#but like. genuinely i've been sitting here for like 2 hours thinking about it and. 0. nothing.

[turtlespancake]

me when i write a character who is prone to dooming themself and then they run off and doom themself. core traits are stubbornness and a willingness to disregard their own humanity gET BACK HERE IM NOT DONE WITH YOU

[ichorblossoms]

having thoughts about things

[kalashtars]

this week on is it a side effect of testosterone or just season depression: my midterm essay for a class was due two days ago. i have not started it. normally i would feel anxiety about this but i feel distinctly numb about it.

[yinyuedijun]

TOKYO VICE | part 2

“Do you remember,” Suo begins, voice light, “how our master always talked about how important it is to engage with each other’s feelings?” You tense. “No,” you blurt out, and Suo laughs. “Of course not,” he plays along. “You were always so terrible at it. But I've been doing a bad job too, lately. So”—he reaches beneath your dress, hooks your thong with his fingers and starts pulling the fabric down your sticky thighs—“I wanted to have an honest conversation with you.” (Or: Tired of your lies and self-deception, Suo takes matters into his own hands and forces the truth out of you.)

12.8k words. suo x fem reader. deeply unserious yakuza au ft. yandere suo. mostly unrepentant smut, comedy, angst. warnings: sex work. nsft tags: afab reader, emotional sex, fingering, dacryphilia, orgasm denial, pussyjob, just the tip, creampie. suo is mean and makes you cry but there's no degradation, he's just a bastard lol. he also manhandles you a lot and you sit in his lap. dividers by @/cafekitsune!

part 1 here

You're surprised at Suo’s indifference to your sex life.

A month has gone by, and he’s made no comment on your habit of sleeping with customers, nor on the hours during which you come home—which are now even later than usual, since you have express permission to sleep with people and have no need to rush back to the penthouse after your ‘appointments’. And it isn't as if he's ignoring the reality of your late nights either. In a stunning show of respect for your personal freedom, he now actively offers to arrange for someone to pick you up from whichever love hotel you'll end up at. (You always decline, of course—if you're going to pretend to be his wife, you'd rather pretend to be a faithful one.)

Ironically, you had initially thought that Suo’s approval wouldn't matter either way. You had found the sex with your clients to be so uninspiring that it made you miss celibacy, so you were planning on stopping. But it turned out that you were deeply affected by the experience of sitting in Suo’s lap as he talked about his expectation of deciding whose cocks you should be allowed to take. It did something horrible to your sex drive, and thus you turned to work as your only outlet.

You spent around three weeks desperately trying to find a customer to satisfy your urges—or at the very least, to fuck you in a way that could get you to stop thinking of Suo whenever you got even a little horny. You were faced with utter failure in this pursuit, and in the end, bleakly resigned yourself to the reality that your shameful attraction to your best friend is incurable. You’ve now given up on the love hotel visits and simply take care of your needs with a vibrator instead. At least this way, you can actually say Suo’s name while you cum, rather than constantly reminding yourself to say your customer’s name instead.

The freedom of letting yourself fantasise about Suo has been exhilarating, but terrible for your friendship. It’s just difficult to sit across from him at breakfast and act like you haven't touched yourself at the table while he was gone, fantasising about what it would be like if he bent you over it and fucked you dumb. But you are a decent actor—hostessing demands that of you—so you don't think Suo has caught onto your carnal desires for him. Hopefully, he never will.

Another couple of weeks pass like this. Things are so calm that you come to believe that Suo is genuinely fine with you having some degree of sexual freedom, at least at work. This, however, turns out to be nothing short of naïvete.

After all, Suo is never forceful when he's upset with your decisions—but he also never fails to redirect them.

One spring evening, you show up at the kyabakura and are told that you’re only to see one customer tonight, and that it will be a private session.

“But we don't do private sessions here,” you say, blissfully unaware of your imminent suffering, “and we don't even have private rooms at this establishment.”

To this, your mamasan responds that the club is making an exception for this one guest, and that this guest has rented out the rooftop bar just to see you. When you ask just who this person might be, a look of mild panic flashes through her eyes. She grabs you by the shoulders and tells you to be careful. Just keep him happy and go home after, okay? she says. Don't go out for drinks, and definitely don't go to any love hotels. Don’t tell him your real name at any cost. You don't want to involve yourself with a man like him.

A sense of dread fills you as you step into the elevator.

A cool breeze greets you when you step onto the rooftop patio. Normally bustling with a raucous crowd, it almost feels eerie in its emptiness. Aside from the glow of the red light district beneath you and the city skyline in the distance, the only light is coming from the candles lighting one of the booths.

Your anxiety intensifies as you approach it.

You aren't very surprised at the sight of Suo lounging on a leather couch, dressed in full criminal regalia—infamous eyepatch, tassel earrings, and all. Sakura once mentioned that this club is connected to some colour gang, so you figure that the manager likely recognized Gui Yanzhao on sight. He probably suffered a minor angina when he did. The mamasan herself has no criminal ties to your knowledge, but she was probably informed that one of her girls was to entertain a high-profile yakuza, and she was likely worried that you'd been maimed in the process. Gui Yanzhao has a bit of a reputation for being a sadist, after all.

While you appreciate her concern, it is not Suo’s history of violence that scares you, but his history of antagonising you. On good days, there's nothing that delights him more than seeing you flustered or off-kilter. On bad days, there’s nothing that consoles him like spiteful retaliation against whomever's managed to piss him off—and you have, without a doubt, managed to piss him off.

You groan as soon as you see him, fearing the worst for your mental health.

“What are you doing here,” you say, and Suo smiles.

“Oh? You're not happy to see me?”

“No,” you moan. “How are you even here right now? Aren't you worried about being assassinated or something? Who did you terrorise to get an entire rooftop bar to yourself?”

“I have a very cordial relationship with all the major organisations on Keisei Street and was promised immunity during my visit tonight,” Suo says neatly. “And I didn't terrorise anyone. I simply walked into this fine establishment and politely asked for a private space to enjoy with my preferred hostess.”

Neither of you need to mention that the sight of the tassel earrings alone would be enough to terrorise someone. The manager probably felt like he was being extorted just from being on the receiving end of Suo’s smile. Actually, you currently feel like you're being extorted too.

You spend a good few moments giving him a look of open distress, to which he smiles.

“You know,” he says, “for a top-ranking hostess, you're not showing much hospitality right now.”

“Oh, for the love of—”

You force yourself to stop, remembering that you are, in fact, at work. Despite your mixed feelings about your industry, at the end of the day, you pride yourself on your work ethic. You take your job very seriously, and your job right now is to entertain your customer—even if said customer is your fake yakuza husband who is toying with you as a cat would a mouse.

Resigning yourself to a night of probable humiliation (one of Suo's greatest passions in addition to lying for comedy), you walk over to sit yourself next to him. And just like in Red Dragon’s lounge, Suo overturns the decision by pulling you into his lap. Your eyes go wide as he settles you on top of him—because unlike the intimate space of that crime scene, this is expressly forbidden behaviour at your club.

Also, unlike that other night, you are currently wearing the shortest dress imaginable and the tiniest thong you own.

You find yourself shivering as Suo's hand settles on your lower back, which is fully exposed thanks to the cut of your dress. You try not to focus on the calloused press of his fingers against your bare skin, but this is an exceedingly difficult endeavour, as his touch has been featured in your sexual fantasies for the past several weeks. Worse yet—your dress is now riding up your ass, and your thong isn't doing much to cover you. Whatever material his pants are made of—light, delicate—feels incredibly good against your thighs too.

If this continues, you might cum on the spot.

“Wait,” you say, and Suo raises a brow.

“Oh?”

“You aren't supposed to touch the hostesses here.”

He smiles. “I'm sure this place might be able to make an exception for me. But only if you are personally willing to, of course.”

“...”

Making an exception for him, in your current situation, would be among the worst decisions you've ever made. But after two of the most sexually frustrating months of your life, you’re ready to make horrible decisions.

“Fine,” you say. “But you better not cheap out on the drinks. The mamasan will only overlook this if you make it worth our while.”

“Of course,” Suo says. “Though I think she’d overlook a lot of things for me regardless.”

Suo makes good on his promise and orders a great deal of alcohol. All top shelf, of course. He laughs that his goal is to bring you to the number 1 ranking with his patronage alone tonight. It’s a hideous display of wealth.

As you pour him an absurdly expensive drink (a Hibiki 30 year-old blended whiskey), you reminisce on how little money you both used to have as teens. He had to be so careful with his wallet whenever he felt like visiting you—or rather, checking in on you—at work. Especially after your master passed. The two of you were very good about staying financially independent, but there was something comforting about your master’s promise to support you if anything ever happened.

With him gone, you and Suo had only financial paranoia and each other.

You guess that might have affected Suo more than you thought. Perhaps he didn't join the yakuza to spite you, but to support you. Certainly, he seems to enjoy spoiling you right now—treating you to drinks that would easily clear a year of his salary as a teen, buying out an entire night of your time at a high end club, renting out a whole floor just so that he can have you to himself. When you point out that his tab must be getting catastrophic, he only laughs.

“I did always say that I wanted to spend money on you,” he recalls. It had been a running joke during your days at the girls’ bar, when you scolded him for paying 3000¥ per hour just to visit you. You hated that he was wasting money on the red light district; he always replied that it wasn't a waste, because it was money spent to see you.

You feel your stomach flutter at the comment. You didn't think he'd remember words from so long ago. As a teenager, you had a tendency of clinging onto small, inconsequential moments with him because they brought you so much joy. You’ve always assumed he would have forgotten them, writing them off as instances of shallow teasing—but if he remembers, then surely they meant something to him too?

This would all make you feel sentimental if you weren't outrageously horny.

Suo has kept you on his lap the whole evening, even as you pour him drinks. Every movement to serve him has you involuntarily rubbing on his thigh, and you're quite certain at this point that he's been lifting your skirt up inch by inch with every casual touch on your waist. You don't bother accusing him of it, though. He'd just give you an innocent look and say that it was an accident. What a horrible man.

Accident or not though, it doesn't change the fact that your nearly bare cunt is pressed right against him. You keep trying to shift positions to pull down your skirt or lift yourself off him, but each attempt only makes it worse—brings the soft fabric of his pants right against your pussy, or makes your clit drag against his thigh, with only your thong separating your bodies. You try to suppress your arousal, but to your overwhelming horror, you can't seem to control yourself. You feel yourself getting wet, folds quickly becoming slick as you’re forced to grind on him. Your body, already warm from all the cocktails and shots, grows even hotter as you squirm on his lap.

In a desperate move to regain some control, you fully get up to reach for another drink. But then you feel a pair of hands on your waist, and Suo pulls you back onto his leg—this time forcing you to straddle it. You can't help the whimper that leaves you as your dripping cunt is spread and pressed against him, your clit throbbing against his thigh.

You pray that he doesn't notice the noise, so of course he does.

“Hm? Is something wrong?” Suo’s hand drifts over your waist and down to your thigh, where it ghosts over your bare skin. He leans in, and his voice is silky as he speaks into your ear: “You're moving around a lot. Do you need to get up?”

He’s giving you an out. It's quite considerate of him, as staying like this would not be a good decision. But for better or worse, you have a tendency to make bad ones.

“...no, I'm fine.”

“Good,” he says. “Let me know if you’re uncomfortable at all. I'm happy to move if you'd like.”

As if demonstrating, Suo shifts the leg you're sitting on, directly rubbing it against your core. You try not to shudder, feeling yourself get even wetter, clenching around nothing.

Trying to ignore how empty you are, you grasp for other topics of conversation, something to distract you. A little scrambled from the alcohol and catastrophically aroused, you of course land on the one that's been making your sex drive unmanageable.

“Remember a month ago,” you say, “how you talked about choosing who gets to touch me?”

“Yes.” His palm is warm against your thigh. He isn't moving it, so there's plausible deniability, but the amused tone of his voice suggests that he knows what he's doing. “Does that bother you?”

Of course it should bother you. It's a level of control that's appalling even to your anxiously-attached ass. But it’s also making you wetter right now. You try not to cry—from misery or sexual frustration, you're not sure.

“Well, yeah. Come on, Suo—even you should know that's really weird of you.”

“I do,” he says, smiling like he isn't admitting to deranged behaviour. “But how else am I supposed to know you're safe? Or even aside from being safe—if your needs are being met.” His hand runs up and down your thigh before settling at the hem of your dress. “I wouldn't want you to go unsatisfied. Who knows what kind of people you'd seek out if that happened.”

You actively stop yourself from putting your face in your hands. The gall of him saying this after forcing you into extended celibacy is beyond words, especially as you're being forced to rub up on him, effectively ruining every attempt you've made not to think about him sexually for the past several years. There are many materially consequential reasons for your decision to not fuck Suo—you should not be soaked through your panties, your thighs sticky with need, as you sit on his lap.

“That's,” you say lamely, “not very normal of you.” Trying for a less sensual conversation, you go for the reliable topic Sakura’s romance radar: “Also, if satisfaction was your concern, why did you choose Sakura? I love that guy a lot, but he has literally no experience. And I think he'd blue-screen trying to keep a friend with benefits. You know he can't handle a fuckbuddy.”

You are not trying to be mean. What Sakura objectively needs for his first time is someone sweet and emotionally competent and, most importantly, not an absolute freak like you. This is a failure of your character, not his.

You can hear Suo’s smile in his reply: “I don't think you're giving him enough credit.”

“He has the social skills of a feral cat.”

Suo genuinely laughs. “Sure, when he first came to Makochi. But he's much better now. Plus, you have no room to talk. I mean”—his breath sweeps over your ear—“you used to be pretty wild yourself. I've just domesticated you is all… though you've been misbehaving lately.”

His words do something horrible to you. Trying to distract yourself from the mounting sexual tension, you turn to him to give him a biting retort, but you're abruptly stopped by the look in his eye. Distinctly hungry and unrepentant in its desire, his gaze roams openly and shamelessly along the curves of your body.

You feel like you're being eaten alive.

Plenty of customers have looked at you in such a way when you wear this outfit, but none have had this effect on you—which is to say, making you clench immediately.

You try not to cry. You actually will cum on the spot at this rate, and you don't think you could be subtle about it. You're barely keeping it together right now, with how your pussy keeps fluttering and dripping. Coupled with the way that the alcohol is melting the edges of your self-control, you're shocked you haven't at least moaned yet.

In a last ditch effort to save your friendship, as well as your rental (house arrest) situation, you slap a hand over his mouth.

“Stop that.”

Suo laughs. He grabs your wrist, lifts your palm away. “Why?”

Why? Because if you keep talking like that, I'll bend over and start begging you to fuck me! you think. But even in your inebriated, horny state, it feels like a poor idea to admit this aloud. You end up saying, “Hostesses aren't paid to flirt like this. Strictly speaking, we’re paid to be conversational partners.” You frown at him. “You're breaking a lot of club rules right now.”

This reprimand backfires on you, as you are suddenly filled with intrusive thoughts of breaking every single rule in this establishment with Suo, including the ones preventing you from climbing on top of him and riding him raw. You squirm at the thought, wishing you could close your legs rather than making a mess of your underwear (now a lost cause), but Suo’s grip stays firm on your waist.

He, himself, is unbothered by your scolding. “Okay,” he says simply. “Then I won't speak to you as a hostess. I want to speak to you, seriously, as a friend.”

His smile is so disarming, it makes you nervous. But he sounds earnest enough for you to be curious, and anyway, you're desperate for something to distract you from your wet cunt.

“Alright,” you acquiesce, “What do you have to say, as a friend?”

“I just have one question.”

“Sure. Shoot.”

His hand comes to rest in your thigh again. He leans in, breath so hot against your ear that your heart jumps.

“I can accept that you wanted to see customers just to satisfy your urges. But tell me why you didn't come to me first.”

You freeze up. Look at him, wide-eyed.

“Wh-what?”

Suo just smiles. Looks so fucking innocent you wonder if you misheard, but his voice is sharp when he replies: “Let me put it another way. Why have we never slept together?”

For some reason, you’ve never thought that he'd ask you this question point blank, even though you've asked it to yourself many times. It takes you several moments to piece together a response, during which Suo’s expression turns distinctly wicked. A sign that he smells blood.

“Why would you think we would have?” you ask carefully.

“Because we’ve both clearly thought about it. You especially.”

You try to keep a straight face. “No I haven't. I don't know what you're talking about.” You raise a brow. “How would you even know?”

“Because,” he says, hand inching up your thigh, “you’re so wet that I can feel it.”

You're mortified.

Shame floods your body, first because of the accusation, and then because you know it's true. You were tipsy enough not to think about this, but now—sobering up from sheer panic— you're acutely aware of how you've soaked through the fabric beneath you. Something that Suo had certainly known, and chose to encourage.

What a horrible man.

When you don't reply, he tilts his head. “Don't tell me you haven't noticed. Do you want me to show you?”

His hand is moving so slowly, you know he's giving you another out. You could easily get off his lap. You could even slap him and call him a sleazy drunk and grouse at him to go home. You could forgive him in the morning for coming onto you and say he'd obviously made an inebriated mistake, as opposed to a very calculated decision. Your friendship would stay mostly intact. His grip on you might tighten, but that would be fine. You would still get to stay with him.

And that's all you've ever wanted. Just to stay with him.

But you're so wet, so empty, so aching. You want to be touched. You want to be touched by Suo, and only by Suo. You want to be fucked by him, to be owned by him, to be ruined by him. You’ve wanted it so badly and so long that you can't even remember when it started—only that you want it to end.

So instead of moving away, you sit there and endure the humiliation of getting your cunt inspected by him.

Suo hums as he opens your legs. You suppress a whimper as a finger moves along your folds, at the noise it makes as it runs through your slick. “Look, you’re so wet,” he murmurs into your ear. He finds your clit—swollen, neglected, and you whimper as he starts to draw slow, lazy circles around it. “Poor thing.”

