#problems aside this show is important

[valhallasoutlaw]

In the spirit of "Problematic Media," I want to bring up my personal pros and cons of Hazbin Hotel before it gets lambasted into oblivion. I loved this show, but it's earned some criticism.

NOTABLE cons:

1) Strangely puritanical views of sex and putting Charlie in the position of a savior through a Christian fundamental lens. The show portrays sex as a sin, and Charlie is weirdly chaste/pure for a character in her position.

2) Rushed writing. I think this was a corporate boardroom decision bc "kids these days don't have an attention span and if it's longer than 8 episodes we won't get any ratings." Each episode feels like the beginning AND the end of a 3 episode arc with none of the story in between.

3) The last battle/season finale was just...bad. Only one Big Lazer, not enough time to enjoy the new outfits, no concept of power scaling. I still have no idea how strong any one character is relative to the universe they live in. Also, Sir Pentious NEEDED a competent battle moment. His death just felt underhanded.

4) So far I'm a bit of an apologist, but there's some interesting accusations about Viv in the workplace. Waiting to confirm more.

These are all huge dings to the show, but I'm at least slightly media literate and I can acknowledge it's flaws without having a meltdown. For me, the pros make it worth watching and rewatching.

PROS:

1) We've never seen this before. "Ooh this should be a show!" Has never ever been serious like this. Vivzie Pop actually fucking did it, and if she can, so can the rest of us. She's a breakthrough for indie creators and that's never been more important.

2) STUNNING characters. Yes, they're pretty monotone red/black and carry a sometimes same-y shape language, but the personality in their designs is so expressive and striking. I love looking at them and they're honestly iconic in their own way.

3) The music beyond fucking slapped. Electroswing at it's finest, brings out all the edgy stuff my younger self was too cringe to engage with. Living tombstone hits the big screen and it BANGS.

4) Again, THIS IS HUGE. We as artists can make it despite everything with AI and corporate filth. We CAN do it and Viv has showed us, problems or not.

[wackywatchdotcom]

actually honestly yeah theres def some sort of rotation system my brain has for discussing tadc characters.... pomnis always in the middle of the circle but whatever character i am drawing a lot is is arranged nin a circle and i just loop thru them. that or its more like a spinning wheel and it randomly selecte a character every 1-3 days for me to draw a bunch and then draw someone else

[otterinterests]

Even if you don't want to watch the 1M5C video, in the description he does have a list of machines with the same dangerous design sold on Amazon and Walmart, and he will be adding Amazon Australia soon. If you have purchased a litter box from Amazon, Aliexpress, or anywhere similar, please check this list/the design and consider sending it back.

PSA: BAD LITTERBOX

i don't usually make posts like this, but this is a truly upsetting topic to me as a lifelong cat owner, so i feel i have a duty to share my knowledge with others.

there is a type of automatic litterbox for cats being sold that is EXTREMELY dangerous and has killed numerous cats through blunt force trauma, suffocation, etc. this litterbox is being sold under different brand names and logos, so i will include the picture of the model and two links to informational videos with more evidence and eloquence than i am able to provide.

please consider not having this type of litterbox in your home for your furry friends. me and my 16 year old tortie, puddy, want the best for all your kitty friends

image of litterbox below:

here are my two video links that provide proof and testimonials of this harmful product:

This Scam is Killing Cats by penguinz0

The DEADLY self-cleaning litter boxes that have flooded the market by One Man Five Cats

[explode-this]

.

[corvidcrafts273]

things i dont actually like about miraculous:

Marinettes identity being reduced to "oh woe is me im in love with adrien", like she is so much more than how she is portrayed, shes creative, shes resourceful, shes smart, neither of these have to be mutually exclusive, why cant she be both?

[eowynstwin]

Price x Reader. Age gap. Divorced Price. Older BF Price. Vaguely smutty. Follow-up to this.

Price realizes you’ve never had a reliable man in your life exactly the second time he discovers you looking up DIY home maintenance for very simple projects.

It missed him the first time because he was deployed. You’d mentioned offhand how you were figuring out how to rebalance a ceiling fan, and he’d just automatically assumed that you were doing it yourself because he wasn’t there, so he simply praised you for your resourcefulness and lived for the next three weeks off of the way you’d absolutely glowed at his words.

But then he gets home, and one evening on the couch he catches you googling “how to fix a leaky sink.”

“What’s that?” he asks you, tamping down on the sudden feeling of masculine inadequacy that reared up almost immediately at the discovery.

“Faucet handle’s leaking all over my counter when I turn it on,” you say, not looking up from your phone. “Landlord’s out of town and can’t fix it.”

“I’m in town, ain’t I?”

You look up at him then, brows raised. You hadn’t even considered asking him, then.

“Oh—I didn’t want to bother you, John, you only just got back, and you’re tired…”

You trail off at the droll expression on his face.

Price has learned a lot of lessons from his previous marriage. The foundational one: just because he hasn’t been asked to help doesn’t mean he is believed to be unreliable. Adding that lesson to his knowledge base about you—young, modern, independent—calculates out an obvious answer that curtails any sour mood that might have sprouted up over the issue.

He puts his hand over your phone screen and lowers it down to your lap. “I’m fixin’ the sink,” he says simply.

He enjoys the way your eyes dilate at the assertion.

The next day, he shows up at your flat wearing old work clothes and carrying his heavy toolbox in his hand.

(You don’t live together yet—something he’s keen to rectify—but he has a toothbrush in your bathroom and permanent space in your bedroom drawers. He can be content for now.)

And you—you answer the door in the filmiest of sundresses, the ribbon tie on one shoulder hanging at a loose angle.

“Heard you need some plumbing done,” he says in the gruffest of voices, already understanding the game.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here,” you say, barely able to hide your giggle, “I’ve been so worried.”

He steps in close to you, close enough to feel the heat of your body radiating off of your bare skin. He has half a mind to put the charade aside and lift your skirt here and now, but another lesson helpfully springs to mind: anticipation of the act makes the finale all the sweeter.

“I’ll show you to the kitchen,” you murmur, looking up at him with warm, dreamy eyes.

When he gets under the sink, he finds the problem easy enough to fix—the cold water supply line simple isn’t screwed in tight enough, and when he wiggles the whole contraption by the valves he finds that nothing has been tightened up to standard. A couple of years knocking the thing around had probably loosened up the locknut.

He elects to fix the whole problem in one go, while in the meantime you stand off to the side, watching him. He feels your eyes on his legs, trailing up to the hair on his belly exposed by his shirt riding up.

“Sir, I’m sorry, I should’ve said before,” you simper, “but I’m not really sure how I’m gonna pay for this.”

His cock jumps in his jeans, and he feels your gaze move to it as if it’s a physical touch.

He levers himself out a little and meets your eyes, keeping a stern expression on his face.

“I’m sure you’re gonna figure it out,” he says. Looking down at his groin and then back up at your face might be a touch unsubtle, but clear communication had been the most important lesson of all.

He slides himself back under, and pretends he doesn’t feel you approach, or lower to your knees between his spread legs. He ignores your gentle hands falling on the closure of his jeans, the pop of the button coming undone, the parting of the zipper as you pull it down.

“Of course, sir,” you say, “I’m sure I will.”

The softness of your hand meets his growing erection, caressing the head of his cock with your thumb—followed very close behind by the wet, liquid heat of your mouth.

next

[storycraftcafe]

Did I just unsubscribe from a writer I've been following for years because they advocated for using AI? You fucking bet.

They suggest it's use as a tool, citing writers who hesitated to jump on the internet being left behind and I think that displays a rather big misunderstanding of the nature of problem.

Their point was gen AI can "help us think" but there's growing studies show us that it does anything but. Here's one paper on skill atrophy from AI use. There's more than a few of them plus some articles like this one from Forbes. Essentially using AI for a particular skill shows degradation in thelat skill.

Fact is brainstorming, research, analysis. Planning, outlining, writing, editing are ALL skills writers need to develop and practise. Not offload to a machine and surrender critical thought.

These skills are vital and transferrable to other aspects of our lives. My ability to critically examine a body of text to parse meaning works in enjoying fiction and digging through mixed messages in news and on social media. My ability to research and develop ideas from multiple sources also helps me fact check misinformation online.

These skills are so important, too important to cast aside for convenience.

I'd rather use my brain and do the work. Maybe ai will shift and better tools will arise, but I have put too much work into developing my skills to be content with the half assed result of the plagiarism machine.

Fuck that.

[sleepynegress]

Okay... So I'm in a way right now with the red tide and hormones..... But I did want to say some things about SINNERS while I have a little bit of mental energy.

Stack and Smoke are two sides of the same coin, yin and yang, red and blue, Italian and Irish gang clothing style... etc.

Some people are getting carried away with analysis and it's giving more projection of what you want it to be vs. what is.... Coogler himself has cited great fun tropey horror films and pop culture touchstones like Salem's Lot (the book not the movie) and Puss in Boots: The Last Wish (which I love that that's a reference) he has said his most important takeaway is "ownership of art."

The act structure that gave us that classic "caper" set-up of all kinds of characters listening to the plan and then going "you sonavabitch, I'm in." for the juke joint was my favorite part of this TBH.

It is NOT a Christian "Come to Jesus" movie and I LOVE that about it. In fact, it's the opposite.

It's a "be true to self and your gifts in the face of any god or devil", movie.

BOTH women love interests (white presenting and full-figured and unambiguously Black ,--back to that yin and yang of the twins) were beloved by a twin, both fit the elemental nature of said twin, and both had to traverse death to be with their love.

As an aside.... loved hearing a southern accent from our Asian cousins, seeing the "not my problem" energy from the Choctaw hunters, and the reminder that there was actual ancestral cultural community before "whiteness" for white people too, and why many no longer have it...

LOVED LOVED LOVED the cultural details in the character work, setting, energy, etc.... ESPECIALLY Delroy Lindo's vocal cadence.

I loved what Coogler chose to NOT show to make the energy more impactful and palpable in both sensuality and scares.

I'll be the weirdo who prefers the pure blues vs. the remix but I LOVED seeing all the ancestors and descendents come and vibe with the music...I used to have recurring dreams of a multicultural ancestral world jam session, so "that scene" hit me hard.

