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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago

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Doing Time 4

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

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

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

Summary: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

Note: Hi hi hi

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

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

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You don't own many dresses, and those you do, are more office casual than date night. Still, you have no time to stall, no room for excuses. You pick out the only one you think you can still squeeze into.

A button-up black dress with long sleeves, a white collar, and white trim around the sleeves and ruffled hem. It's something that would look much better on Audrey Hepburn.

You check yourself in the mirror. You shouldn't care but you have to. If you want to get out the other side of this, if you want Vaughn to, you need to go along with it. You need to keep Steve happy.

You emerge, as content as you can be with your appearance after a day of work and an unsettling homecoming. You keep your eyes on the floor as you wring your hands. You need heels, something to match.

Before you can pass him, Steve stomps toward you. He pinches the frill around your skirt. "You look amazing, sweetheart." He lets go and drags his hand up your thigh and hip. "Can't believe it's the real thing, right in front of me."

"Uh, yeah," you agree weakly. "I need shoes."

"Sure, sweetheart, take your time. Get dolled up," he moves away with a sultry sigh.

You feel him watching you as you shift around and search the shoe rack. You bend over to take out the black vinyl kitten heels and he purrs. You wince and stand up, wobbling as you step into them.

"Hate to be too forward but I was away a while. Pretty lady like you has me all hot under the collar," he snickers. "Gotta say that dress hugs you in all the right places."

"Thank you," you murmur and untangle the thin strap of a small purse. You shuffle around your work bag and slip your ID and debit card inside, along with a tube of lip balm.

"You don't gotta be so shy," he nears. "I mean, I should be. Being locked up, I forget the way things are out here." He steps close and spreads his hand across your ass. "Just so nice to touch you...but I'll be a good boy and take you on a date first."

You shudder and resist the urge to shove him away. You force a smile, "where are we going?"

"Somewhere close," he answers and peels his hand off of you. "Been a while since I had a date," he snorts. "If you can't guess."

"Me too," you mutter as you back up toward the door. You grab your keys.

"Oh yeah? How long?" He asks as he opens the door and gestures you through.

"How... er..." you think about it.

You've not been on many. Vaughn always kept the men away. Even if they wanted a second date, it was never many more than that.

"At least a year, I think," you step into the hall and he comes out after you.

You lock the door as he stays close. You tuck the keys into your purse and he offers his hand. "Ready, sweetheart?"

You don't hesitate. No more of that. You can't keep pushing your luck. You put your hand in his. You can feel his strength.

He takes you down the hallway and patiently assists you down the stairs as your heels make your steps unsure. Or maybe that’s him. He’s especially gallant for someone like him. A criminal. Wait, no, he’s been absolved, hasn’t he?

He slips his hand along your lower back as you come outside. There’s a hitch in his strut. Victory.

“Got her out of storage, fresh wax,” he announces as he approaches the white vintage car you noticed before.

It’s strange how you can pick every single thing that’s out of place but you can never put them together. It was the same with Vaughn.

“It’s very nice,” you say. “I don’t know much about cars, my brother...”

You trail off. You’d rather not think or talk about him right now.

Steve opens the passenger door for you. You get in and he lingers at your door. He purrs.

“You really do look just perfect, sweetheart.” he tickles your jawline then draws back.

He finally shuts you in. You shiver as you watch him through the windshield. You fix the hem of the skirt as it rides up with the two sizes you’ve put on since you bought it. Or maybe it shrunk? You pinch yourself as you do, hoping you might wake up from this nightmare.

No, you’re already awake. Painfully so.

Steve gets in and you peek over for just a second. The seat emphasizes his size. Everything seems to remind you of his power over you. Over your family.

You’re so stupid. You have no one to blame but yourself. What were you thinking? Thanking a convinct? A criminal? A murderer? Or not a murderer?

“You’re tired,” he says as he backs out, “seat belt, sweetheart. Last thing I need is an accident.”

You buckle up. You dab your nose as it tingles. Don’t cry. You have to play this right. Pretend.

“A little, yeah. Work...”

“At the clinic, right?” He prompts.

It’s like the phone calls. That familiarity he puts on. Your head spins as you replay all those nights in your head. It struck you then how presumptuous he could be. How he said ‘we’. His presence then reframes every call, every visit. They were not the same to him as you.

“Yeah, a lot of phone call,” you swallow as your throat scratches. “People don’t like waiting.”

“Tell me about it,” he chuckles. “After how long I waited for this...”

You stare at his hand. Huge, thick, gripping the slender wheel. You put your eyes to your lap and play with the ruffle.

“We’re gonna have a good night, sweetheart. You and me.” He preens. “A lot of them.”

You nod and turn your face to the window, “yes, Steve. Thank you.”

⛓️‍💥

The restaurant is nice. As you’re greeted at the door, Steve snakes his hand down your arm and twines his fingers through yours. As he squeezes, you realise how strange it must be to him. You shouldn’t empathize with him, not with all the threats, with how he’s taken your life over in less than an hour, but you do.

“Table for two,” he says.

The hostess smiles, “yes, sir. I can find you something.”

She grabs two menus and a smaller one from the desk. She turns and leads you into the dining room. You walk just ahead of Steve as he urges you on, though his hand stays on yours. She stops you at a round table framed with a crescent bench.

“Booth alright?”

“Sure is,” Steve answers.

He holds onto you until you sit. You slide around and he follows. The hostess lays out the menus.

“Drink menu,” she points to the thinner folio, “a server will be by soon.”

“Thank you,” you gulp out of courtesy, Steve echoing you.

You clasp your hands in your lap as he takes the wine list and opens it. You’re not very hungry. Or thirsty. You’re scared.

You glance at him, the around the restaurant. To the other diners, to the staff, he’s just another man. The suit hides his true character. If you passed him on the street, you’d assume he was some refined businessman.

“Red or white?” He asks.

You look at him again. The silver strands woven into his blond shine beneath the chandelier lighting above. You drag your hand up your sleeve.

“You know, I’m not much of a drinker,” you murmur.

“Well, it’s a special night, isn’t it, baby?” He drawls and closes the folder.

He sets it down and you shift forward on the seat. He touches your lower back again, tickling you through your dress. Your posture goes rigid as you open the menu and focus on the options. He pulls his menu down, leaning it on the table’s edge as he continues to pet you, his other hand cradling the folder.

“Steak. Mm. Been a while since I had a good filet,” he growls.

“Sounds nice,” you nod.

“What about you?” He wonders and traces his finger up your spine.

“Hm, the pistachio crusted halibut sounds interesting,” you tap your nails on the page.

“You don’t gotta peck like a bird around me,” his hand falls right back down, right along the top of your ass. “You really got a nice figure, sweetheart.”

You fidget and flutter your lashes, “thank you. It’s not that. I was thinking... something light for dinner and the rice pilaf sounds interesting.”

“Ah,” he trails along the cushion of your rear, “god, you’re so...”

His voice peters off and a server appears across the table. He sits up and clears his throat. The man in his pressed white shirt and black slacks is amiable as he prompts you for your order. Steve lets you go first. You close the menu and hand it over after you order.

“Of course, miss,” the server smiles at you. He’s young and handsome. These sort of restaurants only hire a certain type.

“Bottle of champagne,” Steve begins, “we’re celebrating,” his arm curls around your middle, “and the New York Strip...” He finishes up his order and shoves the menu across the table. What’s that about?

“Yes, sir, I’ll be back with the bottle and put your order in,” the server nods and glances between the both of you.

He strides away and Steve growls. His fingertips dig into your side. He leans back and sucks his teeth.

“Is something... wrong?” You twist to look at him.

“That... guy. Looking at you like that,” he sneers. “He’s supposed to be taking our order, not ogling you.”

“No, he wasn’t, Steve,” you assure him.

“Sure as hell was. You’re just too sweet to notice. His eyes were all over you,” he huffs and his leg sways in agitation. “Judging me. Thinks I’m too old.”

“Steve, he was perfectly polite,” you say, “please, you said it’s going to be a good night.”

You bite your tongue as you examine his face. His sudden anger, his paranoia, unsettles you even more. His jaw ticks as he grits his teeth.

“Steve,” you touch his sleeve, “please, I’m not here with the server, am I?”

His blue eyes flick over to you. They search your face. You force a smile.

You have to keep from wincing as he reaches for you. He frames your face with his large hand and grins, “you’re right, sweetheart.” He draws you closer. You let him. “All mine.”

He meets your lips with his and you swallow a gasp. His nose brushes yours as he kisses you, softly, then his tongue glides over your lips. You resist for only a second then let him in. His hand slips behind your head as he locks you in. You brace his chest as he takes your breath away.

“Ahem,” the server clears his throat.

You rip away from Steve as he snickers. He wipes his mouth shamelessly as you shrink down in embarrassment. The server uncorks the bottle with a pop, his smile effortlessly hiding all judgment. He’s probably honed against all types of customers.

He pours the bubbly and leaves the bottle. You watch him go and squirm. Steve sits up and takes his glass, “what’sa matter, sweetheart?”

“N-nothing, I don’t-- I don’t usually do that... in public,” you sniff.

He laughs again, “I know, you’re a good girl.” He hovers his glass. You take yours and he clinks his against it, “to us.”

“To... us.” You echo softly.

You drink as he does, mirroring him. It’s sweet and bubbly. He sets the glass down and reaches for the bottle. He grips it and drags it closer.

“Only one for me, since I’m driving, so help yourself,” he says. “You deserve it. A nice night to let go.”

“Oh, I...” you stare at the dark glass. Why did he order the whole bottle?

He slaps his hand on your thigh and you squeak. Your hand falls over his instinctively. You look at him and lick the moisture from your lips. He growls and kneads your flesh.

“Sweetheart,” he rasps. “Aren’t you happy? I’m here.”

Your eyes dart back and forth, “yes, I’m happy.”

He pushes his shoulders back and his cheek dimples, he shifts on the cushion. His other hand tugs at the top of his belt.

“Not gonna lie, gonna be hard to hold out all night,” he smirks. “Six years...”

You blink at him. You won’t look down. That’s too much.

“You gonna be nice to me?” He leans in to nuzzle your cheek, tickling the back of your neck so you shiver. “Huh? I’m so pent up, baby, you gotta take it easy on me.”

You shudder and ball your hand up tightly. Your stomach is roaring but not from hunger. The more you think about what he means, what he expects, the sicker you feel.

“It’s been... a while for me too,” you assure him. “We can take it slow.”

“Slow, baby?” He hums. “Oh, I don’t think I can.”

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #doing time #au #marvel #mcu #captain america #avengers

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doggyspeakart · 2 months ago

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✩ Make your own Kyrii Plushie ✩

Thank you @free-sewing-patterns and @jestersneopia for asking so kindly for me to release my pattern dupe! :3 These guys are very intricate little plushies so I did my best to make something comprehensive. I also made detailed instructions which I will include after the readmore, so long post ahead!

McD's Plush Kyrii

What you will need:

•The two included images printed on 8.5"x11" (A4/Letter) paper.

•Enough of your desired Fabrics (reference the pattern size on your paper, you don't really need much at all)

✩ I recommend a short pile faux fur or other nonstretch fabric for the two body colors, and a long pile (1-4cm) faux fur for the mane and tail.

✩ You can also make the mane and tail using yarn or doll hair wefts by attaching them (sewn or glued) to a backing fabric like cotton or felt.

•Scissors or precision knife to cut fabric.

•Sewing implements (needle, pins, thimble, thread scissors, etc.)

•Thread matching one or both of your body color fabrics.

•black thread or embroidery floss for the mouth embroidery.

✩embroidery floss or thread in your desired eye colors (recommended a white for sclera, an iris color, and a black for outlines)✩OR✩buttons or safety eyes in your desired size and color.

•Stuffing (two or three handfuls of polyfill will do the job)

✩ribbon or cord to use as arm tension band and/or a loop to clip hardware like keychains and backpack hangers.

((✩ optional ))

General note: default suggested stitch length is 3mm apart unless stated otherwise.

Step 1

Print out the pattern, making sure to format your printer to use the full page with no margins. Check print preview to be sure nothing is cut off. (I made the piece inventory sheet to sort of offset any default margin weirdness but I'm new to this so let me know if it messes up.)

Step 2

Conceptualize your design and gather your materials. Are you cloning one of the plushies already out there, or making your own design? It is always good to keep reference on hand during any art project!

What special design elements are you translating to plush form? Keep in mind this pattern is small and intricate and it might be easier to omit or simplify certain design elements if you are working from something more detailed.

The cutting guide assumes 1 base color, 1 accent color, and 1 fur color with no significant shape, size, or design difference to the original McD's plushie. (Only a few fixes for symmetry and fur direction.)

Step 3

Prepare your base material for cutting. If you are doing embroidery or applique designs this may be easier while the fabric is flat and whole. Same with fur wefting, do anything like that while you have one big piece of fabric to work with. Trace the pattern pieces using chalk, heat erase pen, or some other washable marking tool using the cut guide provided. (I recommend cutting out any shape you need to add details to from the pieces inventory page, then trace those pieces on your fabric in roughly the same positions as the cut guide page.) Then do any embroidery or details you need to do while the pattern is flat.

Embroidery tips:

• Use a stiff backing piece like interfacing or felt behind your fabric to make the embroidery more durable and stiff.

•Use a back stitch or chain for lines, line in color for crisp color-changes.

•Parallel vertical lines close together catch the light and read as blocks of color best.

•Don't use stitches that are too long or loose, build stitches up diagonally like a brick pattern instead, the key is to attempt to stay parallel.

•If you are using sewing thread instead of embroidery thread, use two or three strands at once to save time.

•When you are done, cut away your backing fabric/interfacing a little outside where your embroidery stops so as not to interfere with future seams.

Step 4

Cut out your materials. If you didn't need to trace from the pieces inventory for pre-cut details, then you can just pin the cut guide paper to your fabric and cut it directly. Otherwise simply follow your trace and cut out your pieces. Be sure to keep track of which pieces go on the left and right of your plushie.

Step 5

Begin assembly by sewing all your darts first, those will be on each side of your face, inner leg, arm bottom, belly, and back pieces. Follow the blue lines that appear anywhere that says "dart" and any sew lines that create a V-like dip in the perimeter of the piece (like the arm bottom and belly pieces). Fold the seam allowance inside your seam so that the right sides of the fabric end up with a clean, unnoticeable seam. I recommend a tight, short straight-stitch about 2mm apart on darts.

Step 6

Make the loose body parts.

Sew together ears, arms, and tail by placing right sides together and sewing around based on the solid black lines in the pattern.

•Each ear will have a base color piece and an accent color piece. Make sure their shape lines up so that right sides of the fabric are together. The ear pieces are fairly flat and their sew lines should line up perfectly. Use any stitch you are comfortable with, straight stitch about 3mm apart works just fine.

•Sew one top arm piece and one bottom arm piece together for each arm. The discrepancy in their shapes creates a slight twist that gives the arm part a tube-like shape. I recommend pinning the pieces at the ends and wrist first to get the tension/gathering correct on the arm part. Any stitch works but a straight stitch will probably be easier to keep track of tension with or to rip if you make a mistake and need to retry. Keep it tight, about 2mm apart.

•For the tail, sandwich your pieces right sides together so that all the fur is tucked inside and you can sew the edges with a secure stitch like a whip or back stitch.(about 3-4mm apart) You might need to pick or brush out the fibers if they get caught in the seam.