“It’s only because you had me grinding on you the whole night,” you say through gritted teeth. “It doesn't—ngh—doesn’t mean I’ve been wanting to fuck you.”

You sound pissed enough that you'd convince anyone else, but you know, even without seeing his face, that Suo can tell you're bullshitting.

“You’re not a good liar,” he remarks. A fine teacher even when humiliating people, Suo can't help but add, “If you have to tell a lie, at least come up with a believable one.”

“What makes it unbelievable?” you reply, words clipped off by a sharp inhale as he starts rubbing your pussy.

“Well,” he starts nonchalantly, as if he isn't toying with your cunt, “after you were targeted in that succession conflict, I put hidden cameras in the area, and also in our suite.”

Your eyes go wide. Even in your aroused state, the implications are making you panic. “You—you what?”

“It was for security purposes,” he dismisses casually, as if he's not admitting to a serious invasion of privacy. “Only near the front door and the common areas. I just wanted to catch intruders and any suspicious behaviour from my men. But imagine my surprise”—you feel his fingers start to press into your cunt—“when I instead caught you fucking yourself on the couch and moaning my name.”

You’re mortified. Humiliated. Mind racing with every instance you were horny and stupid enough to touch yourself in a common space. You think about yelling at him about the cameras, but then you feel two fingers sinking into you, and now you aren't thinking about much at all.

Your mind goes blank as you're stretched open by him. Your cunt is so wet, so empty, but the feeling still makes you whine. Your brow furrows, and you give him a pleading look. Slowly, please.

“Don't worry,” he says in a soothing tone, “I know you can handle this. I've seen you take much bigger. Though”—he shifts, pulls you so you're in between his legs, and now you can feel the length of him against you, hard and aching and huge, what the fuck—“maybe not big enough.”

You tighten around his fingers as he grinds against you. You want him inside you so badly, it hurts. Suo laughs when he feels your desperation, and he sounds so amused that you can't help but feel ashamed. But even more than shame, you feel aroused. You take the rest of his fingers easily, down to the knuckle.

“What the fuck, Suo,” you eventually manage through your panting, though not with much bite. “You weren't—ahh—meant to see any of that.”

“Sorry,” he says, sounding deeply unapologetic. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn't watch much, and I deleted all of it. I didn't need to see that to know you have feelings for me.”

You tense. “What feelings?” you ask, and Suo stops. He pulls his fingers out of you—you breathe sharply at the loss—and manhandles you until you're straddling his lap. Forces you to look at him, into his one eye. It's knife-sharp, brutal, but familiar. You don't struggle, nor do you feel uneasy.

But you do feel like prey.

“Do you remember,” he begins, voice light, “how our master always talked about how important it is to engage with each other’s feelings?”

Fuck.

“No,” you blurt out, and Suo laughs.

“Of course not,” he plays along. “You were always so terrible at it. But I've been doing a bad job too, lately. So”—he reaches beneath your dress, hooks your thong with his fingers—“I wanted to have an honest conversation with you.”

He smiles at you. Actually looks kind and even sounds earnest. What a fucking sociopath. You allow him to slide your underwear down your legs, kicking them off. Now your pussy is completely bare to him, and you can hear the way his breath stops as he touches it again. Three of his fingers push in this time, and you pant openly at the stretch, leaning against him as your body trembles from the stretch. He flexes his fingers experimentally, watching your reactions—your whimpers, your sighs, the way your eyelashes flutter when he brushes that one spot inside you.

“I’ve always had feelings for you,” he starts, using that nonchalant, delicate tone—the specific one that suggests danger, “and I know you’re too smart to have missed that. I’d be fine with it if you didn't return them, but you do.”

“I don't,” you protest, and then his fingers curl and press into your g-spot. You're cut off immediately, gasping at the sudden wave of heat in your belly.

A hand comes up to your chin. He forces you to look at him. “I said I wanted to have an honest conversation, remember.”

“I–I am being honest, I—” Your voice breaks as he starts pumping his fingers. It's slow, gentle, but precise. Tension builds in you at an alarming rate, your thighs getting as slick and messy as his hand. You bury your face into the crook of his shoulder, breathe in his cologne and gasp into his skin, and your mind goes hazy from the euphoria of his touch. Sure, you've hugged Suo before, been held by him before, and god knows you've been touched like this by a ton of other people before—but it feels different now. It feels different when it's Suo who's touching you, different when you’re this close to him while he's drawing all this pleasure out of you. When one hand feels so good inside you and the other one is holding you so intimately.

“Suo,” you whimper, overwhelmed by hot tension in your belly, “I-I’m close, I’m close, oh fuck—

He stops.

Before you can comprehend what's happening, he’s withdrawing his fingers, and all the heat in you is melting away. Your orgasm lost, you come down from your high—nerves frayed, emotions taut.

“Suo,” you say, “what the fuck?”

He gives you a smile. It almost looks nice. “I'm not letting you cum until you tell me the truth.”

You’re going to cry.

You're so wet, so empty, so desperate, and now you feel oddly afraid. You don't like the way he's staring you down. You don't like this line of questioning, this bullshit of engaging with other people's feelings. You’ve never liked it. But you need—need—him to fuck you. You need his fingers inside you and you need to cry into his neck while you finish.

You say, very quietly, “Please, Suo.”

“Please, what?”

It's funny. You've performed begging and crying and submission for countless clients, sometimes during annoyingly rough sessions. You've done it for years. But nothing has ever felt so humiliating as this moment, when you ask your best friend, in the smallest voice possible, “Please touch me.”

“No. Not until you start being honest with me.”

Suo's mouth curls at the devastated look you give him. You hardly even notice that he's adjusting you, having you straddle his thigh again—this time, facing him. You don't register it until your cunt is pressed into the wet spot you left earlier and he's saying, “You can move if you'd like. But I'm not touching you.”

“You’re fucking horrible,” you say with all your heart, but your pussy is throbbing and you're desperate for release. So you finally do what you were desperately trying to stop yourself from doing the whole night—you start grinding on him. Like a fucking animal in heat. It's embarrassing, especially because his leg feels so good against you. The friction on your pussy makes you pant, your eyes squeezing shut as your clit finally gets some pressure. It makes up for the way he’s looking at you, which is sly, handsome, and rage-inducing all at once.

“You really do need to be touched,” he remarks softly. “You said your customers satisfied you. Was that true? Did they properly fuck you?”

“N-no,” you gasp. Your mind feels so cottony now that you're getting some relief. You can barely think, and definitely not enough to lie. “It was—it was—fuck, I never came.”

He hums, satisfied. “There—see? Telling the truth isn't so hard. You can do it again.”

He sounds so condescending. You would ordinarily hate it, but for some reason, it's going straight to your pussy right now, making you drip so much you know you've ruined his pants. You’re getting close, too, just by rubbing yourself on his leg. It doesn't feel quite as good as when his fingers were in you, but it’s something. And it’s making it hard to focus on what he's saying.

“It’s fine if you can't be honest about your feelings,” Suo continues. “Let's assume you're telling the truth, and all you want to do is fuck me. Why haven't you?”

You try to answer him, but you can't. You're too focused on the roll of your hips against his leg. There's too much tension, too much heat. You melt against him again, breathing heavily into his shoulder as you tighten around nothing. His hands come to your waist, as if grounding you, and somehow this makes everything feel even better. You start panting, babbling, I'm close, I'm getting close, Suo, Suo—

His grip tightens, and he stops you in place. You cry in frustration—no tears, but the noise you make is broken.

“Answer my question,” he says. You feel a hand glide along your bare skin, stopping at your inner thigh. “Answer me and I'll touch you.”

“Okay,” you say, as desperate as you are distressed. “Okay, I'll do anything. Anything.”

“Good.” He sounds so pleased.

You put your arms around his neck, for no reason other than you want to. Lifting your hips, you part your legs for him, and you feel so relieved at just the touch of his hand that you sigh—even though all he's doing is running a finger along your slick folds.

You shudder as his fingers play with your sex. Lean your head on his shoulder as he starts to move. You’re so desperate that you start grinding against his hand, whining for him.

“Well, then,” he murmurs. “Tell me why you didn't come to me. This is all you wanted, isn't it?” He rolls your clit between two fingers, making you squirm. “Just to get off, right? I could have done that. You'd have enjoyed it more.”

“It”—your eyelids flutter shut—“it would have been too complicated. Y-you’re my boss, and I pay rent to y-you, and we’ve been friends for so long, I didn't want to make it weird—”

Suo delivers a sharp slap to your pussy.

The contact is so sudden that you yelp. It only stings a little, but it makes your clit ache. The noise it makes is so wet, so filthy, telling of your desperation. And to your shame—even though you have never once in your life enjoyed being handled roughly by your customers—your cunt starts leaking in response.

You whimper, about to burst from frustration. You need to be touched so bad. You need to be touched by him so bad, and you need to cum on his cock or else you'll lose your fucking mind.

“Suo,” you complain, or beg, and you don't even realise that you're tearing up until he swipes his thumb under your eye.

“Try again,” he says gently, but not kindly. “The truth this time, and then I'll make you cum. Why didn't you come to me first? These past few months, or any other time?”

You don't answer him. “Suo, please—” And he moves back so that you're no longer leaning against him. Your lip trembles at the loss of the warmth, which somehow feels worse than the loss of your orgasm. An actual tear rolls down your cheek, and he doesn't wipe this one away.

“Answer me,” he says firmly. Instead of replying, you try to reach for him—wanting to be pressed against his body again, wanting him to draw pleasure out of yours again—but he stills you with his hands.

You feel devastated.

Out of horny, emotional desperation, and an all-consuming need to be fucked, you admit, “I was just scared!”

This is the worst mistake you've ever made.

The minute the words dislodge from your throat, you feel yourself choke up. You don't know why. All you know is that you suddenly can't hold back your tears from your sexual frustration, which for some reason is starting to feel distinctly like a non-sexual kind of angst, which is also strangely painful for your chest.

Because now that you've said it out loud, you can't ignore it.

You want to hide. You want to crawl out of his lap and run out of the establishment. Surely, the mamasan will forgive you for leaving a shift with such a frightening and horrible man, who is currently trying to extort your feelings out of you. But Suo’s grip is solid and unforgiving on you, and all you can do is squirm.

“Scared of what?” Suo asks. His voice has gone soft. Actually soft—not in a way that suggests danger, but a way that suggests you're loved. It makes you tremble.

His arms circle you, and one rubs at your back. It makes you relax very slightly. Or at the very least, it makes you stop wanting to bolt.

“What were you scared of?” he prompts again.

A feeling of defeat washes over you. Suo will figure you out sooner or later. He always does. So you tell him, very quietly, “I was scared that—that you'd leave me.”

You realise that you just stuttered. You stuttered because you're crying. You're actually, genuinely crying. Not from sexual frustration, but because you're just frustrated in general. And miserable. You've been chronically miserable for most of your life, and that misery has had nowhere to go until now.

You press your face into Suo’s shoulder, and he lets you. You breathe deeply in an attempt to stop crying, his cologne washing over you. It's nice, but what feels most comforting is just the scent of him. You're used to it from the days before he'd ever thought about using a fragrance, let alone a fragrance that would bankrupt the average person. It's calming, even when overlayed with ambergris and vanilla. Familiar.

Your breathing evens out a little—but only a little.

“Why would I leave you?” His voice is so kind, patient. More tears bead on your lashes.

“Because you might not want me anymore.” You sound so fragile. Shit, you are fragile. You can't stop the splintering feeling in you, the same one that ate at you two months ago when you thought he was going to leave you. “You could get tired of me or resent me or get bored with me. You could—you could want to throw me away, for no reason. Or—” You breathe in sharply, clinging to him harder.

“Or?”

“Or you could die—you joined the yakuza, so you could die. Why did you do that?” An actual sob leaves you. His shirt is getting wet. You ruined so many of his silk changshan like this in the past, when your boyfriend cheated on you and when your parents kicked you out and when you slept with your fifth customer.

And when your master died.

“I'm still so fucking mad at you for it,” you bite out around your tears. “If you got fucking killed—oh my god, I can't even think about it. I can't—I couldn't take it if—if I kissed you, and we had sex, and then I didn't have you anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re the only thing I have.” You squeeze your eyes shut, a terrible realisation hitting you. “And…”

“And?”

“And,” you say, voice breaking, “I think because I love you?”

You know it as soon as you voice it. You do love him. Not just platonically, but in the way where you want to hold his hand and kiss him and marry him. In the way a miserable nineteen year old girl is so in love with her miserable best friend that she refuses to leave him despite how terrifying he’s becoming. You loved him in this way before you realised you wanted to have sex with him, and even after that, you loved him so much that it didn't matter that he wasn't having sex with you.

You love him so much it disgusts you.

You want to hide, but Suo forces you to look at him. He brushes away your tears, cups your face. The Pavlovian response takes over: your heart rate slows, and you calm down.

“There,” he says gently. “That wasn't so bad, was it?”

He’s wrong. You bet he knows he's wrong. That was objectively one of the worst experiences of your life. You feel wrung out, tenderised. You never thought you'd say any of that. You're not sure you knew most of that.

But in Suo’s arms, plied open with his words and his hands, you actually find yourself shaking your head. You lean into the touch of his palm.

“I love you,” he continues, his tone so authoritative and calm that it leaves no room for doubt, “probably to the point that it should scare you. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” you say quietly.

“And we won't be separated. I won't allow anything to take you away from me. Do you understand that too?”

You make a noise, halfway between a relieved sigh and another sob. This declaration should not be a surprise from a man who’s effectively locked you up in his house. Still—your heart feels so light when you hear someone say, for the first time in your life, that they’ll stay with you no matter what. It's like Suo has just unearthed a weight that you didn't know you'd been carrying.

“I’ll try,” you reply, voice small.

“Good.” He strokes your cheek. “Do you want to keep going?”

It’s absurd. You just cried and confessed something terrifying. With anyone else, this would be an experience so horrifying that you'd leave right now and never come back. Your sexual desire should not just be gone, but permanently erased. At the very least, you shouldn't feel the slightest bit horny.

But somehow, being gutted by Suo hasn't left you feeling bad. It's left you feeling lighter. Kind of like you've been purged. You feel exhausted, but in a malleable way. Dazed and relieved to be in his lap. Your thighs are still embarrassingly sticky, heart still embarrassingly wobbly, and you just heard him say that he loves you.

Now you want to hear him say it while he's cumming inside you.

“Yeah,” you admit immediately, pathetically. You sniffle.

“You're sure?” Another stroke. “I want to hear you say it clearly. What do you want to do?”

Your dignity is gone. “I want you to fuck me.”

He smiles. A fond hum leaves him. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and you feel a flutter in your belly. “I'll take care of you now.”

He kisses you this time, before he touches you. On the neck, on your jaw. You bare your nape to him, shivering at the feeling of his lips on your jugular, at his nipping teeth on your skin. You realise he's leaving marks, and with each one, you shudder. It feels so intimate. You're on a rooftop bar, in a skanky hostessing dress, crying and strung out—but this is the closest thing you've ever gotten to one of your fantasies about him. Not the nasty ones that you think about when you're home by yourself, but the ones you think of when you're in bed with various salarymen. The ones where you get to lie with him in bed and press your lips to his.

“Suo,” you start.

“Hayato,” he corrects you. “You're my fiancée now, remember? We should be on a first name basis.”

Your stomach flips. “Hayato,” you try again, breathless. “Please.”

He takes a moment to reply, busy sucking another mark into your skin. “Please, what?”

You hesitate. Suo pulls back, looking at you. You whine, feeling shy all of a sudden. You flirt for a living and yet you feel embarrassed about your request. It's humiliating.

“Please, what?” he repeats. His mouth is curled in a smile, and you can't tell whether it's endeared or entertained. “Please let you cum? Please fuck you?”

“Please kiss me,” you say, in a small voice.

Suo pauses.

“What?”

“Please kiss me,” you beg. Close to tears again, for some reason you don't know. You think it surprises him as much as it does you.

It takes him a moment to recover, but when he does, he gives you a look that’s fucking ravenous.

His thumbs away the wetness from your eyes. “You're so cute sometimes. Did you know that?”

You flush. Plenty of customers have called you cute, but none have had you feeling so indignant nor shy.

“I’m not,” you reply, “and stop that.”

“But it's true. And I want you to know it.”

Suo presses his mouth to yours before you can respond. You're so eager for him that you part your lips immediately. Your instinct is to make your first kiss with him messy and desperate, but he’s in full control, and he’s taking his time. His tongue is careful and precise. Full of intention. His lips are slow, languid, and lazy, like he's savouring the taste of you. A hand plays with the strap of your dress. You feel him slide it off your shoulder—the other one quickly follows—but you’re so absorbed in his kiss, you hardly pay attention.

You're vaguely aware of the breeze against your bare chest. One of his hands moving up, feeling out your curves. He hums into your mouth when his fingers ghost over your nipples, and they harden under his touch.

“Suo,” you whine as he teases them, and he pinches one of them, watching as you squirm.

“Hayato,” he corrects you promptly, and you give him a worn, teary look.

“Hayato.”

“Yes?”

“I need more,” you say quietly.

He smiles, clearly enjoying your desperation. “Be patient,” he teases you. “I’m getting there.”

He kisses a line along your jaw, down your neck. Traces your collarbone with the path of his mouth, works his way down to your breasts. At the same time you feel the heat of his tongue on your nipple, his hand reaches between your legs. You're so wet already that he doesn't need to work you open again—just sinks his fingers inside you until you're sighing for him.

You discover that when he's not antagonising you, Suo is frighteningly efficient with pleasuring you. He learns quickly how you like your tits played with, and how to fuck you so well with his fingers until you're gushing around them and keening. He said he'd take care of you, but you think he's mostly forcing all this pleasure from your body for his own enjoyment. There's no other explanation for how he keeps bringing you to the edge and pulling you back, swallowing each of your whines and complaints with his mouth. The only time he isn't kissing you is when you're begging—and you don't miss the way his breathing deepens every time you do.

