissing among.

"Next time," Yeosang said as you reached the main street, "I'll show you the rare manuscripts section."

"Next time," you agreed with a smile that promised more adventures, more discoveries, and definitely more research among the stacks.

–––

The ride back to the house was thick with tension that had nothing to do with Seoul's evening traffic. Yeosang sat in the driver's seat with white-knuckled hands gripping the steering wheel, his usual calm composure nowhere to be found. You could feel his alpha energy radiating from him in waves—controlled but barely, like a carefully banked fire that was threatening to break free at any moment.

Every time you shifted in your seat, his eyes would flick to you and then quickly back to the road, his jaw clenching with visible effort. The afternoon at the bookstore had awakened something in both of you, and the confined space of the car was making the sexual tension almost unbearable.

"You're very quiet," you observed, your voice coming out softer and more breathless than you'd intended.

"Trying to concentrate," Yeosang replied, his voice rougher than usual. "On driving. And not pulling over."

"Pulling over for what?" you asked innocently, though the heat in your gaze suggested you knew exactly what.

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Don't tease me right now, Y/n. I'm barely holding on as it is."

The raw honesty in his voice sent a thrill through you. This was a side of Yeosang you'd never seen—his careful control slipping, his alpha nature more prominent than his usual thoughtful restraint. The combination was intoxicating.

You reached behind your ear and slowly, deliberately, peeled away your scent blocker.

The effect was immediate and devastating. Your natural jasmine and vanilla scent flooded the small space, but now it was laced with something else—the unmistakable sweetness of arousal that had been building all afternoon. The combination hit Yeosang like a physical blow.

His foot pressed harder on the accelerator as he sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes flashing gold for just a moment before he forced them back to brown. "Y/n," he said, your name coming out like a warning and a plea. "What are you doing?"

"Letting you know how you make me feel," you replied simply, watching as his alpha senses processed the full impact of your unfiltered scent. "How the afternoon made me feel. How right now, sitting next to you, knowing what your hands feel like, what you taste like..."

"Fuck," he breathed, the curse unusual coming from his typically composed lips. The car swerved slightly as his concentration wavered, and he had to grip the wheel tighter to maintain control. "You're going to make me crash."

"Then drive faster," you suggested with a smile that was pure temptation.

Yeosang's response was to press the accelerator further, the city blurring past as he navigated the familiar route home with newfound urgency. His alpha scent was getting stronger too—musk and cherry blossoms now mixed with something darker, more primal. The combination of your scents in the enclosed space was creating a feedback loop of desire that had both of you breathing hard by the time he pulled into the driveway.

He'd barely put the car in park before he was turning to face you, his eyes blazing with intensity. "Inside," he said, his voice carrying unmistakable alpha command. "Now. Before I do something very inappropriate in this car."

You didn't need to be told twice. You were both out of the car and moving toward the house with quick, purposeful steps, the tension between you so thick it was almost visible. Yeosang's hand found the small of your back as he guided you to the front door, the possessive touch sending electricity through your entire system.

The moment you stepped through the front door, Wooyoung bounced up from the couch where he'd been sprawled with a gaming controller, his face lighting up with excitement.

"You're back! How was the bookstore? Did you find anything good? Did Yeosang bore you to death with poetry quotes?" He was already moving toward you with his arms outstretched, clearly intending to pull you into one of his enthusiastic hugs.

But before he could reach you, a low growl rumbled from Yeosang's chest—playful but unmistakably possessive.

"No," Yeosang said firmly, his arm sliding around your waist to pull you against his side. His voice carried an authority that none of them had heard from him before, alpha dominance bleeding through his usual gentle demeanor.

Wooyoung stopped mid-step, his eyes widening with surprise and interest as he took in Yeosang's protective posture and the obvious tension radiating from both of you. "Oh," he said, a slow grin spreading across his face as understanding dawned. "OH. Well then."

Without giving anyone time to comment further, Yeosang was guiding you toward the stairs, his hand firm and possessive on your hip. "We'll be upstairs," he announced to the room at large, his tone suggesting that interruptions would not be welcome.

"Have fun!" Wooyoung called after you with barely contained glee. "Don't break anything important!"

"Wooyoung," came Seonghwa's exasperated voice from the kitchen doorway, clearly having witnessed the entire exchange.

"What? I'm being supportive! Very encouraging!"

You could hear the others beginning to gather in the living room, drawn by Wooyoung's dramatic commentary, but Yeosang was already pulling you up the stairs with single-minded determination. His room was at the end of the hall, and he led you there with the focused intensity of an alpha who had finally reached the end of his restraint.

The moment his bedroom door closed behind you, the atmosphere changed completely. Gone was the careful politeness of the bookstore, replaced by something raw and hungry that made the air itself feel electric.

Yeosang turned to face you, his back against the door, his eyes dark with desire and something deeper—possession, claim, the need to make you his in every way possible.

"Do you have any idea," he said, his voice low and rough, "what you've been doing to me all afternoon?"

"Tell me," you replied, stepping closer to him with deliberate slowness.

"The way you looked at me in the bookstore. The way you listened when I talked about the books, like what I had to say actually mattered. The way you let me kiss you among the poetry..." His hands clenched at his sides as if he was fighting not to reach for you immediately. "And then in the car, removing your blocker, letting me smell how much you want me..."

...Yeosang barely got the words out before the last of his restraint shattered. He surged forward, hands catching your face and waist at once, yanking you into a kiss so fierce it stole the air from your lungs. It wasn’t gentle—wasn’t even patient anymore. After an entire day of holding back, his need seared through every motion.

He tasted every gasp, every whimper, his scent filling the bedroom now that your own was free—jasmine and vanilla tangling with the deep, heady undercurrent of his alpha arousal. His hands slid into your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head and expose your throat.

“Yeosang—” you breathed, but your voice broke as his lips traced the line of your jaw, down your neck to the fluttering pulse there. He grazed his teeth lightly over your skin, drawing a shudder from you.

“You know what you do to me?” His voice was hoarse, barely more than a growl in your ear as he pressed you back until your knees hit the edge of his bed. “You turn every word, every look, into a promise I can’t keep—unless I have you. All of you.”

You flushed with heat, arousal sparking sharp and urgent through your veins. “Then take me, Yeosang. I’m yours.”

That, apparently, was the last thread holding him together.

He gripped your hips and lifted you easily onto the mattress, his body caging you. Your hands slid beneath his shirt, eager to touch, to feel the racing heart and tense muscles beneath. “Too many clothes,” you muttered, and Yeosang was already stripping his sweater off, baring pale skin and lean strength.

He helped you tug off your own shirt, pausing only to dip his head and press open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, your shoulder, wherever he could reach. His hands were everywhere—urgent and reverent all at once—thumbs brushing the curve of your ribcage, fingers splaying at your back.

Your scent was thick in the air now, sweet and unmistakably needy. Yeosang paused, just for a heartbeat, and buried his face along your neck, inhaling deeply. A shiver ran through him. “God, you smell perfect,” he whispered. “Drives me out of my mind.”

You arched into him, whimpering when his mouth latched onto the sensitive skin below your ear. “I want you to lose control,” you admitted, voice trembling. “I want you to show me what you feel.”

He growled again, edging on feral. “Be careful what you wish for, Y/n.”

There was no more patience then. He pushed you gently but insistently down onto the bed, shedding his own clothes with quick, deft movements while peppering every bare inch of you with kisses—soft at your throat, sharper across your hip, soothing at your stomach as your breath came in panting gasps. His scent—cherry blossom and something spicy, something only you could coax out of him—wrapped around you, dizzying.

His hands found the waistband of your pants, hesitating just enough to flick his eyes up and get your breathless, urgent nod.

“Yes. Please, Yeosang, I want—”

He slid them off in one smooth motion, his palm following, caressing down your thigh, tracing upward until he found the heat between your legs. His fingers brushed your slickness, his eyes darkening further when he realized just how badly you needed him.

He spread you open, gentle but relentless, gaze raking over you as if committing you to memory. “You’re so wet,” he murmured, voice full of awe and something primal. “All for me?”

“All for you,” you gasped, hips canting toward his touch.

Yeosang leaned down, mouth hot and insistent as he kissed you again—capturing your gasp as he finally slid a finger inside you, then another, curling just right as his thumb circled your clit. You spasmed against him, back arching, and he groaned, the possessive alpha edge unmistakable now.

“I’m going to make you come for me,” he promised, voice thick and desperate. “Right here, before I claim you. Before you feel all of me.”

All you could do was nod, already spiraling—his fingers, his scent, his everything making your body vibrate with need. You clutched his biceps, nails leaving marks as you chased the edge. Yeosang’s free hand fisted in your hair, holding you steady as his touch grew rougher, more insistent, dragging pleasure out of you.

“That’s it, princess,” he encouraged, breath hot against your ear. “Let go for me. Show me you’re mine.”

You came hard, a rush of heat and light flooding your senses as you choked out his name. The noise Yeosang made was almost a snarl, and he kissed you through it—deep and hungry. His hand gentled, easing you down, stroking you as your body trembled, melting under his touch.

When the aftershocks faded, you opened your eyes to see him watching you with tender, worshipful awe—and desperate, unspent hunger. You reached for him, pulling him down, needing him closer.

“Your turn,” you whispered, voice hoarse with want. “Claim me, Yeosang. Make me yours.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. With a swift, sure movement, he positioned himself over you, pausing just long enough to look into your eyes—searching, pleading for any flicker of doubt.

There was none. You lifted your hips in invitation, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He pushed into you, slow but deep, a groan dragged from his chest that sounded like relief and possession and reverence all at once. The fullness of him, the heat, the feeling of being connected in every way—body, scent, heart—was almost too much.

Yeosang pressed his forehead to yours, shuddering as he bottomed out, holding still to let you both adjust. Then he began to move, hips rolling, every thrust pushing you tighter together, your scents mingling until the entire room felt heavy with belonging.

You clung to him, hands in his hair, his breath stuttering against your lips as he whispered your name—over and over, words breaking, dissolving into animal need.

He fucked you with abandon, claiming each gasp, each moan, as his due, marking your neck and chest with his mouth. As you knotted together, bonded in sensation and want, Yeosang finally surrendered, losing himself in you, in everything you offered.

And when you shattered beneath him again, he followed, his body locked against yours, his heart pounding out a rhythm that perfectly matched your own.

Afterward, Yeosang just held you—arms wrapped tight around your trembling form, his forehead still pressed to yours. His scent was all over you now, and yours on him, and there was nothing left hidden between you.

“Mine,” he whispered, voice still ragged, dizzy with love and shock and awe.

“Yours,” you breathed, smiling, blissfully.

Next>>

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[alohajix]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐚𝐩𝐞

Description: she said she wasn’t nervous. She said she'd never done this before. But then he walked in—and made her forget every lie she told herself. The Casting Tape — you only need to watch it once to come back for more.

Warnings: this one-shot includes explicit sexual content, including fingering, oral sex (M/F), face-fucking, rough grinding, dirty talk, praise kink, light choking, spanking, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), and graphic language. Readers +18.

Words count: ~ 7K.

