#Got Sales Traffic

[bibleofficial]

absolutely exhausted i’ve done sooo much today 😭😭 dealt w the shoes, went through old papers & binders, cleaned out boxes under my bed & in the closet, & i just finished watering plants. i ALSO got those mormon shirts today & the box ? WENT THROUGH IT - but the shirts are G O R G. like i’m truly a medium/small & thought the large would end up being too big but it fits PERFECTLY like it’s a HAIR smaller than the vintage guess shirt that has an immaculate fit - MONEY WILL SPENT !!!

[audiovisualrecall]

Love how I can ruin something so easily

[edelblau]

my finances are soooooooooo bad this month please please please

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Tesla's Dieselgate

Elon Musk lies a lot. He lies about being a “utopian socialist.” He lies about being a “free speech absolutist.” He lies about which companies he founded:

https://www.businessinsider.com/tesla-cofounder-martin-eberhard-interview-history-elon-musk-ev-market-2023-2 He lies about being the “chief engineer” of those companies:

https://www.quora.com/Was-Elon-Musk-the-actual-engineer-behind-SpaceX-and-Tesla

He lies about really stupid stuff, like claiming that comsats that share the same spectrum will deliver steady broadband speeds as they add more users who each get a narrower slice of that spectrum:

https://www.eff.org/wp/case-fiber-home-today-why-fiber-superior-medium-21st-century-broadband

The fundamental laws of physics don’t care about this bullshit, but people do. The comsat lie convinced a bunch of people that pulling fiber to all our homes is literally impossible — as though the electrical and phone lines that come to our homes now were installed by an ancient, lost civilization. Pulling new cabling isn’t a mysterious art, like embalming pharaohs. We do it all the time. One of the poorest places in America installed universal fiber with a mule named “Ole Bub”:

https://www.newyorker.com/tech/annals-of-technology/the-one-traffic-light-town-with-some-of-the-fastest-internet-in-the-us

Previous tech barons had “reality distortion fields,” but Musk just blithely contradicts himself and pretends he isn’t doing so, like a budget Steve Jobs. There’s an entire site devoted to cataloging Musk’s public lies:

https://elonmusk.today/

But while Musk lacks the charm of earlier Silicon Valley grifters, he’s much better than they ever were at running a long con. For years, he’s been promising “full self driving…next year.”

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

He’s hasn’t delivered, but he keeps claiming he has, making Teslas some of the deadliest cars on the road:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/technology/2023/06/10/tesla-autopilot-crashes-elon-musk/

Tesla is a giant shell-game masquerading as a car company. The important thing about Tesla isn’t its cars, it’s Tesla’s business arrangement, the Tesla-Financial Complex:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/24/no-puedo-pagar-no-pagara/#Rat

Once you start unpacking Tesla’s balance sheets, you start to realize how much the company depends on government subsidies and tax-breaks, combined with selling carbon credits that make huge, planet-destroying SUVs possible, under the pretense that this is somehow good for the environment:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/14/for-sale-green-indulgences/#killer-analogy

But even with all those financial shenanigans, Tesla’s got an absurdly high valuation, soaring at times to 1600x its profitability:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/15/hoover-calling/#intangibles

That valuation represents a bet on Tesla’s ability to extract ever-higher rents from its customers. Take Tesla’s batteries: you pay for the battery when you buy your car, but you don’t own that battery. You have to rent the right to use its full capacity, with Tesla reserving the right to reduce how far you go on a charge based on your willingness to pay:

https://memex.craphound.com/2017/09/10/teslas-demon-haunted-cars-in-irmas-path-get-a-temporary-battery-life-boost/

That’s just one of the many rent-a-features that Tesla drivers have to shell out for. You don’t own your car at all: when you sell it as a used vehicle, Tesla strips out these features you paid for and makes the next driver pay again, reducing the value of your used car and transfering it to Tesla’s shareholders:

https://www.theverge.com/2020/2/6/21127243/tesla-model-s-autopilot-disabled-remotely-used-car-update

To maintain this rent-extraction racket, Tesla uses DRM that makes it a felony to alter your own car’s software without Tesla’s permission. This is the root of all autoenshittification:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

This is technofeudalism. Whereas capitalists seek profits (income from selling things), feudalists seek rents (income from owning the things other people use). If Telsa were a capitalist enterprise, then entrepreneurs could enter the market and sell mods that let you unlock the functionality in your own car:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/11/1-in-3/#boost-50

But because Tesla is a feudal enterprise, capitalists must first secure permission from the fief, Elon Musk, who decides which companies are allowed to compete with him, and how.

Once a company owns the right to decide which software you can run, there’s no limit to the ways it can extract rent from you. Blocking you from changing your device’s software lets a company run overt scams on you. For example, they can block you from getting your car independently repaired with third-party parts.

But they can also screw you in sneaky ways. Once a device has DRM on it, Section 1201 of the DMCA makes it a felony to bypass that DRM, even for legitimate purposes. That means that your DRM-locked device can spy on you, and because no one is allowed to explore how that surveillance works, the manufacturer can be incredibly sloppy with all the personal info they gather:

https://www.cnbc.com/2019/03/29/tesla-model-3-keeps-data-like-crash-videos-location-phone-contacts.html

All kinds of hidden anti-features can lurk in your DRM-locked car, protected from discovery, analysis and criticism by the illegality of bypassing the DRM. For example, Teslas have a hidden feature that lets them lock out their owners and summon a repo man to drive them away if you have a dispute about a late payment:

https://tiremeetsroad.com/2021/03/18/tesla-allegedly-remotely-unlocks-model-3-owners-car-uses-smart-summon-to-help-repo-agent/

DRM is a gun on the mantlepiece in Act I, and by Act III, it goes off, revealing some kind of ugly and often dangerous scam. Remember Dieselgate? Volkswagen created a line of demon-haunted cars: if they thought they were being scrutinized (by regulators measuring their emissions), they switched into a mode that traded performance for low emissions. But when they believed themselves to be unobserved, they reversed this, emitting deadly levels of NOX but delivering superior mileage.

The conversion of the VW diesel fleet into mobile gas-chambers wouldn’t have been possible without DRM. DRM adds a layer of serious criminal jeopardy to anyone attempting to reverse-engineer and study any device, from a phone to a car. DRM let Apple claim to be a champion of its users’ privacy even as it spied on them from asshole to appetite:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Now, Tesla is having its own Dieselgate scandal. A stunning investigation by Steve Stecklow and Norihiko Shirouzu for Reuters reveals how Tesla was able to create its own demon-haunted car, which systematically deceived drivers about its driving range, and the increasingly desperate measures the company turned to as customers discovered the ruse:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/tesla-batteries-range/

The root of the deception is very simple: Tesla mis-sells its cars by falsely claiming ranges that those cars can’t attain. Every person who ever bought a Tesla was defrauded.

But this fraud would be easy to detect. If you bought a Tesla rated for 353 miles on a charge, but the dashboard range predictor told you that your fully charged car could only go 150 miles, you’d immediately figure something was up. So your Telsa tells another lie: the range predictor tells you that you can go 353 miles.

But again, if the car continued to tell you it has 203 miles of range when it was about to run out of charge, you’d figure something was up pretty quick — like, the first time your car ran out of battery while the dashboard cheerily informed you that you had 203 miles of range left.

So Teslas tell a third lie: when the battery charge reached about 50%, the fake range is replaced with the real one. That way, drivers aren’t getting mass-stranded by the roadside, and the scam can continue.

But there’s a new problem: drivers whose cars are rated for 353 miles but can’t go anything like that far on a full charge naturally assume that something is wrong with their cars, so they start calling Tesla service and asking to have the car checked over.

This creates a problem for Tesla: those service calls can cost the company $1,000, and of course, there’s nothing wrong with the car. It’s performing exactly as designed. So Tesla created its boldest fraud yet: a boiler-room full of anti-salespeople charged with convincing people that their cars weren’t broken.

This new unit — the “diversion team” — was headquartered in a Nevada satellite office, which was equipped with a metal xylophone that would be rung in triumph every time a Tesla owner was successfully conned into thinking that their car wasn’t defrauding them.

When a Tesla owner called this boiler room, the diverter would run remote diagnostics on their car, then pronounce it fine, and chide the driver for having energy-hungry driving habits (shades of Steve Jobs’s “You’re holding it wrong”):

https://www.wired.com/2010/06/iphone-4-holding-it-wrong/

The drivers who called the Diversion Team weren’t just lied to, they were also punished. The Tesla app was silently altered so that anyone who filed a complaint about their car’s range was no longer able to book a service appointment for any reason. If their car malfunctioned, they’d have to request a callback, which could take several days.

Meanwhile, the diverters on the diversion team were instructed not to inform drivers if the remote diagnostics they performed detected any other defects in the cars.

The diversion team had a 750 complaint/week quota: to juke this stat, diverters would close the case for any driver who failed to answer the phone when they were eventually called back. The center received 2,000+ calls every week. Diverters were ordered to keep calls to five minutes or less.

Eventually, diverters were ordered to cease performing any remote diagnostics on drivers’ cars: a source told Reuters that “Thousands of customers were told there is nothing wrong with their car” without any diagnostics being performed.

Predicting EV range is an inexact science as many factors can affect battery life, notably whether a journey is uphill or downhill. Every EV automaker has to come up with a figure that represents some kind of best guess under a mix of conditions. But while other manufacturers err on the side of caution, Tesla has the most inaccurate mileage estimates in the industry, double the industry average.

Other countries’ regulators have taken note. In Korea, Tesla was fined millions and Elon Musk was personally required to state that he had deceived Tesla buyers. The Korean regulator found that the true range of Teslas under normal winter conditions was less than half of the claimed range.

Now, many companies have been run by malignant narcissists who lied compulsively — think of Thomas Edison, archnemesis of Nikola Tesla himself. The difference here isn’t merely that Musk is a deeply unfit monster of a human being — but rather, that DRM allows him to defraud his customers behind a state-enforced opaque veil. The digital computers at the heart of a Tesla aren’t just demons haunting the car, changing its performance based on whether it believes it is being observed — they also allow Musk to invoke the power of the US government to felonize anyone who tries to peer into the black box where he commits his frauds.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

This Sunday (July 30) at 1530h, I’m appearing on a panel at Midsummer Scream in Long Beach, CA, to discuss the wonderful, award-winning “Ghost Post” Haunted Mansion project I worked on for Disney Imagineering.

Image ID [A scene out of an 11th century tome on demon-summoning called 'Compendium rarissimum totius Artis Magicae sistematisatae per celeberrimos Artis hujus Magistros. Anno 1057. Noli me tangere.' It depicts a demon tormenting two unlucky would-be demon-summoners who have dug up a grave in a graveyard. One summoner is held aloft by his hair, screaming; the other screams from inside the grave he is digging up. The scene has been altered to remove the demon's prominent, urinating penis, to add in a Tesla supercharger, and a red Tesla Model S nosing into the scene.]

Image: Steve Jurvetson (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Tesla_Model_S_Indoors.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

[iinsertblognamee]

the streets of barcelona

summary; yn foord and alexia putellas meet

spanish | english translation

"You got everything packed?"

A small nod was all you responded back to your sister, as you let yourself get one last look at your shared apartment. The room looked practically the same from a simple glance, the discoloured paint on the walls mixed with the old posters you had found at a garage sale when you first moved in. The kitchen sink holds the dirty plates from breakfast, alongside the empty wine glasses from last night's celebrations.

You let yourself study the room further, the missing objects standing out to you like a sore thumb, the rooms somehow seeming bare without all your personal items that were now packed away and about halfway towards your new apartment.

Your eye caught Caitlin's at the last second, a small frown appearing on her lips, her eyes still red from last night. It doesn't take long for her eyes to well up once again, her bottom lip wobbling.

The distance between you two becomes extinct in an instant, as your arms wrap around each other. Your grips are so tight that neither of you can't make it if it's you or the younger woman who is shaking, but you don't dare to let go. Your lips press kisses in her hairline, as you mumble 'It's going to be okay' mixed with 'You're gonna be okay'.

It couldn't have been a few minutes before the timer on your phone filled the silence, Cailtin tenses in your embrace, before sniffling.

You give yourself one last squeeze, before pulling away. Bringing your hand up to Caitlin's cheek to wipe away her tears.

You had both said your official goodbyes last night, hoping to avoid all of this, this morning.

"I'm gonna miss you chicky" She sent you a small smile at the nickname, before grabbing your suitcase from the front door as you grabbed your passport and plane ticket.

You had arranged a pickup service to take you to the airport, wanting a few moments before you were thrown into the madness that was about to come. As excited as you were, you couldn't deny the anxiety that followed. The idea of a new team was always nerve-racking, but the added stress of moving to a country with no one you know, as well as speaking very little Spanish was keeping you on edge.

The driver met you at the steps of your apartment, taking the suitcase off your sister, as she pulled you into one last hug, squeezing you extra tight before letting go - a small wave and a 'good luck' and then she was gone.

The car ride over was nerve-racking, your knee bouncing as you watched the houses outside go by. The traffic was decent enough, the sun shining down on the airport as you thanked the driver once more, before making your way through the entry.

You gave one last look outside, taking in the sunny London that you had called home for the past three years, the crumbling thought finally hitting you.

London was no longer home.

―

The sight of Barcelona was a sight for sore eyes, your suitcase trailing behind as you attempted to move around the groups of people surrounding the waiting bay.

You had been contacted by the management team a few days prior organising a driver to pick you up from the airport and take you to your new apartment, figuring the last thing you needed was to get lost on your first day in Barcelona.

You looked out for the number plate you had memorised, walking past car after car - apologising to the people you bumped into along the way. It would have been one of the last cars parked on the strip, a woman dressed in familiar colours, sitting on the hood with her arms crossed.

She had thick sunglasses on, dark so you couldn't tell if she was watching you or not but as you got closer, her attention seemed to shift from the skyline to you. Her arms don't uncross, as she stands up - her head visibly looking you up and down before a calm, but detached look appeared on her face.

"Miss Foord?"

"Sí-" 'Yes'. You blame the flight for the way your voice cracks, coughing a little before nodding your head "Yes, yes. sorry." She nods her head but doesn't add anything else, opening the back door for you before taking the suitcase out of your hand and walking towards the boot.

The awkwardness doesn't help your beating heart, wiping your palms on your track pants before dipping your way into the car. Making sure to close the door behind you.

The lady makes her way into the front of the car a few seconds later. The radio plays softly in the background, your attention glued out your window as you watched the city fly by - attempting to remember every street sign and building you see.

"¿Cómo estuvo tu vuelo?". 'How was your flight?'.

Your head whips right around, the lady looking towards the road, you almost think you might have imagined she spoke, your mouth opening before closing again.

The silence fills the space in an instant, a frown appearing on your lips. The car comes to a stop at the lights, the driver turning her head towards you with a look on her face that you take as confusion.

"Uh. Lo sien" 'uh. I'm sorry'. The sudden realisation that you have no idea what she's asked, and now you can't even remember the basic Spanish you taught yourself since the transfer was confirmed. "Uh no. no entiendo?". 'uh no. I don't understand'. You wince at your attempt, the confusion clear in your voice as the driver tilts her head a little before turning her attention back to the road.

"How was the flight?" Her English is a hundred times better than your Spanish, Her voice seems softer in English, not as deep.

"Good. Uh. Buena. It was Buena. Fast, Which is always good" 'good'. your attempt to bring some Spanish into the conversation isn't missed by the driver, her lips curling into a small smirk before disappearing almost as fast.

"Sí, eso es bueno" 'Yes that is good'. As limited as your Spanish knowledge may run, you pick up 'yes' and 'good', nodding your head with a small smile as she catches your gaze in the rear mirror.

Feeling a little more confident, you give yourself a few seconds to think up what other Spanish you have learnt before attempting to start up a conversation again.

"What's uh, um. ¿Su nombre?" 'Your name?'

"Camila"

"Camila" You repeat, looking out the window again.

"I help get the transfers settled" She adds, turning a corner before catching your gaze in the rear mirror once again. "It's a beautiful place but can be very daunting".

"Sí. Sí" 'yes. yes'. You agree before adding "But very exciting. My, um, my hermana is very jealous" 'sister'.

"¿Tienes una hermana?" 'you have a sister?'. She catches herself before you can ask, "You have a sister?"

"Sí. Sí. A younger sister. She's a footballer too" 'yes. yes'.

"Maravillosa. Maravillosa. Wonderful". 'wonderful. wonderful'.

Before you could respond, the car came to a stop - your attention pulled away from Camila and out towards the modern building.

You recognised it in an instant, the many photos and emails that you and management had been exchanging over the past couple of months came down to this.

"Hogar dulce hogar" 'home sweet home'. You couldn't find yourself asking what Camila had said, too engrossed with the building in front of you, it seemed bigger than in the pictures, prettier too.

You take a deep breath in, glancing at the building once more before taking a deep breath and opening the car door.

"Welcome Home" and for once you wished Camila had spoken in Spanish so you wouldn't understand what she had just said.

―

Camila didn't stay for too long, handing over your keys and helping you bring up your suitcase, she had written her contact details on a piece of paper that was left on your kitchen bench. Explained that she would be back tomorrow to bring you to training and then left.

Your furniture had arrived before you had, placed through the apartment alongside all your boxes. If you hadn't been so emotionally drained for the past 24 hours you probably would have attempted to start unpacking but your hunger won this round, and with some newfound confidence you decided to check out the supermarket that was just down the street.

The walk was nice enough, a slight breeze filling the streets as people passed by.

Getting to your destination, 'tienda de comestibles' 'grocery'. written out the front, buckets of fresh fruit outside brought a smile to your face before walking in. The smell of many different flavours fills the air, and two children giggling and chasing each other almost run into you, before quickly yelling out 'Lo lamento' 'sorry'. You only smile and shake your head, taking yourself further through the store.

You pick out some cold meats, before grabbing yourself a couple of bread rolls, a small jar of pesto and a chocolate bar. Making your way towards the checkout, your attention purely on grabbing some notes out of your wallet, before slamming into a body.

"¿Adónde vas?!" 'Where are you going?!'.

Your head snaps up, an apology on the tip of your tongue, before sucking your breath in, her eyes widening as they meet yours.

Your brain seems to short-circuit, working overtime to say something, anything. Your limited knowledge of Spanish has completely gone, your mouth opening and closing before you practically choke out

"La Reina" 'the queen'.

You feel the heat rush through your cheeks instantly as your eyes widen.

"Como me llamaste?" 'what did you call me?'. she choked out, her cheeks almost matching yours. You take a step back, suddenly realising just how close the two of you were to each other.

"I am so sorry. lo lamento. lo lamento" 'I'm sorry. I'm sorry'. You splatter out, taking a few more steps back, attempting to get away as fast as possible but a hand stops you. Her hand.

"Ey. No hay necesidad de disculparse" 'hey. there's no need to apologise'.

Her words are missed by you, although her eyes soften - your confusion clear as you try to think about to all those Spanish classes you took. Concentration seemed to be your biggest fault at the moment, especially with the way she was looking at you.

"Don't apologise" Her voice was softer that you almost missed what she was saying, her hand rubbing your arm distracted you once again.

"Sorry," you reply, your cheeks heating up further as she lets out a small laugh, shaking her head with a smile on her lips. "Tan linda" 'so cute'. she mumbles, but you manage to catch it with how close you are once again.

"I-I don't know what that means" you mumble back.

Her cheeks heat up once again, her eyes suddenly interested in anything but yours.

She shakes her head, before her gaze catches yours once more, dropping down to your lips and then back up. She goes to say something else before a cough brings you both back, a mother with a baby on her hip looking at the pair of you with annoyance.

"Estoy tratando de pasar" 'I'm trying to get through'. Her voice is sharp, the footballer in front of you moving you both out of her way, a small "Lo lamento" 'sorry'. leaving her lips, as the woman just scoffs and walks past the pair of us.

The silence fills the space instantly, your eyes finding hers once again. The moment is gone, as you bite your lip - unsure what to say next.