But no matter how much you beg, he isn’t letting you cum.

“Look at the mess you're making,” he murmurs as he plays with your cunt. You're sitting between his legs again, your back against his chest. You can feel the length of his cock against your ass, and you hear how his breath hitches every time you squirm against it. Except for that one tell, he sounds completely unaffected by what he's doing—forced you to open your legs wide for him, spread your glistening folds to tease you. The leather beneath your ass is wet, ruined by your need.

“Hayato,” you whine.

“Just a little longer,” he promises, “and then I'll let you cum.”

Your mind is so fogged with pleasure at this point that you can't focus on anything other than Suo’s touch. You’ve actually forgotten where you are—not a truly private space, but part of a club. The girls would normally only come up if you put in an order, but you haven't for a while now.

Long enough for someone to check on you without warning.

You tense as soon as you hear the door open. You recognize the server—she knows you well, by face, stage name, and real name. Your eyes go wide as she calls for you. You try to sit up, close your legs, but Suo grabs one of your thighs and forces it open.

“Suo, wait—”

You whimper, incapable of words when his fingers push into you again. He starts fucking you with them, and in earnest this time—curling his fingers until they're pushing into your g-spot, doing it over and over and over. Your eyes roll back and you stop struggling, and Suo takes the opportunity to touch you with his other hand too, playing with your clit. A strangled moan leaves you as the heat in your gut ratchets up. Pleasure swells in your belly; you feel like you're going to burst.

“Suo,” you cry, tears pricking your eyes, “wait, wait, my coworker—wait, I think—I think I'm gonna—”

“Go ahead,” he says into your ear, voice silky, and he pushes against your sweet spot in a way that gives you no choice but to obey him.

You cum so hard that you squirt all over the seat. Your whole body is wracked with intense pleasure—hips bucking violently, legs twitching, crying so loudly and shamelessly that your coworker naturally hears. She catches you spread wide open in Suo’s lap, his fingers deep in your messy, swollen cunt as you drench them.

Her tray clatters to the floor.

Fighting the mindless haze that your body is in, you glance at the other girl, whose hand is over her mouth. She looks appalled. She’s going to yell at you. But then you then watch, in real time, as her eyes travel to your customer’s face and she realises who he is. If she was red when she saw the two of you, she's now a pale white.

“Did you come to check on us?” Suo asks. He sounds amused. She flinches at his voice, and actually takes a step backward. “We’re fine for now. We’ll order something in a bit, and call you up here as usual.”

“O-okay,” she says, voice high and tense. “I—I’ll leave you two, then. Please—please enjoy yourself, sir. We'll be available in case you require any other services.” And she walks away briskly, almost in a run. She doesn't even bother to stop the expressly forbidden act that you're engaged in.

Once she’s gone, Suo allows you some dignity. He pulls his fingers out of you, lets you catch your breath.

“Oops,” he says. “It’s too bad they caught us. I suppose they won't want to keep you on as an employee, since you broke such an important rule.”

You stare at him, wide-eyed. Your emotional and sexual pliability quickly dissipates, replaced by disbelief.

“You—you did that on purpose,” you say between pants, too fucked out to be truly angry, but still appalled.

Suo raises a brow, gives you an innocent look. “Did I? I was just making you cum, like you've been begging all night. It was just unfortunate timing.” He then smiles, which makes him look incredibly kind despite the apparent sadism of his person. “But it's fine. They're going to fire you for this, but you know my club will always take you back.”

You close your eyes and groan. “You’re horrible.”

“I am, aren't I?” Suo puts his arms around you, kisses you on the shoulder, his voice getting low. “But this is a better arrangement, don't you think? You won't need to see customers this way. Every time you need relief, you can come upstairs and I'll give you my cock instead.” He grinds against you, letting you feel how hard he is, and you whimper. He laughs, probably entertained at how desperate you sound. “Or maybe I'll just make you take it whenever I feel like it. I think at the end of every shift makes sense, doesn't it? Since that's how often you've been touching yourself on the couch.”

“S-suo.”

“It’s Hayato now, remember. What is it, dear?”

He sounds so smug, mocking you. You should be furious. But in your fucked out state, all you can focus on is the idea of being forced to take Suo's cock every night. Despite already being ruined, your pussy starts throbbing again. You squirm and press your thighs together, trying to get it to stop—you’re so fucking tired—and you bleakly realise that you can't control your body’s reactions around him. You're getting wet again. It makes you want to cry.

“Hayato,” you whimper, on the verge of tears.

“Ah, you addressed me properly. Good.” He’s so satisfied. “What is it?”

“I…”

“You?”

“I”—your voice is so small and embarrassed, you can hardly believe it—“I want you to fuck me.”

He feigns shock, as if he wasn't actively provoking this. “Really? But you just came.” A hand prods between your legs. You obediently spread them for him, and he checks your pussy with two of his fingers. You moan a little at the intrusion, but there's no resistance at all.

Your cunt, still dripping, tightens around him, and he laughs softly.

“You really do need a cock in you. Who knew you had such a needy pussy.” He curls his fingers. Probably feeling the way it makes you gush, delighting in the gasp it draws out of you. “No wonder you have to use that toy every day.”

You're about to die of embarrassment. “Hayato. Please just fuck me.”

Suo turns you so that you can look at him. He’s wearing a kind, benevolent face when he says, “No.”

“...what?”

“I'm not going to give you my cock.” He hums, contemplative. “Not for a while, I think.”

“B-but,” you say, genuinely upset, “but you were just talking about doing that at work.”

“Sure—after we get married. It's only proper, don’t you think?”

“What?” Your eyes are wide in disbelief. “You—you just made me cum with your fingers. In a public space.”

“Yes. But that's different from letting you have my cock. It wouldn't be gentlemanly of me to do that before we’re wedded.” He can't keep the amusement out of his voice as he bullies you. “I'm sure you can wait until the summer, right? Since that's the season you chose for us. August, I think you told Nirei.”

“Hayato—”

“Actually,” he muses, easily sliding a third finger into you, making your voice clip off in a whimper, “I think you shouldn’t be allowed to have anything in you until then. Except for my fingers and tongue, of course. But no toys, and no other men either. That definitely wouldn't be proper.”

“I'm going to,” you say spitefully—and tearfully. “If you don't fuck me right now, I will sleep with other people.”

“I don't think you want to find out the consequences if you do.”

“How would you even—ngh—know?”

“Good question.” He starts pumping his fingers, and to your horror, your cunt needily swallows them with each motion, your body as desperate as he's been saying. “I guess I'll need to check your pussy every night. See if it's been stretched out by someone else’s cock. Maybe upstairs in the lounge at the end of each night, so I'll know that you haven't fucked a customer during a shift. Clearly, it's not impossible that you would.”

You try not to sob. Not only are his words utterly humiliating, they're making you wetter. After fucking so many people in so many ways, you didn't know it was possible for you to feel this much shame during sex—but then again, shaming people is one of Suo’s specialties.

You give him the teariest look possible, because by now you've figured out that he likes seeing you cry. Sadistic motherfucker. You're happy to use it to your advantage though.

He gets that hungry look in his eye again. “Please, Hayato,” you beg, voice trembling with need, “I want more. I thought I was your beautiful wife already.” You grind your ass against his cock, and he inhales sharply. “Don't you wanna cum in your wife’s pussy?”

Suo stops, deeply affected—just as you guessed he'd be. After making you his fake wife in both his criminal life and his civilian one, it's painfully obvious that the man is obsessed with marrying you. You'd make fun of him if you weren't so horny. Or humbled.

He only allows himself speechlessness for a second. He hums soon after, delicately wiping the tears out of your eyes. “You've been good enough that I guess I can reward you. I won't fuck you, but”—he shifts away, and you can hear his pants unzipping—“I’m sure you'll enjoy yourself anyway.”

Suo wasn't lying earlier. His cock is bigger than any toy you've ever used. It's pretty, too. Curved and long and flushed at the head. Glistening with prespend, which has pearled up at the tip. You think you might be salivating. For a minute, you contemplate asking if you can feel it in your throat, but then Suo’s lying down and moving you on top of him. When his cock nudges at your folds, you can’t help your excitement. You squirm, trying to sink onto his length.

His grip tightens on your waist, stopping you.

You’re about to whine at him about this, but he doesn't give you the chance. “If you try to ride me,” he says, in a voice so cold that you know he's not joking, “I'm not touching you until we’re married, and I'm not letting you touch yourself either.”

“...”

With anyone else you'd call bullshit, but you know that Suo is both crazy and petty enough to actually achieve this.

“Okay.” You sound and feel mollified. “I'll behave.”

He smiles. “Good,” he says cheerfully. “Just stay like that, then. I’ll take care of you.”

You listen to him, mostly because you're incredibly excited about getting pussy inspections and you'll be devastated if it doesn't happen. And you don't expect it to be a big deal, anyway. While your sex drive has been a constant source of grief for you throughout your life, you don't really have problems controlling any specific impulses in bed when you truly need to. You’re used to giving your customers whatever they want and, if you're lucky, getting off from it. You figure this will be the same.

You find out very quickly that it isn't.

You need to stay still. You can’t sink down on him. Two easy orders that are extraordinarily difficult when Suo is the one beneath you. You have to actively stop your hips from moving when you feel the silky head of his cock press into your folds, which are still dripping with your slick. Suo’s breath hitches when he runs the tip along your opening, drawing wet noises every time his cock head catches on your needy hole, smearing his precum all over it. All you want is to push back on him and let your pussy swallow his cock. You’re aching for it, and you know he is too. If you sank down on him now, he'd lose control and fuck you raw until he was cumming inside you. And then he'd probably keep going after that, not letting you move until you were stuffed full and dripping with his spend. Both of you know it.

But you don't do that. You're good for him. You sigh, just trying to enjoy the feeling of his length rubbing against you. How he's twitching and throbbing against you, how he wants as equally much to be inside you—but pulls back every time. Your mind goes a little fuzzy with the drawn out, low hum of pleasure, and you close your eyes.

Then he starts pushing into you.

“H-Hayato?” You whimper at the intrusion, at being made to take something so thick without warning. “I thought you weren't gonna—”

“I'm not,” he says. His breathing is heavier, his words strained, but his voice is still commanding when he says, “Don’t move.”

Suo doesn't give you the whole thing, just the tip. It is much harder to control yourself like this—when you can feel yourself getting stretched by the head of his cock, already so fat and heavy, but you don't get filled up by it. It makes you aware of how empty you are, and how wet you're getting. You bury your face into his neck and make a noise that's both tearful and pathetic.

It's not acting when you whine, in a watery, miserable way, “Please, Hayato. I need your cum in me.”

It's probably the crying that gets him. He inhales sharply, thrusting maybe a little deeper than intended. You groan at the extra inch of cock, eyes rolling back, and can't help the way your pussy tightens and drips, trying to suck him in.

“Fuck,” he says, and then he pulls out.

He lays you flat on your back. Before you can get so much as a word out, he's between your legs and pressing his cock against your entrance. For possibly the happiest moment of your life, you think Suo is going to fuck you—but instead he starts pushing the slick head of his cock right against your neglected clit.

You aren't going to complain.

You whimper as he starts rubbing against your sex, leaving his prespend all over your swollen bud. It makes you squirm, grinding yourself against it, and you press your legs together to get some more pressure for the both of you. Soon his cock is sliding between your thighs, getting them all sticky with his prespend. You can feel the length of him hot and slick against your folds, heavy and throbbing.

You've never cum like this before. It was never enough stimulation when your customers made you do this, which nearly all of them have. But the pressure on your clit and on your folds is shockingly intense as the two of you move, enough to make you whimper as a familiar tension builds. It's not as overwhelming as when his fingers were inside you, but it's enough for you to start panting at the tension in your belly. You can hear Suo’s breath picking up as you start to whine, and he watches you, almost predatorial, as another orgasm crashes over you. You moan his name as you cum, squeezing a few more tears out of your eyes.

He stares at your flustered, wet face as he pushes the head of his cock against your entrance again, fisting himself as it flutters and drips in the aftershock of your orgasm. Suo’s been hard for so long, for the whole time he's teased and bullied you—you aren't surprised at how close he already is. Especially not when you start talking about how much you need his cum in you, how empty your pussy feels without it, how badly you want your husband to fill you up. All with your mascara smeared and your lip trembling, a sight that makes him throb.

Suo groans as he finally cums. You can feel his cock twitching, warmth spurting out onto your folds, and then into your pussy as he thrusts shallowly into you. You pull him down needily as he fills you, and he indulges you with a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.

When he pulls out, you can feel his cum drip out of you, all the way down to the couch. You make a happy noise at the mess he's made of your hole, giving him a lovestruck, dreamy expression.

“You should do that every night after you're done checking my pussy,” you sigh.

Suo’s mouth curls, and breathes out a kind of laugh. He holds your face, and one of his tassels brush against the shell of your ear as he presses his forehead to yours. “I’ll do it if you're good for me.”

“I’ll be on my best behaviour until our wedding night,” you promise, voice affectionate.

Suo gives you a fond look. His expression is so sentimental. You think he’s going to say something sweet.

“Alright,” he replies. “Then be good for me and keep the rest of that inside you, okay? Let’s not make a mess of these floors. I don't want to get blacklisted from this club.”

You open and close your mouth, completely speechless.

“You're fucking horrible,” you say with all your heart, and he laughs and kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you. He doesn't stop until you're placated and horny again.

Suo takes his sweet time pushing his cum into you as deeply as possible, saying that it's to make sure you don't lose any of it, but really so he can draw another orgasm out of you. Knowing that the mamasan might take pity on you and think that you were coerced into degrading sexual acts by a terrifying yakuza client, he makes sure to order a drink beforehand, calling up a server. (I don't want to be a bad patron, he hums as he looks at the tablet, and I said I'd get you to the number 1 ranking, right?) It subsequently looks, sounds, and is completely consensual when you're found pulling at Suo’s hair, keening as he fingers his cum into you while sucking on your clit.

This leaves you with no hope of continued employment on all of Keisei Street.

To add insult to injury, you do make a mess of the floors, despite Suo’s conscientious efforts to avoid this—though it's not as bad as the one you left on the couch. You also can't find your thong anywhere, which you guess is something else that the mamasan won’t appreciate when she finds it. Still, for the rest of the night, everyone shows Suo nothing but the utmost respect and highest quality customer service. They even ask how he found your company and if he has any feedback for you. He praises your conversational skills, karaoke abilities, and how capable you were in catering to his many needs. He also lets them know that you'll be resigning.

Hanzo and Shuuhei are waiting to pick you up, bringing the Rolls Royce with the privacy suite. This time, Suo doesn't use it to interrogate you; he instead uses it to kiss you and tease you and discuss wedding plans. If it'll be indoors or outdoors. If you'll have a big reception or a small one. If it'll be a traditional wedding, or if you’ll want a Chinese one like the one your master would have maybe liked to see. You settle on having a Shinto ceremony and a Chinese-style reception. Having been raised Chinese, whenever Suo imagined marrying during his teenage years, you were always in a red qipao. His master even once told him that if he managed to win your heart, he'd organise a tea ceremony and act in the role of Suo’s father.

After disclosing these facts (the first of which makes your heart weak, and the second of which leaves it aching), he asks about any long-standing things you've always wanted to do with him as a couple. If you had any silly or indulgent daydreams about your future with him, and what they were like.

“I don't know,” you admit. “I guess after you applied to teacher’s college, I liked the idea of marrying you, and doing all the domestic things you talked about. Though you were just joking at the time.”

You don't really expect him to remember much about this particular line of teasing. Sure, the man is currently obsessed with marrying you, and maybe he daydreamed about it a little bit when he was younger—but he mostly treated the idea as a funny joke when he was a teenager. All of the teasing has probably blurred together for him over the years. Certainly, it has for you.

But you've never been able to forget this particular memory. It’s one of those small, inconsequential moments that you find yourself incapable of letting go to this day. You loved hearing him talk about getting married, even though it hurt immensely that it was probably just teasing. You loved it because you wanted it. You wanted Suo to teach people because you knew he was good at it and it would make him genuinely happy. You wanted to stop working in the red light district and make a nice and safe home for Suo, just as he'd made a nice and safe home for you. And you wanted to marry him and kiss him and have sex with him and only him for the rest of your life.

You wanted it so badly, it still makes you heart ache to think about it.

He was definitely just teasing you, though. Suo was a sane person at the time, and sane people do not actually plan a marriage and life with someone before dating them or even fucking them. Most importantly, a sane person wouldn't hold onto such a silly joke for so long. Oh, you expect him to say, laughing. You're right, I had nearly forgotten.

But all he does is give you a smile. It's one of his strange, enigmatic ones.

“No, I was quite serious about it,” Suo says, looking right at you.

You stare at him.

“Really?”

“Really.”

He's being so straightforward, so earnest. Your typical reaction would be to feel flustered, sentimental—but something about his expression and tone bothers you. But before you can suss out what it is, he continues, and the moment passes.

“Was there anything else you ever wanted to do?” he asks smoothly.

You're startled, off-guard. “Oh, um… not really. I never let myself think too much about it.”

“Come on,” he prods. “There must be something.”

“No, I really didn't think of any ideas on my own. Although…”

Your face gets hot as you trail off. Suo senses weakness, and goes in for the kill.

“Although?”

“It's too embarrassing,” you admit, looking away, and Suo looks a little too interested as he pesters you for an answer.

“Come on, it's fine.” His mouth curls in a way that tells you it's not fine. “I promise I won't judge you. I just want to know what I can do to make you happy as your husband.”

You give him an uncertain look, and say your only concrete fantasy about him so quickly and quietly that he misses it.

“Pardon?” he asks.

“...romantic, vanilla sex.”

Suo blinks. “What?”

Your face burns with humiliation.