Once you finish each piece, flip it inside out, wrong sides should remain inside while the right sides of the fabric show and all seam allowance remains inside. If any edges are having trouble flipping inside out, use a thin tool like a crochet hook or chopstick to prod them from the inside.

Stuff the 2 arms until they hold a 3D shape, firm fill recommended. Leave the other pieces in this step unstuffed.

You should have two ears, two arms, and one fluffy tail.

Step 7

Shape the face.

With the dart now sewn into the cheek, the two seams with the || registration marks should be much closer in length. Line the seam up according to the marks and fudge the rest of the length using tension. I recommend using a ladder stitch on the right sides while keeping in mind the general size of the seam allowance.

Repeat on the other side.

When you are done, your face piece should have curvy cheeks.

Step 8

Build up the head.

Connect the forehead piece to the face piece, the curve's center goes right above the nose.

Sew in the chin piece along lower jaw.

There is a bit of leeway into how long the ears will be and which angle they stick out. For best results, give it a test right side out and pin where you like the ears to stay.

The ears go into the notches on the top of the face piece, about half of the ear should fit into that notch. Sew it into that notch, any remaining ear folds around that top seam towards the forehead and is stitched down to give the ear a slight curve that helps it remain upright.

When you're finished you should have the (bald) head.

Step 9

Construct the body.

Sew the two inner leg pieces onto the sides of the belly piece.

Sew the back pieces onto the belly and inner leg piece, leaving the arm notches alone to make the arm holes. Sew all the way around the inner leg and to the center line on the belly where the dart seam sits. There may be some overlap/extra on the back piece.

Sandwich the tail between the two back pieces and sew them together. You can adjust the angle of the tail before you sew it in, the original plushie has its tail sticking up behind the back. (Tip: if you fully close the tail seam you can use a loose couple of stitches to attach it to the body to make a hanging tail that wags when you pick up and shake the plushie.)

Your current parts should be a head, a body, two arms, and the hair piece.

Step 10

Attaching the hair piece to the head.

(OPTIONAL): First, if you want to add a keychain loop like the original plushies, snip two tiny holes into the backing of your hair piece about 6mm apart and feed a small length of cord or ribbon inside to create a loop on the outside.

Leave plenty of slack on the ends of the loop for a more sturdy hold.

Secure the loop and holes with a lot of sewing and/or glue to keep the fur fabric from fraying. Stitch down the ends of the cord/ribbon to the backing of your hair piece.

Start sewing the hair piece to the head beginning with the hairline along the forehead to get it nice and clean. Next sew across the ears and down the face piece on both sides.

Your head should now have hair, with the rest of the mane hanging down behind.

Step 11

Sew head to body.

Make sure the chin piece lines up to the belly piece, the bottom of the head should line up with the rest of the back piece on either side.

Next, sew down one side of the hair piece to the back piece, connecting the bottom edge to the seam near the tail and stopping.

Leave the other side seam of the hair piece open for arm adjustment and stuffing.

Step 12

Attach the arms.

Tension Band Explanation:

The original plushies have an arm tension band inside to keep the plushie's shape and seams intact when pulling on the arms. Generally I think this can be skipped without much issue, but could be a good idea if you plan to use this as a bag hanger or keychain plush, as the arms are the extremities most susceptible to getting caught on things, and when they are secured more comprehensibly they are less likely to rip the plush apart when yanked. Not a big deal if you just plan to keep them around the house.

(OPTIONAL): If you want to install your own arm tension band, start with the plushie right-sides-out. Sew the band to one arm and pull it taught through the chest to the other arm, securing the tension band before sewing the arms into the body piece.

To sew the arms, be sure to pose them and pin them in place right-side out first. (originals usually have one arm down and the other up on their chins/waving, though they vary a lot and there are plenty of ways to position them for different expressions.)

Then, either turn insideout again or ladder stitch the arms into place.

Almost there! You should have all your pattern pieces together at this point.

Step 13

Stuffing the plushie.

Make sure your plushie is right side out, with no incorrect seams or holes other than one of the seams between the hair piece and back piece. If you need to, gently prod a crochet hook or chopstick along the backs of seams to turn them out.

OPTIONAL: To make a weighted plush, add a small mesh bag of plastic pellets or weight of your choice to the bottom of the plushie before stuffing.

Add in your polyfill, pillow fluff, yarn fibers, scraps, or whatever you decide to stuff the plushie with, paying attention to the density of the stuffing.

I recommend keeping the head and feet more densely stuffed to keep their shape while leaving the body a bit more loose for a squishable belly.

Step 14

Close up the last seam.

Using a ladder stitch, close up your last seam, pulling tight and tying off your thread at the end for a clean, invisible seam.

Now that all the seams are in, you can now brush or pick any long fibers from the hair and tail out of the seams.

The plushie is whole! You can keep it like it is, or do some thread sculpting for a more finished look!

Step 15

Thread Sculpting.

(OPTIONAL):

Using thread in the color of your body fabrics, you can pull tension at various points to create a more sculpted shape. The original had two through the face (vertically through the chin up behind the forehead, and horizontally between the corners of the eyes), and two over top of each hand and foot to look like the separation of the toes. See the original pattern pieces for precise placement.

And that's it! You should have a finished plush kyrii!

If you have any questions or concerns please contact doggyspeak. Feel free to use this pattern, share it, or edit it with or without credit.

PLEASE DO NOT SELL THIS PATTERN OR INSTRUCTIONS! IT IS BOTH NOT ORIGINALLY DESIGNED BY ME AND ALSO SOMETHING I'VE WORKED VERY HARD ON!

If you would like to see more pattern reconstructions from me, show me your finished plushies and provide feedback and suggestions to me. I would love to see what you have made and hear what you'd like to see next! ^o^

#neopets #Next time I make a new kyrii plush I will snap pictures of each step to add to the instructions!#doggyspeakart #plushie #plushie pattern #sewing patterns #bootleg #thanks for your patience I got over an illness 2 weeks ago and have spent most of my free days since then doing dentist or house stuff!!

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cdlum · 1 year ago

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I just wanted to say I think your art style is awesome! I was wondering if you had any tutorials on how you draw anatomy in your style (hips and legs especially)? Sorry if there's already one posted and I just didn't see it 🥲. Happy New Year :>

thanks for the kind words. i tend to draw people pretty stylized and then some so a good bit of artistic licence gets used. these tips are just what i use so feel free to take them with a grain of salt. with anatomy in particular you can kind of talk in circles because human/animal bodies are that complex so ill just zone in on the points you specified. here's a little image with a bunch of pointers:

the above image condenses a lot of the points I'd make, but basically the key parts are to start with the bare essentials and build up that complexity. using a line of action is a good way to get a quick, rough start. you draw a line out in the general direction of the pose and do your best to adhere to it to give the pose a sense of flow.

you can also draw smaller, thumbnail versions that throw a lot of caution to the wind but capture the basic energy of what you're going for. even having a tiny little stick figure version of your idea can make for a good guideline of where to take it forward.

when it comes to actual limbs, you wanna consider how they integrate and work together, kind of like how chains do. you can see on some of the parts of pear i've drawn out these wireframes to kind of portray how the mass of her legs works in a three dimensional space. for aspects like the waist/hips, i use that X technique i highlight above a lot, particularly for the lower torso. a lot of the times, even when drawing a character totally naked, imagining them wearing things like skintight underwear can help a lot to guide you in the right direction.

its also a good idea to consider things like gravity and weight to a degree. humans are essentially big meat sacks and gravity is always pulling down on that, but theres all kinds of aspects that effect that, such as character build or clothing. pear technically isn't naked in this, but i've tried to imagine her as such and take that into account.

if you are drawing digitally, don't be afraid to take advantage of the convenience you get with that workflow. you can retry and iterate on things a lot faster that pen and paper, and do things that aren't really feasible at all when it comes to editing and modifying your existing work. things like resizing certain bodyparts, instantly flipping the canvas, or using selection tools to completely adjust the positions of parts of your drawing. to give you an example heres a timelapse with all the little edits i made just to this demo drawing:

you don't have to use these techniques linearly, either. sometimes ill have a really solid idea for a piece in my head, and go back to basics with certain elements if they’re not coming out right or i just want to brush them up a bit more. some of the tutorial-y parts i added in i didn't actually use during the drawing but often do use so they're there just for demonstration. not every drawing i do starts as building blocks or a really basic version, often ill just start with a face and build it out from there.

i always encourage liberally using references (this can include yourself) and trying out stuff like life drawing or looking at things like existing photographs of real people/places/things if you can, the more you use learning material the better you'll draw up a mental inventory in your head that you can rely on more and more. some of these tips are things i've learned from other artists over the years (the chin one especially i remember seeing a tutorial about lol), so this is a lot of knowledge i've amassed from other sources over time myself. there are plenty of times ill use all sorts of reference material and its all in service of arriving at the final destination as smoothly as possible. learn by doing, as they say. hope this helps!

#tutorial #2024

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asteroidtroglodyte · 1 month ago

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I just spent so long trying to understand that post about glass. As somebody who thinks glass is extremely cool but doesn't know a whole lot about how it's made, we're you saying that clear glass is entirely colorless by definition? Also do you have a good resource to learn out clear glass being invented in the 15th century? If not I'll Google it. I'm a history nerd so this is right up my ally. Thanks for reading all that I hope to hear back from you if it's not too much trouble.

So, for clarity’s sake (heh), I’ll start off by pointing out that photons of Visible Light do not go through glass in the same way that Radio or Microwave photons do. The scale of Visible Light is small enough to meaningfully interact with the crystalline lattice of most stones, glass included. In order to be optically clear, a piece of glass must transmit the signal coherently through its bulk mass, and emit an image out the other side. Clear glass, in response to Visible Light, behaves more akin to how an electrical conductor (like wire) interacts with electricity than an absence or void would. This is, incidentally, why we can make optical devices like lenses and glasses and telescopes out of clear glass.

Glassmaking in the Mediterranean owes much to a few key events. Firstly, there was a tradition of artistic glass working in Byzantium many centuries ago, a descendant of Glassmaking traditions from Rome and the Levant, which peaked in the 10th century.

Many families knowledgeable in such things would eventually flee the fall of that empire west, into Venetian territory. Unfortunately for the wood-framed-building-inhabiting people of Venice, the glassworks would often spark municipal fires, so in the 13th century the Doge of Venice banished them to a mist-shrouded island prison set them all up on the island of Murano, under guard, creating an Artist’s Colony of Glassmaking families.

This arrangement worked out well for all involved for several centuries. Although the Glassmakers were not permitted to leave, they had access to all the raw materials of a far-flung trade network, state protection, wealth, and prestige; and Venice had an in-house luxury export that constantly evolved as the various families of craftsmen flexed on each other, trying to one-up each other with innovations in color, hardness, and form.

The far-flung trade network was important, as it allowed for very pure samples of a wide variety of chemically active minerals to be made available to these workshops. Critically, these ingredients included pebbles of very pure quartz, and Alume Catino, a form of soda ash from the Levant.

Ultimately this culminated in the 15th century invention of Venetian Cristallo: a perfectly clear synthetic Rock Crystal Glass. This cemented Murano as center of the Glass-making world in the west for 2 centuries, until the English discovered that adding Lead Oxide to the process also produced a clear glass that was cheaper to make and easier to work.

The ability of these, and later, clear glasses to be ground into optical lenses, and the resultant invention of telescope and microscopes, would kick-start scientific elements of the Renaissance, and the relatively inexpensive and high-quality mirrors and spectacles produced would kick-start the symmetrical Renaissance in Philosophy and Moral Theory.

To circle back to your question:

Glass is a transmitter of light. A photon hits a spot in the crystalline lattice and sets off a chain reaction of vibrations in the atomic lattice of the glass, which, upon reaching the far side of the glass bulk, release an equivalent photon. In optically clear glasses, this is done in such an orderly and coherent manner that actual resolvable images emerge. That said, I reiterate for clarity: photons are destroyed and created by this process. What emerges is not what went in.

The inclusion of metal oxides such as Soda Ash and Lead oxide is necessary to furnish particular metallic ingredients into the crystalline lattice of the glass. This provides forms of long-range order conducive to signal transmission. Remember, glassy materials are defined by a variable degree of long-range order in their lattice structure. No order; you get scattering; and the light that emerges is a hazy white color. Choose particular metals to also dope your molten glass with, and the glass will emit particular frequencies: this is what we call colored glass, or stained glass. The reasons those dopants resonate at those frequencies of light are Electro-Chemical and Quantum, and beyond the scope of this post.

Glass is one of the Foundation Stones of modern, technologically advanced Civilization. Modern glass is nothing less than a Miracle of Artifice, crafted by skilled hands across dozens of generations. Our Ancestors worked very hard to give us this. It is good for us to tell their stories.

Hope that gave you a good place to start! Enjoy your journey! There is much still to learn!

#glass #the first Looking Glass #Venetian glassmakers #history #ask #troglodyte thoughts #free range sustainable shitpost

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simspaghetti · 7 months ago

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This has been a long time coming, I've been wanting to make something like this for ages and I finally had some time over the weekend to get it done - I dunno how useful this will be for anyone else, but hopefully at least a few other people might find this template handy!

Here's a full size picture of what the blank template looks like:

I made a couple examples of what it can look like edited over screenshots - as you can see you can just resize the boxes & text as you like to get the ideal final product:

Instructions for use:

This is a .psd file, and as such it needs to be opened in an editing tool that allows that file format - I personally use photopea which is a free online alternative to adobe photoshop - Disclaimer: I haven't tried using it any other editing software like photoshop / gimp but it'll probably work in there too, if you have any problems in those apps lmk and I'll try and fix it!

Each section of the template is separated into folders, open these up and you can edit the text / image elements for each section, you'll need to hide and unhide layers to be able to do this (the little eye icon next to a layer toggles it to be hidden / unhidden)

If you need to resize the boxes, make sure to hold down the shift-key so that you're able to do it more precisley

I have included icons for every career in the sims 3 including all of the expansion packs, however I have not included the skill images you might need as that would be a bit too extensive

For the skill images, I recommend downloading this ultimate icon collection from ModTheSims, as it'll almost definetly have everything you could possibly need to use :)

Please don’t claim as your own or reupload without my permission, I’d love to see you use them in your game if you do choose to tag me - but that's totally optional :) Alter and customize the templates literally however you want, but if you’re gonna reupload a downloadable variation of them I’d appreciate a link back to my blog

Download Here (Simfileshare, .psd file)

The font used for this template is DM Sans, it can be found in all variations here - I only used 'bold' & 'bold italic'

Credits: Heavily inspired by the gorgeous Clean UI created by JustMiha, as well as these promotion templates for TS4 by CupidJuice - and thanks to TheSpiritRealm on MTS for compiling all the icons I used - and total credit goes to EA / Maxis for the icon designs as well I did not make those lol

#download #simblr #psd template #sims template #sims psd #my resources #sims resources #resources

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argetcross · 9 months ago

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Happy 4th anniversary to wasting beats of this heart of mine, my Zagreus becomes mortal AU! Another year, some more adventures undertaken.

This year, I've unearthed more concepts and half-finished paintings all the way from 2021. I've included notes under the cut about each piece, as well as more reflections.

If you told me in October 2020 that you'll write a fic over 100k words long, spanning multiple cities, with multiple POVs, I would have said, "Are you sure?". I think I never really imagined I could keep a story running, much less one that demands so much of its author. At the same time, this work has been my deepest and most fulfilling pleasure. It lives in my dreams, haunts my waking moments, and demands I regularly carve my heart out and poke through the viscera. I suppose such is the nature of art.