A quick glance at the clock on the wall creates a chain reaction, a yawn leaving your lips as the events of the past twenty-four hours finally catch up to you.

You bring your hand over your mouth, yawning once again.

"Perdóname" 'forgive me'.

The Spanish leaving your lips brings a smile to her face once again, her eyes lighting up.

"¿tú hablas español?" 'you speak spanish?'. Her voice light, a small laugh finishing the question off.

"un poco. aunque no muy bueno" 'a bit. although not very good'. You struggle a little, your pronunciation not perfect, but the smile on her face as her eyes watch your hand indicate 'a little bit' is enough to bring a smile back to your face.

"It's okay, I'll teach you" Her switch to English surprises you, her voice lighter than her native tongue. Your excitement at the thought fills, your eyes widening at the thought, "Really?"

"sí, claro. sería un honor para mí" 'yes of course. It would be an honour for me'. You catch enough of the sentence to understand she's true to her offer.

"Thank you, Alexia"

"No hay problema mi amor" 'no problem my love'.

The blush that attacks your cheeks at the sound of 'amor' 'love'. coming off her lips only widens her smile.

She vowed for that day on, she would always call you 'mi amor' 'my love'.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

After All This Time

Pairing: CEO!Steve Rogers x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.4k

Warnings: none

Summary: Car trouble puts you and your boss in an awkward position, especially when you two have so much history together.

Squares Filled: car trouble (2020) for @star-spangled-bingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are greatly appreciated <3

x

It’s a straight shot from your house to your job. Instead of taking the main roads and confronting traffic, you take the back roads which takes an extra ten minutes, but you make up for that with your speed. The windows are down, your hair is blowing in the wind, and your music is on full blast. You pass the halfway point when the thermostat goes from the neutral position to the big bolded H. Smoke immediately starters pouring out of the engine, and you slam on your breaks to prevent the car from blowing up.

“Shit! No, please don’t do this to me,” you beg to no one.

You get out of the car and pull your hair into a high ponytail to keep it out of your face while you inspect the damage. You pull the hood up and a cloud of smoke bellows in your face. You quickly turn and cough violently.

“No, no, no, this isn’t happening now,” you gasp. “Not today of all days.”

You don’t have time to wait for an Uber or Triple A, so the only other thing you can do is walk to work… in heels… on a dirt road. The time it will take to walk to work will be the same time or more waiting for an Uber or Triple A. Not only are you going to be late for work but you’ll have to apologize to your boss about it. Normally, that wouldn’t bother you but your boss just so happens to be your high school boyfriend.

Steve was the perfect boyfriend. He treated you with respect, didn’t undermine your values, supported you through everything, and loved you unconditionally. Everyone in school thought you two would be together forever and there was a point where you thought that, too. Right before graduation, you got an incredible opportunity to go to a different country and do a study abroad in Russia.

Steve got into Harvard for business and wanted you to go with him. You two applied for Harvard and you both got in, but you really wanted to go to Russia to study for a semester. To spare the sad details, you two broke up. It was one of the most difficult things you have ever done because you were still in love with him.

After coming back to the States, he was already in another relationship with someone. You never thought your story would end the way it did but you forced yourself to move on. For years, you thought you did. You had a few boyfriends but none of them had an impact the way Steve did.

Then one day, you got an amazing offer to work for Captain Industries as a sales director for the entire sales department. One of the job duties as a sales director is to report everything to the CEO, and luck had it that Steve was the CEO. You often had meetings with the different department directors who touch base with Steve so he knows what’s going on with his company.

The first day on the job, you and Steve locked eyes in the first meeting of the day. It had been years since you two have spoken much less seen each other, so you didn't want to make a big deal in front of everyone. You thought he would have said something after the meeting but he left like you didn’t mean a damn thing to him. Maybe he didn’t remember you, but how can someone forget the person who was their first for everything--first kiss, first date, first time you two held hands, first time you had sex, and the first time you ever gave anyone a promise ring. He was the love of your life but maybe you weren't his as much as he was yours.

When you finally reach work, you immediately head to the bathroom to fix yourself up. You must look like a sweaty mess, and your reflection confirms it. Despite the headache forming from how high your ponytail is, you keep your hair up. If you were to put it down, you’ll look worse. You look at the time and curse when you realize just how late you are for your morning meeting.

Forty-five fucking minutes. Steve is going to chew your ass out. You leave the bathroom and interrupt the morning meeting with an embarrassed look on your face. Everyone turns to look at you including Steve. He looks at your hair before locking eyes with you. Time seems to slow down the longer he looks into your eyes but you break eye contact.

“Sorry I’m late. Car trouble,” you mutter.

You quickly take a seat, and the director of marketing slides her notes over to you. You look at her gratefully and look over the notes just as the meeting resumes.

“As I was saying,” Steve says, peeling his eyes from you, “statistics show a slight decline in demand for products. Frank, have you hired two more manufacturing engineers?”

“Yes, we’re training them right now. We have been working hard creating more product.”

“Good. Y/N, how is your department doing?”

You snap your head up to look at Steve and sit up a bit straighter.

“We lost Marissa since she went on maternity leave but we won’t let that stop us from not picking up the slack. Her duties have been spread out throughout the different managers to give to their employees. I have seen a rise in sales by ten percent.”

“Make it twenty.”

“Yes, sir.”

Meetings only last an hour since Steve is so busy so the next fifteen minutes go by easily. Jules lets you keep her notes to look over and copy if needed. Most people filter out immediately but you’re one of the last ones in so you can apologize to Steve directly.

“Listen, Steve, I’m sorry for being late. My car stalled on the side of the road on the way to work. I had to walk the entire way here.”

“I need your reports on my desk by the end of the day.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

He must not be over your breakup because this isn’t the Steve you knew. You gather your things and head to your office. You almost cry from how stressed you are because you still have to deal with your car. Not to mention your headache is getting worse and you don’t have a brush to fix your hair.

It takes all day to work on the reports for Steve so you’re one of the last ones in the office even though you still have two more hours until the end of the work day. You could leave since you’re salaried but you need to make up time for being late. You walk to his office and knock once on the door, entering when he gives you permission.

“I have the reports for you.” You walk over to his desk and place them there but you don’t leave just yet. “Again, I’m sorry for being late.”

“It’s fine, Y/N. It happens.” Steve looks up and sees you squeeze your eyes tightly from the headache you have. “Come here.”

Steve stands when you approach him, and he gently takes the elastic out of your hair. He threads all ten fingers into your hair and starts massaging the area, and you close your eyes in relief. You open your eyes and look at Steve to see him already looking at you, and he sees the question in your eyes.

“High ponytails give you headaches.”

You’re shocked he remembered that. You were on multiple sports teams in high school and instead of putting your hair in a ponytail like the rest of the girls, you put it in a tight bun at the base of your neck.

“You remembered,” you whisper.

“There’s a lot I still remember.” Steve takes his hands away but doesn’t step back from you. “Go to my personal conference room and take a nap on the couch. You’re overworking yourself.”

“Steve--”

“I don’t want to hear it. Go take a nap and then I’ll drive you home. I’ll pick you up and drive you home until your car is fixed.”

He must not be in a relationship if he’s offering to do this for you. You’re not sure how you feel about that--scratch that you do know how you feel but you’re not sure if he feels the same about it. You slowly walk to the door but pause before you can leave the room. You look at Steve who is already typing away on his computer.

“Now, Y/N,” he says without looking up.

You jump and immediately leave with a smile on your face. The time for you and Steve wasn’t right back then but there’s nothing stopping you from making it right now.

x

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[foone]

The way it works is it's a surgery to make you immune to a bullet.

Note, that's not the same as being immune to bullets. You're only immune to a single shot: if someone shoots you twice, you're dead.

You can take the surgery again, though. The only real limitation is that you gotta wait 2-3 weeks between each time. But if you've got the money and the time, you can be as bulletproof as you want.

It doesn't "refill", by the way. Often when the surgery is explained people think it's like "a bullet a day" or "you can get shot once a year" or whatever. Nope! Once you've been shot it's just like you never had that surgery to begin with. If you want to "refill" that immunity? You have the surgery again.

No, there's no upper limit to how many times you can go, that we know of at least. There's one guy in Florida who has made it "his thing" to get the surgery as often as he can. He's currently up to about 50. Obviously there's some people online who've said they're gonna shoot this guy and lower his "record", just to be countrary.

Anyway I'm sure there'd be people who have even higher numbers (anyone who has "getting shot" as a major occupational risk, ie, politicians, soldiers, cops, and anyone doing any kind of residental survey in rural areas), but they only invented the surgery like three years ago, it's just simple math: you can't do much better than that guy.

The invention of the surgery hasn't done much to decrease gun sales, though. I mean, there's been a slight increase in people buying guns with larger capacity, for what I'd consider obvious reasons.

I did see an article suggesting that in the long run it might end up increasing the sale of guns. See their analysis is that two factors are going to drive up gun ownership:

1. People will be more willing to shoot at trespassers and thieves and such, because it'll be more like a warning shot: if they have some immunity, it won't be murder. So far that hasn't really happened as not that many people have the surgery yet. Although it's spreading fast, only major cities have surgeons trained in it, and often waits for surgery can be months long.

2. Conversely, people are going to be more likely to break in and rob and trespass if they know they can't be shot dead for it, because they got the surgery. There'll be a minor uptick in home invasions and such and this'll cause a big predictable panic among middle class homeowners who are now terrified some hooligan is gonna break into their house to steal their iPads. Thus they go throw money at security systems and cameras and guns.

So who knows at this point. If the cost (in both time and money) comes down, maybe it becomes super common for people to be so effectively invulnerable to guns that there's really no point in owning one?

I do agree with the common consensus that this is going to drive a big increase in crimes committed with knives and such. Why take a risk that your target might be immune?

Which reminds me of another thing to clarify because sometimes people online get this very wrong: it's only for bullets! You are not immune to getting hit by a car or poisoned or set on fire. Don't walk into traffic or anything, jesus.

Oh one last thing: there is a blood test that can tell if you have immunity, but it can't tell how many times you've had the surgery. You gotta figure that out yourself: so ask your doctor, search your emails, something. Every day I'm hearing from healthcare workers saying someone came in to get the blood test and it had to be explained to them that we can't tell how much protection you have: only if it's there or not. And I feel like a fool for having to say this, but REMEMBER to subtract any times you've got shot! (if you have been) Obviously!

EDIT: In light of recent events, people are sharing this post and arguing about it a lot, but let me be clear: grazes and small cuts do not count! The exact dividing line is too complicated to explain here (look up "circulatory shock" on Wikipedia), but basically if you don't end up with a big hole in you, the shot doesn't trigger the immunity.

That's how it works: you could have an ear blown clean off, and you'd still not trigger an immunity. So please stop spreading that idiotic conspiracy theory that a former president didn't have any immunity. You can barely run a high-school without being required to have immunity to hold the position, because what if someone shoots you? Come on! Of course he has immunity.

For all we know he's got some prototype experimental shit they use on president's that got him up to 200 in a couple days. There's endless rumors of the DoD funding billions in black budget items to that sort of thing, because of course. Who wouldn't want a way to make bulletproof soldiers? You don't think the soviets are pouring even more into it?

[gretavangroupie]

Goldenrod

Word count: 8.1k

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Alcohol, Angst, Toxic Themes and Behavior, Jealousy. Smut: Kissing, Touching, Oral M!Receiving, Fingering, Dirty Talk, Unprotected Sex, Fluff.

A/N: I blame Josh Kiszka, entirely.

It’s a nice place, with tea light candles and fresh flowers on every table. Tucked away on the West side of Nashville, far from the wide eyed tourists and the flashing city lights. It’s quaint, but always busy. A reservation here would cost you. A name or your checkbook, either one will do. You wonder how he managed it, who he knows or what he does. You’d been here only once before, strings pulled and names dropped no doubt. 

The hostess led you to your table, smack dab in the center of the restaurant, commanding all the eyes and attention of the patrons around you. With a curt smile you tucked into your chair and waited for your date. You weren’t really sure why you agreed to this, but after several failed attempts on your own you finally caved. Cambry is a terrible influence and you knew better than to go on a date with a man of her choosing, but here you found yourself in a swanky restaurant at a table for two. 

You didn’t put too much effort into your outfit, opting for a tight black dress and a pair of gold earrings. It showed off your figure without revealing too much. It was tasteful and sexy, everything you want on a first date. 

You knew nothing of the man you were meeting apart from his name. Simon. Cambry assured you that he was perfect for you, claiming how similar the two of you were and citing you had similar taste in music. So, you agreed. 

You couldn’t fault him too much for being late, the traffic absolutely horrendous as you made your way through Midtown. You perused the drink menu, placing your order for a dirty martini when the waiter stopped at your table. As you sipped at the briney drink you felt a presence behind you, and you knew Simon must have arrived. 

A tall man, with long dirty blonde hair stepped up to the seat across from you, lifting his hand to shake yours. 

“Hi, I’m Simon. Sorry I’m late, the traffic–”

“Was terrible, I know,” you laugh, shaking his hand. “Y/N.”

He takes his seat as his eyes dart around your face taking you in. “You got a drink I see, any recommendations? I’ve never been here before.”

“I was wondering how you were able to pull a reservation so last minute,” you answer, pushing the drink menu towards him. 

“Ah, called up one of my buddies, works tickets down at Nissan Stadium. Was no trouble,” he boasts as if entry level ticket sales is something to be proud of. 

You smile politely and nod your head, “I got a dirty martini, they are heavy handed on the vermouth so I order gin instead of vodka.”

“Dirty, huh?” he smirks, opening the drink menu. 

You offer a clipped smile, already not liking this guy too much. His frat boy vibes are a little too strong for your liking, and quite frankly is the opposite of what you have ever been into. The waiter steps up a few seconds later, noticing that your date has arrived. 

“What can I get for you sir?”

“I don’t know what all this fancy shit is, do you have Bud Light?” he asks, rapping his knuckles against the table. 

“Um, no sir, I believe the only beer we have on tap is Thunder Ann from Jackalope,” he offers with a pleasant smile. 

“Was that English?” Simon jokes, however, it is not well received by your waiter or yourself. 

“I could bring you a sample if you’d like?” 

He blows out a breath of defeat, “I’ll just have what she’s having, but make mine stronger.”

You raise an eyebrow at his demand, silently kicking yourself for ever agreeing to this. 

The waiter nods and heads off and a sense of dread washes over you as you realize you are about to enter into forced conversation with this stranger. 

“So how do you know Cambry?” he asks, leaning back in his chair like he's at his mothers house. 

You swallow down the distaste and try to answer his question, “Cambry and I work together. She is my office suitemate.”

“Oh so you work at the little music place, too?” he asks, downplaying your career to boost his own ego. 

“I don’t think Sony Music Publishing is a ‘little music place’ but I guess everyone is entitled to their opinion,” you jest.

“What do you do there?” he asks, accepting his drink from the waiter. He takes far too large of a sip before you can answer, shocking the both of you. 

“I’m an account executive, so I do sales, client management, data reports, that kind of thing. How about you? What do you do?” you ask, genuinely curious about what he could possibly do that he would need to belittle your career. 

“Oh well, right now I am kinda just playing the corporate field so to speak. I’ve got a few sweet options in my pocket, but uh, right now I am working down at AT&T. You know that Batman looking building. It’s pretty chill,” he says in an attempt to flaunt.

“Yeah, I know it well actually. What do you do there?” you ask. 

“I’m a field sales representative,” he answers, his voice dropping a little. You feel your eyes practically bulge from their sockets. 

“So, you don’t like, physically work in the building,” you confirm. 

“I mean, I report there at the end of the day,” he replies, trying to blow smoke.

“So if you report there at the end of the day, where do you spend your day?” you ask. 

“Kind of everywhere. I do a lot of driving around. I was able to secure a deal with a new Mexican restaurant over in Hendersonville. They want full fiber and phones. Pretty sweet, might even make a commission on it,” he says pridefully. 

“Wow, a commission too? They are spoiling you,” you taunt. 

“Yeah, I’m about to move up, gonna put me into commercial sales. More office time and less road time,” he says, folding up his menu. Your mind is positively racing at how Cambry thought you two would be a perfect match when he couldn’t be more different than you. 

“So uh, what are you thinking you want to eat?” he asks. 

“I think I might do the farmhouse pasta, the sun dried tomatoes sound good,” you answer, closing your menu as well. 

“Yeah I’m gonna get a steak, I bet they are good here,” he says waving over the waiter. Your face blushes red as he makes a scene to grab his attention.

“Yes sir, we are ready to order,” Simon states, opening up his menu. “I’m gonna have the Porterhouse with mushrooms well done and can you bring a side of ketchup?” 

You think that if your eyes rolled any harder you could see your brain, but alas you must keep your composure and make it through this trainwreck of a date.  

“For you miss?”

“Yes, could I please do the farmhouse pasta? I will also do one more dirty martini,” you smile, hoping the waiter can sense the apology in your tone. 

“Great, I will be back,” he says, stepping away with the gentle nod of his head. 

The evening continues on as you listen to him tell you every uninteresting fact about himself while he dips his shoe leather of a steak in ketchup. You have a hard time finding your own meal appetizing as you watch him eat, a tiny dribble of ketchup at the corner of his lips. He barely gives you a chance to speak as he relives his fraternity glory days, telling you every close call he has ever had with the police and every famous person’s door he’s knocked on since he moved here from Mississippi. 

You down your drink probably a little too fast, trying to decide if you will need another to make it through the last part of this date. You know you will never speak to this man again, and you know you will be giving Cambry a firm talking to come Monday morning. 

The waiter steps up to the table with the check, placing it in front of Simon who sends him a puzzled look. “Oh, actually she’s getting the check tonight.”

“Am I?” you ask, a little confused yourself. You had no problem going dutch, but to be told you were taking the entire responsibility of the bill was a bit of a shock. 

“I mean, yeah, Cambry said you wanted this date, so… I figured since it was your idea, you were paying. I didn’t bring my wallet.”

You feel your mouth go dry at the audacity of his assumption. “I have no problem going dutch,” you say. 

“Yeah, it’s just I didn’t bring my wallet,” he counters, shrugging his shoulders. “I can Venmo you later or something.”

You bite your tongue as you reach for your purse, knowing there is an extremely high chance that this meal will drain his checking account. 

“It’s fine, I can get it. No problem,” you say, pulling your wallet from your purse. Just as you unzip it you feel someone walk up behind you, and the sight of a hand on the waiter's arm. The person leans towards the waiter, saying something quietly in his ear as he slips a silver metal credit card into his hand. 

As you look up you recognize the mass of curls and the crisp white linen. The smell of his cologne forever ingrained in your memory.  Your eyes flash over to Simon who is just as confused as you are, watching the interaction. A few more words are spoken between the waiter and the man you now know is Josh. Your ex. 

The waiter scurries off with Josh’s card just as he turns to face you with a shit eating grin. He then casts a lethal glance to Simon, who at this point is looking rather small. 

“Don’t you know it's distasteful to make your date pay?” he asks, venom in his voice. 

“And you are?” Simon snaps. 

“Well, from my place at the bar I thought I was the competition, but now I’m fairly positive that is not the case. My name is Josh, and I would ask yours but quite frankly I don’t care to know.”

“Josh!” you yelp. 

“What darling, you can’t deny the facts. I’ve been sitting at the bar since you arrived. Was quite the unexpected show, I must admit,” he pauses, “If I’ve misjudged your evening, which, I’m sure I haven’t based on your body language alone, please do feel free to correct me.”

“We’re actually on a date, man,” Simon speaks up, taking you and Josh both by surprise as you turn to stare at him. 

Josh just snickers, shaking his head before turning to you. “Have you had enough, sweets?”

“What do you want, Joshua?” you ask, a little annoyed at his brazenness. 

He cups your chin with his thumb and forefinger as he gives you a knowing look, “Is this what you want? You want me to go?”