“I used to think about having romantic, vanilla sex with you. When I was a teenager. A lot.” Said as if you weren't just thinking about it two months ago in a love hotel, and still don't want it now. You wouldn't even bring it up if you didn't think it was necessary. But unfortunately, you're professionally skilled at perceiving people’s sexual interests, and you've perceived that Suo is sexually a freak. He was definitely going easy on you tonight, and is probably actively planning to get worse. You'll never have normal sex with him unless you explicitly state a desire for it.

Suo gives you a surprised look. “That's… a very mundane fantasy.”

“It wouldn't have been mundane to me,” you reply, somewhat defensively. “I used to think about it when I slept with my customers, who weren't very romantic. Or vanilla. So I didn’t really have a good reference point or anything for that kind of sex, but sometimes I still thought about doing it with you after they had left.”

You look away after saying this, wondering why you disclosed all of that. It certainly wasn't necessary for your dream of someday taking Suo’s cock without being psychosexually tortured first. Now you feel like you need to hide. You even think about excuses for stopping the car, and ponder again how difficult it would be to live without proof of identity, if you chose to run away.

But Suo doesn't let you run. He pulls you close to him, wrapping you up in his warmth.

“It's okay,” he says gently, in a voice that reminds you of how he was in his old Furin days. “You'll be okay. I'll make sure of it.” It confuses you deeply, and you turn to ask him what the fuck he's going on about.

You don't even realise you're crying until he starts kissing away your tears.

You can’t understand why you’re weeping. Maybe something strange and hormonal happened while you were having sex, like Suo made you orgasm too hard and all the oxytocin is making you depressed now. Though you think that hormone is supposed to make you happy. You're not sure. You never finished school, so you wouldn't know.

Whatever the reason, you hastily wipe away your tears. A hand rubs at your back, and you let yourself press your face into his shoulder.

“Sorry,” you say quickly.

“Don't apologise. You don't have anything to be sorry for.”

You hesitate as you breathe against the silk threads of his shirt, thinking about how many of his shirts you've ruined with your tears. At least three changshan and one Versace summer piece, by your count. It’s not like he hurts over the money these days, but guilt tugs at your heart.

“I don't know about that,” you mumble into his shoulder. And it takes a while to work yourself up to saying it, but eventually you whisper, with full honesty, “I'm sorry for always worrying you.”

“I know,” Suo says. He sounds sincere when he says, “I’m sorry too.”

“I’ll try to be better from now on.”

“You will be. And even if you aren’t, that's fine.”

For some reason, that makes your heart squeeze.

You melt against Suo after that, listening to the steady roll of tires and passing traffic outside. There's a gentle pitter patter of rain against the car roof, tinny and rhythmic, that gradually crescendos into a proper storm. The windshield wipers squeak against the glass. All of the noise is lulling you into a kind of peace, or maybe you're just feeling that way because Suo is holding you.

Fatigue wears your consciousness, and you close your eyes. The hustle and bustle of the red light district grows distant, faint—partly from slipping in and out of your dreams, and partly from the quieting world outside. It's now completely silent other than the heavy rainfall. You think they must be taking the road through Makochi. Suo asks for it whenever he wants you to sleep well.

He probably thinks you're asleep when he says, “I’m sorry for being how I am now.”

You almost stop breathing. Almost.

“You didn't fall in love with me when I was like this, so you must not like it very much,” he continues. “I know that Master wouldn't like me much either, if he were alive. He always said that you should support your loved ones until they can stand on their own two feet. But lately, I feel like all I've been doing is breaking yours.”

He sighs. The sky groans with distant thunder.

“Sakura knows who I really am, you know,” he says quietly. “I think he's worried about what'll happen to you if we get married. Though he’s been worried about you for a while.” Suo almost sounds endeared when he adds, “Did you know he only texts me now to ask if you're okay? He really does love you.”

He’s more sombre when he continues, “But Nirei is just afraid of me. That’s why he’s never around. He’s going to call you in a week and tell you not to go through with the wedding. He’ll probably tell you to leave me too. It’s good advice.”

It's hard to keep your breathing slow, with how badly your heart hurts.

“I’ve tried to go back to how I was, to the kind of person that Master was trying to raise,” Suo confesses. “But I don't think I can get better.”

But even if you can't, you want to tell him, that’s fine. You wish you could hold him how he's always held you.

“It doesn't usually upset me nowadays,” he admits after some time, “how I am now. But to be honest, talking about our school days did make me feel bitter, because I can't give you the things I know you wanted.”

He kisses the top of your head. Gently, so as not to wake you from your dream.

“I'm sorry I never became a teacher. I'm sorry I joined the yakuza. I'm sorry I can't give you a normal life. And I'm sorry I can’t have an honest conversation with you.”

Silence. You feel his chest stop briefly, his breathing deepen.

“Maybe someday, I'll get better enough to say these things to you while you're awake. Maybe someday, I'll even get better enough to let you leave. It would be best for you.”

His voice gets even softer. Tender.

“But for now, I don't know how to let you go.”

You feel a hand shifting away, the soft noise of leather against skin. Then both arms around you again, even warmer, even tighter. He’s leaning his head against yours. You think Suo is falling asleep.

Allowing yourself a single, quick glance at the car, you peer at your reflections in the rearview mirror. You see sheets of rain sliding against the back window, his dark lashes pressed to his skin, and all the scar tissue he likes to keep hidden away.

And you can see, very clearly, tears beneath his missing eye.

END 'TOKYO VICE'

hi everyone thanks for reading this chapter!!!! i hope it didn't disappoint after all the shitposting i did about it this week lol

can i just say. this was straight up the weirdest sex scene I've ever written HASLKFJSDF and the mood whiplash throughout this was probably the craziest i've ever written within a single piece. unfortunately, this reader copes with her trauma via humour and sex and it really shows rip. i hope it wasn't too offputting!

thank you to everyone who left a comment on part 1!! please do let me know if you enjoyed part 2 as well. <333

tagging @kweenkatsuki-fics and @stuckindreamland06!

[slyandthefamilybook]

so this is something that's been on my mind for a while. I wish I could make a big magnum opus post on it but I don't have the energy

I've noticed in my travels that antisemitism seems to be one of the only forms of bigotry that's not self-evidently wrong. People may think they think it is, but I don't think they do. Every time antisemitism comes up as a topic, I see Jews sharing posts with twin explanations: one on why something is antisemitic, and one on why that's a bad thing

I've seen this a lot, and have fallen into it myself, although recently I've been trying to stop. On a post about Bibi changing his last name to "sound more indigenous": "Imagine if someone said this about Black people". On a post blaming Jews for what Israel does: "Imagine if someone said this about Chinese people". On a post accusing Jews of owning too many industries: "Imagine if someone said this about Asian people".

There was a post that went around claiming the IDF harvested the organs of Palestinians with very little evidence. (There are some great posts debunking that but that's not what this post is about.) I remember looking through the comments and one of them stuck out to me. I can't remember the wording exactly, but it went something like: "Israel heard about blood libel and thought why don't we just do that?". Ignoring the fact that blood libel is about the accuser, not the accused, this comment played over and over in my head. I thought about it as I went to sleep that night. Here was a person admitting that the thing they were saying has a strong resemblance to blood libel, but saying it anyway. It struck me that the underlying thought here was "it's not blood libel if it's true".

Once I realized that, I was stunned. I suddenly heard right-wingers in my head saying "it's not racist, it's just a fact that on average Black people have a lower I.Q.". And suddenly everything clicked into place. I know it might seem like an elementary idea, but it genuinely had never occurred to me

In the eyes of bigots, racism protects power. Antisemitism protects truth.

I've often said that all conspiracy theories eventually lead back to the Jews, and this newfound realization fit in nicely. A popular neo-Nazi slogan I've seen recently is "the goyim know". This idea that Jews have something to hide has saturated the political spectrum

Antisemitism is itself a conspiracy theory.

I realize that makes it sound like I don't think antisemitism is real. That's not what I'm saying, it absolutely is. But the way people talk about it is unlike how they talk about any other form of racism. The Jews are a shadowy cabal, who meet in secret to deplatform people who dare speak out against them. This is something we see on the right and the left, from Kanye accusing the Jews of destroying his career, to leftists accusing the "Zionists" of controlling social media.

Spouting antisemitism now becomes a moral good, a political necessity. It's the most important thing in the fight for truth

I understood then, why people on the left are so comfortable calling out accusations of antisemitism as "frivolous", "unserious", "over-used". How they think people are using antisemitism to silence them. You can't just say something is antisemitic and walk away. It won't stick. You also have to sit there on your computer for the next 2 hours, looking up sources to debunk their claims. You have to appeal to the truth. With any other form of bigotry, it's understood by leftists that whatever the facts may be, they don't excuse racism. The number of Black Americans who commit crimes doesn't justify saying Black people are all criminals. The number of First Nations people who own casinos doesn't justify playing off that stereotype. But when it comes to the Jews, it's open season. You can say anything you like about the Jews, as long as you think it's true. Being told that it's antisemitic isn't enough.

This is a great example of just that. "Yes it's antisemitic, but it's also true." The accusation of antisemitism becomes an accusation against the truth. So when it comes to people who really believe in what they're saying, it all just bounces off. This is why people never seem to learn. They hop from conspiracy theory to conspiracy theory. As long as someone assures them it's all true, the bigotry doesn't really factor. They apologize not when confronted with their own racism, but when confronted with the facts.

In this way, antisemitism has become baked into society, especially Christian societies. Because why wouldn't it? Yes, the Jew is greedy, yes the Jew is sneaky, yes the Jew is bloodthirsty. But the Jew is above all a liar. They lie about their names, their culture, their history, their victories, their defeats

I wish I knew how to end this post. Some sort of call to action, some idea of how to fix this going forward. But I have no idea. I suspect if I did, we might not all be quite where we are right now

[schlong2]

latest fix rant time

none of my friends want to talk to me about monkey movies and then i remembered i have a whole blog dedicated to my latest fixations so. i've watched Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes two (TWICE ✌️) times in theaters. this was after watching the newer trilogy (Rise, Dawn & War) and the first 1968 original in prep.

things (SPOILERS!!!):

Kingdom's run time is 2 hours and 25 minutes. this is incredibly long for a movie. compared to 1968's 1 hour and 52 minutes, that's a half hour difference. Infinity War was 2 hours and 36 minutes for reference. that's a whole marvel cinematic convergence, but ape. the run time isn't exactly the issue i've seen talked about. it's the pacing. sitting twice through this movie was not a problem for me. i sat there engaged all the way through. on the second watch, i tried to be mindful of times in which it might have been dragging for the average person, and i like, literally couldn't find any. pretty much every scene had meaning and didn't drag imo. which is something these newer movies do extremely well. Kingdom is pretty equally split between verbal communication and sign language compared to the first three before it. the apes use both verbal and visual cues to talk. but because they don't talk every single time, it makes every moment that they do feel special. it reminds me of the Quiet Place concept, where most of the movie you only hear a human voice a few select times when it's safe to do so. Rise, Dawn, & War were kind of like this, as Caesar only really spoke when he was trying to make a point or communicating to humans, who are mostly speaking in those movies. he speaks more as he gets more fluent, and by War, he can speak very well. we see other apes like Koba, Maurice, Blue Eyes, and Bad Ape also speak English. these moments are rationed pretty well throughout Kingdom, making the dialog more select and meaningful. this makes every time these beasts talk feel like it means something and isn't just fluff to fill your ears. every other scene feels like it's building or showing a side of a character we hadn't seen before, and the scenes between those advance the plot or are like, really action-packed. i just don't see why some people say it has pacing problems. it's just long. i understand the average person's attention span is super short, but when you're sitting down to watch two and a half hours of movie, you gotta know there's gonna be downtime. moments where they're not fighting or advancing the plot. and i think that's GOOD man. but im also not one for action/adventures very much so maybe that's it? i think a lot of people maybe watch these apes for the violence and conflict rather than their introspection, genuinely thoughtful world building, and complex characters. and hey, that's completely fine to enjoy, but POTA is originally about morals and asking the audience questions and posing dilemmas to popular beliefs at the time. ok

Raka. he's great. Peter Macon has this butter smooth voice that's just perfect for the kind of character he plays. you can't help but like him. but he dies like 1/3 into the movie and is really only there to religion dump about Caesar (ape jesus) and then he's swept away. people are complaining that that's all he was really there for. to explain the real values of Caesar and provide a foil to Proximus. and i agree to some degree. i really hope he's not actually dead. his presence and death are felt throughout the movie, as both Mae and Noa (mostly Noa vocalizes it, Mae just silently shares in his loss and i think cries at one point?) seem to mourn him, saying shit like "if Raka were here..." and especially at the end when Noa gives the Caesar pendant to her. it's the shared memory of Raka and what he devoted his life to. but they never really like, actually linger on his death. there's a moment after he's swept away, and the shot stays on the rushing waters, Raka no longer visible and plays some sad tunes, but like. C'MON. he's not really dead. he isn't please tell me he isn't PLEASE

Noa isn't Caesar. i honestly do not get why you would want otherwise. of course, he isn't Caesar. we don't need another Caesar. he had a whole three movies to be the center of. i would be extremely disappointed if they just made a carbon copy of him or made Noa like a direct descendant of him or whatever. i hate that Chosen One bullshit. Caesar was just a guy that wanted peace for his people and that got him killed in the end. Noa is also a guy who wants peace for his clan. they're both leaders and have good hearts, but like. they're different characters. i LIKE that Noa has no relation to Caesar, i LIKE that he's his own character with his own ideals and purpose. Owen Teague does a wonderful job making the character his own. i mean Andy Serkis is Andy fucking Serkis. pretty big shoes to fill and i think Teague has the right foot size you know. i heard one guy say like "we've had our time to mourn Caesar" and yeah. we have. let's accept that and move on

WHERE MY APE DIVERSITY AT. we get a fuck ton of chimps, ONE orangutan, ONE gorilla, and ONE bonobo. what the hell. i mean. what is with the bonobo villian. Koba i fucks with because bonobos are some of the most playful, nonviolent apes out there. that humanity and its cruelty could twist a naturally peaceful creature into what Koba became.. i mean, that's great. but again with Proximus? maybe trying to evoke some of the same energy and nuance Koba had? ALSO. GORILLA PSA they are like so sweet. all that muscle is there to protect their families, and they're strictly vegetarians. i feel like Rise, Dawn, & War portrayed this better with most of the gorillas getting bodyguard jobs because of all their bulk. especially when Luca tucks that flower in Nova's ear. man. and Red going out like he did. gentle giants. in Kindgom we just have Sylva. gorilla henchman for Proximus. that's it. then we have Raka, the one orangutan character that i saw. wise and knowledgeable, guides and accompanies Noa and Mae then dies. at least we get one female chimp character that's more than just wife or mother. wikipedia lists Soona as Noa's love interest, which i can totally dig, like it's there. he takes her to the telescope at the end of Kingdom, which is more than what we saw romance-wise between Caesar and Cornelia. and the only other important chimp female is Dar, Noa's mom. in Rise, Dawn & War there was usually only one of each species of ape assigned a main role, but we saw much more diversity it felt like. maybe that's because there were smaller in numbers and have since spread out in the last 300 years? also like, bonobos are known for having female-female & male-male sex. dont know about the other apes. my friend mentioned that Raka said something about having a male companion and promptly searched reddit. all they had to say was: gaype?

the visuals. dear god the visuals. this movie is just visually stunning. absolutely breathtaking. they did a great job. i mean Rise, Dawn, & War are all triumphs of cgi and are excellent examples of the animation style done right. i did hear some guy say there is a loss of texture, as mostly everything in Kingdom is cgi, from the characters to the landscapes. but there's an explosion of texture in this film. there's one point where Noa is covered in the ash of his village and you can see it on his fur. there's quite a couple water scenes where the moisture clings to the apes' fur. It's all very impressive. great work

the references!! Rise especially has a ton of them (IT'S A MADHOUSE!!! & GET YOUR STINKIN PAWS OFF ME YOU DAMN DIRTY APE), and names like Nova and Cornelius, but Kingdom... i picked up on at least three main instances, but im sure there are more. there's the scene where the apes are rounding up the feral humans, and its very reminiscent of the scene from 1968 where they're doing the same thing for sport. there's the scene where Mae is running in the field, and she jumps on that log structure to get to Noa, which is nearly identical to a similar scene in 1968. the scene when Noa, Soona, and Anaya are exploring the human bunker and they come across an old classroom. one of them picks up a doll that says a distorted "Mama" which was huge in the original because that was evidence that once man did speak, why else would he make a doll that talked? superb call backs to the og. respect what was there before

SCHLONG THEORY

here me out guys. the starring ape-human relationship in Rise was between Caesar and Will. this type of love is called storge and describes the love a child has for a parent as well as the love a parent has for their child.

the starring ape-human relationship in Dawn was ultimately between Caesar and Malcolm. which i believe is truly philia towards the end, the love between friends and allies. just two dudes trying to keep peace in the world.

in War, i mean Caesar well and truly hates the Colonel. like more than he's hated any human in his life before. close to mania, obsession. anyways it's a study on this type of relationship between an ape and a human. true, all consuming hate.

SO in the newer movies we've explored familial love, platonic love, and hate, between an ape and a human.

in Kingdom the main ape-human relationship is between Noa and Mae. and their relationship is complex. not really that friendly and certainly not familial. no trust. some kind of begrudging respect maybe? i just think it would be neat if in further installments they explored a romantic love between a human and an ape. ok.

i KNOW Noa and Soona are probably going to get ape married and they're never going to touch on the subject but i just find it hard to believe that in the last 300 years or so that's NEVER been heard of. apes have the same level of intimacy between each other as humans do in this universe and can willingly consent. what are you so afraid of wes ball

after all, the whole franchise is about how apes, when given intelligence, compare to humans and begs the question: how different are we really?

is it possible for an ape and a human to fall in love?