We've been approaching the end of Part III, and readers up-to-date know I've mentioned planning for five parts in total. Five acts, five biomes: it only feels fitting. Many things I had looked forward to (the chariot race! Kyane and Persephone! The return of Thymoetes!) have come to life on the page, but there's still so much of the yarn left to spin. I never expected needing years to complete this story, but I also feel strongly I am beholden to it now. To Zagreus, to Demeter's children, to the mortals and gods, above and below. I will continue to try my best.

Thank you to jules, val, nan, robin, and spleen for having beta'd for me during these years. This story wouldn't be what it is without you. Thank you to mag, for having crawled through the trenches of creating an enormous fanwork and countless hours of spreadsheeting, with me. To every artist that has ever drawn me anything, it is truly humbling to be able to inspire your work. To the House Party, whose friendship I am grateful for every day.

And to anyone who has ever read part of the story, left a comment, and stepped along on this journey with me, I cannot overstate how grateful I am. I remain baffled and pleasantly surprised that this world of mine can touch your heart. It's a story that I hope, when it completes, you will pick up again from time to time, and take pleasure in its telling once more.

With all my love,

Arget

Notes about each image:

Thanatos and Zagreus by the sacred olive trees of Athena. This painting was based on a photo I took in Athens. The quality of the sunlight astounded me and, in turn, made me think about life and death.

Thanatos anointing the body of the god Zagreus with nectar. This is related to the scene in Chapter 23, when he and Nyx converse by Zagreus' bedside.

Eleusis concepts. For such a powerhouse of a cult, Eleusis itself has a provincial feeling to it. I was captivated by the idea of the sea, and the fact that Zagreus had never spent any time on the coast. This would have been his first experience with it.

Athens. What can I say about Athens that hasn't been said? The trip I took late 2022 provided a lot of the inspiration for the citadel aspect of the acropolis. This is not the Athens of Classical Greece, the polis of democracy, but a fictionalized city-kingdom, under the rule of its royal family. The idea that Callisto had a student living in Athens was both a nod to the extensive trade happening during the Bronze Age and a deconstruction of the Amazon myth that the Greeks told themselves.

Clymene, the Oracle of Delphi. This was originally meant to be a Hades game-like portrait, but I scrapped the idea. She is dressed in the fashion closer to the Minoans, to give her a more Bronze Age feeling. As the head priestess, I wanted to show her age.

Apheidas and Thymoetes sketches. The two brothers are supposed to look night and day from each other. I tried to give Apheidas a pleasant sort of face, in comparison to Thymoetes' haughtiness.

The tapestry sketch. This was one of the first drawings I ever made about wasting beats, in an attempt to understand the type of story I was about to write. Key elements had already been decided, such as the chariot race and the way Demeter and Hades would play the role of the absent gods, for above as well as below. I had not written Apollo at this time, so you see him here with short hair.

Zagreus, reaching for a bloodstone. The chlamys, a gift from his foster-father's wife, has been the simple denotation of mortal Zagreus. Something bright and red, simple for it was woven by a farmer's wife, and barely able to protect his weaker mortal body.

Megaera, hurt and angry, and Than, stricken and alarmed, amidst a storm of paper. This is a scene from Chapter 18, Primordial Winter, that I had always wanted to illustrate.

#hades game #zagreus #thanatos #thanzag #zagthan #wasting beats of this heart of mine #my fic #my art #callisto #megaera #zagreus becomes mortal au #happy anniversary my beloved fic

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she-who-fights-and-writes · 10 months ago

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Hi! Firstly, thank you for creating this blog and helping all of us out! Secondly, and sorry if this is such a silly question, but how do you write an engaging summary?

I find my own fic summaries are so… lackluster… and not even I’m interested in reading it — so how I can I expect others to be? Even if I like my story, when I write the summary in the start of my fic/in my masterlist, I’m like “Wow… this is not even remotely interesting! 😭”

So yeah, I was wondering if you had any tips/advice for that? 😭 Totally fine if not, I just figured I’d ask. Thanks and have a great day/night! 😘

HOW TO WRITE AN ENGAGING FIC SUMMARY THAT WILL DRAW IN AUDIENCES

Summaries are the bane of many writers’ existences, including my own. It’s already hard enough to get the words down on paper for the actual story, and now people want you to convince them to read it with something more than “I WORKED REALLY HARD ON IT PLEASE IT’S GOOD I PROMISE!!!!”

Squishing a ton of context into a small blurb seems impossible, but I promise it can be done!

Obviously everyone goes about things differently, and a lot of these tips may not work for everyone, but nevertheless, here are some tricks on how to write an engaging summary!

Here’s a simple template I like to use, which will be the focus of this post:

Hook (Draw the reader in!)

Context (What are the core elements of your story?)

Cliffhanger (Introduce a question/scenario that the reader will want to click to know more about!)

1. Start With a Hook

Just like with the first sentence of a story, the first sentence of your summary should immediately spark the reader’s interest.

A bold statement! A good (short) quote from your fic! A shocking discovery! A cool word definition/the definition of your title!

I always like to put the hook of the story on its own line/paragraph, just to emphasize it.

Examples of a hook (Note, these are rushed and off the top of my head. Just meant to give a general idea, not be literary masterpieces): - "It all started when Character A puked on their Uber driver." - "War was inevitable." - "Character A would be dead by sunrise. That’s what Character B vowed." - "By the time they got to the city, it was too late."

Your hook is probably the most important part of your summary; someone will know within milliseconds whether or not they will continue reading.

Once you’re past that initial hump, it’ll be easier to convince a potential reader to skim the rest of the summary. Giving something that jumps out at them will set your story apart from others and ensure it gets that click you deserve!

2. Give Some Context

For shorter one-shots, sometimes a single hook is enough! But if your fic is longer, with a bit more moving parts, you might want to choose a few highlights. Get the essence of your story on paper.

This can be super hard, so don’t feel discouraged if you feel like you’re not getting it. I’d suggest keeping your context to about 1-3 sentences depending on the length of your story, so make sure they count.

Buzzwords are a key factor in getting the main points across. Use ones that relate to your main plot to your advantage!

For example, if I were to make a short summary of Game of Thrones for someone who has never watched it before, I would definitely include some of these buzzwords: - Dragons - Conquest - Succession - Revenge - Slaughter - Betrayal

Using powerful words (i.e. slaughtered instead of killed) can help draw in your audience!

I can't dictate exactly how you should write your context, since every fic is different and shouldn't be brought under an umbrella of the same rules, so it might help to find inspiration from other people’s summaries.

3. Pose a Question the Reader Will Want the Answer To

The biggest point of a summary is the “so what?” factor. You have all of these tags, but how does the fic make use of them?

A summary shouldn’t be giving all of the answers, but it should still leave crumbs for the reader’s imagination! This doesn’t mean that you literally need to put a question in the summary, but rather pose an unresolved scenario/problem that the reader will want to click to know the solution to.

Here are some example sentence templates that pose an indirect question, often put at the end of a summary to spark interest (Note, these are rushed and off the top of my head. Just meant to give a general idea, not be literary masterpieces): - "Everything changes the moment Character A makes a choice they can't take back." (What is that choice? How does it affect the other characters?) - "As the truth comes to light, nothing will ever be the same." (What is the truth? How does it change things?) - "A dangerous game begins, and only one can emerge unscathed." (Who will be that person?) - “It’s the first time they meet, but it won’t be the last” (What will be these next instances? How do their worlds collide?)

4. Some General Advice

If you don't think the above format works well with your fic, here's just some general advice that can help you out!

DON'T MAKE IT TOO LONG

The biggest mistake I see writers making when posting their work is having a giant four-paragraph summary for their story that takes up half of the feed.

Unfortunately, in an age of fast swiping and instant gratification, a reader may skip over a super long summary simply because they don’t feel like reading all of it.

(The reason why long summaries work for books is because people are more patient when they intend on paying to read something; they’ll take more time considering investments than they would with a free read, since they want to make sure it's worth their money. It’s not fair, but that’s kind of how it goes.)

In my opinion, a fic summary should be no more than one short paragraph, two or three sentences max for a one-shot and maybe five sentences for a long fic.

This isn't exact. It really depends on the length and complexity of the sentence, because no matter the how many you use, if there are enough words to make folks comprehend it as a big block of text, then they’re going to be more likely to skip it.

People looking for long fics will be more patient (since they’re making an investment with their time, rather than money) but if you want to appeal to a wider audience that may be casually browsing and stumble across your fic, definitely consider a more brief route.

PROOFREADING MATTERS!

Because summaries are often an afterthought, many writers don’t put as much effort into it as they would the rest of their story.

I wouldn’t recommend this; people are basing their ENTIRE initial opinion of your fic on this small blurb.

If you rush it and make spelling or grammar errors, people will assume that the rest of your fic is also riddled with errors and scroll past!

Make sure to proofread!

Hope this helped, and happy writing!

#writing #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #writeblr #booklr #creative writing #fic #fanfiction #ao3 #fanfic #fic summary #summary #writing summaries

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luckyroll3 · 1 month ago

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Thank You, Daddy Chapter 3

Masterlist and Summary

Previous Chapter

Warnings: This work of fiction is intended for 18+ audiences only. Includes explicit sexual content, graphic language, sex work, power dynamics, daddy kink, possessive behavior, etc. Author chooses to not extensively tag in order to preserve some elements of storytelling.

Word Count: 9,032

The eastern wing of Christopher's mansion stretches before you like a luxury hotel suite you've somehow scored permanently; it’s all cream marble, soft lighting, and that particular stillness that only comes with obscene wealth. You trail your fingers along the wall as you walk, feeling the textured wallpaper that probably cost more per square foot than your first apartment's monthly rent. This is home now, at least for the duration of this arrangement, and something between anxiety and excitement flutters in your stomach as you push open the door to your designated bedroom.

Tuesday had arrived too quickly. Christopher asked you to meet him at the property in the early morning hours. He left for work before dawn, pressing a kiss to your lips that lingered somewhere between possession and tenderness. He'd given you a carabiner with a set of keys and a keycard, security codes, and instructions for the staff, all delivered with that clinical precision that makes you wonder if he's ever done anything spontaneously in his life.

You returned home to finish cleaning your penthouse and grab your bags. Christopher’s driver picked you up a few hours later to return you to the mansion in the early afternoon.

The bedroom is ridiculous. Not just large, palatial. The room is painted a warm yellow that reminds you of sunshine. A California king bed sits centered against one wall, draped in linens so white and pristine they make you nervous to even approach. Floor-to-ceiling windows frame a view of manicured gardens that stretch toward the horizon, deliberately designed to make you feel like you're floating above the world.

"Well, shit," you mutter to the empty room, your voice bouncing off high ceilings.

You roll your suitcases, the expensive ones you bought after your first month of high-end escorting, into the center of the room, then drop your backpack beside an upholstered bench. The sound feels like sacrilege in this cathedral of luxury. Christopher's text this morning was simple.

Christopher:

Make yourself at home. The eastern wing is yours.

As if anyone could feel ‘at home’ in a space designed to remind you of your place in the hierarchy.

The en-suite bathroom gleams with marble and gold fixtures, a roomy shower and a tub that could double as a small pool. You catch sight of yourself in the oversized mirror, hair pulled back in a neat bun, simple travel clothes that pass for casual luxury, eyes sharp and assessing. The woman staring back at you doesn't look overwhelmed.

Good.

But it's the walk-in closet that stops you in your tracks. Sliding open the heavy door reveals a space larger than your first apartment. Half of it stands empty, waiting for your possessions. The other half...

Your breath catches slightly as you run your fingers over fabrics that feel like liquid wealth. Dresses, skirts, blouses, slacks—all in your size, all with tags that make your escort fees seem like pocket change. Shoes line one wall, handbags another. You recognize the silhouettes of designers whose pieces you've admired but never purchased, even with your considerable income, too frugal to waste your earnings on such extravagances. Each item curated to Christopher's exacting taste, yet somehow aligned with your own aesthetic.

"Arrival gifts," you whisper, recalling the term from your contract negotiations. The casual ownership in the gesture should irritate you, but there's something unnervingly thoughtful in the selections. He's been paying attention to what you wear. Noticing.

Unpacking takes less time than expected. Your life fits neatly into the empty spaces, though your wardrobe looks almost comically modest next to Christopher's ‘gifts.’ When everything is put away, you crawl onto the bed, sinking into a mattress that somehow knows exactly how to support your body.

You pull out your phone, opening the AuVel app. The notification badge shows double-digit messages, all received since you posted your official "out of office" status three days ago: Taking a sabbatical for an exclusive arrangement. Not accepting scheduling requests or new clients at this time.

You scroll through the messages, ignoring the disappointed regulars, the generous counteroffers that didn’t even come close to matching what she was earning from Christopher, the barely disguised pleas. One message stops your thumb. Jisung, still in Singapore according to his location.

Jisung:

Exclusive? That doesn't sound like you, Noelle. Everything okay?

A smile tugs at your lips. Only Jisung would check on your well being first, business second. And only Jisung would use your alias in a private messaging app when he knows your real name. You type out a response.

Noelle:

All good. Just a temporary arrangement with very favorable terms. Tell me about Singapore.

His response is immediate; a video call request. You smooth your hair quickly before accepting, and Jisung's boyish face fills your screen, backdropped by what appears to be a hotel suite with the Singaporean skyline glittering behind him.

"There she is!" His grin is infectious. "Looking well-rested. Exclusive arrangements must agree with you."

"Don't start," you warn, but you're smiling too. "I've been here all of six hours."

"And already lounging in what looks like..." he squints playfully at the screen, "...at least a fifteen million dollar property? Twenty?"

"I haven't asked for the property value statement yet, but I'll put it on my to-do list."

He laughs, then his expression shifts to something more serious. "So, who's the lucky person who managed to convince you to take yourself off the market? You've turned down exclusivity offers before."

"Christopher Bahng," you say, watching his reaction carefully.

Jisung's eyebrows shoot up. "Christopher Bahng? Finance Christopher Bahng? The human embodiment of a steel trap Christopher Bahng?"

"That would be the one."

He whistles low. "Well, that explains the mansion. Man's worth billions. Literal billions." He tilts his head, studying you. "Didn't think he was your type though."

"He's a client, not a boyfriend," you remind him, though the words feel strangely hollow. "There’s not a ‘type’ when it comes to clients. And the financial package was... persuasive."

"I bet it was. So how exclusive is ‘exclusive’?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m legally not allowed to fuck anyone but him for the next six months under the terms of our arrangement,” you say casually.

“Well that’s a fucking bummer.” Jisung pouts adorably.

“Guess you’ll have to get that girlfriend now,” you tease with a laugh.

“Not funny,” he says, but you can tell his serious tone is for show. Jisung shifts, the camera angle changing to show more of his hotel room. "Singapore's been good to me. Closed two deals and found this amazing hole-in-the-wall that serves the best chili crab I've ever had. I'll take you sometime, you know, after this contract of yours is over."

For the next forty minutes, you let Jisung's animated stories wash over you: his business meetings, the night markets, the club where he almost got into a fight defending a woman's honor. It's comfortable, this friendship that exists within the boundaries of your professional life but somehow transcends it too.