I understand you guys really enjoyed “First Time for Everything”. So here’s a new one-shot I've been working on for a while, featuring pornstar!harry once again.

please enjoyyy💕

*****

I almost didn’t walk through the door. It looked too normal from the outside—just a nondescript black building sandwiched between a vape shop and a custom auto wrap place. No sign. No logo. Just a metal door and a tiny keypad. I stood there for a full minute, staring at my reflection in the door’s narrow glass panel, wondering what the hell I was doing. My fingers fidgeted with the zipper on my hoodie as I debated bailing. But then I remembered rent. And how many hours I’d spent reading that post.

“Paid casting opportunity. Professional, safe, filmed. No pressure to continue. Just be yourself.”

So I buzzed in. A soft click, and I stepped inside. The air was cool, sterile, quiet. A short hallway led to a room that looked more like a YouTube set than anything porn-related—white walls, gray backdrop, soft box lights aimed at a plain black leather couch. A camera was already set up on a tripod, its little red light blinking lazily like it was waiting. There was no one else in the room, just a low table with a water bottle and a clipboard. I approached it like it might bite.

“Hey there,” a voice called from behind me—low, male, casual. “You can grab a seat. We’ll start in a second.”

I turned to find a guy with a headset leaning against the doorframe, sipping coffee. He looked more like someone who worked in tech support than adult film, and he barely glanced at me. That helped a little. I gave him a tight smile and sat down on the couch, tucking one leg under the other. The camera stared back at me. I wiped my sweaty palms on my denim skirt.

“You go by your real name or a stage name?” the voice asked.

I hesitated. “Stage name.”

He chuckled. “Smart. What should we call you?”

“…Lola.” I don’t know where it came from. I didn’t even know anyone named Lola.

“Cute,” he said. “Alright, Lola. We’re just gonna ask you a few questions. Keep your eyes on the camera, speak clearly, be yourself.”

I nodded once. The camera light turned solid red.

“Tell us how old you are and why you’re here.”

My voice came out a little too fast. “Twenty-two. I—uh—I heard about this through a friend of a friend. Thought it might be… interesting.”

“And have you done anything like this before?”

I forced a smile. “Not professionally.”

He chuckled again, friendly but disinterested. “Good answer. So—this is a soft casting. No pressure to do anything you’re not comfortable with. We just want to see how you come across on camera. If it feels natural, maybe we’ll try a short chemistry test.”

My stomach flipped. “Chemistry test?”

“With a partner,” he clarified. “Clothed or not. Touching or not. Totally up to you.”

I swallowed hard. “And who’s the partner?”

“Hey, man,” the guy said suddenly, glancing over my shoulder. “You mind stepping in for a quick test?”

I didn’t hear footsteps. I felt them. Slow. Heavy. Purposeful. And then I heard his voice.

“Yeah. I’ve got time.” I turned. And immediately forgot how to breathe.

He walked in wearing a black T-shirt and sweatpants, his hair tucked under a gray beanie, tattooed arms on full display. Calm. Comfortable. Like he belonged here. And when his eyes met mine—green, curious, knowing—I had to look away before I gave something away.

I knew who he was. Everyone who’s ever dipped into amateur porn knew who he was. He wasn’t just a pornstar—he was the pornstar. The one known for making people cry in the best way possible. The one who ruined girls for normal guys. The one I may or may not have watched the night I sent my application in.

“Hi,” he said softly, voice like silk. “I’m Harry.” Of course he was.

I tried to remember how to smile. “Hi.”

He looked me over—slowly, respectfully, but definitely. His gaze dragged from my hoodie to my bare thighs, then up to my lips before meeting my eyes again.

“You okay to keep going?” he asked. “Or just here to talk?” His tone was soft. Patient.

I bit my lip. I should’ve said no. I should’ve kept it simple. But the way he was looking at me… “Let’s try,” I said quietly.

His mouth curled into a half-smile. “We’ll go slow.”

He sat beside me on the couch, leaving just enough space between us that it felt intentional. His thigh brushed mine every time I shifted, and I wasn’t sure if it was on purpose—but I hoped it was.

The camera was still rolling. “You nervous?” he asked, his voice low and almost amused.

“A little,” I admitted. “You’re not exactly a nobody.”

He smiled at that—soft, slow, like he was letting the compliment soak into his skin.

“Well, I’ve done a few of these,” he said, tilting his body slightly toward me. “So if you want to stop at any point, you say the word. We good on that?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Safe word or something?”

“We can use red. If you want to pause, say yellow. But honestly? Just talk to me. I listen.”

God, that shouldn’t have made my stomach twist—but it did. His hand landed gently on my knee. Just a touch. Nothing dirty. But the weight of it made my heart skip.

“Can I touch you a little more?” he asked.

I swallowed and nodded. “Yes.”

He slid his hand up my thigh, slow and deliberate, until his fingers curled around the bare skin just beneath the hem of my skirt. His pinky brushed the side of my underwear. He didn’t move further. He just… held me.

“See? You’re already shaking a little,” he said, voice soft like a secret.

“I’m not,” I lied.

His thumb moved lazily across my thigh. “You are. That’s okay, though. Nervous is normal. But you look good nervous.”

I smirked despite myself. “Is that your line?”

“No,” he said, leaning in just a little. “That’s the truth.”

His other hand reached up, fingers playing with the zipper of my hoodie. He didn’t pull it down right away—he just watched my face.

“Can I?”

I nodded again. “Yeah.”

He tugged the zipper down, slow as hell. I didn’t wear a bra on purpose—I’d told myself it was about being comfortable, but I’d also known what kind of job this was. I’d wanted to feel like I was ready for it, even if I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. He pushed the hoodie off my shoulders, revealing my thin tank top underneath—white, ribbed, tight. My nipples were already hard beneath the fabric.

His eyes dropped for half a second. “Fuck.”

“What?” I teased.

“You’re hot.” His voice dipped lower, rougher. “Didn’t expect that.”

I grinned. “You didn’t look me up before this?”

He leaned closer, lips near my ear. “Didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Fuck. That got to me. I shifted in my seat, squeezing my thighs together, and his hand didn’t miss it.

“You get turned on easily, don’t you?” he murmured.

“Only when someone says shit like that.”

He chuckled, and it vibrated straight through me. “Alright then. Let’s see how much you can take before we even get your clothes off.”

He turned to face me fully, his hand now resting between my thighs, thumb pressing lightly at the crease where leg met hip. I was still covered, but it felt dangerously intimate.

“Look at me,” he said. I did.

His hand moved to my waist, sliding under the hem of my shirt. His palm was warm on my bare skin, fingertips grazing my ribcage, tracing just under the curve of my breast. His thumb brushed upward, catching the edge of my nipple through the fabric—and I gasped, barely holding still.

“Sensitive?” he asked, eyes still locked on mine. I nodded, biting my lip.

He pinched lightly—just enough to make me jerk—and then soothed the spot with his palm.

“You’re already breathing like you’ve been at this for an hour.”

“Maybe I just like the way you touch,” I whispered.

He grinned again. “Yeah?”

His other hand cupped the back of my neck, fingers sliding into my hair as he leaned in. “I’m gonna kiss you now. Okay?”

I nodded. “Please.” And then he kissed me. Slow. Firm. One hand holding my jaw just right while the other teased under my shirt. His lips moved against mine like he had all the time in the world. He tasted like mint and something just a little bit sweet—god, it was unfair how good he was at this.

My mouth opened for him on instinct, tongue brushing his as he deepened the kiss. I whimpered before I meant to, and he smiled against my lips.

“There it is,” he murmured. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

He pulled me onto his lap. I didn’t even realize I’d moved until I felt his thighs beneath mine, the stretch of my skirt riding up, the thick press of him already hard beneath me.

“You wanna keep going?” he asked, hand splayed on my lower back.

“Yes.”

“You wanna keep your clothes on for now?”

I nodded again. “Let me stay like this.”

He gave a slow, approving nod. “Smart girl.”

I started to grind—tentatively, testing—and he held me tighter.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “That’s it. Just like that.”

His hands stayed on my waist, guiding me. My panties were soaked through already, and he hadn’t even touched me properly. His cock pressed up against my center through both layers, and the friction was delicious.

“Feel what you’re doing to me?” he whispered. I nodded. “Good. Don’t stop.” I didn’t.

I rocked against him slowly, rhythmically, trying to match the pace of his hands, trying not to let my moans get too loud. But the fabric was slick, and I was clenching around nothing, desperate for more. He leaned up to kiss me again, slower this time, while grinding back into me with little thrusts of his hips.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he whispered. “Using me to get yourself off. All clothed. So dirty, baby.”

God, baby—the way it rolled off his tongue nearly made me come.

“I wanna see you fall apart,” he said against my lips. “But not yet. Gotta take my time with you.”

I whimpered, hands clutching his shoulders. “Why?”

“‘Cause I want it to be unforgettable.”

I didn’t mean to drop to my knees. It just happened. One second, I was straddling him, moaning into his mouth, and the next, I was slipping down between his legs, hands trailing over his thighs like they belonged there. He didn’t stop me. Didn’t say a word—just leaned back on the couch and watched me with that slow-burning smirk, his chest rising and falling like he already knew what I was going to do next.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice husky.

I nodded as I settled between his thighs, reaching for the waistband of his sweats. “You’ve been hard since I got here.”

His brow ticked up. “And you think that means you get to do something about it?”

I looked up at him, tilted my head innocently. “I know I do.”

He grinned. “Cocky.”

“I learned from the best,” I said, tugging his sweats down just enough to free him. And fuck.

I’d seen it before—on screens, in videos—but nothing prepared me for the way it looked up close. Thick, long, already leaking at the tip. Veins along the shaft. His entire body was unfair, but this? This was just cruel.

I wrapped my hand around him slowly.

“You gonna stare at it all day, or you gonna do something?” he teased.

I licked a long stripe from the base to the tip, just to shut him up. His breath caught.

“Mouth open,” he murmured. I obeyed, letting my tongue hang out as I stroked him slowly. He was heavy in my hand, warm and twitching, and when I finally took him into my mouth, I moaned like it was for me, not him.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, his head tipping back. “You’re better than half the girls I’ve filmed with.”

I pulled back just enough to say, “That supposed to make me feel special?”

He looked down at me with a grin. “It should.” Then he shifted his hips forward a little, his hand slipping into my hair. “Hold still,” he said. “Let me fuck your mouth a little.”

I whimpered, nodding as he gathered my hair in his fist and guided me back down. His thrusts were slow at first, controlled, testing. He pushed past my lips and onto my tongue, letting me feel every inch. I hollowed my cheeks around him, drool already sliding down my chin. The angle made my throat ache—but I didn’t care. He watched every second.

“That’s it,” he praised. “Look at me. Eyes up. Fuck—just like that.” I moaned around him, and he groaned in return, gripping my hair tighter. “You like this?” he asked. “Being used a little?”

I blinked up at him, spit trailing from my lip to the base of his cock. “Yes.”

“How filthy are you, baby?”

I swallowed him deeper before answering. “Wanna choke on it.”

He smirked, that filthy edge sharpening in his eyes. “Greedy girl.”

He held my jaw and started to fuck into my mouth harder, sloppier. My mascara was running—I could feel it—and my knees were going numb, but I didn’t care. Not when he was groaning and panting above me, thumb wiping spit from the corner of my mouth.

“Open wider,” he growled. “Let me all the way in.”

I did. He pushed in until the tip hit the back of my throat, and I gagged—but he didn’t stop. He stayed there for a second, watching the tears spill down my cheeks before pulling back with a wet, obscene pop.