Remmick just follows in the tradition of Coogler villains being compelling af, but ultimately WRONG because of an essential flaw in their logic (i.e. Killmonger's misogynoir and colonizing techniques and funnily enough Remmick's colonizing techniques, klan and black using vampire telepathy for a faux community peace)

I have seen no one else mention this, but I chuckled at Saul "List of Demands" Williams playing the preacher, aka Sammie's dad

the vampire nerd part of me absolutely rejoiced at all the "traditional" vampire warding aspects, ESPECIALLY the silver, something that is often wrongly asserted as being just for werewolves

loved how filthy and raunchy the language was when it came to desire... because that's real (and I hate purity culture which is very much now tied to the alt-right white Christo-fascist pipeline right now) AND centering women's pleasure and, in many cases audacious initiative. (ahem, I see you Ryan and I see how Zinzi's in the current state she's in, congrats!! *cough* this is the healthiest type of straight man sexual energy BTW)

BE WARY of the takes out there that are overly-projecting. It's neither religious nor hotepy. It's a Southern Gothic fable/folktale about a musician with a gift surviving a magical night....

YES it's full of ancestral energy, but ultimately the central message is about being true to self when it comes to ancestral gifts and community

[riskylittleturtle]

Tendencies - Dragon Sylus

Dragons sleep on their treasures, it's a way of guarding it, keeping it safe from other's and being sure no one can get to it without waking them up. Sylus is that way too, has a little box of his favourite gems and such tucked away under his bed. His greatest treasure though, is you. He sleeps best with his head in your lap or pinning you under his weight as he lays over you. His favourite place to nap is on you, head on your stomach and arms wrapped around your back, your laptop settled on his back as you type up reports. Will stay there all day if you'd let him.

Dragons rarely share their hoards and treasures, in fact they're known to be very protective and territorial over them. When a dragon allows someone access to their hoard it can be seen as a sign of respect and acceptance, but it is most often a sign of courtship. Sylus gives you his black card and tells you to go crazy. With bank systems it's strange to have cash and change on hand, gems and jewelry aside, and so giving you his black card is his way of sharing his hoard with you.

Dragons view having territory and hoards as a sign of power. The more treasures a dragon has, the more territory that belongs to them, the stronger and more respect worthy the dragon is. Sylus is filthy rich. He's the leader of Onychinus and by extension he rules the N109 zone. On top of the Onychinus base he has safe houses all around, places that belong just to him (and now to you). When he tells you to go crazy with his black card it is not only his start to court you through offering you his hoard, it is his way of showing you that he has plenty and that he'd be a good mate for you.

Dragons present gifts and offerings to please their mates. Sylus pampers you. He offers you new weapons almost constantly. If you've ever played the claw machines with him you know if he fails to get a plushie he refuses to switch with you until he's gotten you one. When you return from showering after working out he's replaced your clothes with newly bought of the same thing. He has his chef prepare a full course meal for you, and buys you breakfast. The list goes on.

Dragons take promises very seriously, the idea of breaking a promise to them is worse than almost any crime. Words are an extension of their existence. Sylus also takes promises really seriously. You say "I'll be done in five, promise." and he stares at you like you've just sold off all of his gems and thrown his black card back in his face when it takes you six. Promises don't have to include the word, you tell him "I'll text you tonight." and he's spending the entire night waiting for his phone to ring with that silly little ringtone you picked out.

To a dragon, falling for lies is one of the worst things that can happen to them. Sylus doesn't realise you're lying to him once, as you tell him you aren't injured after a mission - you really aren't, the only evidence of your pursuit a single tiny scratch on your arm that barely even draw blood - but as he see's the cut later, fingers ghosting over the scratch and expression absolutely wrecked because you were injured and he didn't know, because you lied that you weren't and he couldn't tell you were lying to him.

Dragons have very different morals than humans. They're more focused on instinct and self interest. Their morals are very important to them, though dragons have been known to change their morals to better fit those of their mates. Sylus has no problem killing when he needs to, and he doesn't believe too much in the ideas of redemption or people changing. You however, as a hunter, have at least some belief that people can change - you also know that this doesn't apply to everyone, that multiple things have to be taken into account if someone is trying to redeem themselves. You also believe that some people are better dead, but that for some murder is too easy of a way out of things. Sylus doesn't change outright, he still firmly believes most people aren't worthy of second changes. But he starts considering which of his business partners to kill and which to give other punishments to, starts to leave people he might have killed to prevent future problems be as long as they don't intervene with his own plans.

Dragons are (violently) protective of their hoards, mates, and young. They will do anything to protect what is theirs. Sylus originally only had his gems and money (hoards), but then he took in Luke and Kieran (young), and finally he had you (mate). Any slight against what's his is absolutely unacceptable to him. Someone makes a comment about Luke and Kieran's masks? They're never seen again. A thief breaks in to try and steal his jewels? No one who enters the Onychinus base with bad intentions makes it out. A hunter from a different team made a bad comment about you during a mission? They apologize profusely the next day and aren't part of any future mission collaborations with your team.

Dragons view their scales very highly, for a dragon to give someone it's scale means they trust them wholeheartedly. It's a sign of respect, that they are acknowledging you as worthy. A dragon giving you it's scale can be a sign that they view you as an equal, or even that they view you as one of theirs and that they will protect you and answer their call. Sylus doesn't have scales now, but he's given MC both a brooch (from the main storyline) and a feather (the gift interaction).

[freyito]

ᴇxᴛʀᴀ ᴅᴏꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏᴠɪɴ'

✭ pairing(s): boothill, gallagher, mydei, phainon (seperate) x reader

✩ in which: they give you some extra tlc

✧ a/n: hiii :,) i accidentally became important at work withiun the first motnh sofics are suuuper slow. ive also just been struggling with motivation AND my grandpa died and then not even a day later i was watching a tornado do its thing right infront of my workplace. so!

✦ taglist: @fffrost, @shinysora

🗒 cw: gn reader, just fluff, not proofread

✎ wc: 1.6k

⎯ Boothill

Usually, BOOTHILL is the one in need of a little extra love. Running across the galaxy for months at a time can take a lot out of him. Even with his impressive will, he can find himself drained sometimes. Sure, he’s always found peace out in the wild, under a star-painted sky, but he still can’t help but crave some sort of human connection, a way to recharge and remind him of what little humanity he has left. He won’t say anything, and he barely shows just how tired he is when he comes home, always wearing that damn smile. No matter if he had killed anyone on the trip, if he had been chased, if he had been damn near blown apart; he is never without that smile when he returns to you.

While he makes it extra hard for you to read him, he can read you exceptionally well. No matter how well you think you hide it, he always finds something. Your shoulders may be slumped, there’s a furrow in your brow, your voice doesn’t sound too confident… he knows. 

“C’mon, darlin’, ain’t gotta hide from me,” Boothill coos, coming up from behind you and wrapping one arm around your waist. “If somethin’s wrong, just say so.”

All you can find yourself doing is huff, and lean back into his chest. He laughs out a soft ‘awh’, before hoisting you up into his arms. He carries you off to the bedroom, setting you down gently on the bed.

Now, when it comes to TLC, Boothill practically has a checklist. The first task is to make sure you're comfortable, and happy, of course. The second task is making sure your wants are attended to. This usually manifests in him giving you a quiet space while he goes off into the kitchen to cook for you, usually something warm or sweet (or both!). The goal of this is to give you some time to decompress (whether it be in your bed, or on the couch), but if you choose to follow him to the kitchen instead, he’s quite happy with that, too. 

The third task is the most important (to him, at least), and that’s showering you with all the love he can possibly give. Aside from feeding you (which he will do, all you need to ask), he makes it a point to cuddle up to you and pepper your face with kisses. He makes it known just how much he loves you, with all sorts of sweet little praises and whispers. If you prefer spending a quiet night with him instead, he absolutely insists that you come out with him for some stargazing. A nice little night with your beloved under the star-painted sky is a wonderful way to remind yourself to take it easy, live in the present, and just a reminder that there is someone there for you. Even when you don’t want to admit that you need a little extra love.

⎯ Gallagher

Being a bartender, GALLAGHER can easily pick up on any little mood shift. He is also quite good at sniffing out the problem behind your moods, too. It’s actually kind of scary how well he knows you. Stressed? He’s taking care of you. Sad? He’s taking care of you. Mad? He’s taking care of you. Tired– Yes, he’s taking care of you any time he can, and any time you allow him to. Even when you’re being stubborn and trying to tell him you are totally fine.

So, when you come home, a couple hours after your shift was supposed to end, he already had a drink waiting for you. When you completely ignore the little glass and instead choose to practically fall into his arms, his disappointment is immediately replaced with a sense of happiness– Not that you’ve had a bad day, but the fact that you are openly seeking his comfort after one.

“Alright, well, let’s get ya all cozied up, hm?” He hums, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing just a little, then rocking you back and forth softly, while on large hand splays over the small of your back. 

Once you’ve relaxed, he guides you back to the couch, before fetching you a bunch of pillows and some blankets. He quite likes to get nice and close with you, but if you want to move to the bed, he’s happy to do that, too. He’ll still stay just as close, though. He also orders any food you want, those outrageous delivery costs be damned. Even if you want several different things from several different restaurants, he will cater to your whims. This spoiling is only the start, really. 

It seems he physically cannot leave you. He always has to be touching you in some way, even if he just has his pinky linked to yours. There’s always a warm hand on your hip or thigh, and if he can, he’s pulling you up to his chest. He has to be close, not just for the day but practically for the whole week. He always finds some way to come back to you, even if he’s working. He could be stationed all the way across the city and still come home to see you on his break, all for five seconds to hold you.

⎯ Mydeimos

‘Stress’ doesn’t exist in the Kremnoan language. Or so MYDEI says. That being said, his tolerance is much higher than yours. Something about being ‘forged in war’... But he never faults you if you’re feeling down. As much as he thinks a nice meal will make you feel much better, he understands that there is always more to it. While he chooses to neglect his own emotions, and ignore what eats at him, he is almost the exact opposite when it comes to you. 

Granted, he doesn’t like to let you know that he knows you are stressed. At least, not verbally. Something hidden deep within him, something cheeky, likes to keep things a surprise. As boyish as it is for a warrior like him, he truly can’t help it. There’s something about the way your eyes light up and the way you soften when he does anything for you, especially unprompted.

“Here you are, my love,” Mydei murmurs from behind you, placing a plate of soutzoukakia and rice on your desk. “You seemed hungry, so I made you something.”

It was true, you really were hungry. But, you found yourself so engrossed in your work, hunched over your desk as you stared at your laptop. You had long since lost the plot of the piece you were supposed to be editing, and in turn, that made you feel burnt out. The deadline was in a few days, but you were already on the last few pages, and really wanted to get it finished by the end of the day. In doing so, it seems you have worried your lover.