"So," he says finally, after a lull in conversation. "Bahng, huh? I've met him at a few industry events. He's..." Jisung seems to search for the right words, "intense. Brilliant, but there's something almost mechanical about him. And that friend of his—"

"Hyunjin," you supply.

"Yeah, Hyunjin Hwang. Family owns half of Seoul's luxury real estate and that only contributes to about just over a quarter of their estimated worth. He's Christopher's fixer, the charming face that smooths things over when Christopher steamrolls someone. He’s also been known to be quite effective at making problems… disappear, from what I’ve heard." Jisung's expression grows more serious. "You sure about this arrangement? Bahng doesn't strike me as someone who understands the word 'temporary.'"

You appreciate his concern, genuine and without judgment. "The terms are clear. Six months, exclusive access, very generous compensation. I've done this before."

"Not with someone like him," Jisung counters gently. "Someone who is used to controlling every single aspect of his world. Just... be careful. Guys like Bahng see people as assets or liabilities, nothing in between."

"I know how to handle controlling men," you assure him, though Christopher's intensity has already proven different from anything you've encountered before.

Jisung's smile returns, softer now. "I know you do. Just checking. And hey, if you need anything, call me. I'll be back from Singapore next week."

"Thanks, Ji. I will."

"Promise me?"

"Promise."

After you hang up, you stare at the ceiling, processing Jisung's words. Christopher does seem to collect people like assets—but there have been moments with him, flashes of something almost human beneath the carefully controlled exterior. Moments where his touch lingered not like a man enjoying his purchase, but like someone discovering something unexpected.

Your phone buzzes with a text.

Christopher:

Dinner at 7. Wear the brown LV with the gold accents. No underwear. I'll be home by 6.

Short. Direct. Leaving no room for negotiation. Yet the flutter in your stomach isn't annoyance, it's anticipation.

You roll off the bed, looking at your watch and calculating the time needed to prepare. The shower first, then hair, makeup, the dress he's specified. You move with practiced efficiency, the ritual familiar even in these unfamiliar surroundings. This is just another job, you remind yourself. An exceptionally well-paying job with unusually comfortable accommodations.

But as you step into the shower, letting hot water cascade over your skin, you can't quite shake the feeling that you're lying to yourself.

****

Crystal catches light like trapped stars across Christopher's dining room. You sit at a table long enough to host a corporate board meeting, watching him arrange himself at the head with the practiced precision of someone who's spent his life controlling rooms. The silverware gleams in perfect symmetry, each piece aligned with mathematical exactness. It's a performance of wealth, yes, but more importantly, of control. Christopher smooths his napkin across his lap, his eyes never leaving yours, and you recognize this dinner for what it really is; not a meal, but the laying of boundaries.

"The Louis Vuitton suits you," he says, voice cool but approving. "I knew it would."

"Thank you, daddy" you reply, feeling the absence of underwear acutely as the fabric shifts against your skin. "You have good taste."

His lips quirk. "In all things."

The staff, two middle-aged women with the professional blankness of people paid very well to see and hear nothing, glide around you, pouring wine and setting the first course. A delicate soup, something French and subtle. Christopher waits until they've retreated to the kitchen before speaking again.

"Now that you've settled in, we should discuss the household rules," he says, lifting his spoon with surgical precision. "Some will be obvious, others less so."

You take a sip of wine, a Bordeaux that probably costs over a thousand, and meet his gaze. "I'm listening."

"The eastern wing is yours, as I mentioned. Your privacy there will be absolute. The staff won't enter without permission except to clean on Tuesdays and Fridays between ten and noon." He pauses, watching you taste the soup. "The rest of the house is shared space, with the exception of my office on the first floor. That remains locked and private. Hyunjin also has an office and bedroom here that he uses every so often. You should also consider his spaces off limits unless he tells you otherwise."

"Understood." You sip another spoonful of soup as you wonder how common it is for someone like him to have a dedicated space in his house for his best friend and partner, or whether Hyunjin has a room for him at his place as well.

He continues methodically, outlining your arrangement with the detachment of someone reviewing a corporate merger.

The staff has been informed you're a ‘houseguest’ with no specified departure date. You'll have access to the cars in the garage, though his driver can be available with notice if you prefer. Your financial allowance will be deposited weekly into the account you specified. The chef will accommodate any dietary preferences. You're welcome to have visitors, with advance notice.

The main course arrives, perfectly cooked beef with vegetables arranged like abstract art. The staff disappears again.

"Regarding intimacy," Christopher says, cutting his meat with mathematical precision, "I had my tests done yesterday. All negative, as expected." He reaches into his jacket, produces a sealed envelope, and slides it across to you. "You can verify yourself."

You take the envelope but don't open it. "I sent mine to your secure email this morning. Also all negative."

"I know. I checked before leaving the office." Something flickers in his eyes. "Which means we can proceed without barriers, as discussed."

The clinical phrasing should kill any hint of arousal, but there's something in the way his voice drops slightly, the way his eyes darken, that sends a current of anticipation through you.

"And regarding my... availability," you say carefully.

"You'll be exclusively mine for the contract period." It's not a request. "I expect you to be available when I want you, but I'm not unreasonable. Your time is valuable and important. I respect that." He takes a sip of wine, eyes never leaving yours. "However, I don't share what's mine. Not even temporarily."

There's the possessiveness Hyunjin and Jisung warned about. But instead of feeling trapped, you feel a strange thrill at being desired so completely.

"I understand, Daddy," you say, your voice dropping to a deliberate whisper.

His fork pauses halfway to his mouth, then continues. The only sign your words affected him is a slight tightening around his eyes, a barely perceptible quickening of breath. Power shifts momentarily in your direction, and you tuck that knowledge away carefully.

"Is there anything else you need clarified?" he asks, voice steady again.

You lean forward slightly, the movement causing the dress to shift against your bare skin underneath. "I think we understand each other perfectly."

The conversation shifts then, becoming almost casual. Christopher asks about your day, your impression of the house. You inquire about his work. It's a strange dance, formal yet intimate, like strangers who somehow know each other's secrets. The wine loosens something in both of you, not quite walls coming down but windows opening slightly.

You're halfway through dessert, a chocolate creation that borders on architectural, when a new voice breaks the careful rhythm you've established.

"Started dessert without me? I'm wounded, Chris."

Hyunjin leans against the dining room doorframe with the casual confidence of someone who knows he can get away with anything. He's dressed in all black, the clothes expensive but with an effortlessness Christopher's tailored precision lacks.

"Hyunjin." Christopher doesn't look surprised, merely resigned. "I wasn't expecting you tonight."

Hyunjin pushes off the doorframe and approaches, stopping beside the chair opposite from you. "Clearly. You'd have ordered extra dessert." His eyes move to you, assessing but not unkind, as they move down your body and back up to your face. "So Noelle’s the reason my best friend has been ignoring my calls tonight."

Before you can respond, Christopher interjects, "Hyunjin—"

"I know, I know," Hyunjin cuts in smoothly. "First night with your newest acquisition." There's something in his eyes; amusement, curiosity, and something else you can't quite name. "You know, I’m the voice of reason in Chris’ life,” he says to you, “though he rarely listens."

You chuckle softly.

Christopher clears his throat. "Did you need something specific, or are you just here to interrupt my dinner and annoy the fuck out of me?"

Hyunjin grins, dropping into the chair beside Christopher with the ease of someone who's done so countless times. "The Hong Kong deal. Park wants to renegotiate terms." He reaches over to grasp Christopher’s spoon and steals a scoop of his dessert with casual disregard for personal boundaries. "He's panicking about the regulatory changes."

"Park always panics," Christopher says dismissively. "The terms stand."

"That's what I told him, but he's insisting on a call with you tomorrow." Hyunjin takes another bite. "This is fucking good! Compliments to your chef."

You watch the exchange with fascination. Where Christopher is all rigid lines and careful control, Hyunjin flows like water, breaking rules without consequence. More interesting is how Christopher allows it; there's annoyance in his expression, but also something like fondness.

"Fine. Schedule it for 10 AM." Christopher pushes the bowl with the remainder of his dessert toward Hyunjin, who accepts it without fanfare, continuing to eat like it was his all along. "Anything else, or can I get back to my evening?"

Hyunjin glances between you and Christopher as he scrapes up what’s left of the dessert from around the edges of the bowl, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "No, that's all. Don't let me keep you from your... negotiations." He brings the spoon to his mouth, carefully sucking off any remnants of chocolate as he pulls it slowly between his lips, then rests it on the table. He rises with fluid grace, nodding to you. "Bye Noelle. Christopher's toys usually don't last long, but something tells me you might be different."

"Jin," Christopher warns, voice dropping.

Hyunjin holds up his hands in mock surrender, complete with a devastating grin. "Just making conversation, brah." He backs toward the door. "No need to stand,” although Christopher had made no attempt to move from his seat, “I'll let myself out. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." His gaze slides to you again, and there's genuine amusement there. "Though that doesn't rule out much." He gives you a playful wink.

After he's gone, silence stretches between you and Christopher. The staff returns to clear dessert plates, then Christopher dismisses them for the evening with a curt, "That will be all."

When the last footsteps fade, something in the air changes. The formal, business dinner atmosphere dissolves like sugar in hot water, leaving behind something thicker, headier.

"Hyunjin is interesting," you say, taking a final sip of wine. “Like how he always calls you ‘Chris’.”

"Hyunjin is a law unto himself," Christopher replies, his voice lower now, rougher at the edges. "He's also the only person who gets away with calling me Chris."

"I'll remember that," you say with a smirk, a small challenge in your voice.

Christopher's eyes darken as he rises from his chair, moving toward you with deliberate steps. "No, you won't. Because you won't be calling me Chris." He stops beside your chair, one hand coming to rest on the back of it, the other reaching down to tilt your chin up. "What will you call me?"

The air between you vibrates with tension, with possibility. You hold his gaze, letting the moment stretch until you can see his control fraying just slightly at the edges.

"Daddy," you whisper, and it's both surrender and challenge. The word draws a smirk from his lips before they press against yours.

His kiss is nothing like the careful, controlled way he's conducted himself all evening. It's hungry, almost desperate, as if he's been holding himself back all through dinner, through the rules and boundaries and practical discussions. His hand slides into your hair, gripping tightly enough to send sparks of pleasure and pain down your spine.

You're barely aware of standing, of his hands guiding you, until your back meets the hard edge of the dining table. Christopher's breathing is ragged against your neck as he lifts you effortlessly, setting you on top, your dress riding up your thighs.

"No underwear," he murmurs against your skin, hands confirming what he already knew. "Good girl."

His approval shouldn't affect you, this is business after all, but heat pools between your legs at his words. His fingers find you already wet, and his sharp intake of breath is a victory you savor.

"Spread your legs wider," he commands, and you comply, the cool air a shock against your heated skin.

Christopher remains fully clothed, his suit not even wrinkled, as he positions himself between your thighs. The contrast—you exposed, him contained—heightens everything. When he unbuckles his belt, the sound of metal on metal ringing through the quiet dining room is like a promise. You look down, biting your bottom lip as he slides his beautiful, hard cock out.

The first push of him inside you, bare for the first time, draws gasps from both of you. The sensation is overwhelming, heat and fullness and the shocking intimacy of nothing between you. You can count the number of times you’ve gone bareback with anyone, much less a client, on one hand. Given your profession, it’s just not something you do without careful consideration (or a hefty fee). But you always relish the feeling.

Christopher's hands grip your hips with bruising intensity, holding you exactly where he wants you as he begins to move.

"I can’t believe you’re here, all mine," he growls against your ear, the words, each accompanied by their own thrusts, torn from somewhere primal and possessive.

You gasp again, not entirely acting. In this moment, with him filling you completely, the line between performance and reality blurs dangerously. Then again, you’ve never really had to act with him.

The dining table groans beneath you, fine china rattling with each thrust. Christopher's control slips further, his rhythm becoming more erratic, more desperate. One hand slides to your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you light-headed, to remind you who's in charge.

"Look at me," he demands. "I want to see your eyes when you cum for me."

You obey, locking eyes with him as tension coils tighter and tighter within you. There's something in his gaze beyond lust, beyond possession, something almost vulnerable in its intensity. It's that unexpected glimpse of humanity that sends you over the edge, crying out as pleasure shatters through you.

Christopher follows moments later, his grip on your neck tightening almost painfully as he spills inside you with a hoarse shout. For several heartbeats, the only sound is your mingled breathing, harsh in the dining room's perfect stillness.

When he finally pulls away, you see it, a crack in his perfect composure, a glimpse of something raw before he tucks it carefully away again with his dick. He helps you off the table with surprisingly gentle hands, smoothing your dress back into place with methodical care that contrasts sharply with the fever of moments before.

"That," he says, voice returning to its usual controlled cadence, "was worth the wait."

You straighten your shoulders, finding your equilibrium. "I aim to please, Daddy."

His eyes flash at the title, and you file away another small victory.

Christopher's hand curves possessively around your lower back as he guides you up the sweeping staircase. Your body still tingles from the dining table, nerves electric and oversensitive. Neither of you speaks; words seem superfluous after what just transpired downstairs. The mansion is silent now, staff dismissed, Hyunjin gone, leaving only the sound of your footsteps on marble and the rhythm of your still-syncing heartbeats.

He leads you not toward the eastern wing where your room awaits, but deeper into his private quarters. You've not been here before; this wasn't part of the house tour and your professional instincts kick in, cataloging details, noting exits, assessing the man whose bed you'll be sharing tonight. Christopher's shoulders remain straight, his gait measured, but there's a new looseness to his movements, as if the dining room encounter has released something tightly wound within him.

The master suite unfolds like a revelation, spacious yet surprisingly warm, with dark woods offsetting cream walls, abstract art in muted colors, and a bed that dominates the space without apology. But it's the doorway beyond that captures your attention as Christopher guides you through it.

The bathroom is palatial. Gleaming marble extends in all directions, the ceiling vaulted like a cathedral to wealth and indulgence. A shower enclosure large enough for a small gathering stands in one corner, all glass and brushed metal. But it's the tub that stops your breath; it’s a massive marble basin sunken into a raised platform, already filled with steaming water that catches the light from recessed fixtures overhead. The surface shimmers with essential oils, and the scent of eucalyptus, mint, and something citrusy fills the humid air.

"You had this prepared," you say, the words half question, half realization. "During dinner?"

Christopher's hand slides up your spine, coming to rest at the nape of your neck. "I know what I want," he says simply, fingers playing with the zipper of your dress. "I always do."

The presumption should irritate you, the assumption that you'd end up here, in his bathroom, after dinner. But there's something disarming about his certainty, about the care evident in the prepared bath, the perfect temperature, the scents chosen.

His fingers find your zipper, drawing it down with deliberate slowness. The dress loosens around you, and you feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch as he eases the dress off your shoulders. The fabric slithers down your body in a whisper of luxury, pooling at your feet in a puddle of brown and gold. You stand before him naked and watch his eyes darken as they travel over you.

"Perfect," he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

Christopher steps back, his own clothes coming off with efficient movements. His body is a study in controlled power, all lean muscle, broad shoulders, narrow hips. Not the bulky showiness of men who spend hours in gyms to impress, but the functional strength of someone who views their body as another tool to be honed for success. A few scars mark his skin—a thin line across his ribs, another on his left shoulder—stories you don't yet know.

He takes your hand, helping you step into the tub. The water envelops you like a warm embrace, hot enough to redden your skin but not scald. You sink down with a sigh that's entirely unrehearsed, entirely real. The exhaustion of moving, of navigating this new arrangement, melts away in the perfumed water.