“Good girl,” he breathed. “Fuck, you’re perfect.” I blinked up at him, dazed and wrecked, lips puffy and slick. “You want me to come in your mouth?” he asked.

“No.” He raised a brow. “I want more than that.” He stared at me for a beat. Then he reached down, grabbed my arm, and pulled me gently to my feet.

“Take your clothes off.”

I hesitated, chest heaving. “All of them?”

“All of them,” he said softly. “Want to see what kind of mess I’ve made.”

I peeled off my hoodie first, even though it had already been unzipped. My tank top followed, sticky with sweat. Then my skirt. Then my panties—soaked, clinging to my thighs. His eyes drank me in.

“You’re soaked.”

“You made me like this.”

He stood up—slow, deliberate—and pressed a kiss to the corner of my mouth, then my neck, then lower, until he was kneeling in front of me.

“You ever squirt before?” he asked, voice low.

I swallowed hard. “No.”

He smirked. “Might today.” Then he leaned in and dragged his tongue across my inner thigh.

He didn’t go for my pussy right away. Instead, he kissed every inch around it—my thighs, the crease of my hip, the patch of skin just above my mound. His hands wrapped around my legs, holding me steady as he took his time. The anticipation had my stomach fluttering, my cunt clenching around nothing, desperate to be touched.

“Please,” I whispered, shifting.

He looked up at me from between my legs, his lips shiny with spit. “Yeah?”

I nodded, breath shaky. “I—I need—”

He slid one finger up my slit, slow as hell. “You need this?” he asked, teasing my clit with the lightest touch. “Or my mouth?”

“Both.”

He grinned. “Good answer.” Then he dove in.

His mouth latched around my clit like he’d missed it, like he owned it. His tongue flicked and sucked, alternating between slow pressure and fast strokes that made my legs tremble. I cried out, one hand gripping the back of the couch, the other tangled in his hair. He moaned against me when I tugged, and I felt it vibrate through my whole body.

“F-fuck,” I gasped. “Harry—”

“You taste so sweet,” he muttered between licks. “Could stay here all day.”

He pushed two fingers into me while his tongue kept working, curling them just right. My back arched off the couch, a moan ripping from my throat so loud I was sure the mic picked it up.

“That’s it,” he said. “Let them hear how good I’m making you feel.”

I was already on the edge, too fast, too intense—and he knew it.

“You close?” he asked, sliding his fingers faster, deeper, hitting every nerve ending I had.

I nodded, gasping. “Yes—yes—fuck, don’t stop—” He stopped. Pulled back. Fingers still inside me, but barely moving. I whimpered. “Why—”

“Cause I want you to come on my cock, not my tongue.”

“Fucking mean,” I whispered.

He smirked. “You like it.” I hated how right he was.

He stood and kicked off his sweats fully this time, leaving him completely naked—tall, lean, toned. Tattoos stretched across his chest, down his arms. His cock was heavy and thick, standing up proudly, still slick from my mouth. He grabbed a condom from the table behind him—but I stopped him with a hand on his wrist.

“Don’t,” I said softly. His eyes locked on mine.

“Are you sure?”

I nodded. “I’m clean. On the pill. I want to feel all of you.”

His jaw clenched. “Fuck, you’re gonna ruin me.”

He climbed back onto the couch, pulling me into his lap again. This time, we were both naked. Skin against skin. He lined himself up with one hand, the other gripping my waist.

“Take it slow,” he murmured. I did. I sank down on him inch by inch, gasping at the stretch, the burn, the way he filled me up so deep I thought I might break.

He kept eye contact the whole time. “Look at you,” he said. “Taking it so well.”

I whimpered when I bottomed out, thighs shaking.

“So fucking tight,” he growled. “You weren’t made for this, were you?”

I moaned. “Maybe I was made for you.” That broke something in him.

His hands gripped my hips, and he started to move—slow thrusts upward that hit just right. I rocked against him, chasing friction, rolling my hips as he fucked up into me.

“Say my name,” he ordered.

“Harry.”

“Louder.”

“Harry.”

“Tell me how it feels.”

“So fucking good,” I gasped. “You’re so deep—fuck—it’s so good.” His hand came up to my throat, not squeezing, just holding.

“You’re gonna come like this?” he asked. “Like a needy little slut in my lap?”

I nodded frantically. “Yes—please, I need it—I need to come—”

“Then come.”

I shattered. The orgasm hit like a wave, crashing through me in pulses that left me crying out his name, clinging to him, hips still rocking even as I trembled. He held me through it, whispered praise into my ear.

“Good girl,” he breathed. “So fucking good for me.” But he wasn’t done. He flipped me over onto the couch, face-down, ass up. “Not finished with you yet,” he growled.

He slid back into me easily, grabbing my hips and fucking into me hard now—rough, deep, animalistic. My cheek pressed against the cushion, mouth open as he pounded into me.

“You want it rough?” he panted. “You want to feel how hard you made me?”

“Y-yes—fuck—yes—”

He slapped my ass, hard. “Say you love it.”

“I fucking love it.”

“Say who’s fucking you.”

“Harry—Harry’s fucking me—please don’t stop—”

He leaned over me, one hand tangled in my hair, the other holding my throat as he fucked me from behind. Skin slapping, breath ragged, everything filthy and perfect.

“Gonna come on you,” he groaned. “Wanna see you dripping.”

“Yes,” I begged. “Do it—please—come on me—”

He pulled out just in time, stroking himself fast before spilling hot all over my lower back and ass, groaning through gritted teeth. I lay there, trembling, dripping, wrecked. Breathing like I’d run a marathon.

He exhaled a long breath, letting it hang in the quiet between us. The only sound now was the soft hum of the camera still rolling. The red light blinked steadily, like it had witnessed every filthy, raw second of what just happened. Harry sat back, eyes scanning over me like he wasn’t sure if he was done yet—or just trying to memorize how I looked. Wrecked. Flushed. My hair a mess. My thighs still trembling.

“Stay there a sec,” he said, voice a little rougher than before.

I blinked up at him, cheek still pressed to the couch cushion, and nodded. He disappeared for a moment and came back with a warm towel. He didn’t rush—just knelt beside me, gently wiping me clean, taking his time like he actually cared. And maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was just good at playing the part. But something about the way his fingers grazed my skin, soft and unhurried, made my chest ache.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, gaze flicking up to mine.

I nodded. “Yeah. Just… that was a lot.”

A slow grin pulled at his mouth. “Good lot or bad lot?”

“Really good.”

He handed me the towel and stood up to grab water bottles. When he tossed one to me, I caught it with shaky hands.

“You looked like you’ve done that before,” he said, sitting down beside me again—close, but not touching.

“I haven’t,” I replied, twisting the cap off. “Not like that.”

He raised a brow. “You sure?”

I smiled. “Trust me. I’d remember if someone ever made me feel like that before.” He went quiet, watching me sip.

“You ever actually plan on watching the footage?” I looked at him. At the blinking red light still recording.

“I kind of want to,” I admitted.

He nodded slowly. “I’ll show you mine… if you come back and film another one.” I stared at him, half smiling, half stunned.

“You saying that to everyone who comes through here?”

“Nope.” He leaned in just slightly, voice lower. “Just the ones who moan my name like they mean it.”

I laughed, flushed, and shook my head. “You’re dangerous.”

He smirked. “Only on camera.” I didn’t believe that for a second. But I wanted to find out.

[gremlin-girly]

Angelfish

Part of the Sun, Sea and Sirens Collection

Header by me in Canva, images sourced from Pinterest (credit to OG creators/posters) | Dividers by @/animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Lloyd Hansen x f!siren!reader

Not beta'd. I do not give permission for my work to be reposted, copied, translated or put through an AI machine. All of my work is 18+ so read at your own risk.

Tags/Warnings: death, blood mentions, hint of smut (nipple play, chasing, mention of having kids), sweet and fluffy too, Lloyd being Lloyd, talk of mates too!

Summary: Lloyd loves to show off his possessions; especially when when they're as beautiful as you.

Word Count: ~2.2k

A/N: I've been sitting on this one for a while, I hope you enjoy! This was supposed to be longer but I liked it short and sweet for these two 🐠

Lloyd Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Lloyd Hansen never, ever invites his henchmen to his home unless he's going to assign them to a strictly confidential job, promote them or kill them. So when Darren was invited, he was convinced he'd be one of the former two options.

Lloyd made sure to give him the grand tour, why bother with that if he was going to kill him? Lloyd's home was in the middle of nowhere, hidden away with a state of the art security system that money could buy. The house itself was modern and stupidly large; a display of wealth that Darren and many other of Lloyd's employees envied. Although, it wasn't as if Lloyd never got his hands dirty alongside his men, which was why he commanded such respect.

"Would you like to see the aquarium?" Lloyd asks, pouring whiskey into the two tumblers, handing one out to Darren. They'd ended the tour in the kitchen, either side of the island, with Darren rocking on his heels awkwardly. Lloyd still hadn't explained what he wanted.

"You have an aquarium?" Darren's eyes widen. He doesn't know why he's surprised, Lloyd lives in such a big, lavish house that of course the rich bastard would have an aquarium.

"'Course." Lloyd says smugly. "I like fish."

The aquarium wasn't just a tank.

It was a whole floor.

Walking through one heavy oak door in the basement led to a small oval room no larger than ten feet wide with reinforced glass panels from floor to cieling covering a good ninety percent of what would have been a normal room.

There was a small loveseat, brown leather, and a fur rug beneath it with an end table off to the side in the centre of the room but no lights. The light came from the tank. Huge, tree-like stems of seaweed disappeared upwards towards bright, white lights. Some fish swam by, some big some small, but Darren shivered. It felt like he was being watched.

Lloyd gestured to the seat behind him as he stepped towards the glass and rapped on it loudly. Some of the fish disappeared, some paid it no mind.

Darren took a seat, unable to shake the unease. He didn't even want to distract himself with what Lloyd did down here. He surely didn't just... watch the fish in the dark? He knew the guy was a freak but that was taking it too far.

"How much did it cost you?" Darren says, taking in the room again. It had to go further back.

"A pretty penny." Lloyd whistles, peering through the glass like he's looking for something. "Custom built and all that jazz. The filters, the fish, the food."

Lloyd turns back to Darren with another shark grin. "It spans the length of the house."

"And if it bursts?"

Lloyd scoffs and taps the glass again. "Re-en-forced." He punctuates. "But - I also made sure they put pipes throughout as a fail safe."

Darren hums in acknowledgement and Lloyd frowns into the glass, his sigh creating a little bit of condensation that he draws a smiley face in. "Wanna to see how I feed them?"

The walkways across the tops of the tank criss cross in a number of sections, illuminated only by the white lights underneath that made the dark water reflect silver. Lloyd strolled across it with practiced ease, banging a bucket full of what looked like blood and pieces of meat while Darren teetered and struggled to keep his balance.

"Here fishy fishy!" Lloyd calls out and Darren wonders if he might actually be insane.

"What- what's in the bucket?"

"Chum." Lloyd says cheerily but doesn't elaborate further.

Water ripples along the surface, a flash of white in the darkness. What the hell kind of fish does he have that are that big?

Swallowing nervously, Darren wipes his hands on his jeans and follows Lloyd until he stops. The stench of blood tickles at his nostrils and he grimaces, watching Lloyd carefully.

"Do you know I have to keep the temperature just right in this thing? Too cold they die, too hot they boil. Pain in my ass." Lloyd sighs and shakes his head, hands on his hips before looking at Darren. "You know why you're here, right?"