Before you get a chance to thank him, he places his hands on your shoulders, pressing into them. You can’t help but lean back into him, as he huffs out a soft chuckle. He doesn’t say anymore as his thumbs press into the back of your shoulders, but in the back of his mind, all he can think is ‘See? You overwork yourself’. 

He continues to massage your shoulders for another minute in silence, eyes heavy lidded as he watches you relax. He pulls away after a beat, leading you to look up at him. His smile is so gentle, so kind, something you know is only for you. Once he’s satisfied with how content you look, he leans down and presses a sweet kiss to your forehead, smoothing his hands down your shoulders to your arms. He then leaves you to eat, choosing to go about his day in the background. It’s a calming sort of ambience, the shuffling behind you and the grunts and sighs as he begins his afternoon workout. Sure, the noises could be a little more… quiet. But, at this point, you’ve grown used to it. So used to it, that it’s comforting.

⎯ Phainon

Oh, PHAINON, dear Phainon, nothing gets past him. He practically grew up comforting people, and as such, he understood all your tells before you two even started dating. Therefore, you get pampered before you even realize the stress is setting in. As such, with him, you truly never feel… down. He loves and dotes on you too much to feel like you need anything extra.

Sometimes, however, it does slip past him. He doesn’t beat himself up over it, really, he takes it as a sign to do better. Besides, who would be mad at a little more love? Certainly not you, with the way he cuddles up to you the minute you come home. He’s so damn close to just throwing you over his shoulder and throwing you in bed, keeping you there for a week tops. Probably more.

“C’mon, you and me are gonna hide away from the world for a bit,” He laughs, fingers linking with yours as he pulls you along to the bedroom.

You two lay in the bed, just simply staring at each other for a long while. At most, it’s only five moments, but it feels like an eternity. He holds you so close, legs tangled up, warm hands splayed across your back. He rubs soothingly up and down your spine, blinking slowly like a content cat (despite being more like a puppy at this moment).

For a while, he looks like he could just fall asleep then and there, holding you even closer like you were some plush toy. Then, just as you feel yourself getting sleepy, he presses a kiss to your shoulder. Then the crook of your neck, then your neck, and one, two, three more kisses to your face– a thousand more kisses to your face. He decides in that moment, when you finally look relaxed and calm, that he can’t let you end the day without laughing first.

© freyito, 2025 | masterlist | queue | kofi | star header by roseschoices DO NOT REPOST AS YOUR OWN OR USE FOR AI/AI CHATBOTS

[prettyboykatsuki]

worst behavior | xavier (shen xinghui)

♡ tags ; afab + fem!reader, established relationship, public sex, jealousy, undercover work, a mention of sex work, rough sex, biting / marking, squirting, multiple orgasms, xavs a lil mean 18+

♡ wc ; 5k (???????)

♡ a/n ; an xavier fic about jealousy. very original i know. forgive me for that sdklfjsdk. but i had a thought.

forgive me if my characterization isnt up to par, he's the LI i feel the weakest writing.

♡ synopsis ; captain jenna sends you out as a honey-trap for an important persons in an ongoing investigation. You agree under the condition your partner is anyone but xavier, keenly aware of your boyfriends disposition.

and, naturally - nothing goes your way.

Of all of the eyes you have on you tonight, Xavier’s still manage to burn holes in you even in a crowded room.  

You can feel him, somehow. And it makes you sweat, for reasons both good and bad.  

You straighten yourself out as you get comfortable. Or you try to get comfortable - as much as you can be in the circumstances. Your skirt rides up tight on your thighs, and your heels are at least two inches higher then what you’d wear on a normal night out. Your top leaves little to be desired. A halter top that’s backless, showing off the dip of your spine with a neck line that’s only barely above your navel. No bra, courtesy of your colleagues suggestions.   

Your being held together mostly by fashion tape and prayer. A fun clubbing outfit is nice, but you wonder if the thong was entirely necessary or if the skirt had to be made out of leather to get the job done. Never mind the cut of the clothes, other than your skirt - your top is nearly see through. It’s risqué, even for you  - the kind of thing you would’ve worn when you were trying to get shitface drunk during your Hunter Academy years and squeeze the drinks out of unsuspecting bar-goers.  

Not the kind of outfit you wear often these days, for reasons that are honestly mostly practical. But namely because you’ve got one terribly jealous boyfriend.  

Xavier hasn’t ever told you explicitly how you’re allowed to dress or who you’re allowed to go out with or anything. He’s not controlling, but he is territorial. Enough that you’d rather dress a little less sexy if it means being able to walk the next morning.  

It’s because you know your boyfriend, you didn’t volunteer to take this case in the first place. But Captain Jenna briefed your team on the details of the mission and ultimately the best person for the job was you. The details are a little lost on you now since you’d tuned out most of the meeting, but that was the gist. You could pull off being ‘sexy’ without backing out of even when things got dicey. Reluctantly, you allowed yourself to be pulled into the role under the conditions your mission partner wasn’t Xavier. You’d hope this would circumvent any problems - and that you could doctor the details to him later. Underplaying the whole thing and getting away scott-free.  

Of course, nothing works out the way you hope. The day of the mission you get a long and sympathetic  message from Captain Jenna. A change in plans on your partner, and a message from Simone saying she’s sorry.  

You’ve seen Xavier upset before. Plenty of times. You’ve watched him blow-out all of the lights on the street because a guy was trying to make conversation with you. You’ve seen him get defensive over a kid handing you a flower and telling you your pretty. Xavier is a professional at sulking and an expert at holding petty grudges.  

But truly, you think the silent car ride to the N109 zone while you’re dressed in your mission clothes is the quietest you’ve ever seen him. Aside from briefings, you haven’t spoken very much at all since you departed from headquarters. Leave it to him to remain professional, you suppose.  

Honestly, you’re more worried about him then you are about your target. Seducing a big-time arms dealer with your feminine charm is a cake walk, but bringing him back to the hotel room where your jealous partner is waiting on arrest and interrogation? Knowing Xavier is watching you from the monitors in the room with his jaw clenched? That’s more nerve wracking then anything.  

Worse, he can hear you. He’ll have to listen to you flirt over the mic. It’s just a safety precaution, and it’s not like you mean it. But having your boyfriend listen while you set-up a honey trap and try to do it in the most convincing and least suspicious way possible feels like your personal hell. You honestly don’t know who has it worse - you or him.  

You sip on your drink and wait at the bar, eyes scanning the room. He’s an older man. In his late fifties. Recently paid out a large sum to a shell corporation that covers illegal protocore trade and research. It’s your first time meeting in person, but you’ve been establishing rapport for the last few weeks with the monitoring of your team by flirting over messages for a month or two. Playing sugar baby to a wealthy businessman is the angle.  

Your work is done once you convince him to come up to the room with you. You’re on a mission and this is all just business.  

You remind yourself of all of this and bury the thought of your boyfriend is watching you as you do.  

Just before you’re finished with your drink, your target enters the room. He’s tall and broad. Salt-and-pepper hair with a nasty look in his eye and a wiry smile. Wealthy too, with a tailored suit and a designer watch. He smiles at you eerily when he spots you at the bar. You take a deep breath and smile back, turning the dial up a hundred.  

He sits next to you after he weaves through the crowd. His voice is deep, almost oppressive.  

“There you are,” Your purr. You relax your body language, elbows on the bar and slouched forward. You look at him playfully, pouting. You feel ridiculous but you sell it anyways. Unfortunately, you’re a natural. “I was beginning to think I’d got stood up,”  

“Forgive me for testing your loyalty,” He replies evenly. Something about it gives you the chills. “I had to make sure I wasn’t being tricked,”  

You giggle innocently - a ditsy smile on your face.  “What reason would I have to trick you?”  

“Are you saying there’s nothing you want from me?”  

You shake your head, batting your lashes as you pretend to think it over. “Of course I do. But,” You use your heel and slide up his leg gently, head tilted. You can see the arousal in his face and you scoff internally at how easy it all is. “Well, I’ve got a better means of getting it, is all,”  

He pauses, assessing you a while before smiling. “Can I buy you a drink miss?”  

You grin. “Yes please,”  

__ 

The elevator ride to the hotel room is the most excruciating part of the mission yet.  

It’s easy enough to seduce him. After a few more minutes of banter, and some light touches  - followed with a more direct line of flirting, he’s in the palm of your hand. You manage to keep him from kissing you or going any further with the promise you’ll do anything he asks once you’re back in the room. Acting coy works in your favor at least. In the effort of being convincing though, you’re currently latched around his arm and acting like you’ve got nothing but hot  air between your ears.  

You cringe internally at the arm around your waist, thankful he has enough courtesy not to touch you too intimately. From what you know Xavier can see this too, and you can only hope that he understands it’s all for the mission.  

His hand squeezes your waist. You lean into the touch, smiling while trying not to show a single sign of discomfort. You breathe in and relax.   

Swallowing your nerves, the elevator doors slide open with a soft ding. You take his hand in yours, being proactive as to not have to turn around to look at him.  

“Come on now,”  

He laughs. “Eager are we?”  

You hum. “I’ve been waiting all night you know?”  

He sneers. “Little minx,”  

Wincing internally, you turn back to look at him. You smile as your eyes meet, focusing your attention on walking him down the hall. Your room is all the way at the end and it takes you a few seconds to find your key-card. It’s a quick swipe, another beep, and before you know it - you’re leading your target inside.  

You keep talking until the door shuts behind you, and the two of you are enveloped in darkness. You barely know what you’re saying at that point, heart-hammering as you wait for the coast to clear. You can feel Xavier’s presence in the room with you, though you can’t make his face out in the dark. Your target seems none-the-wiser.  

Finally, once his guard is down and he’s about to push you further - you push him off gently. Teasingly. And then give your signal. 

 “Hands off, mister. At least let me wash up first,”  

On cue, Xavier appears from the shadows. He’s swift. It happens too quickly for you to catch the interaction, startled by his presence even though you knew he was behind the door. It takes hardly any time until your suspect is apprehended - a pair of cuffs on the back of his wrists and a very forceful Xavier holding him down with his face to the floor and pinned under his weight.  

You peek at Xavier as he pins down your target. When your eyes lock, you see something so intense in the blues of his eyes that you force yourself to look away. Your target is saying something, protesting about being deceived but Xavier forces him down further - jaw feathering with anger. He puts a hand up to his ear until the channel changes, alerting the rest of the team.  