You push his hand away and cross your arms over your chest, refusing to answer his question.

“Fuck this,” Simon spouts, pushing away from the table and storming out of the restaurant. 

Josh quickly takes his seat, sitting across from you as he folds his hands on the table. “You’re welcome,” he taunts, accepting the check book back from the waiter.

“A pleasure Mr. Kiszka,” he nods, walking away. 

“Mr. Kiszka? They know you by name here?” you groan, watching a sideways grin pull across his full lips. His eyes glance down to the plate of half eaten food in front of him.

“A well done steak with ketchup? My, my, darling have your standards dipped that low?” he asks, signing the receipt and closing the book. You roll your eyes and reach for your martini glass, however his hand snakes out to grab it first, tossing the rest of it back. 

“What the hell,” you growl. 

“You dumped me for a broke asshole?” he asks, sitting back in the chair. 

“He might have been broke, but I bet he could fuck me more than once every three months,” you snap, pulling ammo from your failed past. 

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, “Now, now, retract the claws sweetness, be my good girl, yeah?”

“I’m not your anything, Josh, and I don’t know what you think is about to happen here, but I can promise you it’s not.”

He stabs at the olive in the martini glass, popping it between his lips. “You sure about that?”

“You completely derailed my date,” you bark. 

“Oh, please Y/N. You were ready to go the moment he introduced himself, late, might I add. You were entirely repulsed through dinner, and you couldn't get a word in edgewise. It may have been a year or so since we called it quits, but I still know you like the back of my hand, darling.”

“You don’t know me like that anymore, Josh.”

He chews the olive as a hum rings through his chest, “Is that why your thighs are clenched together under the table right now, for the first time tonight? Why you can’t seem to sit still, squirming everytime I look at you? The pretty pink blush on your cheeks that happened to appear as soon as I stole his seat? Because I just don’t know you anymore?”

You shake your head and look away, pushing him out of your mind. 

“Look at me, Y/N,” he demands, and instinctually you turn your head. “Own it.”

You meet his eyes and huff out an annoyed breath. “You can’t just walk up to me and think we are going to pick up where we left off. I left you for a reason, Josh.”

“Are you ready to go now that you’ve said your piece?” he asks, pushing his chair away from the table. 

“I drove myself here, and I’ll drive myself home,” you quip. 

“After two martinis, I don’t think so, sweetness. I’ll send for your car in the morning,” he insists. 

“Send for my car? What are you, the Pope?” 

“Only the one time if you remember correctly,” he jokes, offering his hand to help you stand from your chair. You take it begrudgingly, grabbing your purse and smoothing out your dress. 

“Stunning as usual, love. You know I love that silhouette on you,” he says, ushering the two of you out the door and into the parking lot. He drives a different car now, which is probably why you didn't recognize it in the lot when you arrived. 

“It wasn’t for you,” you gripe. 

“But it was for him? Mister can’t even split the check?” he counters. 

“Again, he may not be made of money, but he at least listened the few times I was able to get a word in,” you snap. 

Josh sucks his teeth as he opens the passenger door, helping you climb inside. It’s spacious and smells of new leather. A string of beads hangs from the rearview mirror and a tiny crystal lays haphazardly in the center console. He joins you seconds later, starting the car and backing out of the parking space. 

“Where are you taking me?” you question, although you’re fairly certain you know the answer. 

“Home,” he snickers, taking a right out of the parking lot. 

“You don’t know where I live, I moved,” you say, shifting your body in the seat. 

“No, no. I said, I am taking you home.”

“What if I don’t want to go?” you ask, fully lying to yourself and to him and he knows it. 

“I did always like it when you played hard to get,” he smiles, moving his hand to rest on your bare leg. “But your body gives you away everytime.”

“Where’d you find him?” he asks, letting his eyes flick over to yours for just a second. 

“Cambry,” you answer, a twinge of defeat in your voice. 

“Cambry? Come on, baby, you know she has the worst taste in men,” he groans, merging onto the freeway with ease. 

“I didn’t really have a choice, and she oversold him, clearly,” you answer. 

“So you’re still at Sony, then?”

“I am, though I’ve been considering a career change, maybe even a city change,” you lie.

“Had enough of Nashville?” he jests.

“The people that reside here,” you taunt. 

“Fair enough,” he concedes. 

His fingers trace circles into your skin, lighting little fires with every pass. “You stopped answering my calls,” he trails off. 

“That is typical of a break up Josh…”

“Baby–”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap. 

“What can I call you?” he asks. 

“Nothing, you can take me home and send my car in the morning,” you answer. 

His grip on your leg tightens, his thumb passing over your knee. You feel warm beneath his touch, a calmness washing over you. This is always how he got you. 

“It was one fight, Y/N! I know I fucked up, but–” he shouts, losing his calm and cool composure for a millisecond. 

“Josh…” you whine, not wanting to hash this out again.

As you pull up to a red light he turns to look at you, moving his hand from your leg and grabbing your hand instead. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. Just– come over for a little bit. Let’s talk. Catch up a little. Don’t let your night be a complete loss, you look too pretty. Let me appreciate you,” he says, squeezing your hand. 

Your eyes meet his, sparkling and encased by his thick lashes. “Okay,” you murmur. 

“Yeah?”

You roll your eyes and nod your head, “Yes, fine. Just to catch up.”

The light changes and you swear he did twenty over the speed limit the rest of the way to his house. He has a smirk on his lips that he can’t seem to shake, and his hand hasn't left yours.

“Why were you at the bar alone?” you ask, the gin making you feel a little more brave than usual. 

“I like the food, and they make my drink the right way. You know I don’t like going into the city, too many people, and the guys were all busy tonight. I think I was right where I needed to be though. Got you out of that shitty date,” he laughs. 

“It was pretty shitty,” you agree, flashing him a smile. 

“Missed that,” he says, turning into his driveway. “That smile. Lights up a room.”

“Stop,” you say, playfully pushing his shoulder. “Don’t suck up now after you were all bossy and demanding at the restaurant.”

“Worked though,” he grins, shrugging his shoulders and shutting off the car. 

“Did it?”

“You’re here…” he says, tipping his chin. 

“To talk. To catch up,” you counter. 

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” he says, helping you out of the car and shutting the door behind you. He guides you up to the front door with his hand on the small of your back, shoving his key into the lock and opening the door. 

You’re instantly transported back in time. A time when this was your safe place, when this was your landing pad of comfort. A home you shared together. Warm and welcoming. Until, it wasn’t. It was a big empty house with nothing but the echo of your own voice for months on end. The place you would listen to your calls ring out with no answer and texts would sit on delivered for days. 

It was hard to leave him, your personal ray of light. The good times were the greatest, and the bad times were worse than the worst. You met your breaking point and all you could think of was starting over. Living a normal life with a normal job and a normal relationship. 

You’d grown a little since that day, finding yourself and establishing your own roots in the city. You cut off contact completely. Josh never gave up though. He was persistent, you’d give him that. He tried to reconcile things, promised to fix it, promised to do better, but after so many failed attempts, you couldn’t do it anymore. You needed to see this through, for yourself. 

It took almost a year but he did stop calling. Stopped checking in. Your heart ached for him. You wondered if you’d made a mistake. You knew you never really stopped loving him. How could you stop loving someone like him? He took your heart and cast it in gold, giving a piece of himself to you to carry when he was away, but still it wasn’t enough. You needed more than he could give you then. 

“You redecorated,” you ponder. 

“A bit. Just some new furniture, art and things I picked up on the road,” he says, tossing his keys on the table. “You like it?”

You nod your head, “Yeah, I do. It feels very… you.” you pause, “It feels warm.”

He walks into the kitchen, pulling two lowball glasses from the cabinet before reaching for the tequila on top of the fridge. He holds the bottle up towards you in question and you nod your head, knowing you aren’t leaving tonight. 

He pours the tequila into the glasses, topping them with sparkling water and a handful of ice as you walk over to join him. He slides the glass to you and holds his up to tap against yours. 

“Glad you’re here, baby,” he breathes. 

“Josh…”

“Sorry, old habit,” he blushes, taking a sip of his drink. 

You join him, taking a long pull from the glass letting the bubbles slip down your throat. He made it perfect, just how you like it. 

“Shall we?” he asks, pushing off the counter top and making his way into the living room. You follow behind him taking the seat next to him on the couch. You settle into the leather cushions as he shoots up again. 

“Wait, hold on,” he says, walking across the room. He struts across the wood floors carrying himself in a way much different than you have ever seen him. He looks confident and seems to be floating. He grabs a small remote and turns down the lights, casting the room in a much dimmer light. 

“Do you always walk around like that?” you ask, sipping from the rim of your glass. 

“Like what?” he asks, returning to his place next to you. 

“Like…like you’re made of gold,” you giggle, letting the tequila warm your blood. 

“What if I am?” he challenges. 

“What, made of gold?” 

“Mhmm,” he hums. 

“Kinda seems like it sometimes,” you confess. 

“Yeah?”

“You kinda glow,” you answer. 

“Optical illusion, sweets,” he grins.

“I don’t know, you’ve always kinda been that way. Glowy…” you offer, feeling a little hazy. 

“You flirting with me now?” he asks, his lips turning up into a grin. 

“No,” you growl, “Can I not give you a compliment?”

“Absolutely. Please do continue, I’m quite enjoying it,” he laughs, throwing his arm across the back of the couch. His fingertips brush your shoulder and you shudder at the contact. 

“Has it been that long, darling?”

“What?” you question, turning to meet his eyes. His fingers graze against your skin again, goosebumps rising to the surface. 

“Oh, say it isn’t so, baby. Break my heart,” he whines. 

“What, Josh?”

“You’re touch starved aren’t you sweetness,” he says, his eyes searching yours. 

“No, I’m fine,” you lie. You look away, knowing he was always able to read you like a book. 

“Look at me, Y/N,” he snaps. You turn your head and meet his eyes again. “Don’t lie to me again. You know that never went well for you.”

You bite your lips together as your cheeks grow red hot. Part of you wants to push him a little more, force him to make good on his threat. The other part of you knows you should leave before he sucks you in. 

“Tell me how long,” he says, resting his hand on the curve of your neck. 

You blow out a breath and shake your head, “It’s not important,” you answer. 

“Is to me, always important to me,” he urges. 

“Why do you want to know?”

“I want to know that you were being taken care of,” he pauses, “I don’t think that’s a crime.”

“It’s been… a minute,” you confess. 

“Baby,” he breathes. 

“It’s fine, Josh. Really.”

“It’s not,” he snaps. “How long, love? You can tell me. It’s just me.”

“God! Since we split! Okay?! Is that what you want to hear?! That I haven’t fucked anyone since you?!” you shout, burying your head in your hands. You feel his hand rest on your back, warm and firm. 

“Oh, my love. No wonder you’re so feisty. Wound up tighter than a two dollar watch. My girl needs a little relief, doesn’t she,” he asks. 

You turn your head in your hands to look at him, his face serious and dripping with lust. You push yourself up off of the couch, pacing around the living room. 

“I don’t want your pity, Josh.”

“It’s not pity darling, you’d know if it was,” he retorts. 

“Well whatever it is, I don’t want it,” you snap. 

He blows out a deep breath and clears his throat, “I’ve had just about enough of your mouth tonight,” he growls. “Why don’t you come back over here and try again, yeah?”

You stare at him from across the room, arms crossed over your chest in an effort to conceal your nipples that have grown hard just from the demanding quality of his voice. 

“You can drop the act, I know you want me just as bad as I want you. If you want me to beg, crawl on my hands and knees for you, you know I’ll do it, but I think your body is begging for me harder than I ever could.”

You roll your eyes, and look away. 

“Am I wrong? Tell me I’m wrong.”

You huff out a breath, “No,” you whisper. 

“What’s that?”

“I said no,” you answer. 

A smirk pulls across his lips, “No, what?”

You feel your chest grow warm and you swallow thickly, “No, sir.”

He clicks his tongue, “Don’t call me sir, that's my brother. Try again, love.”

“No, baby,” you breathe. 

“That’s better. Much better. Come back over here,” he says, motioning you over with two fingers. 

He reaches for your hand as you approach him, pulling you down onto his lap. Your legs fall to either side of his hips as you straddle him, the position feeling familiar and comforting. 

“There’s my girl,” he growls, leaning forward to place his drink on the coffee table. His hands move to grip at your hips, holding you in place as he sinks a little further beneath you. It would be a lie if you said you weren’t enjoying this, feeling his hands on you and the evidence of his want as it grew beneath you. 

“Not yours, Josh,” you say, letting your hands land on his chest. 

“Liar,” he breathes, rolling his hips into you, eliciting a whine from your chest. You hear him laugh, “Your body says otherwise.”

“My body has never been able to say no to you,” you admit. 

“And that's what I love about it, baby. Mine even when you aren’t.”

A sigh falls from your lips as his thumb drags over your lips, “Kiss me, Josh,” you beg.

A grin pulls across his lips as he pulls you by the back of your neck towards him. His soft, warm lips brush yours just slightly, enough to pull a whine from your chest. 

“Now who’s begging?” he murmurs. Your eyes meet his, dark and lust filled before he crashes his lips to yours. His hands grip at your head as if he’s afraid you might fly away, his fingers twisting into your hair.

His tongue slides against yours, the taste of him so sweet and familiar. There would never be anyone that tasted better, you were sure of it. His hands slid down your face and over your shoulders, reaching for your hands as they sat on his chest. He wrapped his hands around yours, linking his fingers with yours the best he could, just holding you in a way you’ve desperately missed over the last year without him. 

“Josh…” you breathe. 

His lips break away from yours, his cheeks pink and his lips glossy, “Yeah, baby?”

You hesitate asking your question, momentarily debating whether you truly want to know or not, but you know if this night is going to continue, you have to know. 

“How long…” you pause, “How long for you?” It comes out breathless, his warm hands in yours as his lips hover over yours. 

He pulls back a touch, licking his lips and swallowing harshly, “A month or two,” he answers honestly. 

Your traitorous eyes fill with tears and you do your best to blink them away. You drop your head in an effort to conceal your emotions, knowing this is all entirely your fault to begin with. His hand releases yours and grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him. 

“They were never you. Not a single one of them could ever be you.”

You nod your head and swallow the lump in your throat, “Then why?”

“It’s been a year, baby. I never thought I’d have you again,” he confesses. 

“But you want me?” you ask, just wanting to hear him say it. 

“Is that not clear? Of course I want you. I never stopped wanting you. You stopped wanting me.”

You shake your head, “I didn’t. I swear I didn’t, I just– It was too hard, I couldn’t do it anymore. It hurt too much.”

He grabs your face in his hands again, holding eye contact with you. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. I know I messed up. I’ve thought of it every single day since you left. I’m so sorry.”

You can see it in his eyes that he means it this time. The urgency in his voice and the trembling of his hands against your face prove it. You decide at that moment to cast the memories of the past to the wind and fall headfirst into him, the way you’ve dreamt of for months. 

You press your lips to his, smiling, “Tequila always did make you all mushy, baby.”

A smile pulls across his lips as he stands from the couch, wrapping his arms around your thighs as he makes his way to the stairs. His lips connect to your jaw, peppering kisses up and down your neck with every step he takes. 

It’s seconds before you’re tossed onto the bed. The bed you’ve missed so terribly. The bed that smells of him and his linen sheets. You melt into the comforter, your body relaxing almost immediately. Your eyes close and all you can hear is the shedding of clothes across the room, and the tinkling of beads as Josh places his necklace on the dresser. 

You feel his hand as it comes to rest on your foot, sliding up the length of your body and stopping just as it reaches the hem of your dress. You sit up on your elbows to look at him, standing at the end of the bed in his boxers. 

His gaze is fixed upon you, devouring your every inch.

“Joshy?” you breathe. 

He drops his head for a second before looking back at you, “God I haven’t heard that in so long,” he whines. “What sweetness?”

“Come lay down with me,” you ask. 

He licks his lips and crawls onto the bed, laying down next to you and resting his hand on your hip. “Hi beautiful.”

“Hi baby,” you whisper, rolling towards him. You lay your head on his shoulder, listening to his heart as it pounds erratically in his chest. 

“I missed this bed,” you whisper against his skin. 

“I missed you in this bed,” he pauses, “Terribly lonely without you.”

“Not too lonely it sounds like,” you tease, sitting up and stepping off of the bed.  

“Baby, I–”

“I’m kidding, Josh. I don’t mind. Well, not completely anyway.”

You pull the zipper on the back of your dress, letting it fall to the floor and instinctively kicking it to the chair at the side of the bed like you'd done a thousand times before. 

“So you care a little?” he smirks, taking in the sight of your matching lingerie. “Jesus, was that for him?”

“If all went well,” you answer cheekily, crawling back onto the bed. 

“Over my dead body,” he growls, grabbing your arm and pulling you to lay on top of him. 

“It was for me. I needed a little confidence boost.”

“Baby, what? Why? You were always so confident and cool,” he asks, furrowing his brow. 

“Not lately… A few failed dates will do that to you I guess,” you admit. 

“No, no no no no. Don’t let a few pricks dull your glow, sweetness. You’re everything. They’d be lucky to have you.”

You push up off of him, crawling backwards down the bed as you place a few errant kisses across his stomach. Your eyes never leave his as you stop above his waistband, sliding your nails against the elastic. 

“What if I never wanted them,” you ask. 

He sucks in a breath as your finger dips beneath the band, slightly tugging at the fabric. 

“What do you want?” he asks, his eyes searching yours. 

You pull his boxers over his hips watching his cock spring free to slap against his groin. You take him in your hand, watching as his face twists up in pleasure. 

“Tell me,” he growls through gritted teeth. 

Instead of answering him you let your tongue lick a hot stripe from his base to his tip, tasting the bitter sweetness of his precum on your tongue. His core tightens as you take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue against his length, feeling every vein and the rapid pulse pounding through him. 

His hand finds the side of your face, tucking your hair behind your ear as he watches you take him down so easily, remembering exactly how he likes it. You grip his base as you work him, hollowing your cheeks as you eyes meet his. His lips are parted, a heavy breath leaving his chest as his grip on your hair tightens. You take him farther, swallowing around his tip as he nudges the back of your throat, sending him spiraling in his own bliss. 

“Fuck, baby, please…” he begs. 

You pop off of him, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his length. “Please what?”

“Please let me fuck you,” he asnwers, panting as he desperately awaits your mouths return to him. 

“I’m kind of enjoying myself here,” you tease, taking him into your throat again. 

“Fucking hell, you’re so goddamn sexy. I fucking– I–” he stammers, groaning as you swallow around him again. 

“You think of this, baby? You miss sucking my cock? My good fucking girl,” he asks, jerking his hips up off of the bed. “You think of me like I think of you?”

You groan as your tongue swirls at his tip, letting your eyes meet his. 

“Answer me,” he demands. 

You pull off of him quickly, a spit covered mess, “Yes, yes baby,” you whine. 

“Missed your mouth, your perfect fucking mouth. Your lips, your tongue, everything,” he growls, a moan leaving his chest as you suction your mouth around him. “Pull off baby, not yet. Not ready yet.”

You do as you're told, pulling off of him and wiping your lips on the back of your hand. He grabs your chin and pulls you toward him, his wet cock laying against your panties. His lips meet yours, swollen and pink and still glistening with your spit. He’s desperate to taste you, to devour you completely. You feel his hands slide over your waist and up to your bra, unclasping the hooks and pulling the straps from your arms. He pulls it from between you in one move, before turning you to your back to take in the sight of you. 

His eyes practically bulge from his head as he looks at you. “You– You pierced your nipples? When did you? Wha– Fucking Christ.”

A smile spreads across your face. It's not very often you can catch Josh off guard like this, so you’re taking this small victory. 

“About seven months ago, on a whim,” you answer. 

“Anything else I should know about before I have a stroke?” he laughs. 

“Why don’t you just find out?” you say playfully, just wanting to see his reaction. 