Christopher slides in behind you, your back pressing against his chest as he pulls you between his legs. The intimacy of the position strikes you. This is not how clients usually behave. Sex is expected; cuddling in bathwater is not. You tense slightly, professional boundaries reasserting themselves, but his hands on your shoulders begin kneading gently, finding knots of tension you didn't know existed.

"Relax," he says, his voice a rumble you feel against your spine. "You're thinking too much."

You allow yourself to lean back against him, telling yourself it's part of the job. "Thinking is what keeps me safe."

His hands pause momentarily, then resume their gentle massage. "You're safe here with me. I hope you know that."

Something in his tone makes you believe him, which is perhaps the most dangerous thing of all.

The next few minutes pass in silence as Christopher reaches for a sea sponge and liquid soap, working it into a lather between his hands. When he begins washing you, the act feels almost ceremonial—careful, thorough, attentive to every inch of skin. He lifts your arm, cleaning along sensitive inner flesh, down to your fingertips. Then the other arm, each finger given the same deliberate attention.

Your chest next, the sponge circling your breasts with a precision that sends shivers across your skin. Your nipples harden under his attention, and you hear his breathing change, deepen.

"You respond so beautifully," he murmurs against your ear.

You want to remind him that you're a professional, that responding to touch is what you're paid for. But the words die in your throat because in this moment, your body's reactions aren't calculated. They're genuine, involuntary; you don’t want him to know he has this much power over you already.

He washes lower, across your stomach, his touch careful but thorough. The sponge dips between your legs, and you gasp as it brushes sensitive flesh still swollen from your earlier encounter. The sensation is both soothing and arousing, the warm water and his sure touch combining into something that makes your breath catch.

"Spread your legs," he directs, his voice low but commanding, echoing his directive from when you were sitting on the dining table earlier.

You comply, knees parting, water lapping at the edge of the tub with the movement. The sponge disappears, replaced by his fingers. One hand is splayed across your lower abdomen, holding you in place, the other exploring between your thighs. His touch is different now, no longer about cleansing but about pleasure.

One finger circles your entrance, then pushes inside with devastating slowness. Steam rises around you, droplets of condensation sliding down marble walls like voyeurs. A second finger joins the first, curling upward with precise knowledge of female anatomy. His thumb finds your clit, applying pressure in measured circles that have you arching back against him.

"That's it," he encourages, lips against your neck. "Let go for me."

The water sloshes as your hips begin to move, seeking more pressure, more friction. Christopher's arousal presses hard against your lower back, but he makes no move to satisfy himself, all his attention focused on your pleasure. The hand on your abdomen slides up to cup your breast, pinching your nipple with calculated pressure that sends a jolt straight to your core.

You're close, trembling on the edge, when Christopher's teeth graze your earlobe. "Cum for me, baby girl," he whispers, the pet name slipping out unplanned, intimate in a way that contracts something in your chest.

Your second orgasm for the night washes over you in waves, your body clenching around his fingers as water spills over the edge of the tub. Christopher holds you through it, his movements gentling but not stopping until you're boneless against him, breathing hard in the steam-filled air.

When you finally catch your breath, you reach behind you, seeking to reciprocate, but he catches your wrist gently.

"Later," he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. "This was for you."

This is not how clients usually behave, you repeat to yourself, his actions throwing you off.

The bath continues, Christopher washing your back, your legs, even your feet with the same careful attention. When the water begins to cool, he helps you stand, wrapping you in a towel so plush it feels like being embraced by a cloud. He dries you with the same methodical thoroughness with which he bathed you, leaving no inch of skin damp or neglected.

You watch him dry himself, noting the still-evident hard-on he seems content to ignore for now. Another departure from your usual experiences—clients who put your pleasure before their own are vanishingly rare.

Naked, you follow him back to the bedroom. Christopher pulls back the covers, sheets so high in thread count they feel like liquid against your skin, and guides you in before sliding in behind you. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back against his chest in a mirror of your position in the bath. His erection presses against you, but he makes no move to act on it, merely settling you more comfortably against him.

"I know you negotiated for your own room, but I’d like for you to sleep with me tonight,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your neck. “And you can sleep in here whenever you want." You nod in acknowledgement.

You should feel trapped in his embrace, should be calculating how to extricate yourself and return to your room. That would be the professional thing to do; to maintain boundaries, keep emotional distance. Instead, you find yourself relaxing into his hold, your eyes growing heavy as his breathing steadies behind you.

The last thing you register before sleep claims you is the strange realization that you do feel safe here, in the arms of a man who collects people like assets. The contradiction follows you into dreams.

Morning arrives in strips of light through partially closed curtains, painting Christopher's bedroom in bars of gold and shadow. You wake to find yourself still entwined with him, his arm heavy across your waist, his face softened in sleep. Without the intensity of his conscious gaze, he looks younger, almost vulnerable. A complexity you hadn't expected when you signed the contract.

You take the rare opportunity to study him unobserved: the slight furrow between his brows even in sleep, the sharp line of his jaw, the fullness of his lips.

As if sensing your scrutiny, Christopher's eyes open, instantly alert in a way that speaks of a lifetime of discipline. His gaze meets yours, and for a moment neither of you speaks, suspended in the strange intimacy of morning light and warm sheets.

"Hi," you say finally, your voice morning-rough and unexpectedly shy.

His lips curve slightly. "Hi yourself." His hand, still at your waist, begins a slow exploration upward, tracing the curve of your ribs, the swell of your breast. "Sleep well?"

"Yes," you admit, surprised by the truth of it. You've never slept well with clients before, always maintaining a level of alertness, of separation. "Your bed is very comfortable."

"Our bed," he corrects, the possessiveness returning to his voice. "For the next six months, at least."

The reminder of the arrangement's temporary nature should be reassuring, an endpoint, a return to normal, but something twists uncomfortably in your chest. You push the feeling aside, focusing instead on the physical as Christopher's hand continues its lazy exploration of your body.

When he rolls you onto your back, settling himself between your legs, there's none of the frantic urgency of the dining room. His movements are deliberate, unhurried, as if savoring each moment of contact. The morning light catches in his hair as he lowers his head to your breast, tongue circling your nipple with focused attention that draws a gasp from your lips.

His mouth travels lower, tasting the salt of your skin, the lingering scent of the bath oils. When he settles between your thighs, his breath hot against your center, his eyes find yours over the landscape of your body. The eye contact is unnervingly intimate as his tongue makes the first exploratory stroke through your folds.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, not guiding, just needing something to anchor you as pleasure builds slow and inexorable under his skilled mouth. He takes his time, learning what makes you gasp, what makes your thighs tremble against his shoulders. It's thorough, methodical, like everything else about him, but there's also an undercurrent of genuine enjoyment in the way he hums against you, in the grip of his hands on your thighs.

When you cum against his mouth, it's with a broken cry that echoes in the high-ceilinged bedroom. Christopher rises above you, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and hunger. He enters you with one smooth thrust, filling you completely, and you both gasp at the sensation of being joined again.

"Feel how perfectly you take me," he murmurs, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. "Like you were made for my cock." Talk like this usually makes you want to roll your eyes, but not this time, and you’re not sure why.

The pace he sets is unhurried but deep, each thrust deliberate, angled to hit exactly where you need it most. Your hands find his shoulders, nails digging into muscle as pleasure builds again, impossibly soon after your first orgasm of the morning. Christopher watches your face with an intensity that should feel invasive but somehow doesn't, as if your pleasure is a puzzle he's determined to solve completely.

When your second climax approaches, he leans down, forehead pressing gently against yours, creating a strange bubble of intimacy as your breathing mingles. "Look at me," he commands softly, like he had the night before.

Your eyes lock with his as the wave crests and breaks, and for a suspended moment something passes between you, something unplanned, unscripted, dangerously real. His rhythm falters, control finally slipping as he follows you over the edge, your name—your real name, not your professional alias—falling from his lips like a revelation. Hearing it makes you feel warm inside.

Afterward, he doesn't immediately withdraw, instead remaining connected, his weight supported on his forearms as he studies your face with an expression you can't quite decipher. There's a question in his eyes, one neither of you is ready to articulate.

Finally, he presses a kiss to your forehead, oddly chaste after what you've just shared, and rolls to the side, one arm still draped across your waist in casual possession.

"I have meetings this morning," he says, his voice returning to its usual measured tone. "But I'll be home for dinner."

Just like that, the spell breaks, reality reasserting itself. This is an arrangement, a transaction. The intimacy of the bath, of the shared night, of slow morning sex is all part of what he's paying for. You nod, finding your professional demeanor again like slipping on a familiar coat.

"I'll be here," you reply, and if there's a note in your voice that wasn't there before, a softness you hadn't intended, neither of you acknowledges it.

****

A couple days later, Christopher has a car pick you up in the middle of the day and drop you off at the building where he works. As you ride the elevator up, you adjust the straps of the black sundress he requested, feeling the chill of the air-conditioning against your bare skin beneath the fabric. His instructions were clear: no underwear and your dark brown strappy wedges.

The elevator dings, and you step out on the fifty-second floor, wedges clicking on polished tile. You don’t hesitate. You walk past the reception area, ignoring curious glances from Christopher’s employees. The hustle of men and women in suits swirls around you, eyes glancing your way but quickly darting back to their phones, tablets, and laptops, too busy to stare too long. Cool, confident, you pass Hyunjin’s office. He looks up from his computer and gives you a knowing smile, probably aware of exactly what you’re here for. You give him a nod.

When you get to Christopher’s office a couple doors down, you’re stopped by the 50-something year old woman seated at the desk outside. She looks like she takes no shit as she gives you a once over before she addresses you.

“Can I help you?”

“Good afternoon. Are you Martha?” She nods curtly. “So nice to meet you, I’m Noelle.” You give her a bright smile as you extend your hand to her.

Martha takes a beat before she accepts your hand and shakes firmly. She seems like the perfect personality to work with someone like Christopher. “Ah, Ms. Noelle. Great to meet you officially. Christopher mentioned you would be stopping by. You can go right on in sweetie.”

“Thank you.”

You knock softly at Christopher’s door, but you’re already turning the handle and slipping inside before he can answer. He glances up from his desk, eyes darkening when he sees you. Into the phone he says, “I’ll have to call you back. My next appointment just arrived.” The second his phone hits the cradle and the door closes shut behind you, his pent up need is unleashed on you.

His need is like a living thing. He moves with purpose, crossing the room in long, quick strides, eyes devouring you. He doesn’t bother with small talk or foreplay, just backs you into the wall, kissing you hard as his hands pull at your dress. The straps slide down your arms, and he yanks it down to your waist, exposing your breasts. His mouth travels down to suck your nipples, teeth grazing them as you gasp and arch against him. His hands are everywhere; your hips, your ass, tangling in your hair. There's just raw hunger as he spins you around, your breasts pressed against the cool wall.

His hands skim up your thighs, pushing your dress up with them, and you feel the heat of his body as he presses against you from behind. He’s hard, already out of his pants, and you brace yourself for his rough, unforgiving thrust. You’re wet, ready, your body anticipating the way he takes you when his lust is barely contained.

He fucks you roughly, fiercely, with no pretense of gentleness against the wall. You bite your lip to keep from crying out loud enough for the whole floor to hear as he pushes into you, as he fucks you mercilessly, like he can’t get enough.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps, and you can feel his desperation, his pent-up need, in every frenzied motion of his hips. He grips your waist, fingers digging into your flesh as he pounds into you. The intense rhythm sends you spiraling, the risk of being discovered, of someone hearing, making it even hotter. His thumb presses against your clit, and you nearly lose it, nearly scream his name. You turn your head, trying to kiss him, but he’s feral.

As your fucking reaches a fever pitch, he bites down hard on your shoulder, and you cum with his teeth still sunk into your skin. It makes the orgasm rip through you even more violently. He follows, the tension leaving his body in a shuddering release, flooding into you, hot and thick.

Your legs barely hold you up as he lets go of your hips, leaving marks that will probably bruise. You turn to face him, then slide down the wall with a chuckle, dress bunched inelegantly at your waist, and he watches you with a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he zips himself up. You breathe heavily, slowly regaining some sense of composure, and he moves to help you to your feet. He doesn't bother with words; he just lifts the straps of your dress back up with hands that are much more tender than they were a moment ago. He kisses the bite mark on your neck before kissing you on the lips.

You lock your hands behind his neck and hold his head in place to kiss him deeply. When he pulls away, there’s a grin on his face.

“Please tell me there’s a bathroom in here. I don’t feel like doing a walk of shame through your office.”

Christopher laughs. “There is.” He takes your hand and guides you to a door in the corner.

“Thanks. Give me a minute.” You walk in and close the door behind you. You grab one off the washcloths rolled up on the counter and wet it before using it to clean in between your legs. Then you take the time to run your fingers through your hair and reapply your now smudged lipstick. You inspect the bite on your shoulder before grabbing a pressed powder compact from your purse. “Fucking Christopher,” you whisper to yourself as you attempt to cover the mark.

When you emerge from the bathroom, Christopher is seated at the small table in the corner. “I had lunch ordered for us,” he says, motioning for you to join him. “Martha said it should be here in five minutes.” He pours two glasses of water and watches as you settle in the chair beside him, his gaze still heated from your earlier encounter. “I wasn’t sure how long you’d need to freshen up. Should I have given you more time?”

You laugh. “Do you always fuck your appointments that hard?”

“Only the ones I really like.” He leans back, a satisfied look in his eyes.

“Generous of you to feed them too,” you say with a smirk.

There’s a playful lightness to the banter, an easy comfort that’s settling into your dynamic. You’re about to ask what’s on the lunch menu when there’s a knock at the door, and Martha enters, pushing a cart with covered plates. Hyunjin follows closely behind her.

“I figured you’d be here,” Christopher says, a touch of annoyance blending with amusement.

Hyunjin smiles. “I follow the food. And it’s always a pleasure to see Noelle.”

You roll your eyes. “Are you trying to flirt with me, Hyunjin?”

He chuckles. “I know better. But I’m really here to check on Christopher’s work.” He stretches casually. “Though I have no idea how you manage it with all these... distractions.” He nods at Christopher.

This time Christopher rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Jin.”

Martha arranges the food with efficient precision, and soon the table is full of fragrant dishes: salads, grilled fish, fresh fruit. “Thanks, Martha. That’ll be all,” Christopher says, dismissing her with a nod.

“Thank you Martha,” you add.

“Enjoy, sweetie,” she says to you as she leaves, closing the door behind her.

Hyunjin pulls a chair over and makes himself at home, straightening his shirt before reaching for a glass of water. You watch him, amused at his boldness, while savoring the strange normalcy of it all. There’s unspoken amusement in Christopher’s eyes as his best friend crashes what was supposed to be a private lunch. You’re struck by the easy, relaxed vibe, so removed from the original terms of your arrangement, and even further from what just happened on the other side of the room. It’s almost like the three of you are more than just...

Business associates? Friends?

You’re not sure. But as far as office threesomes go, it’s not bad. Not bad at all.

Camaraderie builds as the meal stretches on, the hum of conversation blending with the clatter of forks and plates. The food is delicious, light and elegant, and the three of you dig in with the kind of casual hunger that comes from being comfortable with each other. As Hyunjin jokes and talks shop, you notice how easily he and Christopher fall into rhythm, as if they’ve been doing this dance since the beginning of time.