“Suspect is apprehended. Send in any reinforcements,”  

__  

It doesn’t take long after the arrest to clean-up any loose ends and end the mission.  

Your target gets taken into custody soon after being subdued and Captain Jenna clears both you and Xavier after your team is finished sweeping the remaining floors for any other material. One of the rookie members on your team managed to apprehend whoever was with him. A bodyguard from the looks of it.  

Whatever the case, things wrapped up smoothly.  

As soon as you both dismissed, Xavier tugs you away from your team without word. The last look you got as from one very apologetic Simone who’d been your partner assigned to the case originally. You’re sure you’ll get a long message from her later.  

Xavier pulls you down the hall, all the way into the elevator without a single word or glance.  

You wait with him in complete darkness, before noticing that he’s pressing to a floor above you. Not the hotel lobby where you thought you’d be headed.  

You miraculously manage to find your voice. 

“…Uhm. Where are we going?”  

Xavier looks at you. “Upstairs,”  

You blink “We’re not going home…?” 

Xavier grabs hold of your wrist again, pulling you close to him. Your bodies are pressed together, his hand on your lower back. His voice is shaky, breath caressing the exposed skin of your neck. His voice, usually smooth, comes out rasped. “You think I can wait that long? ” 

You open your mouth just to close it again, finding yourself at a loss for words. Xavier lets out a huff, loosening his grip but not letting you go. You’re still hugged to him, his head on your shoulder - trying to steady his breathing a bit before pulling away until you’re face to face. You give him a long suffering look as your eyes meet  before sighing and accepting your fate. Nuzzling up to him slightly, you do your best to look as pathetic as possible.  

He glances down at you. You think it almost works on him.  

“Nice try, but I won’t let you go that easily.”  

You feel your stomach swoop, your own voice somewhat obscured. “Figured,”  

__ 

You don’t get a  chance to ask any questions.  

It feels a little like deja vu stumbling back into a dark hotel room with Xavier on your tail. But the stakes feel much higher now then they did before when you were making your arrest. You feel more uneasy, off-center.  

At least with your work, you know exactly what to do. You’ve dealt with enough criminal enterprises to have an idea of what to do. There’s not as much guesswork, just a number of variables to consider. Keep yours wits about you and it’s easy enough to clear most missions without hassle.  

With Xavier, you can only ever be unsure and a little apologetic.  

You don’t even get a second to breathe. By the time the door closes behind you, Xavier is on you. You feel your back hit the door of your hotel room with a dull thud - a hand on the back of your head thoughtfully to soften any impact. 

The first syllables of his name are cut-short with his lips on yours.  

This is hardly the first time you’ve gone through the motions of Xavier’s jealousy. Having sex to blow off steam, feel comforted by the heat of your body - you understand his desires well.  

That’s why you know this time is different.  

It’s hot. Like a star burning through the atmosphere, the way Xavier kisses you makes you feel the floor is falling from under your feet. It’s strange, suffocating. He doesn’t take any time to pry your mouth open with his, make the kiss deep enough to be loud - he isn’t waiting for anything. Heavy breaths followed with a groan, his hands all over you in a heartbeat. You make a noise of indignance that’s ultimately lost in a litany of moans and heavy breaths.  

Xavier kisses as hard as he does heavy. Enough to feel bruising, especially as his teeth find themselves sinking into your lower lip. Biting down just sharp enough to make your mind fizzle out - a broken whimper in the back of your throat. He’s harsh in his kisses, in his touch. You find yourself searching for your next breath.  

Intoxicated with it, Xavier only pulls away when you’re both nearly out of it. When you’re panting, a thin thread of saliva between you  - Xavier eyes blown out wide. You feel your mouth dry. A weak feeling in your knees as your arms circle his shoulder.  

“You’re mad,” You say lamely, unsure of what else there is. Xavier scoffs. 

“Of course I am,”  

You try to think of a way to explain yourself but the words come up empty. There’s a pressure in the air, dizzying heat as your eyes stay locked onto his and you try to figure out how to ease his mood. Chewing your lip, you go doe-eyed. Try to suck up to him to see if he’ll yield. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think they’d choose me, and I couldn’t—“  

Xavier interrupts you. “You were keeping it from me,”  

Shit. “I knew you wouldn’t like it,”  

He scoffs again, just on the edge of mean. “So you thought you shouldn’t tell me and decided to do something that dangerous on your own? You were planning on going in there without any real back up without informing me and you thought I’d just let it slide?”  

You find yourself out of things to say. Xavier looks frustrated. He leans in closer, jaw tight - speaking only loud enough for you to hear.  

“You were flirting with him so easily. Do you know how he looked at you?” His voice makes the room feel cold. A chill crawls up your spine. “I should’ve broken his wrists,”  

“Xavier,” Your words come out in a half-gasp. “You don’t mean that,”  

He stares at you. It’s hard not to get swept up in his gaze. “I hate when anyone else looks at you. I hate when people get close to you. I almost lost my mind when he touched you and you didn’t even push him away. You seemed so used to it, so friendly I almost—“ 

You put a hand on his chest. “Baby, I was acting. Just acting. I didn’t mean any of it, so you don’t need to—“ 

He grits his teeth. “I almost came down there to separate you. I wanted to so badly. I almost did, and I only held it in because it’d make it harder for you. Even right now I regret it not doing more,”  

You pause, pressing your lips together. Xavier goes on.    

“I should’ve caused a disturbance, but I didn’t because you wouldn’t like it. But I still feel like this,” His voice is low. Shaky. “So. What should I do?”  

You feel bad. You can’t help it. You know it’s not good to coddle him when he gets like this, but you’d be lying if you acted like you hated it. Pressing your palm to his cheek, you study him for a beat and look a little apologetically.  

Your voice is whisper soft. “You can do whatever you want to me,”  

He inhales sharply. “You’re mine,”  

“I’m yours,” You agree easily. 

For a minute, he just breathes you in. His nose nudges against your jaw, inhaling the scent of your skin and perfume. His teeth nip at your pulse point, sucking a hickey into it hard as both of his hands find your ass and squeeze tight. You lean back against the door, tilting your chin up to give him room. “Shit, Xavier,”  

“After I saw you in this I wanted to take fuck you in the middle of the bar, right where everyone was watching,” He says, crass.  Direct with nothing left to hold him back.  

You whimper. Xavier bites at your shoulder and neck - his grip on your ass nearly bruising now. “At least that way no one would bother you,”  

He sighs like he’s exasperated as he kisses down the column of your throat, dipping his down and pushing aside the fabric of your top to reveal nothing but pasties. He’s gentle at least about removing whats covering them - putting them somewhere you can’t make out in the dark. Your nipples harden under the cool air. Xavier takes one bud between his incisors and tugs gently, flicking against the sensitive skin until you gasp and lapping over it with his tongue. His other hand plays with the other one, rolling it between his fingers and pinching slight enough that you yelp.  

“If I can’t do that much then I’ll mark you all over instead,” Xavier whispers against your skin. You feel your legs almost give out. A trail of arousal drips down between your thighs, reaches past even the edge of your tiny skirt. “So next time you wear something like this, people know not to bother. Again and again and again, so they don’t fade,”  

“You’re making it sound like you— haah— wanna be with me f-forever,”  

He doesn’t say anything. Just prints another hickey onto you. A few on your breasts, on your sternum, on your navel. In places they don’t need to be. You feel a bite mark on your tits that makes your jaw fall open. Xavier makes sure to lap at your wounds each time he leaves them, makes sure to pleasure you after the pain so you lose yourself to it entirely.  

He’s good at making you forgive him.  

He puts a hand between your thighs after a while of biting, your leather skirt riding up until it’s bunched at your waist. His fingers press against the soaked lace of your thong, middle finger padding against your clit over the material. You inhale soft, breaking off into a gasp when you feel him push against you harder. You hold on his arm.  

“Wait, wait—“  

The protest falls on deaf ears. You hold onto Xaviers forearms, legs trembling as your calves brace - heels making it hard to stand. Xavier’s touch is relentless, free hand at the small of your back as if to anchor. He kisses your jaw, nuzzling his nose into the skin as he reaches back over the waistband of your panties. Direct friction proving to be too much, your heads spinning. Xavier isn’t usually this aggressive - but no matter how much you twitch against his fingers, how much you whimper for him to wait a moment - he holds you steady. Demands it from you, breathing you in - a quiet repetition.  

He’s determined to make you cum just like this, on shaky legs, barely upright as your eyes roll back up into the dark. You put a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise but it slips out anyway  - worsens when Xavier bites down.  

“I want to hear you,”  

“We’re next to the door,”  

“Are you worried someone will walk by?”  

You look at him, incredulous.  

“Let them listen. Show them how good I make you feel,”  

He pushes forward. His fingers know exactly the right way to touch you - knows what angle makes you too sensitive, feel like too much. Your mouth falls open, both hands on his wrists as he rubs your clit in circles. It hardens under his touch until you’re trembling, moaning quietly.  

“Xavier, Xavier wait—I’ll cum,”  

His voice is hardened. “Then do it,” 

His name passes your lips as a whine this time, a plea as you feel an orgasm wash over you. Your whole body tenses as you slump against the door for support.  

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”  

Your body seizes as you struggle to keep yourself upright, Xavier holding you up as a wave of pleasure over comes you. You limbs curl in, mind blanking out as you succumb to it. Still trembling, you struggle to you push yourself back up right. Xavier helps you you, balancing your weight against the door as he traps you against it for a second time. Your cunt throbs, still pulsing from your first orgasm but you don’t get any time to catch your breath.  

He presses his lips to yours again with the same fervor as before - more to his emotions then jealousy. Desires burns hot inside of you, makes a pit form at your core at the desperation he touches you with. Like you’re the only thing he’s ever thought of wanting, the only thing he can think to need.  

You pant his name between kisses, trying to catch his attention. Wanting to slow down, still feeling fuzzy from the high of your orgasm. Your palms press against his chest, cling to his shoulders. You’re briefly distracted by his strength as you feel the muscles tenses.  

You call his name softly. “Xavier, mm - wait, wait please,”  

He doesn’t stop. “What do you need me to wait for?”  

“’s too much, just—“ 

His voice is even. “If this is too much for you, you’ll break before the nights over,”  

The word break makes the lust in your veins burn - like fire running through you. You’re gasping as Xavier pushes his hand between your legs again - his fingers probing deeper this time. You feel him glide across the length of your slit, feeling the arousal. Your muscles twitching as he brushes your clit on a each pass, but not deliberately.  