He pulls the elastic of your panties over your hips, tossing the lacy garment to the floor. His tongue darts out over his lips as he looks at you, as if deciding where he wants to start. Though, you knew Josh, and he would forever be a victim to his own fascination with shiny objects. 

His lips wrap around your nipple, his tongue gently flicking over the golden barbell. You lace your fingers into his curls, scratching at his roots as his teeth graze the sensitive bud in his mouth. 

“Josh,” you whine, arching your back beneath him. 

“Mhmm,” he whines, not letting his lips detach from you. 

“Missed your touch,” you answer. 

He pulls off of your right breast and kisses his way to your left, treating your left nipple with the same reverence as the previous. You grab his hand and pull his fingers to your lips, sucking his first two digits into your mouth and letting your tongue twist against them. 

You hear him groan against you, the sensation becoming a little too overwhelming for him. 

“You okay, baby?”

He pulls off of you, still staring down at the shiny gold bars adorning your nipples. 

“No, fuck no, I’m never gonna stop thinking about these,” he says through a pant. 

A laugh bubbles up from your chest as his hand meets your chest, sliding down your stomach and stopping at your hip. 

“You gonna let me in, sweetness?” he asks, biting at his bottom lip. 

A smirk pulls at your lips as you look at him, nodding gently. His hand slides down further, his fingers dusting across your folds. Your body quivers at his gentle touch, a small grin of satisfaction on his lips. 

“You want it?”

“Stop teasing, Josh,” you whine. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I know you need it. I’ll give you what you want. You know that, right?”

You nod furiously, just wanting him to touch you. Needing it more than anything. “Yes, yes, I know. Please…”

He bends forward and presses a kiss to your stomach, two fingers sinking into your wetness. You jerk towards him as his fingertips press to your clit, a whine escaping your lips before you can stop it. He hums as his fingers start to circle through your wetness, his lip bitten firmly between his teeth. His eyes are dark as they stare into yours, watching your every move and memorizing every expression.

“You feel so good, baby. Missed this so bad,” he breathes, teasing your entrance. 

“You could have had anyone,” you whisper. 

“I didn’t want anyone. Just you.”

His fingers dip into you, finding the place they once knew so well. Your hand moves to rest on his bicep, stronger now than they once were, the muscle rounded and defined. In fact, all of him is that way. Lean and fit, stronger and more chiseled. The thought alone makes you clench around his fingers. 

“Yeah?” 

“You feel so– so different. Stronger,” you say. 

“Needed something to fill the time,” he smiles, curling his fingers inside of you. You cry out in bliss as your stomach starts to tighten. 

“So good, baby,” you cry. 

“Yeah, you gonna come for me? You gonna come right on my fingers, so needy and sweet,” he urges. His fingers are moving rapidly, working you toward your release better than you could have imagined. 

“Ease into it, baby. Don’t rush it. I’m right here, not going anywhere. I’m yours,” he says, his voice soft and comforting. 

Your eyes meet his, desperate and lust filled, “Mine?” 

He nods his head quickly, “Yours,” he pauses, “If you want, I just– I’m here, okay? Take your time, feel it. Breathe it in, savor it. I’m here.”

“I want it,” you plead.

“Have it, have me,” he breathes. 

His fingers move at a relentless pace, fingertips massaging into you with such precision it’s like a year never passed. Your chest grows hot and your stomach tightens as his eyes meet yours, both of you knowing you’re on the edge of release. 

“Do it. Take it baby,” he growls. 

“Josh,” you whine, reaching for his hand and twisting your fingers with his. His grip is tight on you, grounding you the way you need him to. 

With another flick of his thumb across your clit, you’re sent spiraling into your release. You’d never been able to replicate the way it feels when it's by his hand, and you were sure no other man could. His hand slows as your eyes open, finding his full of desire as they stare back at you. 

He grins as he presses a kiss to your mound, slowly pulling his fingers from inside you. Your body is shaking with adrenaline, the want for him coursing through you like never before. You need him. You need him now.

“Josh, now,” you pant, your chest still heaving as you catch your breath. 

He doesn’t hesitate. There are no witty remarks, no jokes, no playful banter at all. Just the need the two of you share for each other taking center stage. He pushes up and crawls up towards you, falling into the space between your legs. He pushes them further apart with his knees, fisting at his base as he stares at you. You swear you can see his heart pounding in his chest, and you know he needs this as badly as you do. 

He lowers himself down to you, brushing his tip through your folds. Your hands come up to his face, cradling his cheeks as you press your lips to his. It's different this time, a little less desperate, more intentional. He lets himself slowly sink inside of you as his lips dance with yours, filling you so fully and so completely, the way he always had. 

He bottoms out inside of you, sliding his arm beneath your hips to pull you in close. His eyes meet yours in question and you nod, letting him know you need more. He begins to slowly move his hips, rolling into you at a fairly gentle pace, soaking in every inch of you and savoring every sound that falls from your lips. 

Your hands wrap around his waist, pulling him in tighter, desperate for all of him. He groans as your chest presses against his, the coolness of the metal bars against his warm, dewy skin pulling a groan from his chest. 

“Baby,” he whines, snapping his hips into you a little harder. 

“Josh,” you answer, more of a moan. 

“I need this,” he says, moving his hand to cradle your jaw. “I need you.”

“I know, baby,” you cry out, “I know. I need you, too. I fucking need you.”

He groans as he drops his head, letting his lips connect with your neck. His hot tongue slides against your skin before he sucks the skin into a fresh pink bite. His pace quickens, his skin slick with sweat as he pounds into you. 

“Tell me that you think someone could fuck you better than this,” he growls. 

“Fuck, no. No one. No one but you, Josh. I only want you,” you answer, gripping your fingers into his ass. 

His demeanor changes, he’s grown animalistic, grunts and groans falling from his lips as he nears the peak of his release. 

“Tell me that you don’t love me anymore,” he demands.

“Josh, I–”

“Say it,” he barks. 

“I do! I do love you! You know I still fucking love you!” you cry, feeling the coil tighten in your groin. 

A cry falls from his chest, echoing around the room as his lips crash to yours. It's rough and desperate, and you know you just told him everything he’s been waiting to hear. 

“I fucking love you, Y/N,” he pants, “Don’t you ever fucking leave me again.”

You nod your head desperately, needing to feel his lips on yours again. His strokes start to quicken, hitting you long and deep as you both teeter on the edge of your orgasm. The wet sounds dancing through the air are deafening, and the heat of his breath on your face has you dizzy. 

“Josh, baby,” you whine, knowing you won't last much longer. 

“Yeah? Yeah you gonna come again? Bloom like a pretty flower just for me?” he urges, knowing the sound of his voice will push you over the edge. He nods his head, and bites his bottom lip as he watches you, squirming and panting beneath him as his cock hits you right where it belongs. 

“Come on sweetness, be my pretty flower, come for me,” he whispers against your lips. 

His hand cups at your breast as his fingers brush your piercing, letting his thumb and forefinger pinch at your nipple. The sensation is enough to bring you to the brink, letting you dive headfirst into your release. You cry out beneath him, his name falling from your lips in succession. 

“Just like that, my love. I’m here, I’ve got you,” he says, pulling you closer to him as his hips continue to work you through it. “I’m there sweetheart, tell me where.”

“You know where, I’m yours,” you plead. 

He snaps his hips into you again, holding you in place as he spills inside of you, the most beautiful noises falling from his lips. He comes down, loosening his grip on your hips as he falls slack on top of you. Your arms wrap around him, your hand drifting up into his sweaty curls as he catches his breath. 

“I mean it,” he breathes, “I do love you.” He props his head up on your chest, letting his eyes meet yours. 

“You know I love you, Josh.”

He cranes his neck forward and kisses you again, and you can almost feel the smile on his lips. “Does this mean you’ll come home? Let me love you again?”

“Is that you asking me?” you tease. 

“I’ll call the movers right now,” he taunts. 

“You forgive me for leaving you in the first place?” you ask, a hint of nervousness in your voice. 

“I deserved it. I know what I lost.”

“I keep my apartment,” you counter. 

“But you’ll be with me when I’m here?” he asks with questioning eyes. 

“If that’s what you want,” you answer. 

“No more dates with assholes who don’t deserve you?” he smirks. 

“No more dates, just you,” you nod. 

“I’ll do it right this time, give you everything. I promise.”

His lips press to yours, soft and sweet and barely there, sealing his promise and setting your heart aflame. He rolls off of you, laying next to you as close as he can get.

“You said I’m your flower,” you pause, “What kind?”

He pulls you into his side, hitching your leg up over his waist. “Hmm, a poppy perhaps? A bright red one, maybe orange.”

You giggle at the fact he has picked such an outlandish flower. “Why’s that?”

He turns his head to look at you and raises his eyebrow playfully, “The seeds are an opiate and can provide intense pleasure to the consumer, and you, my sweets, are certainly a drug to me.”

You roll your eyes and shove at his chest, feeling him pull you in tighter. He kisses your head and lets out a sigh. 

“What about me, am I a flower, darling?”

“Of course you are,” you pause, looking at him. “Too easy, you’re Goldenrod.”

“Isn’t that a weed?” he laughs, running his fingertips against your bare thigh. 

“Technically, but it’s beautiful. It’s wild and free and vibrant. Thrives in the warm sunshine and sways in the breeze. They’re made of gold, just like you,” you smile, flashing him a wink. 

“Although, it is poisonous,” you add. 

He rolls to face you completely, cupping your face in his hand as he smiles, “You know what they say…”

“What’s that,” you question. 

“The worst poison always tastes the sweetest.”

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[roguehongsami]

Paramour.

—★ pairing/s: ceo!san x fem!assistant

—★ genre/s: smut, au

—★ synopsis: being san's favourite employee comes with endless perks. from lavish gifts to trips around the world, he'll get you whatever you want. but then there's the downside that leave your self-esteem shattered every once in a while, & new year's eve was no different.

—★ content: unprotected sex (condomize), oral sex, semi-public sex, cum eating, fingering, voyeurism, nipple play.

—★ word count: 2.1k

* DISCLAIMER: THIS IS FICTIONAL. IT IS NOT A REPRESENTATION OF CHOI SAN'S CHARACTER, PERSONALITY OR BEHAVIOUR. THIS IS SOLELY FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES. *

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ the weeknd, jennie, lily-rose depp // one of the girls

"San Choi's office, how can I help you?... Mr. Choi's a bit preoccupied right now, can I take a message instead?... Have a good day."

The phone call concluded as she hung up the phone. She put one hand on the desk to support her own weight, the other raking through San's hair. Her head thrown back and mouth fallen to an 'O', she was careful not to be loud. His grip on her thighs unrelenting as he held her in place, face nestled between them.

"That was Wooyoung Jung of Jung Holdings..." she muttered between moans. "The sale went through, they'll bring the contract tomorrow."

He squeezed her thighs to signify that he heard her. His tongue laved every bit of her, slurping her nectar. Lips planting kisses on her bud. The vibrations of his groaning against her core had her tightening her legs around his neck. She slowly let herself go on his tongue, her chest rising and falling as she tried to train her breathing. He got out from beneath her skirt, taking the handkerchief from his desk and wiping his mouth.

"You have a meeting with the director of Kang Enterprises in 30 minutes." she said while buttoning her blouse. "It's at Oasis."

He rose to his feet, fixing his tie and jacket. "We better leave now so we can beat the traffic." he extended out his hand.

She took it, descending from the desk to the floor, "Thank you." she said.

They took their leave, exiting the building and getting into San's private car. The silence filled by clicking on their phones. In the nick of time, they arrived at the lounge where the meeting was hosted. Side by side, her heels clinking against the marble floor, they walked toward the entrance. San led her to an open bar by the general area.

"Stay here. Order whatever you want, just put it on my tab."

While the meeting took place in a confined space where her presence was debarred, she remained at the bar. Already on her second martini in the last hour, the gathering went on far longer than both parties anticipated. As she downed the last of her beverage, the doors opened. All the men exiting, just smiles and laughs while San donned a tight-lipped grin, they exchanged farewells and dispersed. He approached her from behind, his hand gliding over her thigh, startling her a bit.

"That took forever, it's already getting dark out." she said, putting the glass down on the counter.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think it would go on so long. I need you to send our quarterly expense report to Yeosang by tomorrow afternoon." she nodded, taking out her work phone to set a reminder. "Let's get you home."

During the 30-minute drive to her loft that was located on the other side of the city, their conversation was work-related. They snuck glances of one another while the other was not looking. The driver soon arrived at her residence, parking the car right by the entrance. Instructing the driver to wait, he walked her all the way to her door. She fished for her keycard in her handbag. When she found it, she swiped it over the scanner, unlocking the door. As they entered, San studied the pristine interior. She put her handbag down on the kitchen countertop.

"I trust you'll be coming to the New Year's Eve gala this Friday."

Her lips pursed. "If I can make it back from Dublin on time, maybe."

He closed the gap between them, towering over her small frame. "Then you better make it." he whispered.

Always caught in a losing battle between himself and restraint, San could never keep his hands to himself, not around her. Whatever self-abnegation he had would dissipate whenever offered an opportunity to be alone. His hands grabbed her waist, meandering down her body until they found themselves a place behind her thighs. He hoisted her onto the dining table. Fingers playing with the hem of her underwear, he removed them, placing them in the pocket of his slacks. Bucking her hips up, she snaked her legs around his waist. While his lips explored every inch of her neck, before moving to her lips, her hands fiddled with the buckle of his belt.

"Sir!" a voice called out from the door.

San sighed irritably as he halted all actions. "What is it, Arthur?"

"There's an emergency at one of your hotels that requires your immediate attention." Arthur responded.

"You know I hate to do thi–"

"San, go. I'll see you tomorrow before my flight." she pecked him on the lips one last time before dropping her legs to the side.

He planted a kiss on her forehead before leaving her to her solitude. She watched as his back walked away, Arthur closing the door behind him. After a few moments, she took a shower before heading to bed, and calling it a night.

[ . . . ]

The silk robe fell from her shoulders as she reached over the vanity for the body lotion. Squeezing a bit in her hand, spreading it out as she applied it all over her body. The potent smell of cocoa butter spreading to the rest of her bedroom space. The doorbell rung downstairs. She hastily covered herself as she descended down the steps, careful to not miss a step. Through the peephole, there was a deliveryman in uniform on the other side. She opened the door. They exchanged greetings. She signed for her package before he handed her the enormous box.

Her fingers ran over the black branding on the white box, admiring the lettering. She removed the lid, her eyes lit up almost immediately. She took the garment by the straps, bringing it out of its packaging. Holding it over her body while standing before the mirror. The first whiff of the new smell relaxed her. It was arguably the most beautiful gown she had ever owned. It was a champagne-coloured A-line dress made of satin, with a thigh-high slit.

To match the dress, she wore teardrop crystal earrings and an 18-inch princess necklace with matching gemstones. As she clipped on the tennis bracelet, the doorbell intonated. She swiped her clutch from the bed and hurried downstairs. When she answered, there stood San in a black tuxedo. As he soaked in her image, a smile broke out on his face, revealing his dimples.

"Thank you for the dress, Sannie."

"God, you're so breathtaking." He grabbed her by her waist, "I could just take you right here." he opined.

He led her out of the building and into the car, opening the door for her then circling to the other side where Arthur awaited him. Arthur closed the door and took his place behind the wheel. While San spoke on the phone, she studied his face, his perfectly sculpted face. She leaned into him, pressing her lips to the edge of his own as he spoke. Her hand caressed his hard chest, travelling down his torso, then palming him. His words drowned in his throat at the feel of her hand. He quickly regained his composure as she massaged his clothed crotch. The phone call concluded.

With his hand on her neck, he said. "You're a really naughty girl, you know that?"

"That's why you love me." she grinned, biting on her lip.

"More than anyone I've ever known."

His lips pressed onto hers, his tongue explored every crevice of her mouth. Hand gliding from her waist, slithering past the slit and into her underwear. Gently rubbing her throbbing bud, he trailed wet kisses over her neck, groaning against her skin. As she grew increasingly wet, he slotted two fingers inside of her. Breath hitched. When she opened her eyes, she caught Arthur's gaze in the rearview mirror.

"The partition..." she said, breathlessly.

"I'm sure Arthur appreciates the show." he nipped at her shoulder, then leaned into her ear, "Now sing for us." he dictated.

He slid in another finger, stretching her out. Her nails dug into the leather of the seats, head thrown back as she mewled away. The air in the car was hot, heavy. Listening to his tenor voice sing sweet nothings into her ear, driving her closer to her release. When he felt her grow tighter, he pumped his fingers faster until she unravelled. Descending from the ecstasy, she caught his lips while her hand begun undoing the zipper of his pants. He stopped her.

"We're here." he chuckled at her enthusiam but she complained. "You can make it up to me on our trip to Seychelles tomorrow, but right now, we need to go."

San instructed Arthur to find a parking spot for the night as they exited the vehicle. They entered the ballroom where all the attendees of different corporations were present. With every person that came their way, he introduced her as his assistant, which was true, but she resented being assigned only that title. They exchanged contact details, and went their separate ways. When Wooyoung and his assistant, Shannon, approached them, they stood in pairs as they spoke amongst themselves.

"San's your boss?" Shannon whispered, not wanting the topic of the conversation to hear from a mere inches away, but he did. "God, he's so fucking hot. You're so lucky."

"Careful, he can be a gaping asshole sometimes." she jokingly remarked, eliciting a pretentious scoff from her superior.

As the night progressed, the festivities grew increasingly prosaic for her liking. Most of the night was spent networking on San's behalf, while he, Wooyoung and Yeosang drank and laughed the night away. Downing the rest of the champagne, she set the glass down on the countertop. There was 15 minutes until the clock struck midnight, and the fireworks display would begin to welcome the New Year. She abandoned her station and headed for the elevator, taking another glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

The elevator doors opened. She stepped out and wandered down the hallway until she found an empty room to rest. She kept the room dark, standing outside by the balcony, finishing the rest of her beverage. The crisp wind brushed past her skin, lulling her nerves and bringing her mind to an absolute stand still. Allowing herself to absorb and admire the cityscape, San came in and locked the door. He stood behind her, hands gripping onto her figure, resting his head on her shoulder. Holding his hands as she melted into his arms.

"'A gaping asshole' you say?" his tone low.

She couldn't help the subtle laugh she unleashed. "Have I ever been wrong?"

He kissed her neck, her shoulder, all while undoing the straps of her dress. The material fell to her waist, revealing her breasts. The feel of the frigid breeze prompted her nipples to stand at attention. His hands played with them as his left soft pecks on her skin. She held his hands as she guided his every move. Barely containing herself, her soft cries left her mouth. His hand ventured into her underwear, only to find that she had already been drenched in her own arousal. He took the leg exposed through the slit from behind, placing it over the railing. A swift breeze brushed past her near-exposed core, making her yelp. He brought down his pants enough to draw out his already-erect member.

Lifting the dress up and moving her underwear to the side, he slipped the tip in, with every inch he buried inside her, she was stuffed. Stretched to capacity. Regardless of all the times they had done it, she could never quite adjust to his leviathan size. His thrusts were gentle and steady. With one hand on her neck, the other toying with her sensitive nub, he pounded into her litherly. Far from prying eyes and desperate ears, she allowed herself to be completely vocal. Every cry, met with a satisfied groan from San.

"Who's my favourite girl?" he grunted into her ear.

"I am." she croaked out.

"Promise you'll never leave me?"

"I'm yours forever, San."

He picked up his speed, grinding into her at full force. Every hit grazing her cervix, tip brushing past her g-spot. His arm wrapped around her waist for a better grip. Slowly encroaching was her climax, the knot in her stomach growing tighter with each thrust. His body began to tense up, face buried in the crook of her shoulder. His tell. Hips moving irrhythmically as he snapped against her skin. Finally, the coil in her stomach came undone as her orgasm washed over her like a tidal wave. He stilled deep inside her as his load sprayed out in large quantities. They stayed in their position for a few minutes while he slowly thrusted everything back inside her. He pulled out. Pulling his pants back up as she tied the straps of her dress.