Darren stiffens. There's that smile again - you never know what Lloyd is thinking. It's off-putting. Dangerous.

The water ripples again, closer this time, and Darren shivers. Lloyd didn't specify what fish he had in this tank and given his nature: it probably wasn't something Darren wanted to see face to face.

Darren shakes his head slowly. "Uh. No, sir. I don't."

Lloyd clicks his tongue and hums thoughtfully. It's loud, bordering on obnoxious, but there's something about the way Darren can feel the vibration through the metal of the walkway that makes fear seep into his bones. He stops after a moment and sighs, fixing Darren with a sheepish look.

"She's a little shy today."

Darren blinks, today was getting crazier by the second. "Sir?"

Lloyd waves a hand before kicking over the chum bucket letting the thick congealed blood and offal pour into the water below. Below the surface, in the light of the walkway, fish begin to appear. There's a variety, some colourful - some not, but there's nothing as big that looks like the tail Darren saw earlier.

"Look. I know about the deal you worked with one of the agents in the CIA." Lloyd shrugs. "I get both sides; up and coming agent, a great opportunity for you to make a load of cash..."

Darren's blood freezes. He can't move. The only people that knew about the deal were him and the agent. And if that were true that meant the agent truly worked for Lloyd...

"That agent doesn’t work for me." Lloyd says, reading Darren's expression. "But he did work for a friend of mine. Problem is he was a terrible brag - that's like rule one of spy school by the way. You don't brag about your plans."

Did. It didn't take a genius to figure out the agent was already dead and gave up Darren in the hopes he would be allowed to live. That was laughable when he was dealing with Lloyd Hansen.

"You're going to kill me now, aren't you?"

"No shit, Sherlock." Lloyd snaps, shaking his head slightly. "I pay you well, I pay you to keep you loyal and you betray me? Why the hell would I let you go? So you could do it again?"

Darren winces and tries to force his feet to slide backwards across the walkway. "Gonna feed me to the fish like some mafioso?" He spits, anger finally over taking the fear. "God, you're fucking nuts Hansen."

Lloyd scratches head and then shrugs again, clearly unsurprised nor offended by the accusation. "I mean, they'll clean you down to the bone which saves me money and time. Work smarter not harder."

"You're not human." Darren says, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I never said I was." Lloyd grins.

Darren charges at Lloyd with a roar - a last ditch attempt to escape the hellish mansion, and his death by killing Lloyd first. Whilst Lloyd looks surprised by the outburst, he steps back and to the side so that where Darren should have collided with him, he is now perpendicular to him. All it takes is a hard shove to Darren's ribs to send him off the edge of the walkway and into the water, scattering the fish below.

Darren swims upwards in a blind panic and reappears gasping for air, staring up at Lloyd who is in the middle of stripping. Lloyd is mid-fold of his shirt when he spots Darren's soggy form and smiles.

"You really thought running at me would work?" Lloyd shakes his said like a disappointed parent. "Honestly, I expected mo-"

Darren disappears. There's no scream, no loud splashing. He just vanishes. Lloyd blinks at the calm of the water surface for a moment and then Darren reappears about six feet from where he disappeared, frantically splashing trying to get back to the walk way.

Lloyd watches as he takes off his shoes, hearing Darren's gargled call of his name before he vanishes again, for longer this time.

As Lloyd begins to undo the buckle of his belt, Darren's battered body is launched out of water, splashing centimeters from the walkway, soaking Lloyd. Lloyd rolls his eyes and continues to remove his clothes. Darren's body is facedown in the water; he wasn't dead ... yet.

"Honeybear, don't be like that." Lloyd faux-pouts with a small smile, crouching to dapple his fingers into the warm water. He waits for a moment and as he goes to retreat a hand jumps from the water grab his wrist and yank him forwards; sending Lloyd toppling head first into the tank.

When the bubbles clear from his fall, Lloyd's blue eyes flit around him until they settle on a figure swimming towards him.

"My love," Your voice, serene and angelic, travels through the water clear as day. "I wish you would stop bringing trash into our home. You know how much I hate it."

Lloyd pushes forward with a beaming grin, meeting you halfway. You looked radiant - you always did - wearing nothing but your wedding and engagement rings and a delicate teardrop pearl on a white gold twist chain around your neck. All gifts from him.

You're trying to look annoyed as he twists around you, making your tails intertwine but when his hands find your hips, the corners of your mouth twitch.

"Angelfish," Lloyd coos playfully at you, his moustache tickling the back of your neck as he places sweet kisses there. "Forgive me."

You beat the end of your tail to move upwards, twisting to glower teasingly at him. His and your hair dances freely around you like halos in the light; weightless and free.

"You're lucky I love you." You dip your head to press your lips against his and allow his hands to guide your hips back down so that your pearly iridescent tail flush with his black-and-white tiger striped one. You both smile into the kiss and your arms wrap around his neck and broad shoulders lazily. When you both part, you gaze up at your mate as he spins you gently in a circle, starting to hum a song hoping you'll join in this time.

You concede to his request and for a few minutes, you both float entwined together in song - as one - and happiness radiates between you both. That is until you look up and see Darren's now-dead body and huff a bubble of irritation up to the surface.

"But I mean it, Lloyd. Stop bringing them here."

"But you know I love watching you terrify them." Lloyd half whines, following your gaze upwards and admiring the huge purple welt across Darren's ribs. "Look - you even broke his ribs this time!"

You growl quietly, frown deepening despite Lloyd's nuzzling of your neck. You didn't like strangers in your home; baser instincts came into play and more often than you'd like a dead body was left somewhere in the tank.

"My Angel," Lloyd murmurs, his hands releasing your hips and trailing to your hands, bringing them to his lips. Your frown melts away despite your annoyance. Your husband had such a way of charming you even when you were annoyed. "Have I ever told you how gorgeous you are?"

"Yes," you tease, brushing your nose against his. "But tell me again. Tell me for the rest of the night."

"That can be arranged." Lloyd licks his lips slowly, eyes shamelessly roaming your figure. "You know that water bed finally showed up."

You snort and pull a face as Lloyd wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "Oh Gods. Why would you order such a thing?"

"Because I thought, as merfolk, we should try it out." Lloyd winks at you, kissing at any bare skin he can find.

"Absolutely not!" You squeal and swim away from him quickly, disappearing around a strategically placed boulder.

"We're obligated by nature." Lloyd laughs and gives chase, inching around the boulder as you do the same, pulling yourself diagonally up the rock by your fingertips so you could pat Lloyd's ass and dart away further into the tank.

With a squawk of surprise, Lloyd makes a grab for you, missing you by centimetres.

"Playing hard to get, honey?" Lloyd teases, following you through a rocky archway. "Just like when we first met."

"Mm." You purposefully hum, looking back long enough to see Lloyd shiver at the sound and head towards the dark patch of green underwater plants, hoping to lose him.

You swim through the thick, tall vegetation but as you reach forward and you knot your hand to pull, the plant twists and you cant get free. You panic slightly as you tug and you wrist remains locked in place, excitement rushing through your veins knowing Lloyd would be on you any second.

"This is also like when we first met." Lloyd murmurs from behind you, ghosting his fingers over the exposed flesh of your stomach to make you squirm.

"Lloyd..." You pout at him.

"You know, you're just as beautiful as the day we first met." He purrs into your ear, catching your other wrist as you make a half-attempt to swat at him.

"And you're just as handsome." You chuckle as his other strong arm wraps around your waist and holds you close. His body is warm against yours and you relax into him.

"I think I'd like to see how our beautiful genes would look like combined." He noses your cheek gently, watching your eyes grow wide with surprised excitement.

"Are you serious?"

"Deadly." He grins, tweaking your nipples playfully to make you whine. "Whaddya think?"

"I think," you begin, giving your husband - your mate - a breathless smile. "We should find out just how buoyant this water bed is."

Angelfish END

A/N: Hiiii! How we feeling? Just thought I'd come down here and say thank you for reading and impartl some fun facts about Angelfish that helped me build these two love birds (fish?) - because I'm a nerd like that. Definitely think I may have to do some drabbles of them in the future.

1. Angelfish are tropical and freshwater fish with variety of colours. Lloyd's tail is similar to the freshwater variant found in the Amazon (like Tiger stripes, their colouring helps to camouflage them!)

2. Angelfish mate for life and they raise their young together 🥺

3. Angelfish are super territorial ;)

Taglist - Add yourself here

@stargazingfangirl18 @irishhappiness @pandaxnienke @looking1016 @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @almostglitterybear @blackhawkfanatic @peaches1958 @bridgetina @steviebbboi @late-to-the-party-81 @brianochka @dontbescaredtosingalong @waywardwifey @queen-honeybee-stories @alicedopey

[neon11seo]

Custom Neon Signs & Lighting | Neon Creative Concept 11

Neon Creative Concept 11 designs custom neon signs with advanced tech, offering vibrant colors and lighting effects. Check out our unique creations on our site!

[glowcircuit]

I built a miniature Va11 Hall-A Bar inside of my PC!!

Va11 Hall-A PC Parts & Build list

PC:

CPU : Intel I9 14900k

GPU: Intel Arc A770 16gb

Ram: Corsair Dominator 64gb 5600

Mobo: Maxsun Terminator Z790 D5 wifi

Hard drives M.2: Samsung 990 pro 2tb, Samsung 970 evo plus 1tb, CT 1tb,                                 Adata 500gb

PSU: ROG Thor 850 P2

Cables: Cablemod.com custom shortened and sleeved

Water loop distro : EKWB FLT 120 reservoir + D5 pump

Water loop cpu block: ThermalTake Pacific Mx2 Ultra 

Water loop radiators: Alphacool HPE 20 x 2

Water loop hardware: 15 Alphacool, 3 EKWB, 2 Alphacool soft, 2 granzon    

Water loop tubes: EKWB Acrylic tube 14mm, Alphacool 13/10 soft

Air Cooling : ThermalTake Toughfan 120mm x 3  + Controller

Air Cooling : Noctua 40mm pwm server fan x 2 (non visible)

Additional RGB Control : Coolermaster controller

Case:

Lian Li PC V600, left side mount, released in 2006, I acquired it in 2015 from PC Recycle in sodo Seattle.

I had to track down a new foot, one had been missing since I acquired the case (ebay)

Mods:These are the case mods I did personally

Cut a hole for the cpu mounts in the Motherboard mount plate as this case was designed for older hardware 

Cut two 120mm blowholes and added aluminum covers (Dremel)

Cut Front and rear windows into side panels (Dremel Max)

Moved PSU from vertical placement in the lower right side of the case in front of the CPU  to horizontal placement in the top left in old drive bays. 

The PSU bracket had to be cut to show the OLED on the side. 

Modded the side panel rail slide to accommodate the PSU, I used the original aluminum stand the psu was on, cut in half and epoxied with JB weld. 

Changed and moved Power/ Reset switch to the back of the case, shortened and spliced the cable

I cut and bent my own 14mm acrylic tubes (hobby miter, heat gun). 

Cut and made two way mirror for the front panel

Plastic "truss" is both functional and aesthetic. It came from a Gunpla accessory kit and has two cables passing through it and it acts as the GPU support. I could only get red and had to paint it.