[proverbsss]

reading you right (father paul hill/john pruitt x reader) -nsfw

Father Paul Hill, Midnight Mass

prompt(s): "Me. You. Bed. Now." [from this post]

[Pt. 2 Out Now!! Linked Here :)]

anon: I had a normal amount of fun writing this, hope you enjoy :) i wanna do a pt. 2 because ofc i do,, honestly I got a lil hot n bothered lmao

notifs: paul hill is a tease!! ; shoe-grinding ; fluffy smut ; hierophilia ; you're father paul's dirty little secret ; denial ; reader begging ; reader's down HORRENDOUS ; terms used: good girl, slutty thing, pet

"You've been lying there moaning for ten minutes." Father Paul chuckles, trying to focus on his reading.

You feel your leg twitch as you lay on your stomach, looking a bit dazed across the room. A giggle escapes you. In your mind's eye a constant stream of images plays- every dirty thing you’ve done with Father Paul in the last 48 hours, a rare weekend’s reprieve from prying Beverly Keane, sitting bedside with her sister or aunt or who-the-hell cares on the mainland. It was too easy to sneak into the house behind St. Patrick’s, and too goddamn pleasurable to leave after the first night. A delightful ease of domesticity has settled over the two of you. And you’re even more whipped for the Father than you were when this whole messy arrangement began.

"I can't help it-"

"It's understandable to whine like a whore while I'm still inside you, but cooing like that when I'm not even touching you is a little ridiculous." Smug, he licks his finger and turns a page. "A man's ego can only grow so big."

“What are you reading?” you ask, completely uninterested, and your voice betrays it. You might enjoy a good book now and again, but something worlds more tempting is sitting before you. In his jeans and tee shirt, only his glossy ankle boots remaining, Paul is a rare sight out of uniform, like something sent from heaven. Or Hell. Both, somehow.

“You asked me that fifteen minutes ago. Or did you forget already?” He shoots you a disapproving, but playful look. He can hardly resist you more than you can him. Hardly. There is that last smidgeon of reserve that Paul prides himself on. He can’t be bothered to think of you as a sin, because life’s become far, far more complicated in the last few months than any one man can hold in his head, and because it feels like paradise to touch you.

Caught in your inattention, you abandon the ruse of asking about his book. "You fucked me too good...." You whine.

"You're going to complain about it?" He laughs at you.

"You're laughing at me." 

"Of course I'm laughing at you," he admonishes. Not to be taken in by your wiles, Paul's eyes trace the paragraph he's started unsuccessfully three times.

"You whine before I fuck you, you whine while I fuck you, and you whine after I've fucked you. You're silly."

The vision renews itself in your mind of last night creeping around in here, your excitement waiting in the antechamber of St. Patrick’s late at night, Paul sneaking up on you in the dark and taking you in that muggy little den where they keep the wine and spare things. You want him to grunt against your ear like that again, to fuck you like he needs you in order to breathe.

"I'm not silly!" You gasp out. He hears the difference in your voice and scans your body with his eyes. Grinning. He licks his bottom lip and pretends the fool. “I want it, please, I want it, I don’t caaaare…” Your caterwauling would be annoying if it wasn’t so bone-deep genuine. Paul could probably keep you here forever as a pet, a secret from innocuous parishioners, visitors from all walks of life, and you’d be satisfied as long as he used you from time to time. Fed you.

“Oh, that’s undignified.” He smiles, turns the page and hopes he can pick up without the aid of the passage his mind simply refused to retain.

You get on all fours and start to crawl over to him. You tug on the leg of his jeans, utterly debased.

“You’re insatiable, you know that?” his tongue flicks and flutters around the word in a musical way that you know you could find better uses for. You nod. His voice. He could guide you anywhere with it. To make things worse, he imitates you. The facsimile of your lust in his voice is enough to make you jump him. “‘Father, I can't focus on my book....Father, please fuck me with your fingers, I can't without it, I need it...I told you pack things to stay because I imagined I’d be enjoying some downtime other than between my sheets.'"

You bite your lip, the adoring way you look up at him unfairly reminiscent of Biblical portraiture, the Madonna (too ineffably ironic), Saint Lucia, devout, suppliant little succubi. Paul’s heart breaks a little, and his cock twitches with interest, which he endeavors to suppress. 

“What’s that look for, child?” He plays up the religious bent of your dynamic, something that presses inexpressibly sinful and delicious buttons in your dirty mind. 

"I do need you."

You pout. Your words with Paul repeating them was enough to rev your proverbial engine. You shift just the littlest bit, yet the friction of the floor underneath you is enough to tease out a whimper. Not totally on purpose, but not totally by accident. John chuckles again. 

“Present tense?” He pretends to turn a page, but he’s not reading a damn thing now.

"I need you all the time you're not in me.” It’s filthy, but it feels true in these moments when all the thoughts are leaving your head empty. 

He smiles one of his private smiles. His eyelids crinkle as he reaches up to scratch his cheek. "Let's not be pornographic, huh?"

"I wanna fuck again..."

"What else is new?"

"You've ruined me." He looks at you then like you’re something to eat. The book is shut and put down. You have your beloved hot priest’s attention. His eyes ask, smoldering, what will you do now you have it?

“You have my boot. Or aren’t you smart enough to get yourself off.” His tone shifts and a shadowy, serious dominance settles in his countenance. Every behavior, every quirk of his expression, curve of his smile, owns and owns you. He may plead and beg to bury his head between your thighs from time to time, on one occasion he may have shown up at your door, his satchel a deceptive front for rope and ribbon, which you were to restrain and blindfold him with. Life’s too short for dynamics that don’t shift and change like the tides. But in this moment, this energy, you are his. And he intends to impress that upon you.

You gape at him just a moment, heady lust clouding your already addled brain. Then slowly, carefully, you adjust your position, grab the upper part of Paul’s calf, and hoist your lower body up onto his shoe, your pelvic bone bumping his shin. Any hesitations or embarrassment that linger in you drown in the deeper, sweeter excitement of feeling some real friction as you roll your hips. Oh. God.

This might be the senseless, reckless need talking, but fuck. Just the sensation of the toe of his shoe right between your thighs, exactly where you need it, makes you feel a little bit crazy. You look up at him in awe, and thank God he’s not picked up his book again but instead is sitting comfortably, his gaze dropped low to watch you, his groin thrusting the tiniest bit forward at nothing, too much nothing. He groans, and you chase your pleasure like a thing possessed.

Words slip out of your mouth without a shred of logic behind them, and Paul tells you to repeat yourself. He bites his bottom lip as he watches you. “Hello? Still a brain in there?"

“I said you make me so sensitive,” you mumble, finding a new groove in the contour of his shoe, where it meets his ankle, and leaning on his knee, shaking, groping for his thighs, all involuntarily. Your dripping, dripping on his shoe, and the thought of how uncivilized that is makes Paul bite his fist.

"Uh huh, so it's all my fault, then."

"Yes..."

"Yes, 'what'?"

"Yes it's all your fault, Father."

“It’s my fault you’re going to cum on my shoe?”

You whine again. Your soul’s leaving your body, want spreads through every inch of your body, intense and blinding, high, so high.

“C’n I cum, please, can I cum?” You pant, feeling his hands wrap around yours, warm and loving. 

“Look at me, pet.” He orders. You obey. His irises envelop you. You steady yours on them, trying to get a grip, breath filling your belly and leaving your parted lips in rapid gasps. “No.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise. Disappointment isn’t the word for it, desire lets itself out as a sound. You slow down, somewhere in a high place you hear him say:

“Stop grinding, slutty thing. Your Father told you ‘no.’”

You sink against him, laying your head on one of his thighs. He kisses the top of your head, and murmurs, “Good girl. Good girl, good.”

Fireworks are setting off under your skin, your thighs are trembling, every bit of you is sticky. “That wasn’t easy, I bet.” He says, voice condescending and sweet, but every bit as needy as you are. You make another noise in response. 

“I’m not done with you, you know,” he takes your chin into one of his hands, lifts your head. He kisses you again, with a fierceness that just sharpens your feeling. “I’m not even close to done with you.” He rests his in your neck, kisses you once, twice, up your jaw, on your cheeks, the ear he can reach. He bites your earlobe and almost hisses, “Me. You. Bed. Now.”

[Pt. 2 Out Now!! Linked Here :)]

[woozvc]

notice you

1.0 (season finale)

word count - 1.8k ish

you keep your phone down for a while. me and vernon replays in your head. maybe it's the stress from the interview being released or maybe it's something else, suddenly you're laying in bed like a motionless doll staring at the ceiling. events from your meet up with vernon replay in your head.

how when he saw u walk over to him he broke out in the biggest smile ever. how he didn't immediately hand you your wallet, instead took his time to ask how you were and if you had eaten. when you said no he responded

" I know a place nearby let's go"

"oh it's okay we don't have to I've already made u come all the way here just to give me my wallet"

"I want to hang out with you let's go"

I want to hang out with you. he wanted to spend time with you with or without the wallet. but surely it didn't mean much?

you guys stop by a nearby cafe, it's small with no one around. the smell of freshly made ramen fills your nose as u remember you hadn't eaten at all.

both of you sit down and make small talk about life, goals, the future and what not. vernon is genuine in his answers, that's something you admired about him since the first time you both met.

admire, that's the word u use when u see vernon.

admiration fills your eyes when he talks about his love for music and his passion.music has been your life goal since forever, and you wouldn't give up being an idol for anything. it was nice knowing that someone you look upto also feels the same. it felt comforting that he also felt the effect of music.

admire, that's the word you use for vernon when he offers to take a walk around the river after you finish eating.

he's a bit awkward, it's very evident. both of you clueless as to if this is okay, adrenaline pumping in your blood at the thought of being caught. but for some reason you didn't care, not when you're with him.walking around with him felt natural, something about him feels familiar, it feels comfortable.

admire, the word both of you use when you finally say goodbye.

it's around midnight and the river area is getting crowded with college kids having picnics with their friends. that's when you both decide to head home. it's comfortable, but there's a feeling of longing. you want to stay there with him but you know u can't. "I'll see you around" leaves your lips as u walk away, clutching your wallet in your hand.

admire, that's the word vernon used for you when he saw you debut showcase for the first time on his YouTube for you page.

he was bored, he has nothing else to do. autoplay helped though, he heard an unfamiliar melody fill his ears and suddenly he was watching all your videos on your channel for the next 2 hours.

admire, the word vernon uses to hide the fact he didn't just notce you, he admired you.

"sometimes things are better left unsaid" you both think as you turn your phones off, last texts never getting sent.

synopsis - you get invited to your first MAMA awards after debuting as a soloist. a dream come true for u. your fans are ecstatic but they can't help but notice how this one idol keeps stealing glances at u......and you can't ignore it either.

pairing — vernon x gn!reader

genre/s — smau, idol au, fluff, minor angst

warnings — a lot of cursing

send an ask to be added to taglist!

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note — Y'ALL I'M SORRY FOR MAKING THE FINALE SO ANGSTY BUT I PROMISE SEASON 2 WILL BE BETTER PLEASE FORGIVE ME. but yes omg we finally ended season 1!! I didn't know this series would blow up as much as it did and I'm so grateful. this series will be on hold for a while, I'll focus on my other series which is coming up and more one shots but this WILL RETURN!! thank you for loving notice you as much as I do <3

anyways as always id love to know your thoughts on this chapter!

tags —

@spilled-coffee-cup @atinytinaa @matchahyuck @wonwoos-wineparty @kawennote09 @weird-bookworm @idkwwhatimmdoiing

@maiamorrrrrrrrrrrr @thehao8 @blurryriki @atinytinaa @delicatewinterenthusiast @stqrrgirle @cloelinnnnn @sp1ng @venusprada @hellohannie

@ddokye @jeonghansshitester @cienlvrs @vernyangel @thefroggybazaar @wondering-out-loud @mxnhoeuwu @ahuihoeeee

[concert-bflat]

I need to rant about Ivan guys guys I neeed to rant about Ivan (<--- keeps trying to write fics of him but Never finishes him) like God this man is so gay and so in love it genuinely hurts it Hurts and I am Injured by it and the imagrey is Sooo Good (and Yes this is probably me just parroting stuff Everyone has already said before but shut up it's my turn now!! (aka please I've been holding in these thoughts for Months now I must let them out of their cage before one of them Dies)) [Edit I am Not fucking proofreading this I spent 2 hours on it if there is a mistake you Imagined it </3]

Just like,

You can see it in the way he sees the stars in Till. His own hopes for freedom and the only real light in this world that he lost sight of in Till. He is the hope and wish for freedom that he has shut away and repressed and it makes him fall So Hard

Or how you only really see that red in his eyes (after. Almost Dying) when he's with or singing/thinking about how Till has Inspired him, like a fire has been lit inside him. A fire lit in the darkness. . hmm...

even at the end of the song, where he knows full well that he absolutely Crushed his opponent and also knows full well that Till is his next one. I'm sick. I'm so sick.

Or like. When he frees Till and everything is just Engulfed in that red now. How Till has that same fire in his eyes, he and Ivan are on the same page now. They see that same hope for freedom and they both share it. They're running towards the light (like the sky's lighter there, more on that in a sec), hell, the corners of the right side of the screen are literally tinted in LIGHT GREEN. Till's color. God dammit the whole scene is tinted in red and green. They are literally Complementary Colors. I'mmm soooooooo (God these scenes are soo pretty too I was genuinely Stunned when I first saw this)

DID YOU EVEN NOTICE I ONLY NOTICED NOW the Stars are fucking green. You can see it better in some of the Later Images but they are Literally Green because Ivan sees the stars in Till and uuuughsdfbshb

OR LIKE WHEN TILL TURNS BACK?? AND. And that red is no longer in his eyes and before The Realization hits Ivan his eyes are just Glowing with red. Because he was just Filled with that hope. Freedom was, potentially, Right There

Did you guys even notice in that like. 5 frames in the half-second animation of Till turning away he's totally engulfed in his shade of green. Like of Course. That's such a Till thing to do because of Course he's running back he never actually liked Ivan that way in the first place.

And also the lighting of the sky Flips. Because the light has always been with Till. And Ivan's left in the darkness. In the. Haha. Ha. Black Sorrow. Aha *sits down cries*

And Again with this mf's stupid eyes how they revert to just black because that hope's been stripped away again, how it's even reflected in his present self singing as he reminisces on it. Fucking. Ivan's Expression when Till runs away.T here's so fucking much like the irony. Like did he even see Till hesitate or did he just see him turn and run away.

Like the irony that the guy who's always breaking the rules and fighting and defying and clearly hating living in a world like this won't run away with him, who has always been passive and obeying the rules and just accepting captivity and has been repressing his desire for freedom is so Bitter and Awful but also he always Knew this would happen what the Hell was he thinking this was such a stupid idea like

this man gets No Breaks No Breaks Ever oh yeah btw they're facing off against each other in a literal Death Match. That they might've had a Chance of avoiding if they ran away. Ahah. Hh *sob*

Also this art brings me so much Joy as much as it hurts me on a visceral level like. Ivan Always has his eyes on Till but it goes from a fond smile. Like So Fond flat out lovestruck affectionate gaze because he loves this man and loves spending time with him to a grimace once they're on stage. How Till never really changes or really Has Changed, and that's why Ivan loves him as much as he is resentful towards him. How that's what brought them here, to the stage. How Ivan changed for Till and Because of Till but still Till is like a god damn immovable object with how he stubbornly sticks to his ways. There's such resentment but isn't he himself also stubborn for always sticking to Till anyways? Hell, he's singing all about him in Round 3 and loses control over his own emotions and expressions during it I'mmm Guhhh

Also the first image is titled Observation while the second one is titled Decision(? I think). Like mf What are you deciding. What happened Last Time you decided to do something I'm going to punt you into the next planet

Speaking of observing,

Just. How Ivan's Always Observing. I saw one person point out he's like a background character and it's like he sees himself as one too. He is a passive observer in his Own Life. How he watches all the other children in Anakt garden play. How his childhood leading him to Anakt Garden just kind of. Happens around him while he watches indifferently.

How he's always trailing behind Till. Or how he tends to just. Observe quietly and is portrayed as such.

Not to mention how he doesn't appear in the memories of Anyone else's rounds, not even Till's, even when he literally (temporarily) freed him from the city. He doesn't even appear At All in Luka's round even though we get a clear shot of Till getting his hopes and dreams shattered (though it Does parallel another shot of him from Round 2)

And then the One Times he tries to take action. Or start something. It gets rejected and he's resigned to just. Trailing behind again. Because of Course he'll always follow after Till. And of Course he's fucking bitter about it and bitter about himself because he Knew this would happen and Till is Always looking at someone else and that Never Changes but. He just thought for a moment that he could change something. Man.

Oh I forgot to talk about the competitions themselves huh? Wellll, (and I'll Attempt to keep it brief because I've been writing this post for Much too long but)

Till spends his first round singing completely devotedly to Mizi. Hell, his song wasn't even in the program, it's likely- no, almost definitely something he wrote entirely for her, and Ivan has no part in it, just watches bitterly as he passes out after his, er, stunt at the end

And continues to be passed out for almost the entirety of Ivan's song

Oh but he woke up for the emotional/musical climax at least, going over Ivan's most important memory of them together, that's cool at least right?! Surely Till felt something from that

Maybe they can talk something out, or at least acknowledge their relationship in Some way. Maybe Ivan could at least be seen by Till-

Aaand Till's Actual love interest Supposedly gets shot and now he probably thinks she's dead. His attention is turned to her once again, like it's always been from the start. He never really changes huh?

Better luck next time Ivan--

Just. This mf Never Wins and it makes me Laugh as much as it makes me So Sad

Gets hopes and dreams and future crushed by aliens (standard stuff). Sold off in an auction. Put in prestigious singing school and up to that point he hasn't really cared about Anything and has simply been going through the motions.

Meets boy that basically embodies the freedom and hope he used to have. Falls badly in love. Boy loves someone else. Tries to free him and give him the thing he'd surely want most. Rejected. Back to school you go loser.

Oh btw this school is to train you for a competition to the death. Btw you're facing off against that boy you love in the semi-finals of said death competition. And you might kill him or he'll kill you. Because you didn't run away when you had the chance.