The fireworks display begun, with a myriad of colours embellishing the empty canvas that was the midnight sky. Smoke lingered in the air with sounds of explosions occupying the atmosphere.

Reeling her in by the waist, the space between them shrunk, "Happy New Year's, love." he chimed with a loving tone.

Arms thrown over his shoulders, "Happy New Year's, Sannie." she said with much love in her eyes.

They shared a passionate kiss. It was truly the makings of a movie, a dream, as the fireworks went off behind them. They parted and made their way out of the room, heading to the ballroom on the ground floor. Exiting the elevator, they walked down the hallway. They stood in the doorway for a few minutes before San had to walk away. He meandered through the sea of bodies. It was too loud to hear anything. He and another woman exchanged a few words, leading her to the middle of the dance floor. There was no appropriate way to react as she would risk exposing their relationship.

So she watched as San danced the night away with his wife.

[seat-safety-switch]

Government waste is excellent. Unlike my moron neighbours, who complain about how much their taxes are, and how they wish that we could get rid of every government service except roads and cops, I know better. The government provides all kinds of amazing and useful services that nobody ever thinks about, much less appreciates. And I'm not just saying that because I got a cheap hovercraft from the auction.

Sure, there was a bit of a kerfluffle after I won it for $53. For instance, fifty-three dollars Canadian is a lot of money. It took me awhile to transfer it all to them, in the form of rolls of nickels shoved into an envelope marked "to the government." And then there was the classic bureaucracy, trying to figure out if it was even legal to sell a hovercraft to me. This argument went on for weeks, which only intensified my ardour for the utility vehicle. One of the government workers didn't pay attention to who they were cc'ing the email to, and ended up accidentally calling me a "greasy skid" to their boss in a way that I could see, which I think helped me (and my attorney) secure the final bill of sale.

So: now I had a hovercraft. They even delivered it. A childhood dream was finally satisfied. What did I do with an ex-military hovercraft, you ask? I drove that shit to work. In the winter, you often have to wait in traffic for a long time as everyone takes their turn polishing the ice with their not-really-all-wheel-drive all-wheel-drive SUVs on bald, financed not-really-all-season all-season tires. Hovercrafts are not cars, in the view of my province's Implements of Husbandry Act (it is a disappointment that the good people of 1906 did not predict them,) and so I can go wherever the fuck I want. Say, through public parks.

Winter driving has never been more fun when you're insulated from the ground by a glorious cushion of air. Ice is less precarious, because you're constantly sliding out of control at all times. And if you slam into a tree, or country club building, or herd of deer, you just bounce harmlessly off. Really, the only thing I really have to complain about is that I can't do a burnout. Also, the howling Rolls-Royce jet turbines behind it that I swapped in because I got tired of the original thrust fans. Keeps my hands warm.

[amysnotdeadyet]

Good Steve

Another! And then I have to go cook dinner. Stupid reality.

My darling @newtypeshadow asked for a somewhat complicated Steddie from Stranger Things plot, so she gets 555 words.

If there was one thing Eddie Munson was known for — besides shredding on the guitar — it was being protective of his boyfriend. Corroded Coffin were big enough that when they got outed the subsequent dip in record sales didn't tank their careers.

The metal scene was all about people living their lives outside of social conventions, after all.

Eddie did a cover of Judas Priest's "Breaking the Law" to open every concert that tour. Steve came along the way he always did. Instead of hanging with the other WAGs, he wore a staff shirt and assisted everywhere backstage. He'd learned a ton of useful skills in his years touring with them, and was always happy to help.

It took new guys some time to figure that out, though.

"Why the fuck is he here?" asked the guy who would be known as Bad Steve for the duration of his employment. He was a lighting expert of some renown, but he'd been caught in traffic on the way to the gig, so Steve had started setup while they waited.

"You're late," said Nate through the headset.

Steve emerged from beneath the boards already talking. "They need to solder #17, it's just not connecting." He turned to Bad Steve with a charming, boyish grin. "Oh, hey! I'm Steve, happy to lend a hand."

"You're Munson's boytoy." Bad Steve, unfortunately, had not muted his headset.

A dark 'ooooh' went through the line from several sources.

Steve's expression shuttered. "Check it or don't, but don't blame me if it goes out. Chart's over there."

Eddie came crashing into the booth, looking like a hot mess. "Stevie, baby, I need your touch."

Steve rolled his eyes. "You need me to do your eyeliner again because you smudged it already."

"Yep," said Eddie. "Oh, and Bad Steve, do consider who might be listening, hm?"

Steve let Eddie put his hands in the back pocket of his admittedly small jeans shorts, not even bothering to glance back to where Bad Steve was fuming.

A few hours later, when #17 had been soldered and the show was underway, Bad Steve got to see why Eddie's Steve was the favorite.

A nazi punk managed to get onstage while security was breaking up a fight elsewhere, and Steve flew out of wings with fire in his eyes to tackle the guy before he got past the monitors. Long legs pinned the guy's back to the floor, and he palmed the guy's head like a basketball, leaning in to say something there was no mic to pick up.

The guy tried to get up and got his face slammed into the stage for his trouble, Steve clearly in control even when the punk tried to swipe with a switchblade. The knife clattered away as Steve brought his own arm down on the guy's hand, smashing it into the monitor with a crunching sound and the screech of feedback.

The rest of security finally arrived to confiscate the knife and the nazi. Steve let him up, holding his own hands out while they hauled him away.

At that point, no one could blame Eddie for the scorching kiss that followed.

"Well," said Eddie into the mic, once Steve was safely offstage. "That was fuckin' hot, right?"

The cheers that followed were almost as deafening as the music.

[tsukishimakeiswife]

You just spent the dirtiest night of your life with Geto Suguru.

a/n- this song reminded me of him<3 you could play it throughout the post if you'd like.

------

One chance. That's what you told yourself and Geto before agreeing to go on a date with him. Everything about him was so alluring. You knew once you crossed a certain line with him, there would be no going back. Not with him. In the 3 years you worked with Geto Suguru, not once did you resist catching a glance at him. How could you not? When he looked at you as if you were his only source of life. He was perfect and amazing at everything he did. That's also why you loathed him. Anything you did, he would do it better, that too with such ease.

Hating him wasn't easy, either. Your seniors would want you to consult him if there was any issue. Got a problem with your paycheck? Ask Geto. Want a sick leave? Ask Geto. And wouldn't he enjoy it when you came to him, seeking help? His signature smirk plastered across his face every time you stood outside his office. He was so infuriating, yet so attractive.

One day, he finally pushed you over the edge. A sales pitch you worked on for weeks was scraped just because Geto had a better idea. 'Of course, they should just let him run the company, huh?' You made the not-so-graceful decision of walking out of the meeting and going back to your office. You got your stuff, clearly done for the day, and left the building soon after. Trying to haul the cab in horrendous city traffic only frustrated you further. That was until someone put their hand on your shoulder, almost making you jump.

There he stood, looking egregiously hot. He stood in front of you with his shoulder-length hair in a half bun and a shirt that hugged him just right. He fixed his tie before speaking up after what felt like an eternity of eye contact.

"I didn't mean for that to happen- look, (y/n). I know you hate me right now, but let me make it up to you."

And that's how you ended up here. Sitting in front of him so prettily, adorned in your most breathtaking dress and high heels- to look somewhat tall next to his large build. You made sure to look your best, and the way his eyes scanned your body made your efforts worth them. The glass of wine in your hand, long forgotten as you leaned back and heard him speak. The tension between you two was wild. The air was heavy and thick. The ambiance of the restaurant didn't help much, either. You were sure he picked such a place on purpose.

However, that wasn't the craziest part about tonight. It was the fact that you were enjoying this so much. His eyes never left yours, alternating between your lips and orbs while you spoke. He leaned in to 'hear' you better and 'accidentally' brushed his knees against yours. Tonight, there was something different in him. It was as if nothing was stopping him. Hunger was apparent in his eyes. He was determined to get what he wanted.

You saw through his game. You weren't dumb, and he knew it. He wanted you to make the first move. Moreover, with every second passing, it seemed more difficult not to do that.

"Easier said than done, love. You ne-", he stopped talking immediately. He had something better to focus on now. Your freshly manicured nails were currently placed on his thigh. If his winning this silly game meant what you thought it did, then you'd take it any day. You were attracted to Geto, more than anything at the moment. His eyes darkened and in the blink of an eye, his entire aura shifted. You felt smaller, and you didn't think that was possible with Geto. He called the waiter for the cheque almost as if in a hurry.

The two of you got up and he immediately took your hand in his, taking you towards the elevator, maybe. You didn't care. Not when Geto has you in such a state. And he hasn't even touched you yet.

The two of you enter the elevator, finally alone. He didn't react, though. All you wanted to do was kiss him, taste him, feel him. His calm composure, on the contrary, was far from your flustered state. He looked down to meet your gaze as you did the same, bodies facing each other, but not reacting.

The lift doors opened and he immediately walked out. You tried to keep up with him, but he was practically dragging you now. You entered the suite he'd booked for you and the man in front of you didn't even wait for the door to close before pinning you against it. He leaned down to make sure he was just above you, his hair falling out of place onto yours. You tucked the strands of his hair behind his ears before pulling him down to kiss him.

You could physically feel the smile on his face when you did, and he didn't spare you for a second. His hands immediately reached for your throat and the other one pressed your lower back to bring you closer to him. The kiss was electric, hot, passionate, and desperate. Geto Suguru kissed hard. He gently led you towards the bedroom- not breaking the kiss for a second. You felt ecstatic, his hand on your throat applying the slightest amount of pressure- the kiss which was so hot you felt dizzy already. Breaking apart to catch your breath; you looked into his eyes, his pupils were completely blown out; his hair was a mess now; he was so pretty.

He pushed you onto the bed and you were now lying on your back. Geto caged you in before kissing your jaw, your neck- biting and leaving marks with utmost grace. He kissed you on that spot behind your ears, to which you sharply exhaled. He smirked against your skin and whispered in your ears, "I haven't even done anything yet, and look how you're reacting." you rolled your eyes and scoffed before whining at the feeling of his teeth sinking into your soft skin. Your hands were on his neck, playing with his hair and occasionally tugging on them. It drove him crazy.

He gave you a genuine look as his hands landed on the hem of your dress, making sure you were still okay with this- to which you nodded. He slipped your dress off and tossed it aside, taking in what was in front of him. It was as if he was consuming you completely, his gaze was dark- it sucked you in, trapped you inside. You tugged on his hand for him to hurry. He kissed you again and you unbuttoned his shirt. You knew he had an amazing body, but it was nothing like you'd imagined. There really was not a single thing in him that you could complain about.

He kissed down your chest, taking off your bra and stopping right at your stomach. He looked straight into your eyes and said, "What do you want me to do, love?" your breath hitched and you hesitated. You felt more needy than ever, Geto knew that. But he had to show you he had power over you, didn't he?

"Geto, please. I need you," you said- whispered. He raised his eyebrow to indicate that he'll have to hear you again. "You'll have to be louder- and more specific." he retorted.

"I want you to fuck me, there?" you almost spat out. Only getting more and more frustrated. You sneaked in a 'please, Geto' to make sure he didn't get pissed. All he did was simply nod while taking off your lace panties. He didn't hesitate for a second before shoving two of his long, rough fingers into your cunt. A loud whine left your lips and your hands immediately covered your mouth, trying their best to muffle your moans- screams. His fingers were long. You meant that. He stretched you out and immediately began pumping in and out. He tutted and shook his head- almost as if he was disappointed.

"I wanna hear you, baby. Covering your pretty mouth won't help. And, it's Suguru for you." at this point, anything this man said only made you wetter. He found your g-spot effortlessly, abusing it as he added a third finger. "Fuck- Suguru, too much." your back arched and your breath hitched with every thrust. He could tell you were getting close. "Too much? This isn't enough, my love." his thumb was now on your clit, toying with it as if it wasn't making you whimper and moan out his name. His free hand caressed your face, tucking your hair behind your ear and locking fingers with yours.

You were close, lewd sounds echoed through the suite and his harsh, degrading comments only got you riled up more. "gonna cum- shit. hah- Suguru, more." He chuckled before picking up his pace. "Come on, come for me." pushing you over the edge. You screamed out his name and held onto his hand as your orgasm washed over you. It was ecstatic. Your body spasmed and you tried to catch your breath. Your orgasm barely passed by before you hear his trousers drop to the floor.

"Don't think we're done, love. I meant what I said. We're just getting started." he took off his boxers revealing what he'd been hiding the entire time. This man was big. And you meant that. A wave of shock and excitement passed your body as you gasped at the sight before you.

"Get on your knees for me." you nod and shuffle around till your knees and elbows are on the mattress, your ass is up and your hair brought to one side of your face. His hand trails along your spine kneads your ass before giving it a harsh slap.

“I’m gonna go slow at first, tell me when you’re comfortable, hm?” he says as he coats his cock with your slick. He aligns himself and slowly enters your hole. A sharp exhale left your mouth as you groaned and threw your head back. He was way bigger than you expected, you bit your lip to drift your attention away from the sting you felt. He leaned forward so that his chest was on your back now and he sank his teeth into your neck while entering you slowly. You whimpered and tears pooled in your eyes, carrying your mascara with them as they ran across your cheek. He kissed your tears away and whispered how ‘you’re such a good girl’ and you’re ‘so obedient for him’

After what felt like an eternity, he completely bottomed out and the pain slowly faded away- transforming into the most pleasure you’ve ever had. You gave him a quick nod which was his signal. He turned immediately. His pace increased and he went faster- harder. Your face was now smushed against the pillow while you screamed in pleasure. His hand rubbed against your overstimulated clit- only making you cry out more as you begged him to slow down, to go easy on you. His hips snapped against yours picking up his pace despite your cries.

You could feel your next orgasm nearing, feeling embarrassed over how much tighter your cunt got with every thrust, a groan left his lips and he grabbed a fistful of your hair to lift you up to his level, your back pressed against his strong chest.

“You’re gonna be a good slut for me and take it, yeah? I see the way you’d look at me everyday. Fucking me with your eyes in front of everyone. Now take it like a good girl.” you cried out his name and tried to grab his hand that was currently abusing your clit. Your choked cries and unsuccessful attempts at getting him to slow down did nothing but boost his ego more. He let go of your hair letting you fall back onto the pillow and grabbed your face, turning it to the side, “You’re not gonna look away, okay?” he said.

You bit your lip and nodded at him as you grabbed the bedsheets, seeking support from the silk sheet underneath the two of you. He thought you looked beautiful, your pouty lips were swollen and glistened with your own saliva on them, your cheeks stained with mascara and your eyes, half lidded and pooled with tears. You looked ethereal.

With a final thrust you came around him, crying out choked moans and whines as your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you felt like you couldn’t think anymore. Geto thrusted into you throughout your orgasm and gently lifted you up while he fucked into you, you gasped as you still clinged onto him. This man was strong- he lifted you off the ground while fucking into you as if it was no big deal.

By the time you rode out your high, you realized you were pressed against the glass window of your suite. The cold glass made you hiss as you looked down at the busy street. Humiliation took over you as you looked at Geto with a confused face. You were tired, that's for sure. A mess. That was an accurate word to describe your state right now. Geto pulled out of your abused hole and you whined at the empty feeling, still breathing heavily from your last orgasm. He turned you around to face him.

"You alright there?" he tilted his face to the side and leaned down to lock lips with yours. He was soft, kind, and caring. At the same time time; he was rough, mean, and sadistic. He had you wrapped around his finger. You whispered his name out when he slowly entered you again. Your back arched and you dug your nails into his back. He hissed at your actions and groaned your name out. Your name left his lips as if it was his favourite word.

His pace increased and you clung onto him with every bit of strength left in you. Your mind felt foggy and you didn't know what took over you, you spoke up. "Suguru, let me ride you. Please." it was a weak whisper. He wouldn't have been able to hear you if it wasn't for how close the two of you were. He slowed down and carried you to the bed, placing you down before getting on. He made himself comfortable against the bedframe and tapped on his thigh, "There's nothing I would love more, love."

You weren't so sure if that was a mistake or not.

"Tired already? You've barely moved."

"So gorgeous, all f'me."

"Look at you, my cock-drunk princess."

"Want me to lend a hand?" he smirked. He had the 'genius' idea of tying your hands behind your back before you got on top of him. You definitely made a mistake with your suggestion. Your head was on his shoulder now. Your thighs felt like they were on fire. Every single movement made you cry out. He didn't help you out, either. His large cock only adding to your mix of pleasure and pain. He enjoyed this more than anything. Your struggle to take him and maintain balance riled him up even more. You groaned at his words and nodded into his shoulder.

"What was that? You're gonna have to tell me." you can't believe you almost forgot why you hated him so much. He grabbed your face by the neck and brought you to face him, inches apart. You bit your lip to muffle out your moans and rolled your eyes. He looked at you, waiting for you to speak. "Help me, Suguru." "Please," you added, before he spoke up, causing him to smile.

"Whatever you say, love," he whispered in your ear before gripping your hips and bucking his hips upwards. You gasped at the sudden movement and lost balance, falling back onto his shoulder as you cried out his name. He was close, and so were you. Your whines and moans of his name made him feel like his body was on fire. You had no idea how obsessed he was with you. And there you were, in front of him, breaking down because of him.

"Fuck, (y/n). You're driving me crazy." he pulled you up and looked at you, and you didn't dare to look away from him. No, if you did, you were sure he would ruin you. His words threw you over the edge as you tightened around him and came. He hissed at you and shot his seed into you. He held onto you as you clawed at his chest- riding out your high.

The two of you stayed in the same position for who knows how long. "I thought this was supposed to be an apology dinner." you panted out.

"Would you rather have that?"

"...no."

You let out a tired giggle before looking up to meet his eyes, smiling and pulling him into a simple, pure, passionate kiss.

"I still dislike you, though,"

“I wouldn’t pass a judgment so soon. After all, I’m not done with you yet.” he said, while his hands moved down your body.

———

part two??

[air-of-the-waterfall]

Please try to unlearn the "I hate people" attitude we learned from our angry right-wing dads. I know it's easy to fall into when you're frustrated, but it's just perpetuating the problem. When my instinctual response is to get mad at a complete stranger, I tell myself "it's not people I hate, it's capitalism."

Mad at other drivers in traffic (if/when they haven't done anything truly dangerous)? Wouldn't it be nice if we weren't living in a car dependent concrete hellscape?

Mad that something was on sale but sold out before you got any? Other people also needed/wanted that thing and the regular price is too high.

Mad at crowds of people when you want to enjoy nature? Wouldn't it be nice if we had access to more nature spaces that weren't destroyed and/or privately owned?

Etcetera.

Other working class human beings are not your enemy.

[cauldronblssd]

Morning edition -

Read on AO3

For @elucienweekofficial Day 7 - AU

Thank you to @panicatthenightcourt for helping me with a smutty idea for this fic! I hope you like it. 💚

The sound of claws scraping against the fabric of her headboard alerted Elain that her morning had begun. She groaned, covering her face with a pillow to drown out the sound of her cat’s insistent alarm letting her know that he was ready for breakfast. Faint sounds of morning traffic buzzed around her, another sign of the inevitability of the start of her day.  

Elain drowsily padded to the kitchen. She filled the coffeepot with grounds and water before turning her attention to her cat. Suri hopped up on the counter, circling her as she reached for a can of wet food, his paws tapping out a little dance. He nudged her hand with his soft cheek, urging her to move more quickly, as she popped open the putrid smelling can of wet food and dished it out onto a plate.  

The steady drip of the coffeepot began as she turned on the radio she’d bought for cheap at a thrift store. She’d rushed to buy it in excitement when her sister, Feyre, landed her first job at the station as an arts and culture reporter, insisting that it wasn’t enough to hear her voice over the online stream - she needed to hear it on a physical radio.  