Notice that some logos are missing/ covered, I dislike having a case as an advertisement. The Rog eye on the PSU is mostly covered but iykyk, most of the word "Intel" on the ARC GPU, Two of the Thermaltake logos on the fan edges, the Paint on the Thermaltake Mx2 Ultra and Maxsun terminator heatsink. (I will eventually cover the visible SSD with a heat sink, cover the fan info on the rear and work a cover for the word "dominator"). the one logo explicitly unchanged is the LianLi case badge, if I think of a perfect replacement, maybe then.

Mod I did not do:

I did NOT shorten and sleeve my own cables, I used cable-mod.com. I am not confident in my ability to do this.

BAR:

"Bar Tiny" Re-ment sets from Japan, 17 sets involved. 

 I customized the color of the bar and chairs and shortened one table for the mezzanine. The whole bar, minus barback- is on a removable 7 inch piece of black acrylic for cleaning.

Jill Stingray Nendoroid

Jils Cat, it sleeps on the GPU

Jill Stool: Jill is glued to a cute doll stool to see over the bar

Jill Accessories non-Nendoroid: cellphone, purse, coat (ebay)

Dorothy Haze Nendoroid

will be added on release.

Bar Back:I made this myself

Black acrylic sheet, and frosted acrylic rods.

Doll Light power kit: 8 Led lights, 4 incandescent lights

USB Doll light power strip

Other Bar Accessories:

Overhead Hanging farmhouse light

trash, mop, broom, pan, mop bucket, 

2 blue fuzzy chairs 

Miniature plants

Miniature Microphone

Mini bottle Dom Perignon, an xmas gift from my friend nemo, it's

 on the top shelf 

Problems and changes:

1. ARGB, pretty pretty pain in the ass. 4 pieces of software........

2. The water loop was changed extensively as hardware came in and space limitations were discovered. The biggest change is that I originally planned to have one radiator on the front of the case, the tubes running over Jills head and to light the tubes as lighting for the bar, to do this the fan would have been in the case proper pushing the whole bar to far into the mobo, it didn't work, so the loop was moved to the top of the case and caused me to have one complex bent tube 

 Second, I had planned the loop to use one sideport on the distro, but space limitation moved both ports to the top causing the complex fittings setup in that corner.   

3. The MOBO, sigh. This has been clearly the most challenging choice I made in this build, I really wanted it to work perfectly too, but I rolled those dice because: Aesthetic+function, the board I wanted (https://en.colorful.cn/en/home/product?mid=84&id=400d19bc-5655-49e1-b391-df00b60935ef) was to great a risk for the cost. This was a silver medal. 

I generally dislike the design options I had in the Z790 series of the big board makers (I  HATE big logos), especially the full ATX, there was one M that interested me, I should have picked it . This board has potential, but the BIOS is underdeveloped and compatibility has been problematic, I had to do a tricky outdated style BIOS update right from the box, and have had to reset the cmos a couple times. It skips BIOS on general boot and though stable, it will have to be addressed eventually, it doesn't have a proper sleep because of some issue between uefi & legacy. It may end up replaced, which will require a full build teardown.

the Turbo fan built into the board doesn't seem to function

Alos, the two argb connections on the mobo dont work, or I can't get them to recognize anything, necessitating the Coolermaster controller for the PSU and Distro. it is shoved behind the distro along with a Noctua 40mm

[goldie-s4]

Blissplash ( + Free Gift )

Details + Download links under the cut.

Bathroom set.

32 New objects.

Contains: ( 4 Sinks - 2 Tubs - 4 wall panels with LED lights - 2 end tables - 5 shower glass panels - A shower - 2 shower deco water - A shower seat - A pendant light - A mirror - A stool seat - Marble trims - Marble walls - Marble floors, and others ).

All Tested in game and Base game compatible (except for the LED light files they require Spa Day to work).

HQ Textures with custom normal and specular maps.

Custom Thumbnails

You can find the objects in game by typing (Goldie) or (Blissplash) in search.

Full set + Free Gift (direct - no ads).

More Images:

[luciacaminoz]

APOLOGY for the gaslight gamerbro himself perhaps? idk i would just love it if you had a reason to make julian grovel for his wife just a lil

Hearts/Wires (2.2k, nsfw)

February 2021

Here’s the thing about Julian Sim: when he wants to gut you, he uses a scalpel, not a cleaver.

The main area of the penthouse haven is all dark wood, black marble, muted LED underglow—reeking ego.

Three neon-lit servers hum like a hive mind stacked neatly in a small, panelled alcove; on top, a lacquered black terminal and various split-screen monitors. There’s an entire wall of vintage gaming consoles and rare, limited edition collector’s items, all bespoke shelving and shiny sleek casing.

A cyber koi dominates another wall on a matte black canvas, silver and teal metallic paint catching light, glowing circuit-board patterns along the scales and through its fins. There’s an Eames chair beneath that; dark grey, horrific little Licker plush perfectly centered, and a thin, bioluminescent algae tank splits the space, tints everything in cyan.

Portishead’s Glory Box is an audio autopsy; drags lazily from somewhere.

Sol leans against the back of a leather suite by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching her first snowfall skirl thick over the city. Elena’s in the HQ sublevel garage; Nadia’s still spying downtown.

Julian’s fingers fly over a tablet.

“Hey,” he says.

Sol just glances over her shoulder.

He swivels in his chair, grinning—that fuckboy grin. That one.

“Got something for you.”

“If it’s another USB drive of NFTs I swear to god, Julian, I’m out.”

“Nope.” He stands, all lean lines in his stupidly expensive techwear, and gestures to a black case on the marble-topped kitchen island. “Open it.”

She saunters over, pops the latches.

Inside: a leather jacket—deep shade of grey-brown, oversized, buttery-soft, lined with Kevlar. The back’s embroidered with two tiny hummingbirds in black and silver thread; the cuffs studded with citrine and gunmetal hardware. Sewn into the pocket: a rosary—each bead delicately carved obsidian.

“Customized the Kevlar weave,” he says, too casual. “Stops .50 cals, UV-resistant, self-healing nano-fibers. Also, y’know. Looks hot on you.”

Sol runs a thumb over the hummingbirds.

“You had this made?”

“Nadia sourced the leather. I did the code for the nano-fibers.” He steps closer, smelling of designer cologne and mint gum—he’d held another 2100X lecture at the University of Denver earlier this evening. “And the embroidery’s mine. Took a week. Fuckin’… needlework.” He mimes stabbing himself. “Torture.”

Sol keeps her expression carefully neutral.

“You should’ve stuck to hacking.”

“Probably.” His grin fades.

The jacket’s perfect. Infuriatingly perfect. So perfect she wants to cry or hurl him through the ten-storey window. Instead, she shucks off her old one, slides into the new. It molds to her—alive.

Sol can’t help the small smile. Her palms run along the smooth leather and she turns to him with a brow raised, exaggerated bedroom-eyes: Like what you see?

Julian’s gaze darkens. He closes the distance and smirks as he fixes her collar, tucking loose hair behind her ear, and it’s like every drop of squirming vitae in her system suddenly streams towards his touch.

She slaps his hand away.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t do that. The… soft shit.”

He catches her wrist.

“You’re mad. I get it, Sol. Be fucking mad.” They’re chest-to-chest, her back against the counter, so close his breath ghosts her scar. “But let me at least try while you’re mad.”

“Try?” She snorts. “Try what? Try to fix this? You get fucking and fighting and nothing else. You don’t know the first—”

Julian drops to his knees.

Sol shivers.

Hands on both sides of her hips, his mouth laves a hot, pleading stripe up the inner seam of her jeans. Sol grips the counter’s edge, knuckles white.

“Julian,” she hisses, but her thighs part anyway. Fuck him. Fuck his pretty little mouth, fuck his goddamn eyes—wide and wet like he’s the one being gutted. She shoves him back, but he catches her foot, pressing a kiss to the snake at her ankle. “Fuck. You.”

“You first,” he murmurs, tugging her jeans down.

She should knee him in the fucking face. She should. Instead his breath scalds through the fabric of her underwear and she whines like a kicked dog. He noses her clit, deliberately slow, savoring.

Sol’s head thuds back against the cabinet. She fists his hair—god, his hair, still so fucking soft, no one but her allowed to mess with the stupid fucking coiff—and grinds down.

“Hate you.” It sounds laughable on the tail end of a moan.

“Mmhmm.” Julian drags her panties with his teeth, then bites the fleshy inside of her thigh hard enough to leave a bruise. Two fingers slide into her, curling exactly right, and she hates how he remembers her body. “Tell me again, Sol.”

She doesn’t. She can’t, because his tongue replaces his fingers, lapping at her like she’s the last O-neg he’ll ever fucking see. The whimper chokes out of her throat, sharp, shallow, broken. Julian groans against her, vibration ratcheting her even higher.

“Solona,” he rasps, fucking her with his tongue now, deep and filthy. “Missed you. Missed how you taste—”

Her legs almost give out. Her claws unfurl, digging into the marble.

“Shut—fuck—shut up—”

He doesn’t. It’s Julian—he talks; words muffled but relentless against her clit.

“I remember when you used to beg me not to stop—”

“Julian—”

“Beg.”

“Go to hell—”

He pulls back, cold air hitting her soaked cunt. Sol nearly sobs. He looks up at her, lips glistening, pupils huge.

“Say it.”

She slaps him.

He blinks; when he meets her eyes he’s smiling again—shit-eating, I’m-untouchable—but his hands tremble.

She holds his gaze for two seconds before her heel slams his shoulder.

Julian crashes back into the algae tank, cyan light rippling violently over the room. In that moment he looks scary; his fangs drop with one slick schlick, eyes flat black fucking fury—

Then he laughs.

“You’re savage tonight.” He staggers up, licking vitae from the cut on his palm. He sounds as unhinged as she feels, spreading his arms like some shitty messiah. “Okay, Solona. Hurt me.”

She’s on him, fangs bared, slamming him against the server wall. Monitors clatter; the Licker plush tumbles to the floor. Julian’s cock strains against his pants, and the scent of his blood—wired monsoon nights, algorithmic zips of lightning; hers, her Sire’s, mine mine mine—drags a guttural moan from deep in her chest.

“Hate you,” she sobs, clawing his shirt open. “HATE.”

“I know. I know—”

It’s not a kiss she pulls him into. It’s teeth and tongue and ten years of fucked-up festering feelings. Sol shreds his belt with her claws. He lifts her onto the marble counter, ice-cold against her bare skin, and she resents how easy it brings her back—how his hands stay gentle, how his cock twitches against her stomach, leaking and desperate, how she wants to curl up and keep him inside her forever.

“Sol, look at me,” he whispers.

“No.”

“Please.”

“You left,” she snarls.

“I came back. I was always coming back.”

“To use me.”

“And you let me. Is that what you want to hear?”

She slaps him again, harder, tips of her claws splitting skin; two thin jagged slices across his cheek bone.

The crack echoes. Julian’s head snaps sideways, hair falling over his eyes. He touches the blood blooming beneath his eye and just sighs.

“Feel better?”

“No.”

He cups her jaw, pressing his forehead to hers and Sol exhales a shuddering breath between them.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Forget it. Just fuck me.” Her eyes are steepling with red. She’s using every gram of composure to keep them from running over.

Julian fucks her like he’s trying to carve an apology into her bones. Sol fucks him like she’s digging a grave.