You let their voices drift over you, pretending to be more interested in the grilled fish and salad than the business strategy they’re discussing, though you do catch bits of the conversation. Hyunjin talks about the big picture, while Christopher grounds it with details. “The numbers are up,” Hyunjin says as he slices into his fruit, “but we’ll need to make some adjustments to maintain the growth.”

Half the time, you play at being oblivious, pretending you’re too engrossed in your meal to notice how seamlessly Christopher and Hyunjin navigate their world. But really, you’re soaking it up, every word, every glance. Especially the way Christopher finds ways to invite you into the conversation, like you're more than just a guest.

"Your thoughts?" he asks. "On the business, not the fish?"

You set your fork down, catching the glint of curiosity in his eyes. “Growth like that isn't sustainable,” you say, wiping your mouth with a linen napkin. “You’ll have to change something, or you risk crashing hard.”

Hyunjin arches an eyebrow. “She's smart.”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” you laugh. “I'm not just a pretty face and hot body."

Christopher’s smile is warm, almost tender. "That much is clear. Are you sure you’re not wasting that brain in your current field."

You widen your eyes, feigning offense. "Says the man currently paying me more than his top executives. Definitely not wasted." You give him a wink.

Hyunjin grins, holding up his hands in defeat. "Ouch."

"You should come to the next board meeting," Christopher says, his tone only half-joking. "Might learn what I actually do for a living."

You raise an eyebrow. "Please, Daddy. I already know what you do for a living."

Hyunjin can't hold back his laugh. "Careful, Chris. Looks like she's onto you."

Christopher's smile widens, providing a glimpse of both dimples. "As long as you’re available to keep him out of trouble while I’m out of town at the end of the week," he says, "I'll let the cheekiness slide."

"Out of town?" You try to hide the disappointment in your voice. "Where are you going?"

"New York," Hyunjin answers, eyeing the last piece of fish. "But only for two days. You’ll barely have time to notice he’s gone. Unless he’s already got you so whipped you can’t function.” He reaches out to snatch the fish, but you beat him to it, spearing it with your fork.

"See? Functioning just fine," you say, popping it into your mouth.

Hyunjin leans back with a chuckle, extending his long legs and resting his hands behind his head. “Guess I’ll just have to keep you entertained.”

Christopher stands, gathering the remains of your lunch and Hyunjin’s on his tray. “I’m sure he’ll keep you entertained,” he says with a sideways glance at Hyunjin. “Especially now that we know where his talents really lie.”

“You have talents Hyunjin? Ooh, do tell,” you say with a smirk.

“I am a man of many skills,” Hyunjin says in defense.

Christopher laughs before leaning down to kiss you. “I have to run to a meeting downtown. I’ll see you at home later.”

“Should I expect to be manhandled again as soon as you walk through the door?” you ask, a wicked grin curling your lips.

Christopher smirks. “Only if you’re lucky.”

“Bring your appetite,” Hyunjin calls after him as Christopher heads for the door. “For her and dinner!” Christopher leaves the office, but not before rolling his eyes at Hyunjin. Hyunjin turns his attention back to you. “So,” he says, pulling his chair closer to you, “I know it’s barely been a week, but how’s life in the gilded cage?”

You feign innocence. “Gilded cage? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He shakes his head, amused. “You know exactly what I mean, Noelle.”

There’s something in his tone, a knowing quality that’s hard to decipher. You meet his gaze, holding it steady. “I know what I agreed to.”

“And?” His voice is easy, but his eyes are sharp, searching.

“And... it’s going well.” You pause, letting him see your certainty. “Better than I thought it would.”

“Well, well,” he says, a sliver of surprise in his voice. “Maybe you are different after all. Not many can put up with Christopher’s particular… tastes.”

“Maybe.” You study him, curious. “Aren’t you the least bit concerned though?”

“About?”

“About what happens,” you say, “if I’m not different?”

Hyunjin leans back, thoughtful. “Chris always gets what he wants,” he says, “one way or another. If it’s not you, it’ll be someone else.”

You nod, pretending his words don’t sting, pretending you believe him. “Yeah,” you say, with a casualness that goes against the sudden jolt of insecurity Hyunjin's comment sparks within you. “I know.”

You reach for the fruit, keeping your focus anywhere but his face. You can’t let him see how unsure you feel, how that small reminder of your particular arrangement shakes you more than you’d like. It’s a truth you’ve always known, that men like Christopher have their pick, have options, but you hadn’t realized just how much you didn’t want to be just an option until Hyunjin made it clear that you were. Not this time.

“But,” Hyunjin continues, “he’s gonna have a hell of a time replacing you. I have a feeling he won’t even try.” There’s a glint in his eye, a hint of sympathy laced with challenge, as if he knows how much you want to believe him but how unwilling you are to show it. He stands, stretching his arms above his head, revealing a peek at his exceptionally toned torso. “Speaking of,” he says, ruffling his hair back into place, “I’d better get back to work before he replaces me too.”

You watch him leave, tipping his head in playful acknowledgement as he goes. Alone, you sit back and trace the rim of your glass with a finger, letting Hyunjin’s words sink in. Chris always gets what he wants, one way or another. If it’s not you, it’ll be someone else. The words won’t let you go, lingering like a dare; you always knew it might end like this, you just hadn't expected it to matter. Especially this soon.

You don’t even realize how long you’ve been sitting there, staring into space, until Martha pops her head in. “Need anything else, Ms. Noelle?”

The sound of your alias pulls you back, and you smile, shaking your head. “No, thanks. I’m heading out now.” You smooth your dress, take one last sip of water, and grab your things. “Thanks so much for taking care of lunch for us.”

“You’re very welcome,” Martha says with a soft smile. “You know, you’re different from the others.” When you raise an eyebrow in confusion she adds, “The other women he’s dated.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?” you ask with a small laugh as you exit the office.

“You should.” Martha retakes her seat at her desk. “Huge compliment.”

“That’s sweet. Thank you.” As you turn to head for the elevator, you push thoughts of replacement out of your mind, determined to play this game by your rules.

While Christopher is in New York a few days later, you tell yourself that you’re glad for the space, that it gives you a chance to breathe. But you’re surprised by how much you miss him, by how much you crave the intensity he brings into your life. The nights are the hardest. You force yourself to sleep at your penthouse to avoid sleeping in his bed, wrapped in his sheets, surrounded by the smell and feel of him. You feel a bit pathetic that you’re already at this point and it hasn’t even been two weeks.

When Christopher finally returns, there’s a feverishness to your reunion, a wordless insistence in the way he pulls you to him. He kisses you before you can even say hello, lips hungry and demanding, erasing every doubt you had while he was away. You lose track of time, lose track of everything but the feel of his hands and the heat of his skin against yours. He makes good on his promise to manhandle you the minute he walks through the door, and then again on nearly every surface of the house all night long. By the time he’s finished with you, you’re breathless, dazed, and giddy.

A/N: Yeah... she's in trouble. 😂 Thoughts?

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thoughtmoment · 7 months ago

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#Sample Thank You Notes #General Thank You #General Thank You Messages #GratitudeMessages #Key Elements to Include in Your Thank You #Thank You for Being There #Tips for Writing a Memorable Thank You #Tips Thank You Messages

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shesimsplayer · 8 months ago

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shine bright like a diamonds..

I think this is going to be my favourite category.

I was inspired to create Aaliyah by the singer Tyla, so let's think of her as a prototype, so here are a few facts about her biography:

Age: 28 years old, birthday June 15, 1996, zodiac sign: gemini

Living: Oasis Springs, Aaliyah lives in a luxurious, expansive mansion in Oasis Springs. Her home has been featured in lifestyle magazines for its blend of modern architecture and artistic decor.

Musical Genre: Aaliyah is a versatile artist who seamlessly combines elements of pop and jazz in a style she calls "Jazz-Pop Soul." This approach, with its rich jazz undertones and catchy pop rhythms, appeals to a wide audience and has made her music memorable.

Influences: she draws inspiration from classic jazz legends like Nina Simone and contemporary pop icons such as Alicia Keys. Her sound includes touches of blues and R&B, giving her songs a soulful, emotionally resonant quality.

Early Beginnings: she started her musical journey at just 16, singing in local clubs where her powerful voice and magnetic presence quickly attracted attention. She was discovered by a producer and signed her first record deal at 20.

Awards and Recognition: Aaliyah has earned multiple Grammy nominations and won the "Best New Artist" award during her first year in the industry. Critics have praised her unique ability to infuse jazz nuances into popular music.

Fashion: her style is both chic and eclectic, often featuring a mix of designer brands with bold, unique statement pieces.

Hobbies: Outside of music, Aaliyah has a passion for art and painting. She also actively supports local artists, hosting exhibitions in her home to showcase their work.

Personal Life: A huge basketball fan, Aaliyah often attends games in her free time. She’s been open about her admiration for a well-known NBA star, with whom she’s rumored to share a close connection. Fans speculate about a budding romance, though she remains tight-lipped about the details.

Lots recommended: The Osasis Restaraunt, SBA Stadium, Techo Azul

With her deep roots in jazz and a flair for pop appeal, Aaliyah Lawson stands out as one of the most dynamic performers of her generation.

All rights belong to the creators, and huge thanks to them for the custom content.

If you have any problems, don't be shy and text me. But hopefully everything will be fine. If you add Aaliyah to your gameplay, tag me under posts, I'll be insanely happy!

DOWNLOAD

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

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Besotted 10

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

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

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

Summary: your new neighbour brings intrigue and a bit of danger.

Characters: ex-con!Bucky Barnes (silverfox)

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

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

By the time Bucky finds a place, you’re exhausted. A shell encases you. The world feels far away. The day in the sun feels like it never even happened in the chill desolation of the night.

The motel sign flickers as the buzz of crickets thrums in the air. Bucky walks behind you, like a warden, herding you to the door marked with the same number as the key in his hand. He opens it up and points you inside. He slaps the light switch and the space blooms with a tinge of yellow.

He puts the saddlebags and helmets in the wooden chair against the wall. He’s silent as he tilts his head, his neck cracking as he stretches out the kinks. He sighs as you hug yourself and flutter along the wall. He pulls shut the curtains and turns to face the room again. His eyes scan the fading wallpaper and double bed.

“Long day,” he says.

You nod and reach up to rub your neck, “yeah.”

He marches suddenly across the room and you flinch. You watch him disappear through the door way, another light flipped on. The metallic chink of the shower curtain rings tweaks in your ears. You chew your lip and examine the room. The place looks like it hasn’t been updated since 1997.

The shower whines to life, the pipes rattling behind the wall, and Bucky’s groan wafts through. The spray of water patters onto the porcelain. You pace along the bed, teetering on your heels as you turn to sit. Before you can, his shadow paints wall. You stop and look over your shoulder.

“Come on.” He has his shirt off already. His chest hair sparkles with stray silver strands and his muscles constrict under his flesh. You’re terrified but he’s still hot as hell.

You follow him to the small bathroom. He sits on the closed toilet and unties his boots. You slip off your sandals and wince as he peeks over at you. You catch his errant gaze on your chest as it threatens to slip free of your tankini. The coverup does nothing to help.

You stand straight and peel of the sheer shawl and lay it on the small counter. The damp heat coiling in the air is welcoming as the salty grime of the beach lingers on your skin. You pull of your tankini, angling to hide yourself.

He stands, the floor groaning under his weight, and startles you as he puts his hands on your shoulders.

“Hiding?” He growls.

You shake your head. You shrug him off and face him. You roll down your panties.

“Doll,” his voice thins to a wisp. “You are the most gorgeous thing...can you really blame me for getting a bit wild? Seeing that brat touching you--”

“Let’s not talk about it,” you say. “Please, I’m tired.”

“Hm, you’re right. We got a big day ahead of us. Let’s move on,” he agrees. He steps closer and brings his hand up to frame your face. He forces your chin up. His thumb strokes just beneath your lip. “I missed you, doll.”

He bends before you can register what’s happening. He kisses you, his grip on your tightening, and you let him. After what he did to Colin, to Angelique, and what he threatened to do, you know better. Too little, too late.

He brushes his hand down your arms and draws you closer. He urges you toward the shower and turns so your back is nearly touching the curtain. He parts and purrs, his blue eyes dark, his hair falling forward around his chiseled features.

“Go on,” he reaches around you and taps your butt. You twitch and step back, your calves touching the cold porcelain. “I’m comin’ right after you.”

He releases you and grabs the top of his brief. You spin and push past the curtain. It ripples closed behind you and you heave into the steaming spray. You let it wash over you but it can chase away your fear.

Bucky can be nice but you know now that he can be mean and violent and scary. That you can only have the former if you behave. If you do what he says. That other side that you ignored is what he tried so many times to warn you about. His self-awareness is less than reassuring. He knows what he is but he can’t control it. You don’t think you can either.

You wince as he steps in behind you. You sway slightly. He touches your hair, spreading his hands wide as he drags them over your head and along your neck, tracing the shape of your body from shoulder, to waist to hip.

He steps closer, flush to you as he hooks his arms around you. He fondles your chest as he nuzzles your neck and hums.

“You miss me too?” He growls into your skin.

You gulp, “yes.”

“Mmm, it’s lonely without you. Quiet.”

“Oh?” You utter.

It’s strange. He’s so soft now. So gentle. Only an hour ago, maybe a bit longer, he was something else. An animal.

He rocks his hips and you feel him. He’s hard. Wanting. You cringe now as you think of how badly you wanted that before. Of how stupid you’ve been.

He rolls your nipples between his fingers and kisses your neck. “Tell me again, baby.”

“Tell you...” you murmur.

“What you said before. You said I was perfect,” he snarls. “Perfect for you, right?”

You try not to show your discomfort. You said those things. It isn’t that you didn’t mean them, just not how he heard them. That moment was perfect. And it’s over.

“Yes, Bucky, perfect,” you assure him, almost impressed at how convincing you sound.

He drops his hand down and tickles your pelvis. You shudder and close your eyes as the spray of the shower pings off your chest. He pets along your hip bone and trails further down. A tingle crawls through you. You might be afraid but you’re still human.

He dips his fingertips between your folds and teases your clit. You clasp onto him at the spark it lights in you. You cling to his wrist, arching your back slightly as you gasp. He kneads your chest with his other hand, nibbling at your neck as he growls.

He rubs you until your wet and swollen. You heave as your heartbeat pounds behind your ears. He pushes his fingers down and spreads them around your entrance, opening you to him.

He bends his legs and shifts his hips. You suck in a breath as you feel him prodding. He pushes his chin down on your shoulder as he inches into you. You feel as tight as the first time. You reach to slap the tile as he slowly impales you.

He brings you to your toes as you whine. He stands straight and hooks his arm around you, his fingertips curling over your shoulder. He pulls you back against him as his fingers creep back to swirl around your clit. You squeak as he pumps into you.

“I missed this, baby.” He snarls. “You’re perfect for me too, huh? You feel that?”

You whimper and nod as you grab onto his bicep. He jolts you with each thrust as his pace grows sharper and faster. Your nerves flicker beneath his touch. You can’t resist it.

You spasm as you cum. He grunts and speeds up. His flesh claps wetly against your ass as lean back into him. He rams as deep as he can and stops.

“Uh uh,” he tuts. “I’m taking my time,” he rasps and rocks slowly. “Doll, I’m gonna make sure you feel how much I missed you.”