Since, she’d grown into a habit of listening every morning, though her sister wouldn’t be on for another forty-five minutes. The familiar sound of her favorite news reporter filled the room, his voice smooth and low as he spoke of some bill to raise sales tax for the benefit of real estate developers.  

Generally, listening to the news would set her on edge, there rarely being anything good to say. But listening to the deep lull of his radio voice as he interviewed a city council person, serious and yet inviting, soothed her. It had become part of her morning routine, something that she looked forward to as surely as her cup of coffee. She’d tried to imagine him, from time to time, as equally handsome to match his deep velvet voice. However, whenever she tried, she remembered the droll dinner she’d been to with Feyre’s boss, a man probably four decades her senior, wearing penny loafers. She’d liked him all the same, and he’d sent her free tickets to a local jazz festival.  

Elain continued to listen absently as she drank her cup of coffee and watered the myriad of plants lining the windowsill of her kitchen. Every room of her house had a few, but her kitchen got the most sunlight, something she took advantage of by something placing green and growing on every available surface.  

She looked in her fridge, unfortunately empty of food after hosting her sisters and their friends for a movie night earlier in the week. Nesta and Emerie had been training for a marathon, and needed a constant intake of carbs to make up for it – or so they claimed as they scarfed down everything in her apartment. Her phone made a vibrating noise against the hard linoleum of her counters.  

Feyre: Good morning 😇  Elain: ...  Feyre: What, no good morning for your little sister?  Elain: How good the morning is depends on what you want, Fey  Feyre: Would you pretty, pretty please bring me a coffee at the studio?   Elain: Doesn't your work have coffee?   Feyre: Yeah and it’s very economical and tastes terrible. This is PUBLIC radio.   Elain: Isn’t your workday over in a couple hours anyway?   Feyre: Yes, but I have a date after work...  Elain: With that rich guy?   Feyre: Rhys!   Feyre: Please he’s so hot and I don’t want to fall asleep and drool.   Feyre: He’s taking me to the opera and he’s got box seats.   Elain: FINE but you’re taking me to the craft festival this weekend.  Elain: And you’re buying my beer.  Feyre: DEAL  Feyre: Iced oat-milk latte with extra foam pls 

Elain shook her head, setting her phone back down to hop in the shower. After visiting Feyre, she planned to visit the community gardens. She had a small plot with some lettuce and cucumbers growing that would need watering and her flower bed would need weeding. With that in mind, she threw on a pair of denim shorts and a loose t-shirt. She braided her hair back away from her face in hopes of keeping the dirt out of it. It wasn’t much, but she planned to just run into bring her sister the coffee and get out as quickly as possible before the afternoon sun started to kick in. Chucking on her sneakers, she grabbed her keys to head out of the house, giving Suri one last kiss on the head.  

Elain walked to the coffee shop near her house after stopping to talk to her elderly neighbor, Pam, who liked to have her morning coffee on her porch steps and chat with anyone that passed. She tended to talk for too long, but Elain didn’t mind listening. After growing up with Nesta and Feyre, she felt used to it. After hitting the walk sign at all three intersections she had to cross to get to Scythia, Elain had decided it was her lucky day.  

Elain popped open the glass door, entering the air-conditioned chill. She immediately spotted the familiar vibrant red hair of Vassa as she stepped inside. Vassa always changed her appearance, and she currently had it cut into what she assured Elain was a trendy mullet - short on the top with longer strands in the back that reached the base of her neck. Her arms, covered in brightly colored tattoos, flexed as she tamped down on some espresso.  

The room was loud, between the music Jurian always had blaring over the speakers, the screeching sounds of steaming milk, and the chatter of people seated at the tables throughout the shop. At the back, Jurian perched on their brightly colored pink couch as he crouched over a laptop screen in front of him, paperwork piled to the side. She offered him a friendly wave before walking up the counter to her friend.  

“Hey beautiful!” Vassa smiled broadly at her. “You’re not usually in here this early.”  

“I’m headed to check on my romaine, but I promised Feyre I’d bring her something at work.”  

“That’s generous of you.” Vassa quirked one eyebrow as she took the two empty glass jars that Elain handed to her.  

“She was up late. New boyfriend.” The last part she said with a conspiratorial whisper as she leaned towards the counter.  

“How’d she meet this one?” Vassa turned to look at her as she measured out the milk for their drinks. 

“Some work thing. His company donates to the station.”  

“Scandalous.” Vassa offered her a cheeky wink. “Does he have any rich brothers?” 

“Planning a backup boyfriend?” Vassa and Jurian had been together for three years, and despite their constant arguing, they never wavered, living together while also running the shop.  

“For you, dumbass.”  

Elain swatted at her. “Thanks for the lookout, but I don’t need my little sister to set me up.”  

“How about me then, Jurian knows this guy who...”  

Elain cut her off with a hand in the air. “I love you, Vass, but after you set me up with that guy obsessed with birds, you’ve lost your credibility.”  

Vassa handed her two jars now filled to the brim with coffee, the milk swirling cloudlike in the glass. “He was hot, but point taken.”  

Elain shoved a generous tip into the jar at the counter before waving to a half-distracted Vassa, already in the midst of preparing a particularly sugary drink for a teenager waiting patiently.  

***** 

The walk to the radio station where Feyre worked was long and the ice in Feyre’s drink quickly began to melt. Elain held the overfull drink carefully as she stepped towards the door of the studio. She fumbled as she reached the door, her hands full and her grip precarious.  

“I’ve got it” a familiar voice called from behind her. Against her will, Elain shivered in response. God, she was acting like a weirdo in front of this probably middle-aged married man on his way to work.  She focused her gaze on the cement pavement of the sidewalk, blinding as the sun gleamed overhead. She watched his shadow as he came closer to her.  

It took but a few long strides for him to reach her, a broad elegant hand reaching to grasp the door. His body was close behind hers, allowing her to scent the warm spice of his cologne. His wife probably bought it for him, she reminded herself. But as she watched a tendon in his muscled forearm flex with the movement, she couldn’t help but scan his unadorned hand for a wedding band.  

“Do you know where you’re headed?” The door opened, and she shut her eyes to adjust the dull fluorescent lighting. His body stepped closer to hers, the heat from his hand approaching her back without ever touching.  

Her voice squeaked when she spoke. “Just dropping off coffee.” She lifted one as if to prove her point.  

“Ah. Delivery?” He’d come to stand beside her, but Elain wouldn’t let herself to look up. She didn’t want to break the spell of his voice so close to hers, afraid of what she might find.  

God she must seem like an idiot. “OH. Uh no, actually. Just for my sister.”  

“I should have known. You must be Feyre’s sister.” She looked up, finally, forcing herself to act like an adult and not a shy adolescent who had never spoken to a crush before. She was forced to crane her neck to meet his gaze and OH.  

Lucien Vanserra was a god, easily the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. His tall frame was equally broad, the muscles of his chest seeming to strain against the smooth fabric of his checked shirt. He’d left only the first two buttons open, a professional, and yet just the hint of his gleaming brown skin underneath caused her mouth to go dry. He smiled widely at her, causing a scar over his eye to bunch at the corners. His eyes were a beautiful russet brown, mirthful as he watched her stumble for words.  

“You know her?” Elain offered dumbly.  

“Against my own will, I assure you.” He gestured one hand in front of him to indicate that they move.  

Elain’s feet felt too heavy, stuck to the ground as she struggled to recalibrate her mind. This could not be the same man who just spoke about taxes of all things. His full lips were too beautiful, his voice too sultry, to be bogged down with such tedious minutiae.  

They wandered through a hallway covered in scuffed linoleum tile, clearly a carryover from decades prior. Elain paid no attention to doors they passed or where they turned. She felt as if her world had been turned around, her mind turning to accept this new piece of information. Lucien, the man who mediated a debate for city council, who reported on the new wastewater plant, who she’d fantasized about on more than one occasion, was gorgeous and walking next to her and – Elain cursed herself, clearing her mind of her spiraling thoughts.  

It had been too long since she’d broken up with Graysen, a dry spell that had had all but turned into unwilling chastity. She feared her summons for the convent would come any day. Could one be recruited for that sort of thing? The cheerful laugh of Feyre brought her back to her senses, followed by an unfamiliar voice muttering something in response.  

Next to her, Lucien sighed dramatically. “Rhysand is here.”  

Elain bit her cheek to keep from laughing. “You don’t like him?” She couldn’t look at him, fearing the flush already forming would give her away.  

“I do, he’s just been here...a lot lately.” He looked at her with a pointed lift of his brow.  

She smirked, but said nothing. Far be it for her to reveal a torrid workplace affair her sister may or may not be engaged in. Though technically, she supposed, Rhysand didn’t work for the station, he just...sponsored it. She wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. Would Rhys pull his funding when Feyre inevitably got bored and moved on, as she always seemed to do?  

Lucien knocked pointedly on the open doorway with a sharp rap, announcing their presence before entering. What could they be doing in an office to necessitate that?  

“Feyre, a visitor for you.” Feyre turned her face towards Elain and immediately winced apologetically. Not comprehending, Elain scanned her sister, wondering if she had been caught in something scandalous after all. That’s when she saw. TRAITOR.  

Feyre stood with a large plastic cup in hand, holding some kind of sweetened drink concoction laden in caramel drizzle. She didn’t even like sweet drinks! She had teased Nesta mercilessly for her preferences, had labelled her as basic on more than one occasion.  

Elain smiled with chagrin, not letting her ire seep through in front of Rhys and Lucien. “I see you’ve got your caffeine covered.” The condensation from the glass began to drip down her hand uncomfortably. She turned towards Lucien, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed in amusement.  

“I don’t suppose you like an oat milk latte?” He was polished from head to toe, his shirt pressed and his large black watch gleaming like the shine of his auburn hair. She became very aware of her own lackluster appearance, her shirt advertising Gwyn and Emerie’s gym that she admittedly rarely visited.  

“I’m more of a tea guy myself.” A frown began to pull at the corners of her mouth, her irritation at her sister unfairly cast in the direction of this innocent bystander.  

He smirked, stepping towards her. “But I can’t say no to a free drink.” His hand brushed hers as he took it from her hands, and she bit her lip to contain the gasp caught in her throat. She watched with lurid fascination as he lifted the jar to his lips, the clear glass allowing her to see his tongue as he licked some water off the side before taking a sip. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away. His eyes met hers as he pulled it from his face, their gazes locking before Rhysand interrupted.  

“Nice of you to escort her, Vanserra.” His tone implied that it was not nice at all. If Elain had more sense, she might have unraveled whatever male bravado was taking place in front of her, what tangled web her sister might be weaving. Instead, she stood dumbly, all words gone for the moment.  

“Oh, um.” she fiddled with the tail of her braid, twisting it between her fingers, “Yes, thanks.”  

Feyre cringed, as if embarrassed at her sister’s poor social skills. Normally, Elain would be the one to smooth things over, to offer whatever polite phrase a situation required.  

“Anyway, I should go. I’ve got to check on my lettuce.” God, she sounded like an idiot. Rhysand grinned devilishly, his smile revealing his unusually sharp canines.  

“Wouldn’t want to leave that lettuce unsupervised, Elain. It was nice to meet you.” Elain silently cursed him even as she had to admit he was handsome. He exuded charisma, the cut of his sweater too sharp to truly be casual. He was different than Feyre’s usual type, a challenge to which her sister would certainly rise.  

Elain only nodded before quickly exiting down the hall. Damn her and her lusty brain, she hadn’t paid attention to the direction back to the entrance at all. Each hall was the same dull gray, covered in tacky textured wallpaper from the eighties. The old scent of cigarette smoke clung to it. Elain needed fresh air, needed the green of her plants and the scent of fresh soil. Just as she was considering how ludicrous it would be to airdrop her location to her sister in an office building of all places, she startled to attention as an older person with a badge labelling them as Bryaxis, stepped from the shadows. “Exit is first door on your left.”  

Elain waved half-heartedly, “got it, thanks!” before moving her short legs at a brisker pace towards the exit. If her sister wanted coffee delivered to her desk again, she could call Nesta.  

***** 

Elain was sorting through her, admittedly cluttered, closet for a tote bag to bring to the craft fair when she felt her phone vibrate.  

Feyre: Downstairs  Elain: Almost ready, come up?  Feyre: In a tow away zone  

Goddammit. Elain reached her hand in and grabbed the first bag she could find before slipping into a pair of shoes and rushing out the door and racing down the creaky stairs. Her sister awaited her in an old Honda civic, something poppy blasting from her staticky stereo system.  

“My neighbors are all retired, you’re gonna get me a noise complaint.” 

Feyre, ever stubborn, turned up the music one octave louder. “Please, they are too busy ogling you.” Elain scrunched her nose in disapproval. “You look cute, by the way.”  

Elain smoothed out the cotton of her dress. “What did you do?” 

“NOTHING! Can’t a girl be nice to her sister?” Elain narrowed her eyes but shrugged, noting her sister taking the side street leading towards Scythia.  

“Coffee first?”  

“Always.” Elain said nothing about the dark bruise that looked like a bitemark clearly visible on her sister’s neck beneath her wavy hair.  

“Good time with fancy pants?”  

“Rhys!” She admonished her. Elain shrugged, a clear indication that she had no intention of calling him by that anytime soon. “And yes, the opera was...interesting.”  

“Interesting how?” While her sister had an artistic spirit, she’d certainly never expressed an interest in the opera before. That was more of Nesta’s scene. Feyre grinned mischievously.  

“GOD never mind, don’t tell me.” 

“Boring” Feyre scoffed, rolling up with a smooth glide to parallel park. Elain would not admit that she was impressed, that she would walk to the shop in almost any weather to avoid this very parking situation.  

“Come on, my little deviant. Coffee awaits.” Elain flipped her hair dramatically as she stormed into the coffee shop with a flourish. Vassa would side with her, she was mostly certain. She grinned as she saw her leaning across the counter, her laugh resounding throughout the small space. That smile fell short when she realized who she who was making her laugh so gleefully.  

Feyre, unperturbed, bounded up, bumping her shoulder with Lucien’s almost aggressively. Lucien didn’t flinch, his body unmoving as he glanced down at her. His mouth opened to say something to her when he turned, catching Elain in his vision. He watched her for a moment, his eyes moving up and down to take her in, before turning back to Feyre. Vassa’s own eyes widened as she looked towards Elain gesturing between Lucien and Feyre in question. Lucien caught the motion and scowled at Vassa. 

Feyre, less subtly made a gagging sound. “Him, god no!!”  

Lucien placed his hand over his heart dramatically. “Ouch, Feyre. My ego is fragile.”  

“Please, your ego is the size of the state of California.” Taking the distraction as the time to approach, Elain sidled up to the counter to face Vassa.  

"No jars to return, sorry! I’ll bring them next time.” Vassa half-heartedly gave her a stern look, before one slid down the counter.  

Vassa glanced once again assessingly before beaming a broad smile, her blue eyes shining brightly. “You’ve met Lucien as well?”  

Lucien cleared his throat. “Briefly, she came to see Feyre at work.”  

“Ah.” Vassa smiled knowingly, not seeming dissuaded from whatever she was scheming.  

Feyre looked at Lucien and then at Vassa.  “Did you tell her your dirty secret?” 

Lucien’s eyes widened and he glanced towards Elain. “What secret?”  

“You’re a tea drinker.”  

Vassa nodded solemnly. “A fate worse than death. But we keep him around for his good looks.”  

Feyre rolled her eyes. “If you say so.”  

Vassa nodded towards Elain’s empty bag. “Where are you two pretty ladies headed?” 

Elain smiled, about to explain about the macrame planter she planned on buying when Feyre chimed in, “Want to join us, Loosh?”  

She ignored the irrational spike of jealousy at Feyre’s close relationship with Lucien. Lucien, looked towards her.  

“Don’t call me that. I have plans with Jurian, if he ever gets off his ass!” The last part was yelled pointedly to where Jurian sat perched atop his pink sofa cursing at his computer. He threw up his middle finger towards Lucien without so much as a glance.  

Elain laughed, “With company like that, I can see why you can’t tear yourself away.” 

Lucien grinned as he looked her over, as if he might consider bailing on his friend after all. His eyes paused at her hands holding her empty tote bag ready to be filled with stickers and knick knacks she had no space for in her tiny apartment.  

“Nice bag.” He said it with his brows lifted and a cocky grin on his face. 

Elain furrowed her brows in consternation, wondering what could arouse such a response before she looked down at the beige bag hooked under her arm. Her face flushed with embarrassment as she stared at the I love public radio bag she’d earned for free at an event she’d volunteered at with Feyre. She reminded herself he couldn’t possibly know that it was his voice she thought about, he was just being playful.  

Still, she could have kissed Jurian when he trounced over, slinging an arm around her as he rolled his eyes at Lucien instinctively. “Are you bothering my favorite customer, Lucien?”  

“What am I then, you ingrate?” 

“A nuisance, clearly.”  

Feyre had become absorbed in her phone as she chewed on the corner of her lip. Only when the group had come to a comfortable silence did she look up. Elain stared at her drink sitting on the counter and reluctantly extricated herself from Jurian’s arm to go claim it.  

Despite having looked forward to the craft fair with her sister all week, a part of her was disappointed Lucien couldn’t come, that she might not have an excuse to see him after this. As they walked away, she found herself turning a half step back to look at him, some words lost on her lips. He too, turned to watch her, his jaw flexing as he waited for her to say something. Instead, she just turned and walked away with Feyre, squinting at the bright glare of the sun.  

**** 

Elain was lounging on the couch, Suri curled up by her feet as she half watched reality TV and scrolled through her phone. It wasn’t the most exciting Saturday night, but after a long week at work and a day out in the sun, she couldn’t bring herself to leave. Open containers of rice and tofu still littered her coffee table that she’d had the foresight to pick up on her way home, knowing she wouldn’t want to leave once she enveloped herself in the blankets on her couch.  

Her view of the recipe blog was interrupted by a text from an unknown number popping up on her screen. A spam text, she reasoned, or something equally boring from her pharmacy. Still, she opened the message and her heart skipped a bit.  

Hey, it’s Lucien  Elain: Oh, hi it’s Elain. But you knew that already ☺️  Elain: Unless you were hoping for Feyre 👀  Lucien: Talking to Feyre during the work day is more than enough.   Elain: She wouldn’t text you back unless you were Rhys, anyway  Elain: Speaking from experience here  Lucien: Good thing I’m talking to you then 

Elain struggled to formulate a response. Was he flirting with her? He messaged her on a Saturday night, which certainly suggested more than a friendly message with his friend’s sister. The idea of flirting with Lucien Vanserra both excited and terrified her. After all, this was the man whose voice she woke into in the mornings, the same voice that sometimes visited her at night in her dreams. He’d seemed charming in the briefest moments she’d talked to him at his work and at the coffeeshop, but not alone. What if he was a creep? He did clearly get her number from someone else after all...probably Jurian. If he gets to be at the center of gossip, he’ll give any information away.  

Elain: A pleasant surprise...I think. Unless you’re trying to rope me into helping Vassa re stain their back deck, in which case, get lost. I already told her no three times.   Lucien: Damn, I never tell her no.   Elain: A dangerous state of affairs.  Lucien: I guess you’ll be sitting pretty next weekend while I’m sanding and staining.   Elain: She’s a micromanager too. Get ready to have your technique corrected.  Lucien: I don’t usually get corrected on my technique.  

Did he just? Elain couldn’t tell if he took his home remodeling tasks that seriously, or if he really was inserting a sexual innuendo into a conversation with a stranger about routine deck maintenance. Well, a little confidence doesn’t hurt, she supposed.  

Elain: Feyre did say today that you have a big ego.   Lucien: Casting aspersions on me already. I’ll remember that when she asks me to look the other way while she sneaks off with Rhys during work hours.   Elain: It’s sounds like you’re getting pushed around left and right.   Lucien: Your turn next.  