Her heels cut into the small of his back. The counter’s edge bites into her ass. He slows, angling deeper, hitting that spot that makes her vision white. It’s a conscious effort to retract the claws, but she does, finally gripping his shoulders, grasping the nape of his neck, their foreheads still tight together.

“Look at me.” Begging. Begging. “Solona, please.”

Sol opens her eyes and stares into him the way she did when she thought he hung the stars.

Then, tears.

“Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—” The words glitch out of him—staccato, inelegant, cracking. His thumbs swipe, smearing blood like warpaint.

He kisses her. It’s clumsy. It’s not enough. It’s everything. His lips tremble against hers, hands cradling her face like she’s made of cracked glass.

She kisses him back, nails digging crescents into the softness of his neck. Blood mingles metallic and salt-bitter between them. Julian’s hips stutter, buried to the hilt, chest hitching.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” he repeats against her mouth.

She doesn’t answer. She wraps her legs tighter around him. Her hips roll slow now, aching, like she’s trying to fuse their skeletons.

Julian matches her pace, each thrust deep and punctuated—I’m. Here. I’m. Here.

His kiss trails along the thin ridge of her scar, her throat, her collarbone, every mole and freckle he finds there. When she comes, it’s silent—clenching around him, full-body shudder. Julian follows with a choked groan, forehead to her sternum, watching mingled vitae paint her thighs.

For a long moment, they stay like that, suspended—sticky, bleeding, Julian’s arms locked around her waist like she’ll ash if he lets go.

The algae tank continues to pulse, low and steady.

Sol shoves him.

He stumbles back, red scratches across his cheek almost closed over, Dior shirt hanging in tatters. She eases off the counter, legs shaky, and stalks to the bathroom. Julian follows, silent, hovering in the doorway as she splashes cold water on her face.

“Sol—”

“Don’t. Please.”

He doesn’t.

She strips, steps into the shower. Julian leans against the sink, watching through the glass as steam fogs the edges of her silhouette. When she’s done, he’s there with a towel—

Sol snatches it, wrapping herself tight.

Julian’s fingers brush her wrist.

“Let me fix your hair.”

“Fuck off.”

He retrieves a comb from the drawer anyway.

She gives him a look… but perches on the toilet lid.

Julian kneels behind her, carefully detangling the damp mass of waves. He used to do this—since the first weeks after her Embrace, when her hair would snarl from Sonoran winds whipping through the Geo and in the later 00s after messier Camarilla hit jobs. His fingers move in gentle, practiced patterns.

“We’re so fucked up,” she mutters.

“Maybe.”

“Lettow should’ve killed us both in Tucson.”

His mouth twitches.

They don’t speak after that. She leans into his touch despite herself.

Julian finishes her hair, silently debating a shower. Not wanting to leave her alone long, he burns vitae to blur through the motions, veins sparking with hunger, then dresses in a faded Evangelion t-shirt and black sweatpants.

Ridiculous, giddying relief slumps his shoulders when he walks back out into the living area and finds Sol slouched in the Eames chair, toeing the Licker plush on the floor, wearing one of his older hoodies—still raiding his wardrobe even here, even now.

Snow whirls behind her in the darkness outside, choking Denver’s skyline. Her eyes are closed, head drooped, limbs heavy, and he feels it too—the pressure droning behind his brow bone, blood beginning to stick and clump as arteries dry up to collapse. Dawn’s close.

Julian rakes his fingers through damp, painfully mussed and un-styled hair, and grabs the prayer mat tucked in a compartment beside the arch leading to the bedroom. It’s silk, deep olive green and embroidered—ayat al-Kursi in delicate gold calligraphy.

“Prayer time,” he says lightly, mostly to bridge the awkwardness stretching between them.

Sol looks up and frowns. He’s paler than usual, deep circles under his eyes, movements sluggish as he hits in a key code on the far wall and then lays out his mat.

“Skip it.”

Julian pauses.

“You know I can’t.”

She strains and stands, grabbing the Licker plush and what can only be an incredibly expensive throw blanket from the arm of the leather suite.

Julian watches, an almost imperceptible tightening in his jaw, as she follows him over, drops both to the floor beside him, and lies down.

“Fucking hypocrite.” She sighs, eyes closing. “You think Allah’s cool with diablerie?”

“He’s cool with me surviving sunrise.” Julian shrugs. “I’ll be quick.”

She watches him kneel, forehead pressed to the rug, earring glinting as he rocks forward, and thinks he looks beautiful like this.

The murmured Arabic is a familiar rhythm. She’s listened to it a thousand times as a fledgling in their trailer, but tonight it aches differently.

When he finishes, he doesn’t move.

“Julian?”

“I meant what I said in Santa Fe, Sol. Monterrey’s yours if you want it,” he says quietly. “I’ll follow you. No scripts. No strings.”

“No backseat Blood Sorcery?”

He finally flashes a smile at her, but she’s still lying on her back, eyes closed. He rolls up the mat with quick precision, even half-dead and mid-dying, and crawls over.

“None.”

“Liar.” Sol opens her arms.

He collapses into her, face buried in the crook of her neck.

“Missed this,” he mumbles.

“Missed you whining through Fajr.”

“Mean.” He flicks her nipple through the fabric.

Sol tugs his hair just enough to hurt. Julian purrs, fucking purrs, like some deranged cat.

Right before daysleep takes her:

“...Thank you. For the jacket.”

Julian smiles against her skin.

“Wait til you see what’s in the garage.”

[ prompt list ]

[shiorihyugawrites]

Throne of Flowers

In the opulent court of Valoria, Emperor Solomon and Mikasa Ackerman fight to rewrite a 300-year-old law demanding four noble consorts, determined to make their love the empire’s heart.

As a foreign soldier turned ambassador, Mikasa faces nobles’ scorn and political schemes, while Solomon balances duty and devotion. With allies like Empress Dowager Solana and foes lurking in the empty Rose, Lily, Dahlia, and Peony houses, their bond is tested by tradition, ambition, and secrets.

Can they forge a future where love, not law, reigns supreme? Sequel to Diamond Of The First Water (Mikasa x OC)

Chapter One: A New Dawn

The Valorian sun blazed over the imperial city, its golden light cascading across rooftops and spires, transforming the harbor into a shimmering expanse of liquid fire. The air hummed with the rhythm of a thriving port—gulls wheeling overhead, their cries mingling with the shouts of merchants and the creak of ropes against weathered docks. 

Mikasa Ackerman stood at the bow of a sleek Valorian ship, its rosewood hull polished to a gleam, its crimson sails snapping in the salt-laced breeze. Her cloak billowed, dark and unadorned, a stark contrast to the vibrant city unfolding before her. Valoria was a marvel, its marble facades and bustling markets a world apart from Paradis’s scarred hills, yet this arrival carried a weight she’d never felt before. She wasn’t here as a scout, nor merely as an ambassador for Paradis. She was here to marry Solomon, the emperor whose love had awakened a part of her she’d long buried—a part that believed she was worthy of a gentle, unwavering devotion.

Her fingers gripped the rail, calloused from years of wielding blades, a flicker of nerves coiling in her chest like a coiled spring. She was a foreigner, a soldier forged in the crucible of war, stepping into a court that revered noble blood and polished grace. The 300-year-old law mandating four consorts loomed like a storm cloud, its tradition a barrier that could shatter her dreams. As a Paradisian, with no lineage to claim, she’d face scrutiny, whispers, perhaps even scorn. Yet Mikasa’s heart held fast, anchored by her belief in Solomon and the love they’d nurtured. His emerald eyes, alight with passion, his voice promising a future where she was his only empress—these were her armor. They’d find a way, together, to bend the unyielding tides of Valorian custom. Her resolve hardened, a soldier’s discipline merging with a lover’s hope, as she scanned the docks, her dark eyes sharp beneath the morning glare.

The ship docked with a gentle lurch, the gangplank lowering to reveal a cadre of palace staff, their crimson-and-gold uniforms crisp, their expressions a mix of deference and curiosity. A young servant, barely older than a recruit, hurried forward to collect her two modest trunks, his eyes wide as he hefted them with care. A steward, an older woman with silver hair pinned neatly, stepped forward, her stern face softening with a smile. “Lady Mikasa, welcome to Valoria,” she said, her voice warm but measured, her bow precise. “His Majesty has arranged your transport. This way, if you please.”

Mikasa nodded, her posture steady despite the flutter in her stomach. “Thank you,” she said, her voice calm, honed by years of command. The steward led her to an opulent carriage, its panels gleaming. Silk curtains framed the windows, and the horses—sleek bays with braided manes—stamped impatiently. This was no ordinary transport; it was a declaration, a testament to Solomon’s heart. The steward opened the door, and Mikasa’s breath caught at the sight within: a bouquet of roses, their petals a deep, velvety crimson, rested on the velvet seat, their fragrance rich and heady. Beside them lay a sealed letter, Solomon’s elegant script unmistakable against the cream parchment.

Her fingers trembled as she lifted the note, breaking the wax seal with care, as if it were a sacred relic. The words danced before her, each one a spark igniting her heart:

To my beautiful fiancée,

 I cannot wait to see and hold you in my arms again. I yearn for the moment I get to feel my lips on yours once more. I have a surprise for you when you arrive at the palace. 

Forever yours,

Solomon.

Her heart leapt, a warmth flooding her chest as she pressed the letter to her lips, the roses’ scent enveloping her like a lover’s embrace. Solomon’s notes, his small gestures of devotion, were the threads that had woven their love. Their story had begun unevenly—his boyish crush, ardent and unguarded, met with her skepticism, a soldier wary of a prince’s charm. She’d seen him as a fleeting distraction, a noble too bright for her shadowed world. But Solomon had been relentless, his affection steadfast, his laughter and sincerity chipping away at her defenses. When she’d finally agreed to a chance, his joy had been a sunburst, his love unwavering since. Every promise, every touch, had proven him true, and now she was here, ready to claim their future.

The steward’s voice broke her reverie, gentle but curious. “Is everything to your satisfaction, my lady?” she asked, her eyes flicking to the roses, a spark of intrigue in her gaze.

“Yes, perfectly,” Mikasa said, her voice steady, though she caught the servant’s whispered exchange with another—a hushed speculation about the flowers, the letter, the carriage’s extravagance. This was no diplomat’s welcome; it was the emperor’s heart laid bare. The staff’s murmurs grew, their eyes darting to Mikasa, the beautiful soldier from Paradis who’d captured Solomon’s devotion. He’d delayed choosing a consort, a break from tradition that had set the court ablaze, and her arrival in such splendor fueled gossip that would race through the city like wildfire. Mikasa straightened, her chin lifting, her resolve a shield against the whispers. She was here for Solomon, for their love, and no court’s judgment would sway her.

The carriage rolled through Valoria’s streets, its wheels humming on cobblestones, the city unfolding like a living tapestry. Market stalls brimmed with silks, spices, and gleaming trinkets, their colors a riot under the sun. Musicians strummed lutes in shaded squares, their melodies weaving through the chatter of vendors and the laughter of children darting through crowds. Noble women glided past, their gowns a cascade of satin and lace, their hair adorned with jeweled pins, their movements a study in grace. 

Mikasa watched them, a flicker of insecurity stirring. She was no court lady, her hands scarred from blades, her posture shaped by barracks, not ballrooms. Her cloak and boots felt plain against their elegance, her Paradisian simplicity a stark contrast to Valoria’s opulence. But Solina’s gifts—a trunk of tailored dresses, lessons in noble etiquette—bolstered her confidence. Solina had taught her to navigate Valoria’s customs, from the art of a curtsy to the subtleties of courtly speech, ensuring she wouldn’t falter. Mikasa’s lips curved, gratitude for her friend warming her. 