Also he didn't sing or think about you at all during his round. In fact I'm pretty sure he wrote a whole ass song that wasn't even registered in the Alien Queue or whatever for someone else. Also he probably has hardly looked at you. Also he was unconscious for almost the entirety of your song. Except for the part where you lost control of your emotions.

Oh but that doesn't matter now because now he thinks the person He likes was just killed. So he's kiiinda gonna be distracted by that. And that might fuck up your round with him. Sorry man

This was Originally a rant about how much I love Black Sorrow's imagery and the portrayal of Ivan's love because this man clearly has Complex Emotions and then Kinda derailed into me just ranting about how many L's he's being handed before getting the executioner's blade. Uhhhhh oops. Congrats on sticking to the end though?

I just love Ivan very much. He is So Bitter and so Horribly In Love and looks up to and is inspired by Till So Much and I wish people explored him on a deeper level/more personally.

I wish I saw more deep looks at Ivan/Till, there's clearly Complicated Things going on there. Hell, we don't even know what Till's pov on the whole thing is aside from that One scene of him hesitating before running away from Ivan. As much as I love fluffy interpretations of them, I (did I mention that I'm an angst addict btw. Could You Tell) wish all their Complexities could be acknowledged. Like how Ivan Clearly puts Till on such a spotlight and it is Such a downfall for him through and through and he Kinda knows it but also What Else does he Have and he really looks up to him Sooo Much (just. Look at them in that official art of them in Anakt Garden !!!) and deep down just wants to run away from this horrible place and wants to run with Till, the Light of his life the fire in the darkness the fucking stars the universe his black sorrow just. Oh My God I need to end this post already I was supposed to be studying but spent those 2 hours Writing instead

But anyways yeah uuhhh long story short? This guy is a gay loser. He tries to look sooo cool and smooth but he is suuuch a gay lovestruck loser and his rose tinted glasses are so thick he can't see shit (I'm pretty sure I quoted that from something (but also no genuinely when I first got into alnst after just watching the first 3 rounds videos and saw Ivan in official art I was So Surprised like "Oh he's actually That kind of mf that tries to look Cool and Hot but is actually just Pathetic and Sad and Gay I thought he was Just Sad and Gay")) he's probably also touchstarved as hell idk and his love is doomed by the narrative (unless Hyuna saves his and Till's asses. Buuut we'll see </333)

Love ya Ivan keep taking L's <3333 mwah

[mazeinthemiroh]

you need a holiday. [part 2]

pairing: hongjoong x best friend! reader

genre: friends to lovers, slow burn / slow romance, slight angst, and, of course, a sprinkle of crack

word count: 1.2k

warnings: cursing (mainly the f bomb), allusions to mental health issues + insomnia, hongjoong being stubborn af, helpful wooyoung <3

summary: hongjoong has been told to take some time off work, which he wanted to resist. confused and stressed, he tries to figure out what to do [part 1, part 3.]

author's notes: for those who missed it. i reckon this series will have 4 or 5 parts, just fyi. thank you for joining for part 2, and thanks for those of you who have supported me in part 1! let me know if you want to be tagged in the rest of these :] otherwise, enjoy the rest of them! <3

It wasn't that Hongjoong didn't trust your judgement. Of course, he did. It was the reason why he came to you in the first place. But it didn't sit right with him to take time off.

He knew that everyone needed time off but it was just bad timing. Although, if he was being honest, it was always bad timing. Whenever he had a break or a vacation, he could never fully relax. It was always right after a comeback and on to the next one, with things still very much in the air in terms of promotions.

He always felt restless. Like he should be doing something. Sitting and just... existing was a weird sensation. Not to say that Hongjoong is a man of action. He is usually calm and collected and fine with little stimulation. But his mind was always working. It felt hopeless, trying to relax during his breaks, because his mind naturally goes haywire. Thinking about the next comeback or the song he hasn't quite completed or the important photoshoot coming up next month. He thought about all these things.

"He's driving himself crazy, you realise that?" You were on the phone with Seonghwa, talking about your shared concern for Hongjoong. "I don't think I've ever seen him fully relax. Like... fully let go of all the things worrying him. It's so frustrating."

Seonghwa sighed through the phone, "Try living with him." He loved Hongjoong dearly and you could sense it through the concern in his voice. You were glad, at least, that Hongjoong wasn't alone. Seonghwa being there to keep an eye on him always put you at ease, because you couldn't always be there for your friend in the way you wanted to.

Meanwhile, Hongjoong slaved away. Hunched in what looked like the most uncomfortable position ever, he leaned over his desk and stared at the blank sheet of paper before him. It felt like he'd been sitting there for hours in the studio, and yet he had written nothing. No lyrics for the new song. Not a single thought. His brow was furrowed deeply as he closed his eyes. Thoughts swirled around in his busy head, and he couldn't make sense of anything.

He hadn't eaten or drunk anything in hours. His throat was sore and parched, his eyes dry from the air-conditioned room. Numbness took over him.

"Hongjoong."

He turned around slowly to see Eden, making his way back to the studio to gather some paperwork he'd left behind.

"I thought you'd gone," Hongjoong stated, his lifeless voice attempting to sound vibrant. Eden's jaw tightened.

"I don't want you here, Hongjoong. You don't look well and I think you need a break."

'Oh, so now Eden was telling me I need a break? What was up with everyone,' Hongjoong wrestled with the urge to fall asleep as he blinked his eyes open to stare at Eden's genuine expression.

"God, I'm not dying, geez. You've never taken any concern before," Hongjoong tried to snap back, but his tired voice and his weak state made him seem as threatening as an angry kitten.

"Well take it as a sign then," Eden replied back abruptly, before setting a hand down on Hongjoong's shoulder. "Go home, get some rest. Take a couple of days off."

"I don't need days off, I need to finish this!" Hongjoong exclaimed, his eyes now wide with exasperation. He felt heat rising to his head.

His phone buzzed on the desk. A notification. And when he eyed the phone screen, he saw your name:

Flight leaves tomorrow morning. I already bought your ticket so you might as well join me ~

His eyes wavered as he calmed his breathing, before looking back at Eden desperately.

What was he going to do...

"Help me pack my fucking case."

Hongjoong's weak body chucked the suitcase to the floor of his bedroom. 1 o'clock in the morning. At this hour, he could be writing another song. He could be perfecting the new album. He could be working on Ateez's new concept. But no. He was packing. Packing.

"Huh?" Wooyoung looked at him, wide-eyed and confused, "Are you going? You're actually going?"

"I don't fucking know okay? Everyone's telling me to leave so maybe I fucking should," Hongjoong shouted, his breath hitched in his throat. He could barely breathe as scrambled for clothes and shoes and necessities of all sorts. His mind wasn't thinking straight and yet he persisted.

"Calm down," Wooyoung urged, "you and your colourful language can hush. There are people trying to sleep!"

"You're one to talk about colourful language," Hongjoong hissed, quieter now. He was usually so considerate of being quiet when he got back at late hours, but his brain wasn't working the way it used to.

Wooyoung saw his desperation and came to his rescue, folding through his chosen clothes and placing the efficiently in his suitcase. He was surprisingly good at organising where everything went. Why, if it was his own suitcase, he would likely shove everything in there and hope for the best. But he knew Hongjoong needed clarity, so that's what he strive for.

"Where are you going by the way?" Wooyoung asked in order to ease some of Hongjoong's tension.

"Spain," replied Hongjoong, his voice blunt and tired.

"With who?"

"Y/N."

Wooyoung slowed his movements, a grin forming on his face. "Ahh."

Hongjoong whisked his head around to face his friend.

"And what the hell does that sound mean?" Hongjoong's eyes may be tired, the bags under them dragging, but they were still piercing beyond belief, dangerous if you looked for too long. Which is why Wooyoung didn't bother looking up at all.

"Nothing, nothing," Wooyoung's playful voice sounded as he tried to contain his massive smirk.

Hongjoong shook his head and huffed, finally zipping up his suitcase and collapsing on his bed.

Was he really going to do this? Just Go? Leave everything and everyone behind for a bit? It felt wrong. It felt unnatural.

Wooyoung made his way onto Hongjoong's bed and snuggled up to him, which made the captain grimace and turn away slightly.

"I'm not in the mood, Wooyoung."

"Well, you're welcome for helping you pack," Wooyoung poked his sides aggressively, making the man squirm a bit.

Then they both lay there. Hongjoong was too exhausted to protest Wooyoung's affection, who was readily offering it. Not to annoy the captain, but to reassure him.

"Okay, I'm going to leave now," Wooyoung stated, deciding he had had his fun, and felt he did what he could. Hongjoong lay there unresponsive, and the younger member couldn't tell if he had drifted off to sleep or had just ignored him.

"Goodnight," he whispered loudly in Hongjoong's ear, before getting out of bed and stretching slightly, yawning as he did so.

Hongjoong stayed in his slightly curled-up position, blankets hugged to his chest.

"Have a safe flight if I don't see you," Wooyoung didn't hear Hongjoong's whispered 'thank you' as he closed the door.

Hongjoong lay awake for a little bit figuring out his next move. His next plan of action.

But the temptation to drift off into slumber was beyond his resistance, and soon he was snoring softly in a comfortable, dreamless state, the question of tomorrow awaiting him.

taglist: @a-wandering-stay, @xlovehwa, @yeosangsbiceps, @anyamaris, @acciocriativity, @hawaiian-angel, @toolovelyforyou, @dutchessskarma, @saltedplum-squid, @dandycharmer, @baek-at-it-again95, @whatisnttakenbynow, @yeosxxx (let me know if you want to be added or removed)

[eluminium]

Skizz week day 2 lets GOO!!!!

I apologize for the lack of polish on these. I have seemingly caught a cold and am also in the middle of important schoolwork. But hey, it's better than nothing!

Anyway, this is kind of a sneak peek into an AU I've been working on. It doesn't have a name yet, but it sure exists! I hope I can post about it more when I have more things to work with!

Once again, thank you to @skizzlemanweek for todays prompt!

Prompt 2: Hybrid/AU

-

Impulse has lost his mind.

That's the only logical conclusion to this situation. To him sitting here on his dead best friend's bed while talking to said best friend who's apparently ascended to godhood? But he doesn't know what kind of God he is yet somehow? He also may have given Impulse some knowledge about the divine that Impulse is 75% sure he isn't supposed to know, even as his best god friend's semi-accidental oracle and/or priest. Probably. Maybe.

It's been a rough couple of hours, to say the least.

"Impulse! You're not listening to me!" A voice, Skizz's voice, echoes through his head. Impulses hands fly to his ears as he groans in pain. "Control your volume, dude! You're gonna blow out my ears!" He hisses.

"Oh...! Sorry...!" Skizz whisper-yells in response, although not without a mischievous giggle. Oh gods above, Impulse was gonna have to deal with SKIZZ. TALKING IN HIS BRAIN. UNINTERUPRABLY. FOR THE FORSEEABLE FUTURE. He shakes his head to try and get rid of that awful realization and quickly moves to change the subject before Skizz catches on.

"Alright, so. You became a God, but you don't know what of. So you appeared back here and found me. And you want me to help you figure out what you are the God of. Did I get that right?" He summarizes, looking at the faint blue outline of his best friend sitting on the same bed they spent years having pillow fights on in their youth-

Skizz sticks out his hand and does a so-and-so motion. "Well, yeah...But since I picked you as my oracle, as in my special important mortal representative guy, you're also gonna have to start my cult and get people to worship me!" He exclaims, clearly excited at the prospects. 

"Wow, we really got a Mr. Humble Guy over here," Impulse deadpans.

"HEY! You know I'm not in it for the fame, man! Even though I am really handsome and my godly muscles are huge!" Skizz huffs in mock offense. Impulse rolls his eyes in response.

But instead of another sarcastic quip, the barely visible parts of Skizz's face soften into something dangerously genuine. "I mean it, dude. Think about it. Think about how cool this is gonna be. Think about how deadly we are as a duo now that we have divine power behind us. Think about how many people we can help!"

"But we don't even know what you're the God of!" Impulse snaps with a glare. "How are we supposed to get people to join in on this when we can't gurantee anything?! And don't say 'We'll make something up', you KNOW I'm a TERRIBLE liar! I can't lead a whole freaking cult by myself! I need yo-"

His throat closes up. He can't say that. Because that would mean Skizz couldn't help him, that his best friend was...not with him in some way. That he was alone in this, for now. No, no it's too raw. He breaks eye contact as his eyes snap towards a corner of the room. He draws in a shaky breath and blinks rapidly. 

"Dipple Dop..." Skizz's tone is...sad. He reaches out towards Impulse before remembering that he can't really...touch him. Nor can he touch anything mortal, really. He needs belief for that, followers who believe in him. 

A sigh leaves him as he retracts his hand. "I know this is a lot for you. To be honest, it's a lot for me too. You're scared, and I'm scared. And you're probably thinking something like: 'This is a total disaster, we're so screwed'-"

Huh, that was...exactly what Impulse was thinking. To the word. Weird.

"-but man, dude, my homieh buddeah-"

Impulse can't help but snort at that one. The man is a god now, and yet he's still just Skizz.

"We got all the time in the world to do this. We don't have to rush this. We'll make a plan. We'll do our research! The big fancy library we used to study at had a bunch of books about the gods and stuff, remember? Maybe we can find the step-by-step guide to finding your godly trait and a "How to Cult for Dummies"! Gee, wouldn't that be convinient!"

They're both giggling now. Why? They don't fully know. Probably the absurdity of sneaking into a royal library to read the most suspicious books of all time is getting to them. But, somehow, there's a glow of warmth in Impulse's chest. A feeling he's been missing ever since Skizz unwillingly left the mortal realm for the divine.

Hope.

As the giggling dies down, a timid smile settles on Impulse's face. Gods, how does Skizz do it? How does he make Impulse believe in some new goal that fast? Well, he supposes he can blame it on magical god powers now. Hell yeah.

He takes a deep breath in, jumps off the bed, and stands up. "Alright, I'm in. What's the worst that could happen?" He says with attempted confidence. Despite Skizz certainly detecting his lingering anxiety, he jumps up (or well, floats) up in the air beside him with a barely seeable hand pumped up in the air.

"Allllright!!! Imp and Skizz are reunited and back on the case! I love it!" He cheers.

Impulse wastes no time in heading to their shared kitchen and grabbing a snack for the road. The library isn't far (perks of living in the capital) but hey, emotional rollercoasters tend to leave ya a bit tired. A snack for the road never hurt anybody!

Skizz unexpectedly chuckles. "Except that one time you decided to shove jello in your backpack," he points out.

Impulse freezes.

"...Are there more things in my head than just your voice?" He questions while slowly turning around to face Skizz. Skizz, in response, raises an eyebrow.

"Of course! I know everything going on in there! That's what happens between a God and their oracle!" He says like it's common knowledge.

"So you know all my deep dark secrets now?"

"Well, kinda!"

"Does the "kinda" include how much I missed you?"

"Awww yeah!!! I know you love me soooo muuuchhh now!"

"God damn it- I hate you. You SUCK." 

At Impulse's overly sulky tone, Skizz giggles like the sacred bastard he is. And once again, something cozy and soft glows and grows in Impulse's chest. It feels...good. Happy. Like it's right as it should be. And looking at the faded form of his best friend, he knows Skizz feels it growing too.

Maybe, even with all the responsibility and having Skizzleman but now with divine powers in his head 24/7, this won't be so bad. 

Maybe this could become something great.

[hearts4golbach]

The Night Shift.

Chapter 7.

Johnnie Guilbert x Fem!Reader.

I sat at the counter with my notebook and pen, scribbling down ideas for new recipes or drinks. My mind frequently wandered to johnnie, and it worried me. I couldn't get what Jake asked me out of my brain. did I like johnnie? I couldn't tell if what I was feeling was just having a really good friend or something more. I cringed at myself. I doodled on the side of my page, drawing hearts and stars until someone walked in.

"Hello, miss." the man said with a heavy southern accent. I suppressed a laugh, thinking about Jake.

"Hi, what can i get for you?"

"Let me get the peanut butter mocha, please. That'll be all." he sighed. I nodded in response. "You got a boyfriend?"

I furrowed my eyebrows. I'm sure he didn't mean it the way it sounded. I immediately thought about johnnie. "No, sir."

"Well, don't worry. once you find someone, you'll know." he had a crooked tooth grin.

"Oh, thank you." I smiled. it confused me where this came from. "Why do you say?"

"You learn to read how people feel when you have a bipolar wife." he snorted.

"Well, you were spot on."

a woman walked in behind him on her phone. she looked up and smiled at me. she was beautiful, even if she had a messy bun and no makeup. she seemed sweet.

"Listen, you seem like a nice girl. you've got looks on your side, too. I say go for it. I know I don't know your situation, but when you look back, you'll regret it."

I was getting a little more concerned each second. this was almost creepy. how could he be so right? I passed his coffee over the counter. "Thank you." I said genuinely.

he nodded, not saying a word as he walked out of the cafe.

"What was that about?" the girl asked, walking up to the counter.

"Apparently, he could sense how I was feeling. I've been overthinking about this guy I met, and he was spot on." I shrugged.

"so, when's he going to tell my fortune?" she joked, pulling out her wallet. "tell me about this guy."

"well, I met him a few days ago. I think he's really cute and we've had our... moments, I guess. i think I might be gaslighting myself into thinking I don't like him like that. I've never had a boyfriend, let alone a genuine crush." I rambled. "I genuinely do not know why I'm opening up to strangers."

"I mean, who knows if we'll ever cross paths again."

"still, I feel stupid." I shake my head. "anyway, what can I get for you?"

"can I just get an iced caramel coffee?" she asked with a sweet smile on her face.

I hum, turning around to make it. What a weird night, I'll probably end up rephrasing to tell johnnie later. we talked little after she asked.

"I hope you have a good night." I smiled softly as I handed her coffee over the counter.

"you too." she smiled back before walking out.