There was a pause, while Elain calculated what to say. Whereas before, she wasn’t sure if he had been flirting, she didn’t know how she could take this message another way. She wasn’t used to this. She’d been with Graysen for years, and for the last several he hardly noticed her at all, let alone took the time to flirt with her. Then, since their breakup, she’d taken time for herself, unwilling to give up her independence. Lucien, though... 

Lucien: What are you doing tonight?  

Elain bit her lip, taking a picture of her cartons of food and the reality TV in the background and sent it to him.  

Lucien: A wild Saturday night then? Let me take you out.  

Elain couldn’t help but laugh. It would take a fire to force her out of her pajamas right now.   Elain: Now? I’m in my PJ’s.   Lucien: Drinks on me. You can come in your PJ’s if you want. Fuzzy slippers and all.  

Elain thought about correcting him that she worse fuzzy socks, not slippers, but supposed it was semantics. The idea of getting dressed exhausted her, but she couldn’t deny the thrill of seeing him. When was the last time she felt, young, did something reckless?  

Elain stepped off the couch, extricating her feet gently from their warm spot under her cat. As she acclimated to her vertical position, she mentally calculated what it would take to make herself presentable.  

Elain: Nothing fancy  Lucien: Perfect, the bar down the street from Scythia’s? Rask? I can pick you up.  Elain: That’s alright, I’ll walk. See you there in an hour?   Lucien: I’m looking forward to it.  

Elain added a little heart to his message and then began frantically throwing apart her closet for something to wear. When did she buy so many cardigans? Everything in her wardrobe looked like it could have just as easily fit in at a retirement home.  

Under normal circumstances, she might have bothered Feyre or Nesta for something sexy to wear, or even Vassa, whose clothes were less sexy and more edgy and cool. But Elain did NOT want to admit what she had planned to Feyre, or Nesta by proxy, who would immediately reveal her secrets to their group chat, not to mention her friends. Vassa, too, would be left out of this given her and Jurian’s possible involvement. She couldn’t encourage them after that Koschei incident.  

Instead, she dug through all of her dresses, looking for something that looked appropriate to wear at night. She pushed past all her pastel dresses to one clingy number she’d bought on a whim and rarely worn, preferring loose styles that let her move freely. It was a deep green, simple, and yet it clung to her somewhat non-existent curves, giving her the illusion of breasts. Her hair was mussed from rolling around on the couch, she raked her fingers through the waves and hoped it appeared tousled rather than the bed head it truly was.  

It would have to do. She didn’t bother with makeup, deciding that if he wanted to bother her so late at night, he could see her barefaced. She spritzed on some perfume that she walked through as she headed out the door, grabbing her “I love public radio” bag along the way.  

It was a long walk, but the arm was warm and a breeze brushed against her cheeks. It smelled of the streets, cement and trash and that faint scent of something she didn’t care to imagine. She followed all the street laws, despite the diminished traffic in the evening, waiting at every crosswalk for the flashing sign to proceed despite the absence of any cars. Each pause had her rethinking, half tempted to turn and run back to the safety of her home and the comfort of her plants and her cat.  

This is what Vassa always teased her about. When they’d met, she’d been as social and outgoing as Vassa, able to match her energy from one house party and show and bar to the next. Recently, she’d become more of a homebody, favoring her plants and creature comforts in lieu of time in the outside world. She tried to remind herself she could do this, she’d never had a problem attracting men, besides.  

Lucien was an NPR reporter, an enthusiast of local politics and an active participant in the fall and spring fund drives. Surely, he couldn’t be a party animal either, with a call time of five AM or something else equally absurd. Still, it had been him who suggested they meet at the last minute. Was this a booty call? Would he still buy her drinks, then?  

It seemed a strange move to select your coworker’s sister for such an arrangement, but perhaps she was naive. She’d have to keep her head on her shoulders, even when he spoke to her with that low seductive voice or wore another well-fitted shirt that showed off his expansive chest. Elain squared her shoulders, resolving herself to be firm in her resolution not to go home with him that night as she entered the chaotic noise of the bar.  

Dim lights lit the space crowded full of people flanked at the bar and filling most of the tables. Along the back entrance, a group crowded around a pool table and the loud clank of balls rattling in the pockets reverberated against the cement walls.  

The low rasp of Lucien’s voice saying her name next to her ear startled her and she jumped, nearly falling over herself. His broad hands clasped her shoulders, holding her firm as he stood behind her.  

“I didn’t mean to startle you, I wasn’t sure you’d hear me if I called your name.”  

Elain turned to look at him, despite the part of her that wanted to lean into his hold, rest her head against his chest and allow herself to let go. Even in the grim lighting of the bar, he looked beautiful. His auburn hair cascaded around his shoulders, falling against his strong shoulders constrained within the fabric of his white shirt. He’d left more buttons loose than at the office, allowing her an unprecedented amount of skin. She wanted to reach for it, certain that his whole body ran hot, somehow. His hands on her arms had felt scalding against her skin.  

He looked at her, as if sensing the battle she had with her instincts. A smirk grew at the corner of his mouth as he stated “Cute pajamas. I almost wore my garfield pajama pants, I’m glad I changed my mind.”   

Elain laughed, feeling relieved to be more at ease. “You do not wear garfield pajamas.”  

“You’ll see.” She hoped she did, though she wouldn’t say so. Though she’d much prefer to see him out of the pajamas. “Should we grab a drink?”  

Elain nodded as he placed his hand at the small of her back, leading her towards the throng of people vying for the attention of the sole bartender. He towered over the crowd easily, an advantage Elain envied as everyone easily blocked her from view. He made some kind of gesture with a simple lift of his chin, and suddenly the bartender was in front of them. He motioned towards her, allowing her to order for herself.  

After Elain ordered a simple gin and tonic, he ordered his beer and they were seated at a table as far away from the exuberant noise as they could manage. Still, they leaned across the table to talk to each other, and Elain couldn’t help but breathe in the warm, woodsy scent of his cologne. His hair fell in front of his face as he spoke, and she longed to touch it, to tuck it behind his ear and see the scarred side of his face more clearly. It made him all the more beautiful, cruel and rugged despite his well-dressed appearance.  

“Well?” Elain looked towards him expectantly. He had invited her out to drinks, after all. Surely, he had some plan in mind.  

“Well, I’d like to get to know you, Elain.” He said this with a sultry tone that implied something different than the casual acquaintance he was offering.  

“Get to know me.” Though it was a question, the flatness of her tone implied that she doubted his claim very much. He wanted to sleep with her, and despite her earlier determination that she would not go home with him tonight, she found herself imagining undressing him, gently unfastening each of the buttons on his shirt and licking her way down as she went.  

“You seem surprised” He offered with a lift of the brow. “Is there something else you had in mind?” 

Elain huffed. “It’s you who invited me here tonight, Lucien. Get to know me then. Isn’t this what you do?”  

“Alright, you garden. Why?” He crossed his arms in front of himself, readying to rise to the challenge. 

“Why not? The world needs gardens.”  

Lucien smiled broadly at that. “Tell me more about that.”  

Elain bit her lip, thinking as she formulated a response. “It feels good to grow my own food, and to have some left over to share.” She paused, unsure if she wanted to share more. Lucien placed his hand face down on the table as if he might reach for her. “My family didn’t always have enough to eat growing up, and I couldn’t help” she corrected herself “didn’t help. I didn’t try. I don’t ever want to feel helpless like that again.”  

Lucien nodded, absorbing her words. “Food is what you like to grow then?”  

Here, Elain couldn’t stop her smile. “And flowers. The world needs some beauty, too. I grow native plants, so I can help the pollinators in the process. I help plant trees, too, once a month or so.”  

Lucien looked at her, his eyes full of warmth. “You’re incredible.”  

The flush on her cheeks bloomed, creeping down to her chest and up to her ears. “What about you? What do you like to do when you’re not on the radio?”  

“I like to be outside too, though I guess I take the more passive approach. I hike, swim, anything to be out in fresh air and sunshine.” Elain half laughed to herself, forcing down the joke about fresh air she was sure he’d heard too many times since working for public radio. “There’s a pond, outside of town, it’s beautiful in the spring. The water is a deep blue and I swear it shines like starlight. I could take you, sometime.”  

“I’d like that.” Elain didn’t hesitate, the offer of the clear pool and the company too enticing to feign resistance.  

After that, things were easier. Elain described the ill-fated hike she went on with Nesta and her friends, in which she’d vastly underestimated the training required to hike the Grand Canyon. Gwyn and Emerie completed the hike and Nesta very begrudgingly stayed behind with Elain after the first day when she couldn’t continue with her sore legs and the blisters on her feet. Nesta still didn’t let her live it down, promising never to take Elain on one of her trips again.  

That was just as well, Elain preferred the sort of vacations that involved exploring new cities and seeing sights to those that involved equipment and a rigorous fitness routine. She could see the Grand Canyon without climbing it, she reasoned.  

Lucien too, had stories of ill-fated travels, particularly those that involved Vassa and Jurian. Vassa once went missing for two days, apparently of her own choice. He laughed easily at her jokes, and sometimes his own, putting her at ease. It felt like she’d always known him somehow, rather than just the hour or two it had truly been. When there was nothing but the sound of ice clinking in her glass, Elain felt unsure of her next move. Should she offer to buy the next round of drinks? Invite him back to her apartment? While she weighed her choices, Lucien took action.  

“Should I get you another drink? Or do I risk the wrath of your bunny slippers?” He looked all too pleased with himself, and Elain huffed as she considered her response. 

“I’ll have you know they are socks, not slippers. You can come back to my apartment and see for yourself, if you’d like.” Her stomach twisted the moment the words left her mouth. The proposition was bold and entirely humiliating at the same time. Was there a less sexy way to ask a man back to your apartment than with the promise of fuzzy socks? If there was, she couldn’t think of it.  

Lucien, undeterred, leaned forward on his crossed arms. “Are you asking me to come home with you, Elain?”  

Elain stuttered, unable to form coherent words. Lucien, placed a hand on her wrist in encouragement. Thoughts of him holding her down by her wrists encouraged her to continue. “Um, yes?”  

Lucien didn’t wait any longer, dropping off their empty drinks at the bar before placing his hand again on the small of her back. “Let’s go.”  

The car ride was brief and Elain was both amused and unsurprised to learn than Lucien drove a very practical and environmentally friendly Prius, rather than something showy he surely could have afforded however he afforded the nice clothes one certainly couldn’t buy on a public radio salary. His hand found her thigh as he drove down the quiet streets. When he parked in front of her apartment building, her nerves caught up with her again. Casual sex was not Elain’s forte. She had a feeling Lucien had more experience in that arena, judging by the relaxed way he touched her or his boldness in leaving the bar.  

He stood closely behind her as she jingled her keys in the door, unlocking the several deadbolts she had in place from living alone. She could feel his breath on her neck. The moment they entered her small apartment, Suri raced to the door, weaving between Lucien’s legs. He didn’t react, standing in place taking in her apartment.  

“You like cats?” She tried not to squint her eyes as she reassessed his character. His first red flag, not immediately adoring Suri like most people who entered her apartment.  

“I’m allergic” he winced.  

She crossed her arms in front of her chest, her voice coming out haughty. “How allergic?”  

He held up his hands in defense. “Not that allergic.”   

“Suri’s not leaving, so.” She raised her brow as in indication that he could leave if he had a problem with it.  

“Dually noted. I’ll take some medicine in the morning, it’ll be fine.”  

“In the morning, huh?” Elain placed her keys on the hook on the wall and kicked off her shoes.  

 “I’ll be busy until then.”  

Elain was about to make a joke about him being over confident, when he stepped in front of her, placing his hand on her jaw. She gasped, leaning up to him instinctively. He met his mouth with hers, all force and heat. She reached up, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck as she had to stand on her toes to lean into him properly.  

She’d only just kissed him, and already she felt desperate not to stop. His lips felt plush against her own, his hands on her face both firm and tender. When his teeth grazed her bottom lip, she let out a whimper, her mouth parting. The slide of his tongue into her mouth might unfurled something in her. She understood why he promised to be busy all night. If he used his tongue like this, she would lock him in her apartment if she had to. She felt desperate, greedy for him to touch her, to her body align with his own.  

Elain gently pushed at his chest with the tips of her fingers and Lucien froze instantly, his body going still as he looked down at her in concern. “Sit” she ordered with more force than she anticipated. He turned his head towards where she gestured, walking silently to the couch next to her still open containers of food. He raked his hands through his hair, as if nervous the kiss had already ended poorly.  

“Elain, I” She cut him off as her knees dipped into the soft cushions of the couch straddling his lap as she settled on top of him. Her face cupped his cheek as the other roamed any exposed skin around his collar.  

“Lucien.” It was a plea, one said with half a breath, all she could manage when she felt the heat of his skin under her palm. The moment felt surreal, happening too quickly, and yet there was an anxious flutter pulsing in her that demanded more, faster. She didn’t have to wait long as Lucien pulled her closer by the waist. Unlike her own roaming, his fingers stayed where they firmly gripped her, the other settling on her calf where it rested on the other side of his thighs. Her dress pulled up higher around her thighs from the wide spread of her legs, revealing more skin. Yet he remained still, focused.  

His mouth began to move more freely as he licked a broad stripe along the side of her neck. She gasped and he nipped at it, before pulling her earlobe between his teeth. “Elain” he repeated, this time with his lips brushing against her ear. The feel of his breath and the desperation in his tone, almost whimpering, sent goosebumps along her arms.  

This was not just any voice in her ear, but Lucien’s. It was the same voice she heard every morning, and not. It had taken on a gravely tone, his voice raw instead of the smooth rolling tones that he used on the radio.  

She wanted to draw every note out of him. Elain rolled her hips, testing his reaction. It was her that moaned first, when she felt how hard he was underneath her. She wanted to look down, to guess at the size of him through his well-tailored trousers, but that would pull her away from the way he panted in her ear. She found she wanted that, more.  

She sank down further, grinding against him with force, allowing some of the friction to rub against the lace of her panties. The pressure sent jolts of pleasure directly to her clit. The chaste hand on her calf moved up then. Lucien slid his broad hand from her calf up her thigh to her waist, guiding her as she moved. “You’re perfect.” He groaned into her ear.  

His hips rolled up into her hers in a smooth, undulating rhythm. Every movement he made was easy and graceful. She’d hardly have described dry humping as elegant, but with Lucien, his soft hair curling around the scar on his face and the luxuriant tenor of his voice, it was. She felt more beautiful too, from the way he looked at her reverently. His eyes were half lidded and a hint of a smile at the corners of his lips as he watched her. He toyed with her hair, pulling gently at the nape of her neck to bring her lips back against his own.  

Instead of the soft, wet slide of before, she sucked a bit. He was completely in control, but his movements were never rough or sloppy, but exacting, each one edged with promise. Elain whimpered into his mouth, her nails digging into his shoulders. She needed more.  

“Take off your dress for me.” The words were a demand in her ear.  

Elain didn’t think before she complied, pulling her hands back from where they pulled at his shirt to grab at the edge of her dress, lifting it over her head with the arch of her back. He didn’t hesitate, moving his hands over every new exposed bit of skin. She watched his eyes as she unclasped her bra, revealing her admittedly small breasts. Lucien palmed each in a broad hand before roaming his thumbs across her nipples. He pinched one sharply, pulling another gasp from Elain.  

She liked the way Lucien took his time with her, never rushing to the next step, needing to take his own pleasure. Instead, he let his hands trace her body as his mouth dropped to one breast, laving at her nipples softly while he tweaked and pulled at the other. The combination of the sensations, both tender and demanding drove her wild. She’d never been so wet, all but slipping against her panties as she ground against him once more.  

She found she didn’t want to rush him, excited to see what he would do next. She did, however, begin to toy at the buttons of his shirt, almost hoping he wouldn’t notice as she undressed him. When she got half way to his abdomen, she couldn’t reach around his arms and huffed in frustration.  

Lucien, pulled back, smiling lazily up at her. “Did you need something, love?” 

“Yes, take it off.” He raised his eyebrows in question. “Please.”  

Lucien made quick work of the buttons before all but ripping his shirt off. Instead of the chance to ogle at his very muscular chest as she intended, Lucien lifted her easily by the legs before placing her back down on the couch on her back.  

Lucien didn’t crawl over her like she expected. Instead, he sank to his knees, pulling her legs over his shoulders. Elain flushed, embarrassed at how exposed she felt and yet unable to look away as his eyes roamed her body from this angle, taking in her face and breasts before looking at the obviously dark spot of red lace between her legs.  

“You’re so pretty, baby.” He praised as he began to run his knuckle up and down the wetness through her panties. He pulled, causing the fabric to rub almost uncomfortably against her clit. “Look at this pretty, pink, pussy.” 

“Lucien” she groaned. She didn’t want to rush him, but... She could feel his breath on her, and his hands running tantalizingly along her inner thighs. She needed something and she feared she’d lose control soon.  

Lucien lifted away from her legs as he pulled her underwear down her thighs tantalizingly slowly. He began his casual perusal again, soaking a thumb through her wetness. Just as she was sure he was about to start rubbing in earnest, he looked at her and gave one sharp slap against her pussy. Elain gasped, uncertain what would come next.  

He wasted no time, licking softly at the hurt, her clit now even more sensitive and desperate for his touch. His tongue licked broad stripes between her folds, moving down to circle between her opening. He felt warm and soft and wet and Elain already had to cover her mouth to contain herself from making noises that would certainly wake her elderly neighbors. Her other hand found his hair, pressing his mouth firmly against her as he sucked in sloppy open-mouthed kisses. The wet noises were obscene, ugly in a way she found satisfying from composed and debonair Lucien.  

Every time Elain felt her orgasm begin to crest, Lucien would pull away, sucking on her folds or delivering sharp bites to inner thighs. She began to feel frustrated, huffing and whining in hopes that Lucien would give her what she wanted. She knew he could and yet, he chose not to do it.  

It was different with some men, who could never make her come until she begrudgingly touched herself. Lucien circled the outside of her clit, just the barest of brushes, letting his saliva drip down until it collected with her own juices. He was completely in control, choosing what he would give her, all she could do was take. It frustrated her, and yet letting herself go to it felt better than she’d expected. Her thoughts were a blur, just heat and desire and that frantic feeling crawling up her spine. She couldn’t hold still, Lucien pressing her down with one firm hand. Her cunt ached, her clit throbbing. Lucien’s thumb continued to toy with her entrance while he lapped softly at her clit.  

She said his name over and over, begging. He looked up at her from between her legs with a wink. She watched with surprise as he moved one hand down to his own body, the sound of the zipper of his pants ratcheting up her excitement once more. Instead of moving on top of her as she expected, she saw the telltale sign of his arm pumping as he stroked his own cock as he continued to lick her. He began to groan as he licked, his breath hot against her skin.  

“Let me touch you.” She gripped the upholstery of her couch, trying to hold herself back. She couldn’t even see him, and she wanted to watch, at least.  

He flicked at her clit. “Do you want to come or do you want to touch me?” 

“Both” Elain answered immediately. What kind of question was that? You’d think he didn’t know her at all. Which, she supposed, he didn’t.  

“Lay back and be a good girl, Elain. You’ll come when I’m ready.”  

Lucien made a big show of increasing his own movements of his cock, cursing to himself as he sucked on her clit sporadically. Elain must be drunk on her need for an orgasm, because she could have sworn Lucien was the sexiest man she’d ever seen. Just watching his face and listening to the noises he made as he touched himself was intensely erotic.  

“Fuck, Lucien.”  

“Yes, Elain?” He lifted his face from between her legs, turning his head to the side to eye her curiously. 

“You’re so hot.” was all she managed. Like a god damned idiot. 

Lucien rewarded her with a broad smile, kissing the side of her knee before leaning back down and sucking at her clit. His tongue continued to stroke at her as he sucked and Elain’s orgasm arrived at last, her whole-body rocking with pleasure, her back arching and contorting, like she’d never experienced. His large hand came to cover her mouth, containing the unearthly noises she was releasing.  