The journey was peaceful, the weather a gift of clear skies and gentle breezes, allowing Mikasa to drink in Valoria’s vibrancy. The city was alive, its energy pulsing through every street, from the flower-laden carts to the fountains sparkling in sunlit plazas. She leaned toward the window, her reflection faint against the glass, and imagined Solomon’s surprise, his smile, the warmth of his embrace. The thought steadied her, a beacon through the uncertainty. The noble women’s elegance might intimidate, but Solomon saw her—scars, strength, and all—and loved her fiercely. That was enough.

The palace gates loomed, their iron filigree glinting like a crown, guards in crimson livery snapping to attention as the carriage passed. The Imperial Palace was a vision, its towers soaring into the clouds, its marble walls carved with roses and vines, its gardens a riot of color—roses, lilies, dahlias, peonies, their empty houses a silent challenge to tradition. The carriage halted before the grand entrance, a sweep of marble stairs leading to doors inlaid with gold, their surfaces gleaming like mirrors. A footman, his gloves pristine, opened the door and offered his hand, his bow deep. “Welcome to the Imperial Palace, my lady,” he said, his voice formal but kind.

Mikasa stepped out, her boots steady on the cobblestones, her heart racing as the palace’s grandeur enveloped her. The air was scented with jasmine from the gardens, the sun warm on her face, and she felt the weight of history in every stone, every glance from the staff lining the stairs. And then she saw him—Solomon, standing at the base of the stairs, every inch the emperor from a storybook. His red curls caught the light, a fiery halo, his emerald eyes blazing with joy, his imperial robes tailored to his broad frame, gold embroidery shimmering. His smile was wide, unguarded, a beacon that banished her nerves, his presence a promise of home.

Beside him stood Empress Dowager Solana, her crimson hair swept into an elegant knot, her gown a deep sapphire that complemented her regal poise. Her smile was warm, but her eyes held a trace of caution, a mother’s love tempered by concern for her son’s choices. Former Emperor Armand flanked her, his weathered face softened by pride, his graying hair neat, his presence a quiet strength. His gaze, though kind, carried a weight, as if measuring the storm Mikasa’s arrival would unleash. Palace officials and staff stood behind them, their expressions a mix of curiosity, reserve, and barely concealed intrigue. The empty consort houses—Rose, Lily, Dahlia, Peony—loomed in the distance, a reminder of the tradition Solomon was defying, the court’s expectations a palpable tension.

Solana leaned toward Armand, her voice low. “He’s happy, isn’t he? But this… it’s a bold move, Armand. The court won’t take kindly to it.”

Armand’s lips twitched, a wry smile. “Our boy’s never been one for convention. She’s a soldier, Solana. Strong. They’ll need that strength.”

Solomon strode forward, his steps eager, his smile widening as he closed the distance. “Mikasa,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, a tremor of joy breaking through his imperial composure. Before she could speak, he engulfed her in a hug, his arms strong and warm, lifting her off the ground and spinning her in a whirl of laughter and light. “You’re here,” he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. “Gods, I’ve missed you so much.”

Her cheeks flushed, a rare blush warming her as she clung to him, her arms around his neck, the world narrowing to his heartbeat against hers. “I’ve missed you too, Solomon,” she said, her voice soft, her stoicism melting under his touch. “It’s been too long.”

He set her down but didn’t let go, his hands framing her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks as he gazed at her, his eyes shimmering with love. “Too long,” he agreed, his voice low, fervent. Then, heedless of the watching staff, he kissed her passionately, his lips claiming hers with a hunger that spoke of weeks apart, of letters and longing. The kiss was bold, unapologetic, a declaration to the court, and Mikasa leaned into it, her hands gripping his robes, her heart soaring despite the gasps from the officials.

Solana cleared her throat, her voice cutting through the moment, amused but firm. “Solomon, really,” she said, stepping forward, her hands clasped. “You’re the emperor, not a lovesick poet. Perhaps a touch more decorum?”

Solomon pulled back, his grin unrepentant, his arm sliding around Mikasa’s waist. “Sorry, Mother, but I’ve waited weeks for this. Decorum can wait.”

Mikasa’s blush deepened, but she met Solana’s gaze, her nod respectful. “Empress Solana,” she said, her voice steady. “Thank you for welcoming me.”

Solana’s smile softened, her eyes kind but searching. “You’re radiant, Mikasa, and Solomon’s been insufferable without you. But you know this path won’t be easy. The court… they’re restless.”

“I understand,” Mikasa said, her tone resolute. “But we’re ready to face it together.”

Armand approached, his hand extended, his smile warm but weighted. “Mikasa, Valoria’s honored to have you here again,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Though I suspect you’ll turn this palace upside down. I look forward to seeing it.”

Mikasa shook his hand, her grip firm, her eyes meeting his with a soldier’s clarity. “Thank you. I’ll do my best to honor Valoria—and Solomon.”

The officials murmured, their glances sharp, some approving, others skeptical, the weight of tradition a silent pressure. A young woman among them, whispered to a companion, her eyes narrowing at Mikasa. “A soldier? For the emperor? The ton will have a fit.”

Solomon’s hand tightened in Mikasa’s, his voice low, meant only for her. “Ignore them,” he said, his smile a shared secret. “You’re my heart, Mikasa. Let them talk.”

She nodded, her lips curving, his certainty a shield against the whispers. “Let them,” she said, her voice soft but fierce. “I’m here for you.”

He beamed, his arm guiding her toward the stairs. “Come,” he said, his excitement infectious. “I have a surprise waiting inside. And I want you to see your new home.”

Solana and Armand followed, their steps measured, their expressions a mix of pride and concern. “He’s delaying the consort selection,” Solana murmured to Armand, her voice low. “The noble families are circling like vultures. This engagement… it’s a spark in a powder keg.”

Armand’s hand rested on her arm, his voice steady. “Let it burn, Solana. He’s our son, and she’s his choice. They’ll face the fire together.”

As they ascended the stairs, the palace doors swung open, revealing a hall of marble and chandeliers, their crystals scattering light like stars. Mikasa’s heart pounded, the grandeur overwhelming, the court’s eyes a weight she felt but refused to bow to. Solomon’s hand was warm in hers, his love a flame that lit her path, and she stepped forward, ready to face Valoria’s challenges, to claim their future, one defiant, radiant step at a time.

“How was your trip?” Solomon asked, his voice bright, his emerald eyes searching hers as they navigated a corridor lined with tapestries depicting Valoria’s history. “The sea can be rough this time of year. I hope it treated you well.”

Mikasa’s lips curved, the memory of the Valorian ship’s smooth journey easing her nerves. “It was peaceful,” she said, her voice soft but clear, honed by years of command. “The weather was kind, and your ship… it’s beautiful. I felt like royalty before I even stepped ashore.”

He laughed, a low, joyous sound that echoed off the marble. “Good. I wanted you to feel that way. You’re my fiancée, Mikasa. You deserve nothing less.” His thumb brushed her knuckles, a small gesture that sent warmth curling through her. “And how are Solina and Levi? Little Solea? I miss them—my sister’s letters don’t do them justice.”

Her smile widened, gratitude for his care softening her soldier’s edges. “They’re thriving,” she said, her tone warm with affection. “Solina’s a natural mother, radiant and fierce. Levi’s… well, Levi, but softer with Solea. She’s got all her mother’s charm—already stealing hearts. They send their love.”

Solana, walking a pace behind, let out a soft sigh, her gown rustling. “Oh, my Solina,” she said, her voice thick with longing. “I miss her so much, and my precious grandbaby. Solea must be growing like a flower.”

“She is,” Mikasa said, glancing back, her nod respectful. “She’s laughing now, grabbing everything. Levi’s hopeless against her.”

Armand chuckled, his weathered face creasing with pride. “Sounds like him. That girl’s got the Valorian sparkle. We’ll spoil her rotten when they visit.”

Solomon’s grin widened, his hand squeezing Mikasa’s. “And Dimaria and Elliot? I heard they went to Paradis to meet Solea. How’s that cowboy handling Paradis?”

Mikasa’s laugh was soft, the memory of Elliot’s drawl and Dimaria’s glow vivid. “They’re perfect,” she said. “Dimaria’s smitten with Solea, bouncing her every chance she gets. Elliot’s teaching her horse tricks already—or trying to. They’re happy, settled. They talked about you, Solomon—said you better throw a big party for your coronation anniversary.”

“Oh, I will,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s a historic occasion—my first year as emperor. The whole family’s coming, and I want it to be unforgettable.”

Solana’s smile was fond but tinged with anticipation. “It will be, darling,” she said, her hand resting on Armand’s arm. “Everyone will all be here in a few months. The palace will be alive again, just as it should be.”

Armand nodded, his gray eyes warm. “We miss them, Mikasa. Thank you for the news. It does an old man’s heart good to know they’re well.”

Mikasa’s chest warmed, their shared love for family bridging the gap between Paradis and Valoria. “They miss you too,” she said, her voice sincere. “They’re counting the days.”

The corridor opened into a sweeping staircase, its banisters leading to the palace’s private quarters. Solomon guided Mikasa upward, his excitement palpable. “I want to show you your rooms,” he said, his voice eager. “I picked them myself. I think you’ll like them.”

“Rooms?” Mikasa asked, her brow arching, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Not just a room?”

He grinned, undeterred. “You’ll see.”

Solana and Armand exchanged a glance, their smiles indulgent but shadowed by unspoken concerns. The court’s unrest was a storm brewing, and Mikasa’s arrival was its spark. They followed, their presence a quiet support, as the group reached a set of double doors inlaid with mother-of-pearl, guarded by a maid in a crisp apron, her bow deep.

“Lady Mikasa,” the maid said, her voice soft, “I’m Layla, your personal attendant. Welcome.”

Mikasa nodded, her surprise tempered by gratitude. “Thank you, Layla.”

Solomon pushed the doors open, revealing a suite that stole Mikasa’s breath. It was no mere room but a lavish apartment, a sanctuary of elegance and comfort. A four-poster bed dominated the space, its canopy draped in sapphire silk, pillows piled high. A walk-in closet stood open, its racks already holding dresses, their fabrics shimmering in the light. An en suite bath gleamed with marble and gold, a clawfoot tub promising luxury. A sitting area beckoned with plush armchairs and a low table, a vase of roses mirroring the bouquet from the carriage. A small kitchenette, stocked with porcelain and a silver tea set, completed the space, its modernity a nod to Valoria’s wealth. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, framing a view of the gardens, their peonies and lilies a vibrant tapestry.

Mikasa stood frozen, her eyes wide, her soldier’s simplicity overwhelmed. “Solomon,” she said, her voice a whisper, “this is… incredible. It’s too much.”

He stepped behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders, his voice warm against her ear. “Nothing’s too much for you,” he said. “I wanted you to feel at home, Mikasa.”

Solana cleared her throat, her tone gentle but firm. “It’s a beautiful suite, Solomon, but let’s remember propriety,” she said, her eyes flicking between them. “You’re not married, and there are always eyes watching.”

Solomon’s grin faltered, but he nodded, his arm slipping around Mikasa’s waist. “I know, Mother,” he said, his voice teasing but respectful. “I’d rather have her in my chambers, but I’ll behave. For now.”