“If I can do whatever I want, then I’ll have to fuck you until I’m satisfied. It’s too late to take it back, so don’t say it’s too much. Just be good and take it,”  

Fuck. Your whole body melts. The declaration in it, the demand. A surety that leaves your stomach tied in knots. You feel Xaviers fingers at your entrance. His middle finger slips inside of your pussy with ease. You press your face into his shoulder, leaning into him for support while he stretches you open. He works himself inside of you slowly but still impatiently. Eagerly searching for your sweet spot and finding it easily. His fingers are thinner, but long - reach deeper than you could on your own. He fucks himself into you down to the knuckle, humming as you clench down around the digit in arousal.  

“You’re sucking me in,” He laughs against your neck. You whimper. “Do you want it that badly?”  

The answer is a resounding yes. Right now especially, it feels like the only thing that’ll calm you down. All your inhibitions melt away and give way to something carnal. Your core is throbbing, hips rutting into the air and chasing friction. Sensation. Any kind of release to the tension you feel  building inside of you all over again.  

Xavier curls fingers into your gspot, touching you deeply before he adds another finger and stretches you out as he scissors them. He gives you little time to adjust, not as much as he would on another day. Thinking of the slight ache only arouses you further, some distant lust at the idea of being taken.  

Xavier works you open until your pussy grows wetter, stickier from arousal - the sound filthy as he pumps them in and out of you with no intent other then working you up. You bite down on your lip trying to hold it in. A cruel and precise touch makes it pointless, moaning loud at the sudden jolt of pleasure.  

You want more then this. Your body is begging for it.  

“Xavier, please. Please,” 

“I thought it was too much. Did you change your mind?”  

You look at him, lips drawn into a pout. Even in the dark, you can make out his features. It’s easy to see amusement flash over his face - affection and adoration wrapped up in his jealousy and anger.  

“Did you?” He presses.  

“Please,”  

Xavier wordlessly pulls away from you, spinning you around effortlessly until you’re facing the door and pressing your weight against it. It doesn’t take long before you hear the sound of a zipper, followed by something hard heavy pressed against your ass. Xavier puts his hand on top of yours, interlocking your fingers. His other hand holds onto your hips, pulling you until you’re flush to his cock. You push yourself back on him as Xavier tsks.  

“Look at you,”  

Your head feels hazy at his tone of voice. Half-way between amusement and mocking. “’m sorry. Please fuck me,” 

Xavier eases his cock into you without any warning. You find your waist going weak - only being held up by him as he stretches your cunt. His cock is long - intrusive as the tip presses through to the entrance. Tight hole yielding to him easily, familiar with the shape and taste of it. You’ve taken him so many times over but it never fails to make you feel so fucking good. Your pussy throbs as you push yourself onto him further, itching to take him completely - aching from somewhere deep.  

A  moan is punched out of your lungs. Satisfaction and pleasure makes a mess of your nerves, your thighs trembling from effort as you lean on the door for support. He’s not even all the way in, but you’re sensitive - so worked up youhave to make effort to breathe around the pleasure.  

“Don’t you think its unfair, acting so shameless when I’m meant to be taking it out on you?” Xavier asks. He fucks into you deeper in one hard thrust, nearly dropping you to your knees. His name comes out like a cry. “You’re clinging onto me so much,” 

You moan his name feeling especially helpless to it. Your mind feels  completely blank, you’re barely able to respond to his taunting. All you can feel is white-hot pleasure, heart pounding as your fingers curl up. The euphoric drag of the head through silken walls, the sticky warmth and skin on skin. How close he is, how deep. Your voice no longer something you can control.  

“You’re being so loud now. They’ll hear you,” Xavier presses. You feel your pussy tighten at the thought. Anyone could walk by and hear exactly how you sound sheathed on his cock. The desperation in your voice. Your arousal spikes and it doesn’t go unnoticed. “You want them to hear you? You must like the attention. Maybe I’m not giving you enough. Is that why you did such a thing?”  

You feel incoherent. “Xavier, Xavier,”  

“I’ll make up for it, so remember it clearly next time you want to misbehave,” His hand comes around your throat, the other around your waist as fingers brush against your clit. Your body jolts at the touch. Loud moans echoing in your room as Xaviers voice brushes your ear, breath tickling your skin. “You’re mine,” He punctuates, bottoming out completely. Your mind feels like it’s on the precipice of breaking, hung over the knifes edge of pleasure. “I’ll fuck it into you so you don’t forget easily.”  

“Xavier, close, getting close, gonna cum—“  

The hand on your throat remains steady as his fingers rub your clit. Xavier is quiet as he makes you cum. His teeth are sunk into your shoulder, leaving a bite deep enough to sting as your vision starts to blur out. Bleary and needy.   

The knot in your belly unwinds as you repeat yourself frantically. Getting closer and closer, your whole body broken out into tremors. Your shoulders are shaking. Xavier groans - his teeth scraping at your neck - tugging your earlobe. He focuses all of his energy into fucking you hard. Deep and fast, tip kissing your cervix on each pass with a perfect curve.  

You blink once, twice before you’re seeing stars. Your cunt spasms, something warm and wet spraying onto the floor beneath you as Xavier fucks you through your orgasm. You feel like a neutron star, your mind caving in as pure euphoria fractures your conscious and leaves you completely and utterly out of breath - body leaning on the door as your remaining strength is drained from you.  

When you manage to catch your breath, Xavier leans over your shoulder and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. It startles you a little as your mind is slow to catch up. His demeanor much softer and more mellowed now, even though he’s yet to cum. Apparently fucking you stupid really does help his mood.  

He kisses your shoulder. “It’s too early to tap out, but we’ll do it in bed this time,”  

You laugh sincerely. “Okay. Yeah, thanks.”  

[rhyrhy]

Thinking about older!Married!Neighbor! Abby and the elementary teacher who lives a few doors down….

[ Contains:] infidelity implied, marital issues, blurb

Moving to Washington was nice. The neighborhood was quiet. White picket fence. Shiny rock on her finger. A warm bed, talks of future kids, and kisses on the cheek. But even with all that, Abby couldn’t help herself. Not when you were there. Almost every. Single. Morning.

Married Abby! who first noticed you on a run. Headband, ponytail, and an ass that just made her—ugh.

“Coming!” she called back out, ripping her eyes away from the kitchen window.

To whom? Her wife. Sweet Amanda. High school sweetheart. Love of her life. Well, that’s what she told herself. Who was she kidding? It’s been rocky since the move.

The truth was, Abby had agreed to the move because Amanda wanted to be closer to her family. But Abby’s dad was sick. She needed to be here, to help, to take care of what mattered—her family. When she tried to explain that, it spiraled like it always did.

“So my family’s less important now?” Amanda snapped, arms crossed over her chest.

Abby exhaled sharply, already exhausted. “That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what it sounds like.”

“Come on, Amanda,” Abby ran a hand down her face, jaw tight. “I’ve done everything to make this move work for you. You wanted the suburbs, the perfect house, the perfect life—”

“For us, Abby. Not just me.”

Abby scoffed. “Really? Because it feels like every time I bring up my dad, it’s suddenly a problem.”

Amanda shook her head, biting back frustration. “It’s not a problem, it’s just—what about our future? You spend all your time working or worrying about your dad. Where do I fit into that?”

The arguments piled on top of each other, never-ending, circling back to the same, tired place. Cold dinner plates. Unfulfilled, half-hearted attempts at intimacy. And, worse, lonely nights spent rubbing one out to try to release something. Since her wife was always “not in the mood.”

But no matter how hard she tried to push you out of her mind, she couldn’t. You. Sweating in the sun, that warm glow on your face. The small bounce of your ass in those tight black leggings as you passed her large kitchen window.

Jesus, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander.

Married Abby! Who’s worked under Graves Electrical ever since she was a girl, soaking up her father’s teachings. Now, a few weeks settled, known as ‘Miss Fix It,’ a well-known figure in the neighborhood, called for all sorts of emergency repairs.

She used to have her sore muscles rubbed on by doting Amanda. But now? Epsom salt and a bath she’d fall asleep in more often than the actual bed became her best friend.

Married Abby! Knew a little about you, aside from how her body reacted when you passed by. Seeing you come home with a basket full of what looked like school supplies—crayons, Elmer’s glue—combined with the sticker on your car bumper that read, “Teaching is a work of heart,” with a drawn apple. she put it together fairly quick.

It was sickeningly sweet compared to the gloomy cloud hanging over her own household. Unlike her, no ring on your finger. Just colorful clothes, gel-polished nails, and fitted workout clothes that drove her nuts.

The only thing sicker than your positivity? The fact that her wife was the one to show you the property you came home to at 4:15 on the dot, Monday through Friday.

And what almost broke her resolve completely? Yesterday morning.

You stood at her door, smiling, something wrapped in tinfoil in hand—coming to thank Amanda for helping you move in now that you were settled. The low-cut floral dress made her grip the doorframe a little tighter.

“Hi,” she forced out, clearing her throat. “Can I help you?”

[slutla]

PRICE TAG ! | MOHAWK ! MARK X FEM READER

warnings: 18+, nsfw, ditzy! reader, modern au but he still has abnormal strength, public sex, biting, degradation, objectification (?) , exhibitionism. he’s a little ooc. sex in a dressing room. mirror sex. he pays 4 all ur stuff.

summary: you needed a dress. mark didn’t mind helping, but favors with him always came with strings, and he was already tugging on them.

an: minors ageless n blank blogs dni dni tyy, had this in drafts for like weeks finally finished it. his hype died down way 2 fast 4 my liking icl

Mark feels like a personal assistant. Not even the well-paid kind, more like the overworked, underappreciated boyfriend kind, trailing behind you with shopping bags weighing down both of his arms like decorative punishment. And the real kicker? You’re using his card to pay for almost everything.

He remembers you saying something vague like needing a “pretty dress for, like, some important event.” He tagged along because he was bored and, sure, maybe he didn’t want you wandering around alone but that was two hours and like six stores ago. Now his patience is fraying at the edges. You’re picky. Ridiculously so. Each dress gets maybe ten seconds of your attention before you toss it aside with a wrinkle of your nose and a dissatisfied sigh. Mark watches another hanger hit the reject pile, jaw tight, arms sore, and not even a thank-you in sight.

Sure, he’s got insane, abnormal strength—a couple dozen bags are basically nothing to him. But walking this long? That’s not in his usual routine.