I sat back down and continued to try and write, but my mind frequently wandered back to johnnie. was he even coming tonight?

about an hour and a half later, the door bell rang. "Hey, y/n." Johnnie's tired voice called. I looked up, he carried his computer under one arm.

"johnnie, how bad is your sleep schedule?" I teased, "this is the 3rd night in a row you've come to see me. you must love my face to come here at like 2 am every night."

"what can I say? I get really bad nightmares and your face does in fact make me feel better."

my gaze softened as I smiled.

"do you mind if I hang out in here and edit a video?"

"I'd love that." my heart fluttered at Johnnie's presence.

I turned around to clean the counters as he chose the table closest to where I was. he lazily opened his computer and pulled up the needed footage.

I hummed quietly to what was playing in my headphone as I finished wiping everything down. I fixed myself a coffee and went to sit across from him.

"I had the weirdest fucking encounter today." I mentioned.

he looked up. "what happened?"

"This guy came in and told me that I seemed stressed over a guy and that I'll know if he's the right person and I shouldn't fight my feelings off." I blurted, not bothering to rephrase it.

he made eye contact with me again, curiosity glistening in his eyes. "so, like, a connection you can't explain? thats really poetic."

"yeah, it's scary cause he's right." I mumbled.

"well, if you think you've found that person, then go for it. life's too short to not." he looks back down at his laptop.

"what if I'm not sure if he likes me back?"

a twinge of hurt flashed in his eyes. he seemed to be scrounging for ways to respond. "well, what if he's just as unsure as you?" he asked knowingly.

I furrowed my eyebrows. "so should I really think on it?"

"you might be wasting time, but you never know. maybe waiting is a good decision." he avoided eye contact with me.

"are you good?"

"yeah." he trailed off, rubbing his arm.

silence filled the room for a good minute, I zoned out, staring into my coffee once more.

"have you ever felt that way?"

"felt like what?"

"when you like someone but you're terrified it'll ruin something good?" I pondered.

he looked up, his gaze softening. "yeah, the fear of losing someone so special even though nothing has happened yet?"

"yeah, exactly."

"well, I guess we have to take risks. step out of our comfort zone, you know?" he paused. "at least we could say we tried, right?"

"right." I whispered, awkward tension filled the room.

he cleared his throat. "when you know, you know."

[vriskaserketdaily]

Announcement; CW for graphic descriptions of medical emergencies & discussions of death/mortality

so, yesterday i briefly mentioned that i had been hospitalized. i unknowingly consumed edibles, became anxious and hyperactive, had a full-blown panic attack, and believing myself to be in the mother of all caffeine overdoses (2 cups of black tea) or having a heart attack or both, called emergency services, and was hospitalized with severe tachycardia.

i genuinely thought i was dying, sitting outside in my pajamas with my back to the mailbox post waiting for the EMTs to arrive. i still thought i was dying two hours later, struggling to breathe in the hospital room with my parents beside me.

i thought about a lot of things in the time between calling the emergency number and being lifted into the ambulance. i didn't want this blog to be my only legacy when i have so much more to do and be and make. i have other hobbies---knitting, crochet, playing guitar & composing music, and especially writing. i haven't drawn or written about my ocs in years, even during the recent hiatus, and i would like to change that.

to that end, i will not be drawing vriskas on a daily basis or consistently updating the fan art queue for the forseeable future. i will still draw vriska, especially if there are requests in the inbox, but i won't be going out of my way to squeeze out fan art when i'm ill, busy in other areas of my life, or generally not feeling it.

i will be keeping this blog up. i will not be changing the url because i fought too hard for a hypen-free daily vriska url and i'm not giving it up that easily. perhaps, after a year or two, i may even resume daily vriskas and normal blog operations.

COMMON QUESTIONS:

are you like, okay? i think i'm fine, physically? i was discharged after about four hours in the hospital and was able to move and eat and stuff today. i still feel some soreness/tightness in the chest, but i think that's to be expected given the circumstances.

can we still send requests? YES please omg. the interactions i have had through requests have been so positive and rewarding that it'd be difficult for me to fully give this blog up. even something as simple as "draw vriska" will function as a request. one thing that's been going through my head a lot lately is the thought that i could die and no one here would notice or care, so having tangible assurance that there is at least one person in the world who wants to see my vriska art would be very meaningful in that regard. i may not respond immediately, but i will respond to all requests that conform to the blog rules and mission (no nsfw, no pedophilic/incestuous ships, must involve vriska in some way)

will you consider opening mod applications? no, both because i don't think there would be too many takers for the position and because i know from experience that the fastest way to kill a daily blog is to load it up with a bunch of mods. (i am not the original owner of this blog and have moderated a few other multi-mod blogs before---i am currently the sole mod of the two i stuck with, this being one of them). i'd rather keep this blog half-active with just me than have it be completely inactive with me and 3-6 other people. again, there's a chance that after a year or so of taking things slow, i may come back to it.

can we tag you in art/fics/vriska posts? yes, actually, that would be very helpful. i don't expect anyone to do this, but again, i will no longer be actively perusing the character tag. feel free to @ me in vriska-related posts you think could use a little love.

if i have a daily vriska blog, will you promote me? sure! genuinely, i wish you luck---i've seen a couple of y'all come and go, and it really takes a lot to keep a blog like this running for more than three months. if you can do that you will be certified spiders for real.

where else can we find you? my main blog is @beangods, where i reblog posts that are not about vriska. you can send art requests there, too, but they cannot be related to vriska. that's what this blog is for. i also moderate @theextendedzodiacas, which is mostly fantroll-oriented. i'm on discord, too, but you won't find me on any other social media site.

is the vriskord still up? yes, it is, and you can join it, though the server is not very active. i don't plan on taking the server down or anything like that.

eighth question eighth answer 8ottom text

please feel free to reach out to me, and i'll be happy to answer any questions that i can. thank you for your understanding, and i'll see you . . . in probably a few days when i draw the 1 request currently sitting in the inbox.

thanks for reading all this.

-mod 8

[rafemotherfuckingcameron]

GUNS, BITCHES, WEED, MONEY, YSL, GOLD CHAIN, MASERATI, PENTHOUSE, HELICOPTER, FAME

Word Count: 6.7k

Pairing(s): Boss x Reader, Rafe x Protective!Reader, Brady x Rafe

Warnings: Flirting, Violence, Gun Violence, Home Invasion, SMUT, Mentions of pregnancy (including labour), MDNI 18+

Summary: Fem!reader has been hired by Ward to protect his children when a deal goes south and he sees a bounty has been placed on their heads.

Sorry this has taken so long, I've been planning a wedding, but it's finally here and i've loved writing this series Hope you enjoy this as much as I did.

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3

Final Chapter

Two weeks had passed since the revelation of my pregnancy, and "surprised" felt like an understatement for the whirlwind of emotions I was experiencing. Yet, it wasn't my own reaction that loomed as my primary concern—it was Rafe's. The gravity of the situation settled heavily on me; I was about to alter the course of his life.

While I acknowledged that mine would inevitably undergo a transformation too, those personal implications took a backseat for the moment. The foremost task at hand was sharing this life-altering news with him, and I couldn't shake the nervous anticipation that accompanied the impending conversation. 

Even though the weight of recent revelations had occupied my thoughts for the past couple of weeks, I knew I still had a job to do. The persistent morning sickness was a genuine struggle to contend with, yet I remained determined to focus on the task at hand. Upon arriving at the Cameron's estate, I was greeted by the sight of Rose and Ward preparing lunch for the family. They kindly extended an invitation to join them, but the meal wouldn't be ready for another half hour. My immediate question was about Rafe's whereabouts, directed mainly at Ward. "He's in his room," he replied, gesturing towards the stairs. I nodded my thanks and proceeded upstairs.

Upon reaching Rafe's room, I knocked on the door before entering. Inside, I found him engrossed in a PlayStation game, the sounds of Top and Kelce's animated voices emanating from the headphones. Sneaking up behind him, I ran my hands over his shoulders and planted a kiss on his cheek, temporarily setting aside the pressing thoughts that had consumed me for the past weeks.

He abandoned the controller and pulled me onto his lap, deepening our kiss. Amidst the passionate embrace, the cacophony of Topper and Kelce's swearing through the headphones as zombies claimed them provided a backdrop to our moment. Abruptly, he broke away, Rafe declared, "I gotta go, Dad needs something," and promptly ended the game. Expressing how much he had missed me, his hands slid up my thighs as we continued to share a moment of intimacy.

About five minutes later, a sudden urge to throw up overwhelmed me. The burning and knotting sensation in my stomach forced me to pull away from Rafe. Concern etched on his face, he asked, "You okay?" My complexion turned pale, and I leaped off his lap, darting into his bathroom just in time to reach the toilet, where I emptied my stomach. Rafe followed me in, checking on my well-being.

He gently grabbed my hand, pulling a hair tie off my arm and securing my hair into a messy ponytail. I slowly nodded, asking him to give me a minute to clean up. I washed my face with cold water and walked back to where he was waiting on his bed. “You sure your good?” He questioned, standing up to look over me. 

"Ummm, not really," I answered, momentarily averting my gaze before meeting his eyes again. "We need to talk," I continued, gently pulling him to sit down beside me. "I think I know what this is about," he responded almost immediately.

"Really?" I asked, puzzled by his certainty. "You're breaking up with me, aren't you? I knew this was probably going to happen eventually. I just thought it was going to be after this whole thing was over, and you had to go to your next assignment," he admitted, fidgeting with his fingers. I placed my hand on his leg, assuring him, "Hey, no, I'm not breaking up with you, but you might want to after I tell you," I added, prompting a hopeful look from him.

"Thank god, because I don't know if I could take that right now," he responded, kissing my hand. "So if you're not breaking up with me, what did you want to tell me?" he inquired, gazing into my eyes.

"I'm... I'm pregnant," I finally disclosed, awaiting his reaction. The silence that followed felt deafening and somewhat unnerving. "Rafe? Did you hear what I said?" I asked, genuine curiosity filling my eyes.

"Yeah, I heard you," he replied slowly, his eyes shifting towards my stomach. "How long have you known?" he asked, curiosity colouring his expression.

"Only two weeks. I know this is probably not what you expected, and I understand if you don't want anything to do with this. So, I am giving you an out if you want to take it," I responded, offering him an opportunity to process the news. Before I could finish, he quickly interjected, "Hey, that's not what I'm saying. I didn't mean to come across like that. I'm actually really happy about this."

He leaned in, giving me a warm hug and placing his hands on my belly. "Are you sure?" I asked, seeking his assurance to help me cross the emotional threshold.

"100%. In the past weeks, I couldn't imagine not being with you, and now this just makes it amazing," he declared, sealing his words with a deep and affectionate kiss.

"Okay, but this is even more dangerous now. These people are still after you, and I'm going to have to tell my boss I'm pregnant. He's probably going to take me off the case," I stated, ensuring he understood the gravity of the situation.

I looked into Rafe's eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation or concern. "I need you to understand the risks and potential consequences," I continued, my voice conveying a mix of determination and vulnerability. "This complicates things, and it's not just about us anymore. We have to consider the safety of our child, and that means making tough decisions."

Rafe tightened his embrace, his expression a blend of reassurance and acceptance. "I get it," he replied, his voice steady. "We'll figure it out together. Our priority is the safety of our family, and I'll support whatever decision you make, no matter how hard it is."

His unwavering support brought a wave of relief, but the challenges ahead lingered in the air. We sat together, contemplating the uncertain future that awaited us, knowing that our love would be tested in ways we hadn't anticipated.

-----

The following day, I visited the agency to discuss my circumstances with my boss. When I revealed that Rafe was the father, he didn't express surprise. "This isn't the first time this has happened, Y/n, but it is the first time one of our female agents is the one who's pregnant."

Discovering that similar situations had occurred before shocked me. We engaged in a lengthy conversation, outlining the steps ahead. A new agent was brought in to assume my role, but my boss emphasised that I still needed to maintain a presence in the Cameron house. "Y/n, meet Brady; he will be Rafe's new official bodyguard. He's been briefed and is aware of your situation with Ward's son," my boss introduced us.

Brady left us to start his new assignment, and my boss and I further discussed the plan moving forward. Despite the unique challenges, my boss assured me that the agency would support me throughout my pregnancy. We delved into the logistics of my ongoing involvement with the Cameron family, emphasising the importance of maintaining a low profile for security reasons.

As I left the agency, a mix of relief and apprehension filled me. The support from my boss was comforting, but the realisation that my personal and professional worlds were intricately entwined now weighed heavily on me.

"It's also a good idea not to tell the rest of his family yet. The fewer people who know, the safer it will be for you," he advised as he walked me to the door. Nodding in acknowledgment, I left to return to Rafe.

Making my way back upstairs to Rafe’s room, I noticed Ward and Brady engaged in conversation in the office. It seemed like Brady was briefing him on the slight changes to the security. Entering Rafe’s room, I found him engrossed in his phone. He looked up as the door opened, coming over to greet me with a kiss on the forehead. “Hey, how did it go today?” he asked, wrapping his arms around me in a warm hug.

"Better than I expected. He said the company would be very accommodating through the pregnancy because this isn’t the first time this has happened," I shared, observing his reaction. "What? That’s weird. What happens now?" he questioned, guiding me to sit down on the bed.

"My boss said that you will have another official bodyguard who just watches the outside, and I will continue to watch out for you, so it doesn’t seem suspicious," I explained, tossing my stuff onto the bed.

"Who’s the guy?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "His name's Brady. I knew him from the academy; he's kind of a dick, but really good at this job, unfortunately."

Rafe's expression shifted, a mix of curiosity and concern evident on his face. "Brady, huh? Well, as long as he does his job, I guess it's alright. Just keep an eye on him, Y/n. I don't need someone shadowing me who might cause problems."

I reassured him with a nod, understanding the underlying worry. "I'll make sure everything runs smoothly, Rafe. We've got this," I said, offering a small smile. 

—

It’s been 3 months since I told the most important people that I was pregnant and Rafe had made plans to go to the main land for our date night, we drove together in my Maserati all the way into Charleston. As we cruised down the scenic roads towards Charleston, the anticipation in the air was palpable. Rafe had orchestrated this special date night to celebrate the news of our impending parenthood. 

The rhythmic hum of the engine beneath us seemed to echo the excitement building between us.

The city lights of Charleston glittered in the distance, casting a warm glow over the night. It was hard to believe three months had passed since I shared the news with the most important people in my life. The journey towards parenthood had brought us even closer, and tonight was a symbolic nod to the new chapter awaiting us.

Rafe's thoughtful planning extended beyond the mere destination. As we strolled through the historic streets of Charleston, the soft ambiance of the city enveloped us. The evening breeze carried a sense of serenity, and the quaint charm of the surroundings added a touch of magic to the moment.

We dined at a cozy restaurant with dim lighting and an intimate atmosphere. 

The conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving between the excitement of impending parenthood and the nostalgia of our journey together. Rafe's gaze held a depth of emotion, mirroring the commitment we shared.

After dinner, we found ourselves on the waterfront, where the moon's reflection danced upon the gently rippling waves. My back was pressed against Rafe’s chest and his arms enveloped me, placing his hands on my small baby bump. As we were enjoying our moment together I felt my phone vibrate, I checked to see who it was. 

*Unknown Number*

“I know your secret Y/n and I know who the baby daddy is.” “Watch your back bitch”

My eyes lit up with concern, I turned my focus around to see Rafe’s, he was already fuming. Rafe's gaze met mine, and without exchanging words, we communicated a silent understanding. “I think we should go to the agency so we can track the number.” I say and he nods.

He stands up behind, bringing his hands out so I can grab on to them. He helps me up and wraps an arm around my lower back helping me walk on the sand. As we are driving, I feel this stabbing pain shoot through my chest, an unexpected intrusion that mirrors the unsettling revelation and threat that linger in the air. The physical discomfort intensifies with each passing moment, as if my body is betraying me, echoing the turmoil within.

My hand instinctively clutches my abdomen, as if to protect the life growing within me from the external storm that has suddenly erupted. The rhythmic hum of the car engine becomes an unsettling backdrop to the internal chaos, and my gaze remains fixed on the road ahead, searching for a sense of stability in the uncertain darkness.

Rafe notices the shift in my demeanour and turns to me with concern etched across his face. The lines of worry deepen as he realises the physical toll this revelation is taking on me. "Are you okay, Y/n?" he asks, his voice a comforting anchor in the midst of the emotional tempest.

“Yeah, I’m fine” I lie straight to his face not wanting him to worry, I just needed to get to the agency so we could find out who this was. The ride wasn’t long, but it felt like it took a while. The had subsided a little but I was still there, Rafe helped me out of the car and we both walked in to see my boss. “Y/n what are you and Rafe doing here” he asked mostly looking at Rafe.

“I received a threat” I said showing him the text, he took it from me and plugged my phone in to the computer and started a trace. It took a while, but it finally revealed that it was someone in the town on a burner phone, it couldn’t be tracked anymore, but they had all the data from my phone to keep a search going for anything else to pop up. 

Eventually we made our back home, we were met with Rose and Ward making dinner, “Hey guys, do you want dinner?” He asked “I’m actually pretty tired, I’m might just go up to bed” I said heading upstairs tilting my head to signal Rafe to follow. “I’m not hungry right now, but I might be later” he said following behind. 

I entered his room and settled on the edge of the bed, intending to loosen the laces on my shoes. However, Rafe intervened, insisting, "Let me take care of that for you," as he leaned down to remove my shoes. I reclined further on the bed, letting my head rest on the plush pillows.

He joined me, lying down beside me. Tenderly, he swept my hair behind my ear, his hand finding its way to my baby bump, where he began to trace gentle circles.

“I've been thinking about us,” he said, his voice carrying a sense of contemplation. I turned my head to look at him, curious about what was on his mind.

“About us?” I echoed, wondering where this conversation was headed.

"Yeah," he continued, tracing invisible patterns on my belly. "With everything going on, it's a lot to take in, but it makes me realise how much I want to be with you through all of it.”