Mikasa’s cheeks warmed, her gaze dropping, but Solana’s smile was kind, her concern unspoken. She wasn’t blind to the noble families grooming daughters for consort roles, the whispers of tradition betrayed. She doubted Solomon and Mikasa could marry as they dreamed, the 300-year-old law a mountain too steep, but she couldn’t bear to dim their joy. “The two of you are such a lovely couple,” she said, her voice softening. “We’ll leave you to settle. We’ll see you at dinner tonight—the family’s gathering to welcome you, Mikasa.”

Armand nodded, his hand on Solana’s arm. “James, Soleil, Gracelyn, Andrew, Ruby, the twins—Solandor and Solenne—they’ll all be there,” he said. “Lady Blair and Lady Madeline, too. Lady Darcy’s here, but… well, she’s declined to join us.”

Mikasa’s lips twitched, understanding Darcy’s absence, her estrangement from Dimaria a silent wound. “I’m honored,” she said, her voice steady. “I look forward to it.”

Solana squeezed her hand, her touch maternal. “Rest, dear. You’ve had a long journey. We’ll see you soon.”

With a final smile, Solana and Armand departed, their footsteps fading down the corridor, the maid Lila following with a curtsy. The doors closed, leaving Solomon and Mikasa alone in the suite’s quiet splendor. The fire crackled in the hearth, its glow casting shadows across the sapphire drapes, and Mikasa turned to Solomon, her nerves surfacing now that they were alone. She set the roses on the table, her fingers lingering on the petals, her voice hesitant.

“Solomon,” she said, her dark eyes meeting his, “I’m… nervous. Being here, in Valoria, in this palace—it’s overwhelming. And what if we can’t get married? The law, the court… what if they stop us?”

His smile softened, his hands cupping her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks. “Mikasa,” he said, his voice fierce with love, “I’m not giving you up. No ancient law, no court, no noble’s schemes will come between us. I’m the emperor, and I’ll find a way. We’ll find a way.”

Her breath caught, his certainty a balm to her fears, and she leaned into his touch, her eyes shimmering. “I believe you,” she whispered, her voice thick. “I just… I want this so much. I want us.”

He closed the distance, his lips capturing hers in a passionate kiss, deep and fervent, a vow sealed in firelight. Mikasa melted into him, her hands gripping his robes, her heart racing as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. The kiss deepened, their breaths mingling, a hungry edge to their reunion after weeks apart. His hands slid to her waist, her fingers tangled in his curls, and they lost themselves in the moment, the suite fading until it was just them—Solomon and Mikasa, two hearts defying an empire. …

Solomon’s hands slid lower, his touch both gentle and possessive, and he slowly backed her toward the four-poster bed, its velvet canopy a shadowed haven. Mikasa’s knees brushed the mattress, and she sank onto it with a soft gasp, her fingers tugging at his collar to pull him down with her.

Her Ackerman strength surged, instinctive and powerful, and Solomon nearly toppled forward, a startled laugh breaking from him as he caught himself at the last second, his arms bracing on either side of her. He caged her beneath him, his emerald eyes glinting with amusement, his breath ragged. “Easy, love,” he said, his voice a low rumble, laced with joy. “You’re gonna break me before we even get started.”

Mikasa’s lips curved, a rare playfulness softening her soldier’s stoicism. “I’d catch you,” she said, her voice husky, her hands sliding to his shoulders, relishing the solid warmth of him. She leaned up, capturing his lips again, the kiss deeper, hungrier, a spark igniting into a blaze. His laughter melted into a soft groan, his hands roaming her sides, the fabric of her dress riding up as their bodies pressed closer. The heat between them was electric, her fingers digging into his back, neither wanting to stop as the moment spiraled into something wild, untamed.

Her dress bunched at her thighs, the cool air a contrast to the fire of his touch, and Mikasa’s breath hitched, her heart racing with a longing she rarely allowed herself to feel. Solomon’s kisses trailed to her jaw, his lips brushing the sensitive skin beneath her ear, and she arched into him, a soft sound escaping her. The suite, the court, the world beyond—it all faded, leaving only them, two hearts entwined in a dance of passion. But Solomon’s hands stilled, his breath uneven as he pulled back, his eyes dark with desire but softened by something deeper.

“Mikasa,” he said, his voice rough, out of breath, “as much as I want to stay here, lose myself in you… I have something planned. A surprise.”

She blinked, her chest heaving, curiosity piercing the haze of their intimacy. “A surprise?” she asked, her voice breathless, her hands still resting on his chest. “What is it?”

He grinned, a boyish spark in his eyes, his curls mussed from her fingers. “You’ll see,” he said, his tone teasing, tight-lipped. “But you have to come with me. Trust me.”

Her brow arched, a flicker of amusement in her gaze. “You’re being mysterious,” she said, but her smile betrayed her intrigue. “Alright. Show me.”

Solomon slid off the bed, offering his hand to pull her up, his touch lingering as she stood. Mikasa smoothed her dress, her fingers trembling slightly as she adjusted the fabric, her cheeks flushed from their closeness. Her dark hair was slightly disheveled, a strand falling across her face, and Solomon reached out, tucking it behind her ear with a tenderness that made her heart skip, and she ducked her head, unaccustomed to such open adoration.

He stepped to a small table, retrieving a silk blindfold, its deep blue shimmering in the firelight. “One more thing,” he said, holding it up, his grin mischievous. “You need to wear this.”

Mikasa’s eyebrow shot up, her soldier’s instincts wary, but the trust in his eyes disarmed her. “A blindfold?” she said, her tone skeptical but amused. “Solomon, what are you planning?”

“Something you’ll love,” he said, stepping closer, his voice earnest. “Please, Mikasa. Let me surprise you.”

She hesitated, then nodded, a small smile breaking through. “Fine,” she said, turning to let him tie the blindfold. His fingers were gentle, the silk cool against her skin as he secured it, his breath warm against her neck. The world went dark, heightening her senses—the crackle of the fire, the rustle of his robes, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as he took her hand.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice a soft anchor.

“Ready,” she said, her trust in him absolute.

He led her out of the suite, his hand firm in hers, guiding her through the palace’s labyrinthine corridors. The walk was long, the air shifting from the warmth of marble halls to the cool, jasmine-scented breeze of the outdoors. Mikasa’s boots clicked on stone, then softened on grass, the sounds of the palace fading as the hum of crickets and the rustle of leaves took their place. She heard the faint lilt of music—violins and flutes, a romantic melody that stirred her curiosity. “Solomon,” she said, her voice laced with confusion, “where are we going?”

“Almost there,” he said, his tone teasing, his hand squeezing hers. “Patience, love.”

The ground leveled, the air growing fresher, and Mikasa sensed water nearby, its gentle lap a soothing counterpoint to the music. Solomon stopped, his hands guiding her to face him, his touch steady. “Stay here,” he said, his voice soft, and she felt him step away, the absence of his warmth a fleeting ache.

Her ears caught the music’s swell, the strings weaving a melody that tugged at her heart, and she frowned, the blindfold heightening her confusion. What was he planning? The air was alive with scents—roses, lilies, the crisp tang of water—and she heard the soft splash of movement, perhaps birds or fish. Her instincts strained to piece it together, but she trusted Solomon, letting the moment unfold.

His voice came again, close and earnest. “You can take it off now,” he said, a tremor of anticipation in his tone.

Mikasa’s fingers lifted, gently pulling the blindfold free, and she blinked, her eyes adjusting to the twilight. The sight before her stole her breath, a gasp escaping as she took in the scene. They stood by a lake near the imperial gardens, its surface aglow with hundreds of tealights, their flames dancing like stars. Swans glided gracefully, their white feathers catching the light, their movements a silent ballet. The shore was adorned with garlands of roses and lilies, their petals strewn across the grass, and a small orchestra played nearby, their music a romantic serenade that filled the air. Behind it all, rose hedges had been sculpted into words, their blooms spelling out “Will you marry me?” in a declaration that made her heart stutter.

Her gaze dropped, and there was Solomon, kneeling before her, his emerald eyes shimmering with love, his red curls glowing in the fading light. In his hand was a ring, its beauty timeless—a large, oval-cut ruby, an imperial jewel from Valoria’s vaults, set in a band of white gold etched with delicate roses. The gem caught the tealights, its depths a mirror to the lake, its value beyond measure. Mikasa’s eyes welled with tears, her hand flying to her mouth, emotion overwhelming her as she stood frozen, her heart laid bare.

“Solomon,” she whispered, her voice breaking, tears spilling down her cheeks.

He smiled, his own eyes glistening, his voice steady but thick with love. “Mikasa, you captured my heart the moment I saw you in Paradis. I came there for duty, to oversee the iceburst stone mining for my father and as support for my sister, but I found so much more. I found you—the love of my life. You’re not just beautiful, though you take my breath away. You’re fierce, a noble soldier, a protector who’s faced horrors I can’t imagine and come through stronger. Your heart, your courage, your strength—they’re why I wake up every day wanting to be better, for you.”

He paused, his voice trembling, his gaze unwavering. “I know we’ve talked of marriage, and you’ve said yes, but I wanted to do this right, to show you what you mean to me. I want you by my side, forever, as my wife, my partner, my everything. I promise to love you, to cherish you, to fight for you every single day, the way you deserve. I want you, Mikasa, and only you. No law, no tradition, will change that. So, please… will you marry me?”

The tears flowed freely now, streaming down Mikasa’s face, her chest heaving with sobs she couldn’t contain. She’d never felt so seen, so loved, her heart swelling with a joy so profound it stole her words. Solomon’s words, his love, were a mirror to her soul, reflecting every part of her—soldier, woman, lover—and deeming it worthy. She’d faced titans, loss, and war, but this moment, this love, was her greatest victory, a happiness she’d never dared dream of.

She tried to speak, but her voice failed, choked by emotion, and Solomon’s eyes softened, his smile tender. He rose, setting the ring on the grass, and engulfed her in a hug, his arms a sanctuary as she cried against his chest. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his lips brushing her hair, his hands stroking her back. “I’ve got you, love. I’ve always got you.”

Mikasa clung to him, her sobs easing, her heart steadying in his embrace. She’d never been so overjoyed, the weight of his love a warmth that banished every doubt. Finally, she pulled back, her eyes red but radiant, a smile breaking through as she looked at him, her voice trembling but clear. “Yes,” she said, her words a vow. “I’d be honored to marry you, Solomon.”

His face lit up, a sunburst of joy, and he kissed her passionately, his lips claiming hers with a fervor that matched the lake’s glow. The orchestra swelled, the swans glided, and the tealights flickered, witnesses to their love. Solomon pulled back, his grin wide, and knelt again, retrieving the ring. He took her hand, his touch reverent, and slid the ruby onto her finger, its weight heavy but perfect, the gem a mirror to her strength.

“It’s beautiful,” Mikasa said, her voice thick, her eyes tracing the ring’s elegance, its roses a nod to Solomon’s heritage, its ruby a promise of their future.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, rising to pull her close, his forehead resting against hers. “This is just the beginning, Mikasa. You and me, forever.”

She nodded, her tears drying, her smile radiant as she kissed him again, the lake and its magic fading into the background. They were Solomon and Mikasa, an emperor and a soldier, their love a defiant flame that would light Valoria’s future, no matter the storms ahead.

~

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