👙

“Doll,” Bucky’s voice startles you awake. He’s standing at the foot of the bed. There’s a shopping bag in his hand. You look at the hue trickling in between the tacky curtains. “What time is it?”

You sit up and catch the blanket before you’re exposed. Your muscles ache from the night before. It didn’t stop after the shower. You’re surprised the squeaky old bed held up.

“About noon,” he says coolly. “We got time.”

“Time? For what?” You ask as you rub your eyes.

You’re still spinning. The beach, Colin, Bucky, Angelique... all of it is too much.

“You’ll see, baby. All you gotta do is be you.” He walks up the side of the bed. “Get yourself dolled up.” He puts the bag on your lap. “Not that you need much.”

He bends and kisses your forehead. You stare at the bag then look up at him. Huh? Shouldn’t he be anxious to get home? You must still be hours out.

“For what?” You wonder.

“For me,” he insists as he stands straight and crosses his arms. “It’s a surprise. No more questions.”

You look at him, careful not to frown. You grab the bag and let the blanket fall. There’s really no point in hiding anymore. No point in trying to get out of this. He won’t let you.

“Bathroom’s all yours. I’ll figure myself out here,” he goes to the saddlebags and flips the flap up. “Ride got my hair all mussed again.”

You hesitate and get up. You scurry into the bathroom and shut yourself in. The sliver of privacy will give you some time to get your head straight. Or as close to as you can.

Your bag is in there already. You set down the shopping bag and search in the fabric one. Your phone’s not there.

You shrug and reach into the shopping bag. You take out the dress inside. Huh? White’s never really been your colour. Too delicate. It’s cute; long bell sleeves and a short skirt. A low back with a thin tie across the shoulders. It would kill in black.

That’s not all that’s in the bag. A white lace thong in the exact same shade and some cute heels with silver bows. Hmmmm. It’s... a bit much. Your red bra won’t go either. Not with the dress so scant in the back.

You lay it all aside. You’re thinking this is some sort of date? If he’s really serious, you expect he’ll be trying to be normal. As normal as this can be.

You dig out your pouch of makeup. You didn’t bring much and never wear too much anyhow. Moisturizer, blush balm, some shimmer, very simple and dewy. A touch of mascara and gloss, a spritz of setting spray. A bit much for a lunch date, isn’t it?

You face down the all white attire. You’ve never been a fan of going without your bra but there’s not much choice. You didn’t pack anything but swimsuits and shorts. You get yourself into the thong and dress. Oof, right up your crack.

You pack everything away and hook the bag over your elbow. You pick up the shoes and carry them out. Bucky’s back greets you as he stands in front of the wall mirror and growls.

“Think I about got it,” his shoulders strain beneath the black fabric. “Alright.”

He turns as he straightens his tie. Oh. He looks out of place in the button-up and slacks.

“Wow, doll,” he blinks. “You look amazing.”

You look down and tilt your head, “thanks. You got the right size.”

“It fits perfect,” he praises.

“Right, uh,” you set your bag by the door. “But won’t we get dirty on the bike?”

He chuckles. “I took care of that.”

“Ah, okay. Good,” you put the shoes down too. “You look nice too.”

“You think?” he smooths his hair and checks the mirror again. “I thought about a cut. Shoulda done it before I got out of the pen but then you wouldn’t have anything to grab onto.”

He chuckles and winks in your direction. You sit in the wooden chair and bend to put on the shoes. You make a crackly noise which could be mistaken as a laugh. This is strange. Something’s going on but you know he won’t tell you.

He faces you entirely. You look up. He puts his hands on his hips and grins.

“Sorry, I can’t stop looking. You just. Everything is so... perfect. Isn’t it?”

You sit up and make yourself nod. “Yes, Bucky.”

“You’re glad I came to get you?”

You barely keep from reacting. You smile. “Of course, Bucky. I... I’m sorry I left.”

“I know you are,” he says. “After last night... I know you told me the truth. I know you want me like I want you.” He crosses the room and stops in front of you. He cradles your head between his hands and strokes your cheek. You struggle not to quiver. “I know that after today, life’s gonna be exactly how it should be.”

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #series #besotted #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #marvel #mcu #winter soldier #avengers #captain america

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tuiccim · 2 months ago

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Lost in the Dark (Final)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Dark content! Kidnapping, Non/DubCon, and other dark elements. This fic contains dark themes and may include potentially triggering topics. You are solely responsible for your media consumption.

Summary: Bucky comes home after a mission and can’t wait to be with you.

A/N: Special thanks to my beta reader @whisperlullaby

Lost in the Dark Masterlist

Six weeks later, you were still playing your part. Bucky was “letting you off the leash” more, allowing you to roam the house freely more often than not. He still rarely left your side when he’s home and when he’s not, you remain tethered to his bed. The house was a fortress you had found. It was basically one giant panic room. Getting in or out was impossible without codes and keys. There were cameras everywhere. You had taken stock casually as you had been allowed to move about.

It was a bright Saturday morning, but you wake up depressed. The monotony of your days is wearing on your psyche. You get up, go to the bathroom, and wash your face. When you return, you find a smiling Bucky sitting on the bed with a present beside him.

“What’s this?” you ask casually.

“It’s for you. I’d like you to wear it today,” Bucky grins as he holds it out to you. You open it with a smile and pull out a beautiful sundress.

“Try it on,” Bucky says.

You pull the dress on and do a twirl for him.

“Perfect! Here, these too,” he pulls a pair of strappy sandals from behind his back.

“Wh-What are these for?” You ask, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice. This was all new. He’d never done anything like this before and changes frightened you. It made you wonder at times if this was the day he got rid of you. You had reconciled that only death or you managing your own escape would be your release from this prison. No one was coming to rescue you.

“I thought you could wear it today. I wanted to take you to the farmer’s market. Would you like that?” Bucky asks

Slowly, a smile spread across your face. “Really?”

“Yes, I thought you might want to get some fresh vegetables and enjoy the day. It’s supposed to be warm.”

“I would…I would absolutely love that. Thank you, Bucky. I know you’re trusting me with this. I promise I’ll be good,” you reassure him.

“Of course, you will, doll,” he puts an arm around you and kisses your temple. “Let’s get out of here.” The meaningful look he gives as the words leave his mouth serve as both an encouragement and a warning.

Obediently, you follow him, holding his hand as he leads. When you step outside for the first time in months, you tip your face up to the sun and take a deep breath of fresh air. There was a sense of freedom in being only a few steps from the door. It took everything in you not to start running. Not even running from him, but just running outside in the sunshine. When you open your eyes, you find Bucky looking at you with a sad smile.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to do this. I’m just so scared of losing you,” he says quietly.

Quelling your inner anger, you smile sweetly at him and cup his cheek, “I know, and it took me a long time to accept that. So, it’s my fault, too. But let’s not think on that now. How about we just enjoy today as it comes?”

“I love you so much,” Bucky kisses you.

“If you keep kissing me like that we won’t make it to the farmer’s market,” you tease to avoid having to say the words back to him.

He chuckles and grabs your hand again. He held it the entire time you were in his car and each step through the market. He finally let go when he had to pay a vendor for some of the vegetables and honey you chose. He was momentarily distracted as the woman made change and explained what would be coming in season soon. You measured the opportunity, studied his body language, and realized that despite his smile he was on high alert. Even if you managed to slip away in such a moment, it would take him a mere second to clock you, especially in the bright dress he had chosen for you. He left nothing to chance.

He took you again the following week to a different market in another part of town. A new, bright sundress adorned your frame and he was never more than a step away. Again the following week, then a trip to the grocery store in the middle of the week, another farmer’s market, a dimly lit restaurant for dinner one night, and over the following weeks he took you out of the house a half dozen times. Never to the same place twice and always to an area you are unfamiliar with. Each time, he “rewarded” you with compliments on your goodness and understanding as he pulled orgasm after orgasm from you. He called you a good girl over and over again while praising your obedience. He wanted your reassurance, to know that you had accepted this life and you gave it to him. You told him everything he wanted to hear. You love him, you understand why this is necessary, you are happy to just be with him, etc. You repeated it until you nearly believed it yourself. The darkness creeps in, wanting to curl its tendrils around you.

An overcast Saturday didn’t deter Bucky from pulling a dress out and trussing you for the usual outing. You hadn’t felt well for a few days. Your immune system must be compromised after being stuck inside for so long and then being around so many people. Wild horses couldn’t keep you from getting out of the house, so you suck it up, put on a happy face, and get ready.

This time Bucky took a long drive down some winding roads. It was over an hour before the destined farmer’s market was reached and you felt queasy by the time you step out of the car. You didn’t usually get car sick but no longer being used to long car rides along with not feeling well, must have turned your stomach.

Luckily, Bucky didn’t notice and bounded around the car to help you out. You smile as you take his hand and look around the unfamiliar surroundings. He pulls the basket he had purchased for you from the backseat. There was something about you in a sundress with a basket full of fresh produce that enraptured him.

You like to walk through the entire market before deciding which vendors to patronize. You noted what each one had and eyed a table covered in soaps and bath products. Bucky generally allowed you to make the choice with an occasional request. He would encourage you to indulge if something caught your eye. Today, you were nearly back to the beginning of the market when he pulled you towards a stand putting out some fresh flowers. The overwhelming scent of gardenias hit you like a brick wall and your stomach heaved. You attempt to pull your hand away from Bucky to make it to the trash can nearby but he immediately tensed. Grabbing your arm, he swings you around to face him and the momentum causes you to vomit all over him. You stare in horror as the mess covers his shirt, jeans, and boots.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, tears falling from your eyes.

He pulls a cloth from his pocket but instead of attempting to clean himself off, he wipes your tears and face. “It’s okay, doll. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you weren’t feeling well.”

“I was just a little queasy. The smell of the flowers…” you trailed off as his face betrayed some strange expression. He seems almost excited.

“No worries, doll. Let’s get you home,” Bucky guides you to the car.

“But your clothes,” you glance down his front.

“I have some in the trunk,” he assures you as he presses the key fob to open it. He shucks his shirt and, after glancing around, kicks his boots and jeans off. You snatch a towel up and hold it to give him some cover. “Worried about someone ogling me?” He smirks.

“Just thought you might like a little cover,” you smile sadly.

“Hey, doll, it’s okay,” he attempts to catch your downcast eyes.

“Let’s talk about it in the car,” you say, folding the towel and replacing it. You had seen an opportunity in the incident and planned to play it out.

“Uh, okay,” Bucky’s brow furrows as he follows you around the car to open your door.

You wait until you have been on the road for a few minutes. Studying your fingers, you ask just above a whisper, “Why won’t you trust me?”

“What? I do, doll! Of course, I do,” Bucky balks.

“No, you don’t. If you trusted me, you would have let go of my hand when I tried to pull away,” you insist softly.

“You surprised me is all. What was I supposed to think?” He says defensively but gently.

“That something was wrong. That I wouldn’t pull away from you like that if there wasn’t a reason. I was embarrassed that I had to throw up but doing it on you made it ten times worse.”

“I’m sorry, doll. I am but what if it had been someone trying to snatch you away from me? I couldn’t just let you go. This is why you have to tell me when you don’t feel well.”

“So, if someone had grabbed me, what? You’d play tug of war until my joints are dislocated?” You push back.

“I don’t…No. I don’t know, doll. I just know I can’t lose you,” Bucky glances over to you.

“I know,” you turn away to look out the window for a moment. “I’m gonna lean my seat back for a while. I still feel kind of puny.”

“Try to take a nap. I’ll wake you when we’re home, sweetheart.”

“Okay, Bucky,” you whisper as you close your eyes. The conversation hadn’t gone exactly the way you had hoped. He really was scared that someone would try to take you. Was it actually people who are against him, or is he afraid of the authorities taking you away after he kidnapped you? He didn’t seem the type to fear police. It was probably both. God, your head was so fucked. Was he paranoid or are there really people out there that might come after you just because of him? Would it stop them from coming for you if you escaped and went back to your life? Would they still know of Bucky’s obsession? Would it matter if he went to prison? Fuck, it’s all too much for you to think about. At least your stomach was settling and, eventually, you managed to slow your thoughts and doze. You felt so tired…

“We’re home, doll,” Bucky whispers as he gently takes your hand.

You fell more deeply asleep than you expected and startled when he touched you, “Oh! That was fast.”

Bucky chuckles as he caresses your face, “You slept through most of it.”

“I guess, I did,” you get out of the car and Bucky puts an arm around you to guide you to the house.

Once you were inside, you quietly tell him, “I think I’m gonna lay down for a bit.”

“Of course, doll. Just let me check you out,” Bucky nods.

“I’m fine. Probably caught a little bug,” you reassure him as you climb the stairs.

“I think it might be something better,” he pulls you to the bathroom and brandishes a pregnancy test out of the back of a cabinet.

“Don’t be silly, Buck. You know I have an IUD in,” you smile nervously.

“Oh, doll, I took that thing out months ago,” he says with a casual shrug as he kisses your temple.

You freeze as another wave of nausea hits you. Your mind is racing with the implications of what he just said. You didn’t think he could violate you in another way but he had. “What?” You whisper in disbelief.

“Right before you started your period a while back. That way any bleeding would just be with your period,” he explains as he rips open the box.

“Why would you do that?” You stare at him in horror.

“So we can start our family, doll. I can’t wait to see you full of my child. You know, I never asked how many you want. I was thinking 2 or 3. Maybe 4. What do you think?”

“I don’t, I, I… I don’t know. What?” You stammer, unable to grasp what was happening.

“That’s okay. We’ll figure it out,” Bucky leads you to the toilet and stands over you expectantly until you assume the position. He hands you the stick excitedly and you hesitate as you stare at it. “Do you need help, doll?”

That spurs you into action, “No, I-” You take the test and hand it off to him.

He sets a timer and chatters excitedly as you wash your hands. Your eyes bore into the little piece of plastic that holds your future. You jump when the timer beeps and watch, sickened, as Bucky excitedly checks the results.

You jump when the timer beeps and watch, sickened, as Bucky excitedly checks the results.

You were in shock. Your whole body was cold and clammy despite the warm body on top of you in the bed. The results of the pregnancy test made you nearly catatonic. His celebration is your undoing. With each pump of his hips, the darkness spreads inside of you. Its tendrils firmly wrapped themselves around your mind. He'll never let you go and there is no escaping him now. He'll always be a part of you. He owns you now and you just give in. The darkness consumes you and you're lost to it. Lost in it. Lost in the dark.

---The abandoned really dark ending...---

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deception-united · 1 year ago

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How do you create laws and rules for building fantasy worlds? I have a hard time defining these things, especially as a beginner. Do you have any ideas to help me?

Hi, thanks for asking and so sorry for the delayed response. The whole process of creating laws and conventions for your fantasy world can be difficult and altogether complex. Here are some tips.

Define the world's purpose. Think about what kind of stories you want to tell in this world—your themes, genres, tones. This general idea will help you determine what kind of rules and laws are needed.

Establish a foundation. Decide on the basic structure of your world. This can include geography, climate, cultures, and magical systems (if applicable).

Create a hierarchy of laws. This can include physical laws (gravity, physics, etc.), magical laws (how it works, limitations, consequences), social laws (cultural norms, taboos), and political laws (governance, laws of the land).

Consider the consequences. Think about how these laws and rules will impact your characters and the world.

Be consistent but flexible. Stick to your established laws and rules. Consistency is key to creating a believable world. But at the same time, don't be too rigid. Allow for exceptions, surprises, and evolutions that can bring unexpected plot twists or force your characters to think on the spot and come up with new solutions or plans of action.