Luck for once, seems to be on his side. Just as he starts wondering how many more racks you can possibly comb through, you suddenly light up, exclaiming something unintelligible but excited. You yank a skin-tight, black, glittery dress off the hanger like it’s the answer to all your problems and grab his arm, tugging him toward the dressing rooms like a woman on a mission.

He sighs—loud enough for you to hear it. And even if sighs don’t technically carry tone, you catch the attitude in his without missing a beat. You walk ahead of him, as usual, not even checking if he’s still following—but of course he is. Manicured fingers clutching the dress like it’s made of diamonds, strutting toward the dressing rooms like the floor was laid just for you.

And maybe it’s the angle or maybe it’s just the first time he’s paying attention, but that denim skirt you’ve got on? It’s short. Really short. With every confident step, the hem rides up just enough to show the soft curve of your ass peeking out from underneath, completely unbothered. Like you want someone to notice.

He blinks, and you come to a stop in front of the dressing rooms. They’re mostly empty—quiet, tucked away in the back of the store where no one really bothers to supervise. Usually there’s some bored retail worker hovering nearby, clipboard in hand, making sure no more than two people go in at once.

But today? No one.

Which, if you were to ask Mark, is perfectly convenient—for him, not you.

“Leave the bags there. We aren’t going to bring all of them in,” you say, already halfway through the dressing room curtain without looking back.

He huffs, annoyed and slightly bitter, but still compliant. Drops the bags with a dull thud against the wall and follows you into the dressing room like a man who’s long accepted his fate.

“D’ya think you could say please, huh?” he mutters, voice low, laced with that familiar edge.

“Don’t gotta. You’re obligated, you know? Being my boyfriend and all,” you say, tone airy, like it’s just common sense. You toss the dress over the hook and start unbuttoning your top like his attitude doesn’t even register. “And what are you obligated to do?” he says, voice rough—mean, though not really mean, but to you, it might as well be the same thing.

His eyes flicker up to yours, half-mocking, half-teasing, waiting for a reaction he already knows is coming. You’re practically bare—skin glowing under the cheap dressing room lights, body all pretty under his sight. You roll your eyes at him, dramatic as ever, and bend to slip the dress on.

The curve of your ass is right in front of him, close enough to ruin his focus. With every slight shift, it jiggles just enough to make him regret every smug comment he’s ever made today, he’d never admit that out loud though, obviously. “Here, shut up and zip the back of it up,” you say, turning your back to him like you’re giving an order, not a request. Your ass is right there, too close, too warm—and the thin scrap of fabric does absolutely nothing to help his self-control.

The proximity alone has him twitching, hard in his pants, restraint wearing thin. Instead of zipping you up, he grabs your waist and pulls you flush against him, hands rough and deliberate. His cock presses against the soft curve of your ass, firm and unmistakable.

“Mark, what ar—”

He cuts you off with a hand over your mouth, the other gripping your hip like it’s his anchor. You look too good in the dress. It hugs every curve like it was sewn for you, glitter catching the light, the deep V-cut dipping low enough to drive him insane. Leaves nothing to the imagination—and right now, he has no imagination left. Just need. Just you. “Been giving me a rough day, babe. Take some responsibility,” he murmurs against your ear, voice low, almost amused.

You’re not even facing him, but you can feel the smirk tugging at his lips—smug, knowing, the kind that always makes you want to roll your eyes and kiss him in the same breath. He tugs his pants down just enough for his cock to spring free—thick, hard, and already dripping. The air between you feels heavier now, like the heat from his skin is melting whatever self-control he had left.

“Teasing me all day with that little skirt,” he mutters against your ear, voice thick with desire, hips grinding slow against the curve of your ass. “It’s like you wanted me to lose it.”

You shiver, whether from the cold of the room or the heat of his words, you don’t know. Maybe both.

He runs a hand down the front of the dress, rough palm dragging over the glittery fabric clinging to your stomach, down to the hem where it just barely covers you. “Walking around like that, knowing exactly what you’re ‘doin ‘n acting all innocent.”

You moan, soft and breathy—finally giving in, face flushed with heat as you arch into him without thinking. The response is immediate; he grips your waist tighter, rough hands pulling up the hem of your dress, fabric bunching around your hips. In one swift motion, your thong’s tugged to the side—no hesitation, just muscle memory at this point.

“Make it quick, ’kay?” you whisper, glancing toward the curtain with a flicker of nervous energy. There’s still a store full of people just beyond that entrance door.

Mark chuckles low, dark and amused, pressing a kiss to the back of your shoulder like it’s some sort of reassurance. “Yeah?” he says, lining himself up with your oozing entrance. “Don't be so loud this time.”

Mark’s grunt is a filthy rumble, breath warm against your ear as he crowds you, all hard muscle and harder cock. He slides in slow, savoring every slick grip like he’s got forever, even though you both know time’s a luxury you don’t fucking have.

You claw at the wall, dress tucked up to your tits, thong a pathetic, twisted scrap barely hanging on. His grip’s mean—fingers digging into your hips, bruising like he’s staking a claim—as he pulls out, slow, and then rams back in with a wet, obscene slap that’s gotta be echoing past the curtain. Your cheeks burn, half from shame, half from the way your cunt’s drooling ‘n gripping around him.

You bite back a whimper, but the mirror infront of you is brutal, throwing back every nasty detail: your lips slack, eyes glazed and greedy, thong ruined, slick glistening down your thighs, and Mark’s smug-as-fuck grin as he watches your pussy get bullied and pounded by his cock.

“You’re so wet,” he groans, voice cracking with need, one hand sliding down to smear your arousal over your clit, rubbing sloppy, relentless circles that make your legs shake. “Teasin’ me all day in this slutty little outfit—knew you wanted me to fuck you stupid.” He’s rough, unhinged, loving the risk of it all—the curtain’s flimsy, the store’s buzzing just outside, and he doesn’t care.

“Mark—” you whimper, voice muffled as you bite your knuckles, his cock hitting that sweet spot that has you seeing stars. He’s thick, stretching you wide, each deep thrust making your gummy, soaking walls clench greedily around him. You’re a mess, panting, barely holding it together as he fucks you like he owns you.

“Quick, huh?” he scoffs, biting your shoulder hard enough to sting, his other hand yanking your head back to force your eyes to the mirror. “Look at you, takin’ my dick like a fuckin’ whore.” His words are filthy, dripping with heat, and when you moan his name again, he grins, proudly, real ‘fuckin proud.

He likes fucking you like he’s got no self-control. your pussy is soaked, thighs sticky, his cock dripping and still pounding into you like it’s the only thing he knows how to do. doesn’t care about the noise, just keeps going—balls slapping loud against your ass, slick and messy. his grip’s rough, fingers digging in, using your hole like it’s nothing but his personal toy. doesn’t even slow down, just grunts and fucks harder like he wants to ruin you.

nails dig into your palm, teeth sinking into your bottom lip, trying not to moan like some slut in a public dressing room. He tugs you back onto him harder, pace turning sloppy. You can tell he’s close, breathing all uneven, grip bruising your hips. it doesn’t take long before he groans, low and deep, pulling out just in time to paint your ass with thick, hot spurts. careful not to mess up the dress, but messy enough to leave a stain on your skin.

“and you say i’m inconsiderate,” he mutters, voice smug as ever, still catching his breath. “didn’t even mess up your pretty little dress.”

you huff like you’re annoyed, arms crossed, eyes rolling—but you’re not fooling anyone. you liked it. too much.

“you’re still paying,” you snap, nose in the air.

he just laughs, all lazy and satisfied. “yeah, i know, pretty.”

[fastandcarlos]

The Perfect Ride : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: you can't help but wonder what you were thinking putting heels on, but as the pain nags away at you, luckily you've got lando there to offer his services

Lando struggled to hold back his laughter as he glanced back again, watching as you tentatively walked, holding onto anything around you for support. In theory, wearing heels to dinner at his parents was a great idea, but now you were suffering and walking each step full of regret. 

“Please tell me we’ve not got that much longer to go,” you sighed as Lando walked towards you and closed the distance between you both. “I can’t believe you let me leave the house in heels.” 

Finally a chuckle escaped from Lando, having asked you several times before you left the house whether you were sure you wanted to wear them. You were confident that things would be fine, brushing Lando aside despite how vocal he was with his concerns for you. 

“I told you so,” he shrugged, allowing you to rest your hand against his shoulder to steady yourself. “I was serious when I said you should’ve left the house in your crocs.” 

“Sure, I’m your parents would’ve loved me showing up in my crocs, are you actually insane Lan?” 

With Lando holding onto you, you started walking again, wincing every single time your foot hit the floor. You were keen to make a good impression, having only met Lando’s parents a handful of times, but now you knew that impressing them was not as important as being comfortable. 

Lando’s arm snaked around your waist as he walked at your pace, encouraging you to keep moving, trying his best to distract you from the pain in your feet. 

“Sorry that I’m taking so long,” you told Lando, glancing across and meeting his eyes. “We probably could’ve been home by now if I wasn’t wearing these stupid things. This is ridiculous.” 

Lando offered you a sympathetic smile, “it’s pretty nice weather tonight, I’m quite happy being out here and admiring the beautiful sunset, I don’t mind.” 

“Nice try trying to make me feel a little less guilty.” 

“I’m being serious,” Lando tried his best to assure you, “when was the last time we got to take a slow walk and just soak in our surroundings for a little while?” 

You stopped again, letting go of a deep breath. “It would be nice to be able to do that without feeling like I want to get a saw and chop both of my feet off.” 

Your confession had Lando giggling, as much as he sympathised with how you were feeling, he was struggling to keep himself composed and supportive amongst all of your dramatics.  

Despite how nice you wanted to look, Lando never wanted you to make the effort at a cost. He didn’t want you to feel like you had to suffer just for him, to look good for him, he wouldn’t have cared if you showed up in your pyjamas, just having you there with his family was more than enough for him.  

“We might still be here to see the sunrise too if we carry on like this,” Lando smiled, trying his best to bring a smile back to your face. 

“Why do I get the feeling that you’re starting to enjoy this?” You challenged, narrowing your eyes in Lando’s direction. “I might just bin them and walk bare foot for the rest of the way home instead.” 

Lando’s head shook, picking you up as soon as you bent down to undo the buckle of your shoe. “You can’t do that, it’s not safe baby. I’ve got a different idea that might be able to solve your problem though?” 

You watched as Lando stood in front of you, tapping against his back, inviting you to jump up. “Are you being serious?” You laughed, watching as he looked over his shoulder at you, nodding his head. “You think you can piggyback me home?” 