When her body began to relax, Lucien came over her, kissing her as he ran soothing strokes up and down her arm. Elain, embarrassingly, clung to him with her arms and legs. He hummed a soft sound as he continued to press his lips against her own in a series of soft kisses. At last, Elain began to relax and came to the disturbing realization that Lucien hadn’t come. She reached between them to fumble for his cock, ready and eager to take over the job he’d already started. Lucien gently grabbed her hands, interlacing their fingers before holding her hands out to the side.  

“Next time.” He kissed her again, this time his tongue danced inside her mouth, his movements certain.  

He wedged his body besides hers on the narrow couch, and she shifted to make room, all but laying on top of him as her head rested on his chest. Still, it felt nice, her body relaxed and content as she nestled into him. His arm wrapped around her, his hand toying in her hair. It all felt intense and intimate for a random hook up. Still, he’d said next time.  

She would unravel it in the morning, she decided. Instead, she let her mind lull into nothingness, her hands focusing on the warm feeling of Lucien’s skin and tender way he pressed his cheek against the top of her head as his breathing slowed. 

When Elain woke on the couch the next morning, her first thought was that her neck was broken. She’d twisted into an especially uncomfortable position, her head at an unnatural angle and her leg all but falling off the side of the couch. Next to her feet sat a very angry little cat, who seemed perturbed that she did not sleep in her assigned place and she did not feed him on time.  

It was only after Elain began to sit up and realized that, yes, she was naked, that she remembered why she had slept on the couch at all. Lucien had been there, and apparently, left. She tried not to wince at the sting of rejection. Of course he left, there were all but strangers. Just because he’d eaten her out didn’t mean he wanted to stay for breakfast.  

Elain tried to calm herself, fighting the simultaneous outrage and disappointment as she fumbled to the bedroom for a t-shirt to throw on before beginning her morning. She looked at the radio, taunting her. It was the weekend, Lucien wouldn't be on the air, still it felt like an insult.  

Would she ever be able to listen to the news again? Perhaps she’d just become willfully ignorant of the world around her so that she never had to think of the news or reporters again. Or worse, she’d watch one of those exhausting twenty-four-hour news channels that grated on her nerves.  

Elain walked over to the drying rack to grab a clean bowl for Suri’s food when she saw the dishes from her Chinese food last night, washed and in the sink. She opened the fridge, eyeing her boxes of food neatly lined in the fridge. Well, if he meant to let her down easy by doing her dishes, she supposed there could be worse ways. Perhaps he hoped that she wouldn’t tell Feyre about it. Not that she would, she’d never live it down with her sisters. As she walked over to start her morning coffee, she saw a note scribbled on the back of a piece of mail set atop it.  

Elain -   I’m sorry I had to leave early. I’ve got to get home and walk my dog and I didn’t want to wake you.   I need to see you again.  -Lucien 

Elain smiled as she turned on the coffee pot and turned on the radio, an old episode of Wait, Wait Don’t Tell Me playing as she went about caring for her plants. Was Lucien the kind of person that knew the answers? He seemed like he would be. Lucien seemed like the sort of person that would know the answers to all the trivia questions and be entirely too smug about it. Nesta would either love him or throttle him. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling.  

***** 

Elain had never listened to the radio as avidly as she had the last few days. The thrill of a text from Lucien arriving mere moments after she stopped hearing his voice on air was something that wouldn’t get old. Was it normal to feel aroused while you listened to someone talk about air quality on the radio? Probably not. Still, Elain could have touched herself from listening to his voice alone. Every sound and clearing of his throat made her think of the way he moved his lips, how his tongue danced endlessly across her body. Whenever he took a particularly deep breath, she thought of the way he moaned into her as he stroked himself.  

Her life was a golden wash of Lucien, Lucien, Lucien.  

When Feyre texted her asking her to bring her coffee again at the studio, she all be leapt at the opportunity. Would it look desperate? She wasn’t sure she cared, as long as she got a glimpse of him from a distance, a sidelong glance where she could appreciate his tall form and the contours of his face.  

Everyone seemed too invested in her whereabouts and activities, and she all but pried herself away from Vassa, who asked her too many leading questions. Lucien must have let something slip, she supposed. Good friend though she might be, Vassa generally much preferred to talk about herself rather than hold an interrogation over Elain’s upcoming schedule.  

Feyre, too, seemed unnaturally happy to see her. She’d hardly heard from her at all in their group chat with Nesta the past few days. Feyre was busy with Rhys, swept up in her new relationship and ignoring the outside world entirely. Nesta never liked Feyre’s boyfriends and was already suspicious of Rhys, especially after she met his, apparently very annoying, friends.  

She brought the coffee to Feyre in her office, chatting with her about some black-tie event that Rhys planned to take her to, when she felt the recognizably warm presence of Lucien behind her.  

“None for me, hmm?” He said jokingly as she turned around.  

“You don’t drink coffee. You drink tea.” She said the last part with the appropriate emphasis of her disturbance at the idea. Who didn’t love coffee?  

“Don’t you have to finish your recording?” Feyre sniped at him from her place at her desk.  

Lucien smiled good naturedly, not taking his eyes off Elain. “Join me?”  

Elain didn’t know what she was agreeing to, would have said yes to anything, as she followed him through those gray carpeted hallways. They entered a small room with fabric paneled walls, with sound equipment set up along the sides as well as placed on a desk in the center of the room with two microphones.  

“Wow, this is neat. Is this where you usually record?”  

“For prerecorded stuff. There’s a bigger room for the morning when I have someone with me.” He grabbed her waist, pulling her gently towards him. “Now, I have a guest.”  

She craned her neck up to look at him as she stood closer. Lucien cupped her cheek, leaning in to kiss her, nibbling at her lip. Elain had all but forgotten where they were or what they were doing by the time he released her.  

Lucien turned, fiddling with the equipment and plugging things in as she watched in fascination. His face was casual, confident as he adjusted dials and made some kind of calculations she didn’t understand. He stepped back towards her and she watched as flipped on a switch on the wall labelled “recording”.  

“So no one bothers us. It turns on a light outside.” Elain nodded wordlessly as Lucien sat the chair in front of the microphone, taking a dramatic and pointed sip of his steaming cup of tea before flipping on the switch. Elain couldn’t help but smile and roll her eyes.   

Elain had heard Lucien’s voice many times by now, joking with his friends or the filthy words he murmured in her ear. This was different. Lucien’s voice was deep, smooth and authoritative as he recorded a segment on something she didn’t even bother to pay attention to.  

If he’d asked her for her opinion afterwards, she would have to admit her only opinion was on the way his mouth moved when he annunciated or the way his hands rested on his muscular thighs. What did a man on the radio need with muscles like those or a face like that? Whatever the reason, she was grateful that it benefited her, that she might get to experience if again if she played carefully. He’d said he wanted to see her again, hadn’t he? Hopefully he wouldn’t be too put off by her all but stalking him at work.  

By the time he was signing off, Elain’s thighs had grown slippery, her excitement palpable just at the sound of his voice. The whirring movements of the recording equipment could have just as easily been her, for how tightly wound she felt. When he leaned back in his chair to look towards her, Elain pounced. She strode over to him, standing between his spread legs to lick at his neck and wind her fingers through his long hair. Lucien didn’t miss a beat, his hands grasping at her ass as she nipped and licked at him, nothing but a smooth liquid glide against the satin material of her skirt.  

Lucien grasped at her chin, locking her eyes with his and taking control of her frantic exploration with her mouth. “Did you miss me, baby?”  

Elain nodded as he lifted up her skirt, trailing his fingers up and down her legs. Surely, he wouldn’t tease her again, here. They hardly had the time for it. It was the middle of the day and in other parts of the office people were filing paperwork and editing sound while Lucien dragged his hands up and down over her. When he arrived at the wetness gathering on her thighs, he hissed.  

“What's all this for? Did you like watching me?” Just like the night before, he gave her cunt a soft slap, the sound clear and crisp in the perfectly insulated room.  

Elain let out a sharp groan, arching up into his hand. He squeezed her waist before he turned her, tugging gently with her hair as be balled it into a fist. Every huff of his breath or the sound of her rubbing against him only drove her closer to losing her mind completely. She had no words for what she was feeling. She arched her back, letting her backside press up against the hardness she could feel. 

 She still hadn’t seen him or had the chance to touch him beyond the dry humping she’d engaged in on her couch. Holding her by her hair, Lucien pressed her forward, so that her chest was pushed against the desk. The knob of some piece of equipment or other pressed uncomfortably against her ribs, but she didn’t care. The pressure of the cold table against her sensitive nipples caused her to groan again, and she pinched at one absently through her clothes.  

Lucien lifted her skirt up over her hips, palming at the globes of her ass as he all but purred in appreciation. “Well?”  

He was asking her something, and Elain knew she would agree to anything he said right now. If he asked to fuck her live on air, she would have nodded her head just the same.  

The sound of a slap cut through the room as Lucien’s hand landed on her ass. Elain gasped her mouth open and drool dripping on to the table as he slapped again on the other cheek. She wasn’t sure she wanted to answer his question, wanted to see how long he would keep going like this. The pain was just enough to truly sting, though she knew if he kept going she would start to feel sore.  

One more hard slap left her rethinking her decisions and Elain craned her neck to look at him as she answered a simple “Yes.” 

“Yes, Daddy.” He demanded as he offered her another sharp slap to the other cheek. The recording light was still on, would warn anyone in the hall not to disturb them, and yet Elain’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment.  

He rubbed at her inflamed cheeks, which she could now see bore bright red handprints. “Yes, Daddy” 

“Good girl.” He leaned forward, his body over her as he kissed her deeply, his tongue moving languidly in her mouth. Elain whimpered as his mouth covered hers and she could hear the jingling sound of him unbuckling his belt. He pulled back to standing as she listened for the distinct sound of the ripping open of a foil package.  

Elain craned her neck to watch, taking in a full view of him naked in front of her for the first time. His cock bobbed in front of him, flushed a deep reddish purple from his arousal with swollen veins running up and down the length. It was long, the head of him reaching up to his navel, already wet and dripping down towards the thick base of him. Elain bit her lip, her mouth watering as she fought the urge to taste him.     

“Are you going to watch me fuck you?” Lucien asked as he lined himself up between her legs. Elain spread them wider, lifting her ass into the air in invitation.  

“Yes, Daddy.” Though she still felt a bit embarrassed, she spoke more confidently this time.  

Despite his tone, Lucien took his time pushing into her, allowing her to adjust to the stretch of him. He watched with open mouthed fascination, though he lifted his eyes to look at her and make sure she was comfortable. Elain couldn’t look away either, staring at the way the muscles in his abdomen tensed as he held control, moving slowly. At last, when he was pressed fully against her, he leaned forward, pressing his body on top of her own, avoiding the tangle of cords on the table as he paced his hands on either side of her. 

“Fuck, you feel so good Elain. You’re so tight on my cock.” He began to move in and out, the wet sounds of it the only thing she could hear.  

“Is that why you’re here, pretty girl? So, Daddy can fuck you?” Elain gulped down a yes as she panted out a rasping breath.  

“Next time, I need you to come on my face, too.” He began to pick up his pace hitting against her so sharply it almost hurt as his other hand pressed against her clit. She craved it, the sharp bite of each slap of his cock against her just enough to bring her close to the edge.  

“Be a good girl and come for me, Elain.”  

She did, her pleasure pounding and reverberating through her body as she shook. Lucien cursed and repeated incoherent praises in her ear about how wet and tight she was, what a good girl for coming when he told her to, as he lost his rhythm, his hips moving frantically as he came. Elain watched his face eagerly, pleased to see the feral snarl in his expression and the whimpering groan he made when he finished.  

He didn’t move as he kissed her softly, brushing his fingers through her hair before reluctantly withdrawing from her body. It felt wrong to suddenly be so empty, she found herself craving him again already. Lucien discreetly disposed of the condom before rushing back over to her, placing soft kisses along her cheek.  

“You’re beautiful.” Elain and answered with an affectionate touch of her own along his jaw. Gone was the feral man of a moment before, replaced by a softer Lucien, who drove a prius and left early in the morning to walk his dog. She rather liked both, she decided.  

Lucien let it a sudden sharp intake of breath, and Elain’s blood ran cold. If they’d been discovered, if someone walked in on her clearly fucking a man she just met in the middle of an office building, she’d never recover. She’d ask Nesta to take her out, a mercy killing. Instead, Lucien switched off the microphone in front of them.  

Elain gulped. “That’s not...” 

“Recording? Yes. I didn’t shut off the mic before we” he indicated to the space between them. Elain’s pussy clenched with arousal even as she stood, straightening out her dress and combing through her hair as if making herself presentable would make any difference. It’s radio for god’s sake.  

He must have seen her wide-eyed panic, because he squeezed her hand. “It’s not live. Thank god! Just recorded. I’ll take care of it, delete the recording and re-record my spot in a bit.”  

“Oh, okay.” It all happened too quickly. She wanted to go back to the way he’d been holding her tenderly, to the honeyed words dripping from his lips in the wake of his orgasm. Instead, he explained the logistics of how the audio was recorded, how he would most assuredly remove of all evidence.  

She trusted him, it was his job after all. It was one that would not be easily replaced, the city only had one public radio station. He looked a bit frantic, and Elain took that as her sign to leave, feeling suddenly awkward and a bit out of place.  

She reached up on the tips of her feet to place a kiss along his jaw, offering him a reassuring smile. “I’ll walk myself out.”  

Lucien pulled her in for a hug, his arms wrapping around her body. “I’m sorry about this. I’ll call you later, okay?”  

***** 

Elain calmed herself down with a trip to the garden center, wandering the aisles of newly sprouting plants and running her fingers through the damp top soil as she listened to Nesta on the phone, complaining about a coworker named Eris who apparently stole her reserved parking space. She didn’t need to say anything, just listen as she touched the leaves and breathed in the fresh air.  

She wandered home with a new plant for her windowsill, still feeling a bit out of her sorts. When she arrived at her apartment door, she found a bouquet of flowers sitting on her doormat, along with a simple brown paper bag. Elain took a moment, unlocking her door as she wandered inside to the chirping sounds of her cat.  

She leaned against her counter, flicking on the radio as she set down the flowers, her plant, and the mysterious bag with her name scrawled across it.  

She opened it to find a note from Lucien and a blank CD. Her face flushed immediately, understanding what it must be.  

Elain,  I’m sorry again for earlier. I’ve taken care of it, yours is the only evidence. You sound beautiful, by the way. You have a voice for radio.  Yours,   Lucien  

[photomatt]

Post-acquisition, dir a proper, dedicated ad sales team ever get hired for Tumblr? Not something shared between other a8c properties but a group of people who knew Tumblr's uniquely weird culture and could work with brands to craft the kinds of ads that were highly effective on Tumblr before we got bought by Verizon.

Yes, with some great people who had worked on Tumblr before and also been part of successful teams at Twitter, Reddit, etc. I think at one point this was a 20+ person team. However it didn't work. We still have dedicated direct, but programatic drives the vast majority of the advertising revenue. My best guesses for why:

The advertising world has changed quite a bit from Tumblr's peak.

Tumblr had declining traffic for a while, which doesn't excite advertisers. (It's now growing again.)

Custom campaigns were too different for advertisers to spend a lot of time on them, they were long and expensive to implement.

Often advertisers were attacked by the user base, in targeted harassment. Really gross, horrible stuff. Terrible brand experience.

Advertising in general with ATT, cookie changes, etc has changed in a way that mostly strengthens the duopoly of Google and Meta, makes it incredibly hard for independent networks to compete.

On the bright side, self-serve advertising with Blaze has gone well, we can re-use the tooling across Tumblr, WooCommerce, and WordPress, it's faster and preserves privacy better than third-party networks, and there's a ton of demand particularly on the ecommerce side of things. So that group is actually being promoted to its own thing that will sit in parallel to Tumblr, vs being under it.

I think there could also be something that would more easily allow advertisers to duplicate campaigns they're already running elsewhere, with similar formats, that would raise the quality of ads we're able to run by making it easy for advertisers to shift a few % of their budget away from Twitter/etc to places they want to support more, more aligned with their brand and values, which Tumblr and its focus on art and artists is.

[mikerickson]

8/29/2024 - 9/6/2024

If I had a nickel for every time I took a vacation in a small European naval power that historically punched above its weight in global affairs I'd have two nickels, which... ah, you know the rest.

Just got back from a trip to the Netherlands and Belgium that was basically: Amsterdam -> Apeldoorn -> Utrecht -> Den Haag -> Brussels -> Ghent -> Amsterdam. I will now proceed to talk to myself about the highlights below the cut.

Still can't sleep on planes. I even took a sleeping pill and bought a fancy new neck pillow thing to help, but instead I was just exhausted and strangling myself. My dinner also didn't sit well with me, so every time I was about to fall asleep, my gag reflex would trigger and I felt like I was gonna throw up. Seven hours of this was not very relaxing.

Landed at ass o'clock in the morning local time and had 6 hours to kill before hotel check in. I've always read that spending time outdoors in natural sunlight helps regulate your circadian rhythm and can fight jet lag, so I took us to look at some windmills. This was kind of a blur and I'm not certain it made much of a difference because I did end up crashing and taking a nap in the afternoon anyway.

Acknowledging that I am biased about this because I am 1) American and 2) literally a traffic engineer by trade, I simply cannot describe the Netherlands as anything other than "car-hostile". I felt actively unsafe driving around each city we visited because there are so many people on bicycles everywhere, who have right of way. Hell, even as a pedestrian I didn't feel safe because they come at you from every direction and you gotta keep your head on a swivel at all times. In The Hague I watched a woman get knocked into by a cyclist who just shouted over her shoulder "Let op voor fietsen!" ("Watch out for bikes!") and carried on.

Amsterdam ended up being more interesting than I was expecting and now I kinda wish I had dedicated one more day for it in the itinerary. Convenient and easy mass-transit system, some of the best bookstores I've ever been in, and beautiful canals everywhere you look.

Were I forced to describe the geography of the Netherlands, I would have to call it "suspiciously flat." I also got to continue my tradition of traveling to foreign countries, seeing literal hundreds of spinning wind turbines all over the place, and seething with jealousy.

Utrecht was a neat, smaller city with a central canal that I wish I had set aside more time for. Felt like a place where you'd actually want to live more than a touristy city.

The Mauritshuis in The Hague is where Vermeer's Girl with a Pearl Earring is located, and you know that before you even get to that room because she's plastered on 99% of everything for sale in the gift shop right at the entrance.

When we drove over the Netherlands-Belgium border, it started getting overcast. These gray skies hung around for four days, and dissipated as soon as we traveled back north on the final day. All of my memories of this country will now have a gray/de-saturated filter on them.

I know Brussels has a reputation of being a run-down or dangerous city among Europeans, but it just felt like a regular American city to me (specifically like the architecture/street layout of Boston with the political importance of Washington DC). Like, I don't know what to tell you, sometimes cities have visible homeless people, unsightly graffiti, and ethnic minority neighborhoods? It's gonna be okay, I promise. Amsterdam felt like Weenie Hut Jr. by comparison.

Going through the European Parliament building was very cool and very well laid-out and informative. Definitely a personal highlight of the trip for me.

The Belgian War Museum kinda just felt like some rich guy's personal collection of artifacts the public shouldn't have had access to? Not a lot of labels explaining what you're looking at in any language.

Belgian chocolate is fine. Not bad, but I mean it's chocolate, that's hard to screw up, you know?

During my research before this trip I kept seeing a general consensus that Bruges is super touristy and sanitized and feels fake and that Ghent was better for a more "authentically" preserved medieval center. I'm glad I opted to go there instead because it exceeded my expectations. Awesome architecture everywhere you turn, way fewer crowds than I expected, and it still felt lived in by modern people rather than a giant open-air museum.

Literally did not see a single physical Euro at all on this trip. Both of these countries are entirely cashless societies, and everyone (both tourists and locals) used chip readers and contactless payment for damn near every interaction. If anything, I saw tons of "Card Only/No Cash" signs and none of the opposite.