Keep track of your world-building. Write down your laws, rules, and lore to keep everything organised and consistent.

Here are a few questions and guidelines to consider when defining the laws and conventions of your fantasy world:

Physical Laws:

What is the nature of time and space?

How do the laws of physics differ from our own world (e.g., gravity, motion, energy)?

Are there unique natural phenomena (e.g., magical energies, elemental forces)?

Magical Laws:

What is the source of magic in your world (e.g., innate, divine, arcane)?

How is magic accessed and controlled (e.g., spells, incantations, rituals)?

What are the limitations and costs of using magic (e.g., exhaustion, corruption, moral consequences)?

Social Laws:

What are the cultural norms and values of different societies in your world?

How do social hierarchies and power structures function (e.g., monarchies, democracies, tribes)?

What are the customs and taboos surrounding magic, technology, or any other sensitive topics?

Political Laws:

What forms of governance exist in your world (e.g., kingdoms, empires, city-states)?

How are laws created, enforced, and punished (e.g., trials, punishments, rehabilitation)?

What are the relationships between different political entities (e.g., alliances, rivalries, vassalage)?

Remember, world-building is an iterative process. Don't be afraid to make changes and adjustments as your world evolves, and feel free to add to or modify the questions and guidelines to suit your story and your world. For a more extensive list of questions and guidelines, check out my previous post. Hope this was helpful! Happy writing ❤

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ohgodthevoices · 5 months ago

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°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Save point °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

time skip kenma x f!reader

word count : 2922

Premise : You’re a concept artist who recently moved to Tokyo after a personal tragedy left you questioning your purpose. You take a low-key job at a new gaming studio, where you meet Kenma Kozume, the quiet yet sharp CEO. Initially, you clash—Kenma is reserved and brutally honest, while you’re more expressive but guarded. However, as you work together on a passion project, the walls you’ve both built around yourselves begin to crumble.

note : this fanfic will be on my ao3 >here< it might be more organized and easier to keep up with it but i will still upload the chapters here <3

chapter 1/ chapter 2 / chapter 3

Chapter one

The Tokyo skyline stretched endlessly outside the glass windows of the modest office. The sound of computers and the faint clicking of keyboards filled the space, a rhythm you’d grown accustomed to over the past few weeks. But today, there was an edge in the air—a tension you couldn’t ignore.

You adjusted your headphones, trying to drown out the growing sense of unease. You began to notice every little noise, the elevator opening and closing , the cars beeping outside, the messed up tie of the man walking past you, the ice melting in your cup of coffee.

“You’ll be collaborating directly with Kozume-san on the upcoming project. Effective immediately.”

Your stomach churned. You’d only been here a month, barely long enough to learn everyone’s names, let alone work with the CEO himself. You had joined this company partly because of its reputation for having a younger, laid-back workforce. It was refreshing to work somewhere that didn’t require stiff suits or stifling formalities. Here, you could stroll into the office in sweats, hair undone and no one would bat an eye. It wasnt simple allowed, it was the norm.

You worked in the artistic department, where your job was to bring life to the game’s visuals—character designs, environments, and UI elements. Your desk was a cluttered haven of sketches, color palettes, and concept art pinned to the walls.

It was the kind of work you’d dreamed about during late nights in art school, but the reality was far more demanding than you’d anticipated.

Deadlines were tight, revisions were endless, and creativity didn’t always come on command. Some days, the ideas flowed effortlessly, your tablet pen gliding across the screen as you brought fantastical worlds to life. Other days, you’d stare at a blank canvas, frustration bubbling as you struggled to meet expectations.

Your first impression of Kenma Kozume came in passing, and even then, he was hard to miss.

The first time you saw him, he was slouched at a desk in the far corner of the office, hoodie pulled over his head, fingers flying across his laptop keyboard. He didn’t look up once, even as people moved around him, his focus unshakable.

The second time, you caught a glimpse of him in the break room. He stood by the coffee machine, staring blankly at the counter as it filled his mug. There was something oddly unapproachable about him, even in such a mundane moment. He had an air of detachment, like the world around him barely registered unless it directly affected him.

You’d never spoken to him, but you’d already decided he wasn’t the type to make small talk or exchange pleasantries. Still, there was something magnetic about him, something that made you wonder what went on behind those sharp, tired eyes.

You had learned that prior to you , Kenma was never really in the office , he was still a streamer more than a CEO , after all this game developement project is only possible thanks to his succesful gaming career. However recently , once he saw how sucessful his idea got , he was now more present in the office and hired more people , you included.

“Hey, Y/N!”

A bright, cheerful voice cut through your spiraling thoughts. You looked up to see Kaori, her vibrant pink hair catching the fluorescent light as she leaned against your desk. Her wide grin and colorful appearance were like a splash of sunshine in the otherwise neutral-toned office.

“Hey,” she said, tilting her head. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You blinked, the metaphor hitting a little too close to home. “That’s… not far off,” you admitted, gesturing to your screen. “I have to work with Kozume-san. On his project.”

Kaori let out a low whistle, plopping into the chair beside you. “Oof, that’s a big one. But hey, you’re amazing at what you do. You’ll be fine.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “What if I mess up? He’s… him. He’s probably going to hate everything I do.” you bury you hand into the palm of you hands

“What if—”

“Nope.” Kaori held up a hand, cutting you off. “No ‘what ifs.’ You’re going to go in there, show him what you’ve got, and if he doesn’t like it, that’s his problem. Not yours.”

You couldn’t help but crack a small smile at her unwavering energy. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Because it is easy,” she said with a wink. “Just think of him as a moody NPC. He might be hard to impress, but you’ve got the skills to win him over.

That made you laugh, the tension in your chest loosening just a bit. “Thanks, Kaori. I needed that.”

“Anytime,” she said, standing up and flipping her hair dramatically over her shoulder. “Now, go slay that boss battle. You’re the main character, after all.”

As she walked back to her desk, her bright presence lingering in the air, you took a deep breath. Maybe Kaori was right. You could do this. You just had to believe it yourself.

You checked your schedule, hoping—praying—that there had been some kind of mistake. But there it was, glaring at you in bold letters:

Meeting with Kozume-san | 2:00 PM | Conference Room 3

Your stomach sank. It wasn’t just a casual check-in; you were expected to present your ideas.

You glanced at your tablet, where the rough sketches and concept notes for the project stared back at you. The game was a platformer with a futuristic theme, but Kenma had insisted on “keeping it simple.” That vague direction had left you stuck between creating something bold and eye-catching or playing it safe with minimalist designs.

The game you were working on was set in a post-apocalyptic cyberpunk world, a crumbling cityscape where neon lights flickered through the smog and towering skyscrapers were half-collapsed, their skeletal remains a testament to a world long past its prime. The streets were flooded with a mix of broken technology and rusted machinery, the last remnants of a once-thriving society. With game mecanics similar to The Last Of Us , the players would collects ressources and try to survive in groups.

Your characters were survivors—scrappy, resourceful, and filled with the grit needed to navigate this decaying world. You’d designed them to be mismatched, each with their own story written into their attire, their scars, their expressions. The environments were dark, gritty, and filled with the hum of malfunctioning tech, but you’d infused them with moments of color—neon signs, glowing graffiti, the occasional flicker of hope in the bleakness.

But now, staring at your designs, the doubt began to creep in. Was it too much? Kenma was known for his minimalist approach, and here you were, drowning in the chaos of color and detail. Would he see your vision as too loud, too cluttered for the world he had in mind?

The clock was ticking. You had less than a couple hours before the meeting.

You were so absorbed in tweaking the final details of your designs that you didn’t notice Kaori approaching your desk. Without a word, she set a takeout bag down in front of you with a soft thud, the scent of warm food wafting through the air. A thumbs-up and a smirk was the only indication she’d left before she walked away,

With a quiet exhale and a smile, you grabbed the food, letting yourself step away from the screen. For a few minutes, you allowed yourself to just eat, to breathe, to let the chaos of your thoughts settle.

————————————————————————

You stood in front of the conference room door, your heart pounding in your chest. The cold metal of the doorknob felt like a weight in your hand

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, but your hands were shaking. The designs you’d worked so hard on, the ones that felt like your heart and soul poured onto the screen, suddenly felt like they weren’t enough. What if Kenma didn’t get it? What if he didn’t like it?

You glanced down at your phone, checking the time. Five minutes. Just five minutes until you have to go in.

You reached for the doorknob, your fingers trembling slightly, but before you could turn it, the door suddenly swung open, and you stumbled back in surprise.

Kenma Kozume stood there, but he wasn’t alone. A sleek, black cat perched casually on his shoulder, its golden eyes eerily similar to his own.

His light blonde hair, slightly messy and falling over his forehead, gave him a perpetually disheveled look. He didn’t seem to care much about appearances, as his hoodie—gray and a bit oversized—hung loosely on his frame, paired with comfortable, worn-in jeans.

The cat let out a soft meow, and Kenma, unfazed, gave it a quick scratch under the chin before glancing at you. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was a faint flicker of curiosity in his gaze.

“You’re early,” he said simply, stepping aside to let you in.

Your eyes darted between him and the cat, trying to process what you were seeing.

Waaa the cat looks exactly like him!

You hadn’t pegged him as the type to bring a pet—let alone one so comfortably perched on his shoulder—to a meeting.

As you hesitated, the cat jumped down gracefully, landing on the conference table with a soft thud. It padded across the surface, tail flicking, before curling up near the laptop that was clearly set up for the presentation.

Kenma sat down without a word, as if this was all completely normal, and started typing on his laptop.

“You can start whenever,” he said, not looking up

Snapping out of your daze, you stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind you. The cat’s gaze followed you as you moved toward the table, its tail swishing lazily.

Your tablet felt heavier in your hands as you set it down, your designs still vivid on the screen. You glanced at Kenma, but his focus remained fixed on his laptop.

The silence stretched on, broken only by the faint clicking of keys. You cleared your throat softly, hoping to signal that you were ready to start, but the sound barely registered.

Instead, it was the cat that took action. It stood, padded over to your tablet, and plopped down directly on top of it, effectively blocking your work from view.

Your eyes widened, and you froze, unsure of what to do. “Um…”

Kenma finally looked up, his gaze shifting between you and the cat. For a moment, you thought you saw the faintest hint of amusement in his expression.

“Pudding,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. The cat flicked its tail but didn’t move.

“Pudding?” you replied before you could stop yourself.

Kenma leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “That’s her name. She likes warm surfaces. Just move her.”

You hesitated, not wanting to offend the feline—or its owner. Tentatively, you reached out, sliding your hands under the cat’s small frame. Pudding meowed in protest but allowed herself to be relocated to the edge of the table.

As soon as your tablet was clear, you turned it on and opened your designs. The glowing images of the post-apocalyptic cyberpunk world filled the screen, casting faint neon reflections onto the polished table.

Kenma leaned forward slightly, his attention finally shifting to your work. His golden eyes narrowed as he studied the sketches, the lines of his face giving nothing away.

Your heart raced as the silence stretched on, every second feeling like an eternity. You wanted to explain, to justify your choices, but the words caught in your throat.

Finally, Kenma spoke, his voice quiet but deliberate. “Why did you choose this color palette?”

The question was simple, but it carried weight. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“I wanted to balance the desolation of the setting with moments of vibrancy,” you said, your voice steadier than you expected. “The neon lights and glowing elements are meant to represent remnants of the old world—hope, even in destruction.”

Kenma didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flicking between the tablet and you. Then, without a word, he reached out and swiped to the next image.

The room fell silent again, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle as Pudding shifted on the table.

You watched as Kenma swiped through your designs, his expression neutral. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, before you began to explain your characters.

“These characters are survivors,” you said, gesturing to the designs on the tablet. “Each one has their own backstory, their own way of navigating this broken world. I wanted them to stand out in contrast to the bleak environment—each piece of their clothing, their scars, their accessories, all tell a story of where they’ve been and what they’ve had to survive.”

Kenma’s eyes flicked over the characters, his gaze flickering between the vibrant details of their outfits and the muted tones of the world around them. He didn’t seem to react at first, but then he spoke, his voice calm and direct.

“They’re too flashy for side characters,” he said, his tone flat but cutting. “If they’re meant to be secondary, the design needs to be more subtle. The world you’ve created is chaotic, but the characters should blend into it, not dominate it.”

You felt a sharp pang in your chest at his words. You had poured so much into these characters, wanting them to feel real, to feel alive in a world that had been stripped of so much.

“You’ve got a strong concept,” he said, his tone softer now. “Just need to refine the details.”

You nodded, trying to absorb his feedback. It wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but it was something you could work with.

The room felt quieter now, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. You couldn’t help but feel the weight of his criticism, but you also knew that this was the process.

You had to adapt.

Taking a deep breath, you swiped to the next character design, one of the more subdued ones. “I understand what you mean,” you said, your voice more composed now. “Maybe I went a little overboard. But these characters, they’ve lived through so much. I wanted them to feel like they’ve earned their place in this world.”

Kenma didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached forward, swiping through the designs once more, his eyes scanning them critically. Pudding, who had been lounging on the table, lazily swatted at the edge of the tablet, causing the screen to flicker slightly.

Kenma glanced at the cat, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. “Pudding,” he muttered, gently pushing her paw away from the screen. Then, with a sigh, he turned back to you.

“You’re not wrong,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. “The characters do need to feel like they’ve earned their place. But if they’re secondary, they shouldn’t demand attention. The focus needs to be on the world. The players need to feel like they’re in the world, not just looking at it.”

You nodded slowly, taking in his words. The idea was starting to click, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept.

“I’ll adjust the designs,” you said, determination creeping back into your voice. “I’ll make them blend into the world more, but still keep their individuality. They need to feel like they belong, but also like they’ve got something to prove.”

Kenma nodded, his eyes flicking to the screen one last time before he stood up. “Good. That’s what I want to see. Take your time with it. The meeting’s over for now.”

your mind already racing with ideas for revisions. As you gathered your things, Pudding meowed again, hopping onto your lap before you could get up.

You blinked, surprised, but couldn’t help but chuckle.

Kenma gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod. “She likes you.”

You smiled faintly, the tension in your chest easing slightly. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as you’d thought. You still had a lot of work to do, but now you had a clearer direction.

As you walked out of the room, you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. You had the feedback you needed. Now it was up to you to turn it into something even better.

You stepped out of the conference room, still processing Kenma’s feedback. The weight of the revisions hung over you, but you were determined to prove him wrong, to make the changes and show him you could do it.

As you made your way down the hallway, your phone buzzed. You pulled it out, it was an email from Kenma.

You paused, fingers hovering over the screen. Why would he email me?

You opened the message, your eyes scanning the short, direct note:

I want to see the updated designs by tomorrow. Come to my office at 5 PM.

Your heart skipped a beat.

His office? Tomorrow ? you didnt have much time…

Before you could process it, someone called your name from behind. You turned, only to find Kenma standing at the end of the hallway, his expression unreadable.

He was looking directly at you, his eyes piercing through the distance.

“Don’t be late,” he said, his voice low, and then, without another word, he turned and walked away.

You stood frozen, the weight of the email and his words sinking in. What was this really about?

#haikyuu kenma #hq kenma #kenma #kozume kenma #kenma x reader #kenma fanfic #kenma x y/n #kodzuken #kenma fluff #kenma angst #long reads #haikyuu

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