“I do actually want to get home at some point tonight.” 

Lando tapped his back again, feeling your hands hold onto his shoulders. You counted down before jumping up, wrapping your legs around his waist, feeling his hands go underneath your knees to lift you up and keep you secure as your arms draped in front of Lando’s chest. 

“See,” he smiled, immediately starting to walk with you comfortably resting against him. “It doesn’t even feel like I’m carrying anything on my back you’re so light.” 

“You are such a liar Lando Norris.” 

“I’m serious,” he chuckled, walking at a much quicker pace than he had done whilst you were on your feet too. “All you need to do is relax and enjoy the ride and let me worry about making sure you get home in one piece tonight.” 

Your head nodded as you took a look around the street, figuring out whereabouts you were. “Have I ever told you how much of a hero you are? Always saving the day for me.” 

“That’s just what boyfriends are for, right?” Lando laughed in response. 

Sure, in a relationship you were supposed to be looked after, but Lando always seemed to find a way to go above and beyond. If you were ever stuck, he was always there to help you with the right answer to fix things.  

Your smile was wide as Lando continued walking, it was surprisingly comfortable up on his back, making the most of not having to worry about the ache in your feet for a little while. 

“I hope you know how important you are to receive treatment like this, I don’t offer a piggyback to anyone you know,” Lando smirked, breaking the silence between you both. 

You hummed back at him, finding yourself beginning to get sleepy. Lando could feel your head beginning to weigh down on top of his own, hearing your breaths get a little heavier as you struggled to keep your eyes open. A smile crept onto Lando’s face, relieved to feel and hear how comfortable you were. 

“Don’t be falling asleep on me up there,” he teased, “I can’t walk the rest of the way home talking to myself, people will think I’m weird if they hear that.” 

“I’m awake, I promise,” you assured him, fighting the urge to close your eyes, trying your best to focus on something to stay awake. 

Lando glanced up questionably back at you, knowing it was only a matter of time before he would hear you falling asleep, knowing when he got home it would be his job to get you tucked into bed and try not to wake you up.  

“Are we almost home?” You asked Lando, not quite sure how much longer you could hold on for, feeling sleep getting closer with every second that passed. 

“Don’t worry about that, close your eyes if you want to love,” Lando smiled, “I don’t mind if you do, I’ll just sing to myself for the rest of the way home. 

You nodded in reply to Lando, “thank you for always being there for me and helping me, I really do appreciate it Lando.” 

“I know you do,” Lando whispered, “but you never have to thank me, I love being the one that gets to take care of you.” 

“And you do such a good job of it too.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[docdudo]

Vampire 141 - Fledgling!Reader

This was hell.

Actually, you truly believed hell must be kinder than whatever the hell was happening to your body these past few days.

Should you call the support line after all?

And to think it was all your boss’s fault. If that jerk hadn’t made you work overtime and close the stupid convenience store without any warning, maybe you could have found a way to get home safely.

But nooooo...

Now thanks to that, you were attacked on your way home after work.

Attacked in the middle of the night, on a week day, too far from any houses for anyone to hear the commotion.

And it had been a vampire.

You didn’t know much about vampires. Their species was way too mysterious and reserved with outsiders. That’s not to say they didn’t interact with humans—because they did, especially with the wealthy—but it was one of those situations where someone like you would never get the chance to speak with one.

They were high society. Big families that controlled entire cities and states. Like the Mafia or some shit, living in the rich part of town that you had never even set foot in before.

Although, you had heard of vampires appearing here and there sometimes, walking around through the city quietly and discreetly when problems needed to be solved.

Problems like feral vampires.

Loners cast aside from their Covens for one reason or another, now crazed and out of control, following their bloodlust blindly. They killed as easily as any vampire did, even if their only focus was to drink their victims' blood.

Dangerous creatures...

They were rare—incredibly so—since it was the responsibility of the high covens to protect the normal folk from ferals. They rarely appeared in other vampires' territory, fearing the powerful presence of their own kind.

But sometimes...

Sometimes, a new one would appear from far away, starved and crazed like most of them were by that point. And usually they managed to kill one victim before the covens hunted them down to kill them for good.

So it was very important to call the right number to report feral vampires in the area.

Should you have done that? Yes, you should have. You really should have. But you were so. freaking. tired.

You were a college student working part-time at a convenience store. After waking up from your near-death experience, you just couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore. In fact, for a good while after waking up, you even thought you had hallucinated everything. You went home like it was just another night, your mind drifting, more absent than present.

The moment your head hit the pillow, you were out.

But, when you looked at yourself in the mirror the next morning...

You were supposed to be dead. Someone would find your body—drained and wounded—and call the feral hotline. Vampires would show up, deal with the feral with minimal effort, and make sure the area was secured again. That’s just how it goes.

EXCEPT!

You are fucking alive!!

You didn’t even know that was possible—a feral giving up on its prey after pinning it down instead of just killing it for the blood.

It was talking, too—mumbling nonsense by your ear, like it was actually trying to communicate with you.

It bit you, injecting its venom.

Your skin was horribly marked now. The wounds that had once been there had all turned into thin layers of scar tissue. Not the usual kind, but one formed by the venom injected into your bloodstream. The red and black layers against your otherwise normal skin tone made it look like the weirdest tattoo you’d ever seen—like you were a broken porcelain doll with satan himself trying to break free from inside out.

It started at your neck, on your left shoulder, blooming into an ugly, messy bite that was definitely the most obvious problem there.

It went down your left arm and chest, streaks that looked like veins, or cracks.

The artwork was completed by ending on the wounds you’d gotten on your lower body while fighting off the vampire on top of you—scrapes around your hips and legs.

At least you actually searched a bit about vampires after that, panicking hard over the weird markings on your skin. The only and most important thing you needed to know was whether ferals could transform humans or not.

Which, unsurprisingly, they could.

At least, in theory.

They still have their venom, but when they go feral, they usually just want to drink blood from their victims blindly, and the venom is mostly forgotten. There was never a case of a feral actually turning someone into a vampire!

Maybe that feral wasn’t as far gone as the others...

But now, this was somehow your problem! You barely knew anything about vampires', or how they worked in the first place!

What do they even do after transforming someone?

Are you really a vampire now??

Why did you have the ugliest markings all over your body after being bitten, when you’d never heard of vampires leaving markings like this???

And why the hell was your boss still making you go to work after you told him you were attacked late at night last week, the asshole?!?!

Maybe you should’ve specified it was a vampire who attacked you, but you were scared to face what had happened. What had been done to you, and what you might now become. Do you need to speak to vampires now? Are you actually one? You don't even have any fangs or anything different besides the markings...

You had so much to do—so many projects left unfinished for school. You never missed class, not even when you were sick. But now that you’ve become a completely different species…

"Dearie, what happened to you??"

You were startled by the worried voice of an old lady close to you, making you look up from the chip bags you had been staring at for a solid five minutes in the middle of the aisle.

You glanced back at her for a few seconds before turning your gaze to your own body, looking down at your neck and collarbone where the giant marking started, barely hidden by the collar of your work shirt.

"Oh, it's... dunno, a birthmark." You mumble, tired, not really caring much for a better excuse.

You were so tired lately... what the hell even happened? You always had that healthy college student tiredness from working and studying, but it never made your body feel this heavy.

If you were any more weak-minded, you might have just stayed in bed forever.

But then again, college student.

"It doesn't look like one…." The woman squinted, analyzing your neck like it was her fucking business.

Okay, maybe you were also a bit more irritaded than normal.

"Ma'am, it's nothing. Can I help you with something?" You force a smile, though it’s more cynical than polite, as you weren’t really in the mood to be that polite to people who couldn’t mind their own business.

She stared at you for a few more long seconds in complete silence, her eyes squinting as she made that slow, long hum that old people make when they're being casually judgmental.

"That's a vampire thing, isn't it?" A middle-aged man appeared around the corner, his eyes also drifting to your neck as he tilted his head to the side. "It looks like a vampire bite on your neck..."

This guy you actually know—Thomas, from the real estate office nearby—who always comes to buy a snack around this time of day.

"How did you even get to that conclusion...?" You mumble, frowning slightly in annoyance.

"For one, I can see two teeth marks on your neck, clearly. Second, have you not seen the news? There's a feral mosquito zooming around our area. He was spotted last week and still hasn't been caught."

The old lady gasped in shock, eyes wide as she turned back to you.

"Have you been attacked, dear?!"

Well, fuck. So much for ignoring the problem until it couldn’t be ignored anymore.

"I guess..." You shrug, wincing slightly at the pain that shot up your left shoulder from the action.

"You guess?? You should’ve called the hotline if you were attacked!" Thomas frowned, just as confused as he was indignant.

"You don’t get it, I have so much going on right now..." You groan tiredly, already slipping into a depressive mood as you remember all the work you still had to do for your classes.

"What does that even have to do wit—?!"

"Hey, what's with the commotion?!"

You sighed heavily at your boss’s loud voice booming through the store, the balding man approaching with a huffy expression, slightly controlled thanks to the two clients standing with you in the aisle.

"Didn't know you were at the store today, mr. Miller...." You mumble softly, trying to dodge the last subject.

"I wasn’t supposed to be! But we all received a notification—there’s a Coven coming here to deal with the fucking feral!" He grunts, clearly annoyed. "I came to close the store; apparently, those snobby suckers want all businesses closed to make their work easier."

"Oh no, don’t tell me that…" Thomas sighs, suffering, pulling his phone from his pocket immediately to start a call with what you can only assume is his manager, turning away from the group.

"Does that mean I can go?" You ask, raising an eyebrow as you point hesitantly at the glass door.

"Oh, you have to let her go, she needs to go to the hospital...!" The old lady quickly agrees, nodding with the most pitiful look on her face.

"Hey, hey, wait a sec, who said anything about a hospital—?"

"You still haven’t checked the fucking mark consuming your neck? Are you trying to kill yourself, girly??" Mr. Miller interrupts, glaring at you like this situation isn’t part of his fault.

"What the hell? You didn’t give me any days off??" You sputter, indignant.

"I have only you and that stoned kid right now, I can't afford to give any days off! You should go when you have time, like everyone else who works!"

You’re ready to probably yell back at his face when Thomas quickly runs back to the group, a bit desperate as he fumbles with his bags and cellphone.

"They're already here...! I have to go back too!"

"Yeah, I should be going too! Hit me up when you're uptaded, Mr. Miller! Thanks so much, bye-bye!" You say quickly, running out the door after Thomas, your backpack already over your shoulder.

You couldn't even focus on your boss' loud ass voice as you hurried down the street, your head pounding relentlessly. Ever since you got bitten, this had been your reality—splitting headaches, aching muscles, no appetite, itchy gums, and, above all, a bone-deep exhaustion.

To be fair, some of the symptoms were still pretty mild. But deep down, a gnawing fear told you something was off. You could barely wrap your head around the fact that you were actually turning (had already turned?) into a vampire. But feeling like absolute crap made you wonder… what if something was going wrong?

You should call the hotline. You should go to the hospital. Just get it over with—at least get some help. But wouldn’t that change everything? Wouldn’t it make things even more complicated? And what would the all-powerful vampires do with you then?

God, you can’t graduate if you miss too many assignments in a row!

Don’t you have that group project due in two weeks—the one no one in your group has even said a peep about?

A small noise from the other side of the otherwise silent street caught your attention, your head snapping up in alert. The street was empty—of both cars and people, as usual—except for the two men standing by the closed pet store.

And goddamn, these were NOT normal men.

They were dressed strangely, a mix of military style and high-end fashion. Clearly rich. Heavy black clothes with small pops of color, loaded with pockets and belts. Their boots—thick, heavy, the kind that could break your bones with a single kick.

But that wasn’t the weird part...

No, the weird part was how much of their faces they were covering. One of the men wore a heavy jacket, with a hood and beanie pulled up to hide his jet-black hair. A black surgical mask—like the kind you'd see in a hospital—covered his face, and dark sunglasses hid his eyes.

The other… good lord, he had to be around three meters tall. Sure, vampires were naturally bigger than humans, but still… what the hell? This guy was wearing a full veil over his head, black, with suspicious red streaks running down it, and his heavy clothes hid the rest of his body just as much.

They... they had to be vampires, right...?

You flinched when the man wearing sunglasses suddenly snapped his head in your direction. His face was completely hidden, but you could feel the intensity of his gaze. The other man too turned in your direction slowly, now both of them facing you, completely still.

It truly seemed as if time had stopped for a few moments. No one moved or made a sound. You weren’t sure what to do. The ugly markings on your skin—too high on your neck to be hidden by your snug polo work shirt—seemed to burn under their stares.

You can't take this anymore.

Without thinking, you immediately turned around and tried to make your way back to the convenience store, your heart hammering against your ribcage.

But you didn’t even manage to take a single step forward.

"What is this?" the man wearing sunglasses asked, his voice rough and quiet.

You jumped in place, a small hiccup escaping your lips in surprise as you felt heavy hands settle on your shoulders, keeping you still.

How did they get to you so fast?? You were on the other side of the street!

"Fledgling." The other man spoke even more gruffly, tilting his head down to see you properly. His veil was falling forward just enough for you to almost see his face beneath it.

You could distinctly see a red glow beneath it.

"W-Wha—"

Your stuttered words were interrupted by the veiled man's big, heavy hand tilting your head up gently, while his partner unbuttoned your polo shirt, pulling the cloth aside to reveal more of the damaged area.

"Abused by their Sire." The veiled man growled lowly in anger, his voice still mostly quiet as he analyzed the markings. You could clearly hear a distinctive German accent in his words. "Who? It's just our Coven here."

"There were visiting Covens not that long ago." The other one also spoke with an accent—something Asian, it seemed—but you couldn't quite place it.

"Too fresh. This is a just-turned."

"E-Excuse me—"

"This is a grievous sin against nature itself." The Asian man growled, making every hair on your body stand on end. The sound of his growl sent a shiver through you, paralyzing you slightly. "She didn't even complete the transformation."

"Fledgling, who is your Sire?" the German muttered slowly, forcing your head slightly higher so you had to look up at him.

Now they quieted down, letting you speak. Though you didn't really want to right now—not when you didn't understand what the hell they were saying.

"M-My... my what...?" You mumble anxiously, looking up in between both of their covered faces.

...

"Scheißdreck!" The veiled man cursed gruffly, his hands immediately going under your armpits to lift you up as if you weighed nothing, making you yelp in surprise.

"I did think the tribunal was too quiet recently," the Asian guy grunted, his arms crossed firmly as he watched you squirm slightly in panic in the bigger man's arms. "They're gonna love to hear about this."

"And the feral?" the German asked quietly, gently immobilizing you against him, tapping your back in small motions to calm you down.

"The others are here. No matter how smart a feral, they are easy targets. We have more important matters to attend to now. Isn't that right, Fledgling?"

You whimpered slightly in fear and confusion, your head pressed against the taller vampire's shoulder.

"How are we going to deal with this...?" The German sounded slightly calmer now, less aggressive with you in his arms. "This is serious, Horangi, a crime of this caliber..."

"I know, König. The tribunal will deal with that. For now, we keep her close. How about her teeth?"

You felt your body being slightly adjusted to lay more against the big guy's body, his giant hand coming up to your mouth to push his fingers inside it.

"No way!" you hissed defensively, trying to turn your head from side to side to avoid him.

"Shh, Fledgling. You're okay, stay calm. Open up." You let out a grunt in surprise and indignation as Horangi stepped forward, forcing his fingers into your mouth while König held your head in place. "Ha, it's what we thought. A fresh fledgling. Her teeth haven't even fallen out yet." He laughed without humor, shaking his head slightly as he let go.

"F-Fall out?? W-Wait, t-this is...! O-Oh, God..."

You whimpered, getting overwhelmed. This was precisely why you didn’t want to deal with the attack and transformation matter. And a tribunal?? You were so busy, living alone, and you couldn’t miss work—much less miss your classes.

"You are tired, Liebchen. Your body is taking a toll after the bad transformation. Settle, we'll take care of things." He patted your back gently a few times.

"She has a ton of venom in her bloodstream, and she's still awake. Rock her a bit, and she should fall back asleep quickly. I'm calling Laswell."

God Fucking Dammit!!

[pikavani]

How Outono was found

The marketplace was as lively as ever, packed with vendors shouting prices and people bustling from stall to stall. Among the crowd was Masha, a young maid making her usual rounds to gather supplies and ingredients for the castle.

And there she was again. Masha (22 years old) had noticed the little girl several times before, darting through the streets, always keeping her distance from strangers. She didn’t beg, didn’t steal—just played with the stray cats and dogs like she was one of them. She was always alone, sitting in the dirt and keeping to herself.

It wasn’t uncommon to see orphans wandering the streets, especially after the war. But this girl stood out. Bright blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin—she didn’t look like she belonged there. People couldn’t help but notice her, and that made Masha uneasy.

Masha had watched her from a distance, wondering about her story. Where was she from? How old was she? Seven? Eight, maybe? But what really bothered Masha was how much attention the girl could draw just by existing. A chill ran down her spine at the thought of what might happen if the wrong person noticed her.

Masha had heard the whispers in dark alleys. Men who offered food and shelter but delivered nightmares instead—slavery, prostitution, factories. The girl was practically a walking target.

No, Masha thought, she couldn’t just stand by and do nothing. She had to act. It was reckless, impulsive, but she didn’t care. “There you are!” Masha called out, pushing through the crowd toward the girl. Her voice was sharp enough to make heads turn. She grabbed the child’s arm—not hard, but firmly enough to keep her from slipping away.

The girl froze, staring up at Masha with wide, startled eyes. She didn’t fight or run, just stood there, too shocked to react.

“Come on,” Masha said, her voice softer now as she led the girl through the busy streets. She kept her head down, ignoring the curious glances from the crowd. To them, she was just a frustrated aunt dragging a mischievous child home.

As they made their way to the castle, Masha’s thoughts raced. What was she doing? She wasn’t anyone important, just a maid trying to keep her head above water. She had enough on her plate without adding a lost child to her problems. This could blow up in her face. But as she felt the girl’s small, cold hand in hers, she pushed the doubts aside. It was too late to turn back now.

When they arrived, Masha wasted no time. She took the girl’s dirty, torn dress and helped her into a warm bath. The child didn’t resist, but her wary eyes followed Masha’s every move. As the grime melted away, Masha got a better look at her.

Her skin was smooth, untouched by scars or bruises. No signs of the abuse you’d expect from a child on the streets. But she was so thin—her ribs showed, and her small frame seemed almost fragile. Malnourished, but not beyond help.

And her dress… Masha frowned as she picked it up. The fabric was fine, high-quality, definitely not something a street orphan would wear. Someone had cared for this child once. So why was she out here alone?

As Masha gently scrubbed the girl’s hair, she tried to ask questions. “What’s your name? Where are you from? Do you have family?”

At first, the girl didn’t say a word. She shrank into the water, clearly overwhelmed. But as the bath’s warmth set in, she began to relax. When Masha asked again, the girl shook her head faintly, her expression confused.

“Nothing?” Masha pressed. “You don’t remember anything?”

Another small shake. Masha sighed, brushing back her frustration. “Alright, it doesn’t matter right now.”

As she rinsed the soap from the girl’s hair, Masha noticed the way her small hands played with the bubbles. The child giggled softly, and for the first time, Masha saw her smile. It was a tiny thing, fleeting, but it lit up her face.

After the bath, Masha dressed her in one of her old tunics, the smallest size she could find. Still, it hung awkwardly on the girl’s petite frame, the sleeves drooping well past her hands. Masha couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, don’t you look like a little bird in borrowed feathers.”

The girl didn’t seem to mind. She hid her shy smile behind her blond hair, her cheeks tinged pink.

Later, Masha handed her some bread and cheese she’d bought at the market. The girl devoured it eagerly, taking bites so big Masha had to laugh. “Slow down,” she said, patting her head. “There’s plenty more.”

As the girl ate, Masha felt some of her worries melt away. There was something about her—innocent, endearing. She rested a hand on the child’s head, thinking aloud. “You know, you’ve got the most beautiful eyes. Since you don’t remember your name, how about I call you Blue? Sound good?”

The girl paused, then gave a small nod.

And just like that, the little girl became part of Masha’s life.

She was still shy, always hiding behind Masha when strangers came near. But in the quiet moments, she was a joy—giggling to herself, chasing sunlight, and even whispering to the stray animals that seemed to follow her everywhere.

As time passed, "Blue" found her voice. She made up silly songs, told little stories, and even helped Masha with her chores. The work of a maid was tough, but with Blue around, it didn’t feel so hard. Her tiny hands and sweet voice brought a light to Masha’s world that she hadn’t realized she needed.