A mixture of emotions crossed his face – a blend of sincerity, concern, and perhaps a hint of vulnerability. I reached for his hand on my belly, intertwining our fingers.

“Rafe, we're in this together,” I reassured him. “Whatever happens, we face it together.”

He smiled, a genuine expression that reached his eyes. "I love you, Y/n," he whispered, placing a tender kiss on my temple. I gently hovered over him, my hand resting on his neck, and I leaned in, whispering, "I love you too, Rafe.” Our lips met, and I wrapped my arms around his head, intensifying the kiss. His hands explored my body, and he deftly flipped me onto my back, trailing kisses down my neck.

He gathered my dress, lifting it up, and hooked his fingers into my panties, drawing them down. A low groan escaped him as soon as my bare cunt was in front of him. He spat in his hand and began rubbing circles on my clit, eliciting a slow rise of my hips, but he promptly pressed me down. I peeled off my dress, exposing my breasts. "Not wearing a bra, naughty," he smirked, taking one into his mouth, while his other hand reached up to massage them, his thumb swiping over the bud.

My fingers skilfully unbuttoned his shirt and belt; he released my breast with a pop. Standing up, he stripped down, and I reached out to grab his length. "This is about you tonight," he said, gently lowering me back onto the bed. "In that case, I want you to go slow and deep," I said, gripping his forearms and wrapping them around me.

"Ok, baby," he responded, aligning his cock and slowly pushing through my folds. The sensation of him stretching me out felt amazing; he was completely in before he began rocking his hips, slow and steady. Leaning down, he kissed me, balancing on his forearms to avoid putting all his weight on me. I could feel his tip touching my cervix, the warmth making it easier for him to glide in and out. The knot inside me tightened as I started to let go.

“Gonna cum,” I panted out. "Me too, baby," he replied, spilling his seed as I followed suit. He continued to thrust into me to prolong the high. “Ahhh, fuck,” I yelled, digging my nails into his biceps. Rafe stopped his movements, concern etching his face. “Hey, did I hurt you? Are you okay?” he questioned, pulling out and examining my face.

“No, you didn’t do anything. It’s the baby; it's...” Rafe cut me off, his face filled with concern, “Is the baby okay? Are you okay?” “Rafe, I'm fine, the baby is fine too. It just... I felt it kick, a very painful kick. I don’t think it liked you knocking on their door,” I laughed a little, making him laugh too.

I grabbed his hand and placed it over my belly; it kicked again. “Feel that?” I said, and he nodded. As we lay there, Rafe spoke softly. "You know, seeing you like this, carrying our child, it's a feeling I can't put into words." His eyes reflected a deep sense of connection and tenderness. "I can't wait to meet our little one," he added, placing a delicate kiss on my forehead. 

----

The following morning, I awoke in the comforting embrace of Rafe, who was still peacefully asleep. Deciding not to disturb him, I quietly made my way to the bathroom to take a shower. As the warm water cascaded down, I was momentarily lost in my thoughts until the abrupt ringing of my phone jolted me back to reality. It was a call and text from my boss:

Morning Y/n, I need you to come into the office right away, don’t bring Rafe I don’t want him to worry. It’s about the guy you killed a few weeks ago.

I quickly got dressed and headed out of the bathroom, I wrote a note to Rafe and left it on top of his phone:

Hey,  My boss texted and asked me to come and go over some stuff, I didn’t want to wake you, you looked so peaceful. I’ll be back soon, love you Rafe.  P.S I told Brady where I was going, so he will be watching you while I’m Gone.  xx Y/n

Seated at my boss's desk, I demanded answers, "What's going on? Has something happened?" My boss appeared puzzled, "Y/n, I didn't think you were coming in today." I was adamant, "What are you talking about? You asked me to come in." I retrieved my phone, showing him the text.

"I didn't send that message," he replied with a grave tone. I was incredulous, "What do you mean you didn't send it? If you didn't, then who did—"

I abruptly stopped myself, the realisation sinking in. "It's them, isn't it? The guy I took care of a few weeks ago, the people on the phone who saw me. They're not finished with us." The gravity of the situation hung in the air as my boss and I exchanged a sobering look, acknowledging the looming threat that had resurfaced.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. "It's a possibility. We intercepted some chatter indicating that there might be retaliation. We're taking this seriously, and I've called in additional agents to bolster security. However, we need you to be extra vigilant. No more solo missions for now."

I nodded, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "What's the plan, then?"

"We're investigating the network he was a part of, trying to get ahead of any threats. In the meantime, keep a low profile.” My boss leaned forward, concern etched on his face. "I've sent my assistant to the communications department to get a trace on the number.

She should be back any moment, and we can finally figure out who it is." The urgency in his voice mirrored the gravity of the situation. As we awaited the results, the tension in the room seemed to thicken. 

The doors were pushed open with force, and the boss's assistant entered the room, holding a piece of paper. She handed it to my boss, who looked up at me, his expression grave. He stood from his chair, instructing, "Chelsea, get everyone geared up and ready to go in 10 minutes. It's a code black."

She hurried out of the room, and I turned to my boss, urgency in my voice. "A code black? Who is it?" I questioned. "I'll tell you on the way, Y/n. Let's go," he said, walking past me. "Where are we going?" I asked, trying to keep up with his brisk pace. "Tanny Hill!" he replied. The urgency in his movements and the mention of Tanny Hill hinted at the severity of the situation, leaving me with a mix of anticipation and trepidation.

=====

RAFES POV

I wake to find Y/n gone. I grab my phone and see the note she left behind. Walking into the bathroom to clean myself up, I hear a knock at the door. "Just a second," I pull on some clothes and open my door. Brady is standing there, pushing past me into the room. "Hey mate, did you get Y/n’s note?" he asks, still standing by the door. "Umm, yeah, I did. Can I help you with something?" I question. "Yeah, I’m here to talk to you about Y/n," he says, a smirk painted across his face. "What about Y/n? Is she okay?" I ask, stepping forward a little, concern evident in my voice.

Brady leans against the wall, crossing his arms casually. "Relax, she's fine. Just had to run into the office for some last-minute business. Boss's orders," he says, his tone giving away little. I can't help but feel a sense of unease.

"Last-minute business? What's going on?" I press, my worry intensifying. Brady hesitates for a moment before deciding to share more. "Can't go into details, mate, but there's something going on, and your girl is right in the middle of it," he states, his expression serious.

My mind races with possibilities, each one more concerning than the last. "What do you mean, 'in the middle of it'? Is she in danger?" I demand, my fists clenching involuntarily.

Brady's revelation hits me like a freight train, leaving me momentarily speechless. The room feels charged with tension as he takes a step closer, emphasising the gravity of his words.

"You see, a few weeks ago, when you guys killed that guy, well, more so Y/n, the guy you killed was my brother. And in order to get revenge, you have to be the bait. But it had to be done without Y/n in the house first, so I could talk to you and get you to do what I need you to do," he explains, his gaze fixed on mine.

The weight of his words settles in, and I'm torn between anger, confusion, and concern for Y/n. "What do you need me to do?" I manage to choke out, my fists clenched at my sides.

Brady takes a deep breath, gauging my reaction. “I need you to tell your dad that you need money, because you have gotten yourself into a situation that resulted in you getting Y/n pregnant, and then I need you to hand over the money” he said smirking at himself, “I won’t do that” he says getting ready to punch him, “I thought you might say that, that's why I hired some help”, I turn around and was immediately hit to the head with a bat. 

--

I struggle to focus as my vision clears, the throbbing pain in my head intensifying. The surroundings become more apparent—Ward, Rose, and Sarah huddled together, Wheezie on the ground in tears. Brady stands nearby, a cruel smirk etched on his face.

"Look who's finally woken up. He didn't hit you that hard, Rafe. Don't be so dramatic," Brady taunts, his voice dripping with disdain.

My hands are bound, and I attempt to assess the situation. "What the hell is this? Why are you doing this?" I growl, my words strained.

Brady leans in, relishing my disorientation. "You didn't think we'd let you refuse, did you? This is the price you pay for meddling in our affairs. Now, you'll lead them right into our trap, or your precious Y/n will suffer the consequences."

A surge of anger courses through me, but the throbbing pain in my head forces me to reassess my options. As I try to gather my thoughts, Brady smirks again, savouring the chaos he's orchestrated.

====

"Okay, we're on the move. Please tell me who it is?" I ask in desperation, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination.

"It's Brady, Y/n. The guy you killed— he's his brother. He's after you and anyone you care about," my boss responds, his voice heavy with concern.

The weight of the revelation hits me like a ton of bricks. Brady's vendetta is not just about revenge; it's personal, entangling those closest to me in a dangerous web of consequences. The urgency to protect Rafe and his family. "What's the plan?" I inquire, my mind racing to find a solution.

"We're heading to Tanny Hill. It seems to be their base of operations. The sooner we get there, the better chance we have of diffusing the situation and safeguarding Rafe,” my boss explains as we rush towards the destination.

We arrive just outside the fence at Tanny Hill. My boss instructs the others to stake the house out and wait for my signal. Eager to join the action, I go to jump out, but my boss stops me.

"Where do you think you're going? You're off duty," he says, firmly closing the door back in my face.

"I'm coming. Rafe's in danger," I protest, refusing to back down.

"That's exactly why I can't let you. They want you and that baby, and they'll do anything to get them. You're staying here. If things turn bad, I'll need you for backup," he explains, donning his protective gear. I reluctantly nod in acknowledgment, realizing the importance of this strategic decision. I watch intently as the body-cams capture the team's movements, ready to assist if needed.

Despite my boss's order to stay put, anxiety courses through me as I monitor the situation from the vehicle. The gravity of the threat against Rafe and our unborn child fuels a mixture of fear and determination within me.

Minutes feel like hours as I witness the tactical approach of my team. Every nerve in my body is on edge, and I can't shake the feeling that I should be there, standing by Rafe's side. I debate whether to argue my case again when a sudden commotion erupts on the body-cams. Shouts and rapid footsteps fill the audio feed, and my heart skips a beat. Instinctively, I reach for the door handle, ready to defy orders. The urgency intensifies as I watch the live footage unfold, desperate for any glimpse of Rafe's safety. 

Armed and ready, I step out of the van, my senses heightened by the gravity of the situation. The chilling realisation that Rafe, his family, and now my boss are in immediate danger fuels my determination. I quickly check my equipment, ensuring everything is secure and ready for action.

The hum of the earbud in my ear connects me to the ongoing situation inside. I carefully approach the entrance of Tanny Hill, eyes darting between the shadows and corners. The urgency to act intensifies as I witness the unfolding events through the live audio feed.

With each step, I remain vigilant, the weight of the assault rifle in my hands a stark reminder of the responsibility I carry. I communicate discreetly with the team back at the agency, relaying critical information and coordinating backup. The urgency in my voice echoes the dire circumstances as I press for a swift response.

As I inch closer to the building, every sense is on high alert. The pulse of adrenaline mingles with a steely focus as I prepare to confront the unknown threat inside. The fate of Rafe, his family, and the safety of my boss hang in the balance, propelling me forward into the heart of the danger that has enveloped Tanny Hill.

Sneaking around the side of the house, I hear talking through the window of Wards office, “Where is she?” Brady yells at my boss, “Where is that slut?” “I told her to wait back at the agency,”

My heart pounds with a mixture of gratitude and guilt as I hear my boss's protective lie. The bond of loyalty, even in the face of danger, strikes a chord within me. Brady's enraged voice pierces through the night, echoing his desperate search for me.

The shadows conceal me as I continue to move silently along the perimeter. The urgency of the situation intensifies, and I strain to catch every word exchanged in the office. My focus narrows on the unfolding drama, a high-stakes chess game where every move could mean the difference between safety and peril.

As I reach a vantage point near the window, the gravity of the situation becomes more apparent. Rafe and his family are at the mercy of Brady, a man fuelled by vengeance for his brother's death. The stakes are higher than ever, and my role in this dangerous game is clear.

My hand instinctively tightens around the grip of the assault rifle, a silent promise to myself and those I care about. The decision to intervene looms, each passing second amplifying the urgency. I brace myself for the impending confrontation, knowing that the next moves I make will shape the outcome for everyone involved.

Brady grabs Rafe by the shoulders and pushes him through the door, he then grabs ward too and takes them to a different room, he leaves the others in the room by themselves. I take the opportunity to open the office window and jump in to where they were “Hey, are you guys okay” I whisper, checking them for any injuries “No, were fine. What are you doing here? Is that a gun?” Rose asks, her voice filled with fear.

"Yes, it's for protection," I reply in hushed tones. "Brady is after me, and I can't let anything happen to your family.” “I need to get you all out of here safely," I continue, my mind racing to formulate a plan. The muffled sounds of commotion from the adjacent room remind me of the imminent threat we're up against.

Rose interjects, her voice stern but grateful, "We appreciate your concern, Y/n, but we can't just leave. We need to confront Brady and resolve this once and for all." I nod, acknowledging the gravity of the situation. “I know but in order to do that I need to get you to safety, I'll do everything I can to get Ward and Rafe out too.” 

“I know you will Y/n, I know you love Rafe” Rose smiles and I smile back. “Okay let’s go!” I whisper yell. I jump out the window and help them out too, I keep them close to me at all times as we slowly make our way back to the van.

As we near the back door, we hear raised voices. Brady's harsh tones echo, and my grip tightens on the pistol. I motion for everyone to halt, and we press against the wall, eavesdropping on the conversation.

"I need that money, Ward! You don't understand what's at stake here," Brady's voice seethes with desperation.

Ward, firm in his resolve, retorts, "I won't be manipulated by your threats. You're not getting a single cent." While Brady continues to yell I tell the others to run over to the van and get in. I wait until they are inside to slip inside the back door and hid behind the lounge.

Brady grabs rafe by neck and holds a gun to his head, “Send the money ward or your son dies, you son who is about to become a father with the girl you hired to protect him.” He yells and I see Wards face drop in shock, Rafe tries to get out of his hold, but his his hands tried behind, its no use.

I crawl behind the couch and have my gun ready with safety off. “Fine Ward, you just killed your son” he shouts. “Wait” he yells, Brady is distracted for a moment as I jump up, “DROP IT” I shout at Brady.

My finger hovers over the trigger, the room tense with the gravity of the situation. Brady, startled by my sudden appearance, hesitates for a split second. The standoff feels like an eternity.

"Drop the gun, Brady!" I command, my voice steady but laced with urgency. Rafe seizes the opportunity to struggle against Brady's grip, his eyes pleading with me. Ward, visibly distressed, clutches his desk for support.

Brady, a smirk playing on his lips, slowly lowers the gun. "You always were the hero, Y/n," he sneers. His grip on Rafe tightens, but the fear in his eyes betrays the facade of confidence.

"Let him go, Brady. This doesn't have to end in bloodshed," I urge, my focus unwavering. I inch closer, ready to intervene if the situation takes a turn for the worse.

Brady, sensing the growing tension, glares at me. "You think I won't do it?" he taunts, his finger twitching on the trigger. 

“You think I won’t? I already put your brother down, don’t make me put you down too.” I say holding my position, he laughs and goes to pull the trigger, but I’m faster, I pull the trigger and a bullet is released hitting him in the neck, he falls back against the wall and too the ground.

I run over to Rafe and hug him tightly, “Are you ok” I ask, cutting his hands free. Rafe, still in shock, nods, his arms wrapping around me. "Yeah, I'm okay. You got here just in time," he says, his voice filled with relief. Ward, wide-eyed, watches as Brady struggles on the floor, blood seeping from his neck.

"Thank you, Y/n," Ward utters, a mix of gratitude and astonishment in his voice. Brady, weakened and defeated, glares at me with malice. "You won't get away with this," he rasps, blood staining his words.

My boss bursts into the room, accompanied by the sound of approaching sirens. "Well, it looks like you've solved the problem, Y/n," he says, assessing the scene. "I had to protect what's mine," I reply, my gaze unwavering.

As the authorities arrive to apprehend Brady, the weight of the situation begins to lift. The ordeal is far from over, but for now, Rafe and his family are safe. Hand in hand, we exit the house, and my supervisor approaches, informing us that our names have become widely known in the news due to a woman single-handedly dismantling a drug operation, basically we were famous and the talk of the town.

He advises us to find a secure location until the situation settles. I propose the safe house typically used by affluent clients during such incidents. He agrees and arranges for a helicopter. The rhythmic thumping of the helicopter blades drowned out the residual chaos as we climbed on board. Rafe and I exchanged a glance, a mix of exhaustion and gratitude in our eyes. The adrenaline rush from the confrontation was now replaced with the reality of being in the public eye.

The chopper ascended, carrying us away from the tumultuous events at Tanny Hill. My boss, seated across from us, explained that the safe house was a discreet haven for clients in such predicaments. It was a temporary refuge, a sanctuary nestled far from prying eyes.

As we approached the safe house, I could see its grandeur from above—an amazing penthouse with view of the city. The helicopter descended, gracefully touching down on the roof of the skyscraper. We disembarked, enveloped by the privacy this refuge promised.

Inside, the opulent interior contrasted sharply with the recent chaos. Rafe and I found a quiet corner, away from the prying eyes of the staff. I wrapped my arms around him, seeking solace in the midst of the storm.

"This will all blow over eventually," I whispered, reassuring him.

6 MONTHS LATER

“Rafe!!” I yell from the lounge, “Rafe come here please,” Rafe runs to me “what’s wrong?” He questions sitting beside me. “I think the baby’s coming.”

Rafe's eyes widened with a mixture of excitement and concern. "Are you sure? What do we need to do?" he asked, taking my hands in his. I winced through a contraction.

"I've been keeping track of the timing. They're getting closer. We need to get to the birthing room.” Rafe's face shifted to urgency, and he helped me to my feet. "Let's go, we don't have time to waste." All of a sudden my water broke and the pain started to rear up. 

He guided me gently toward the bedroom door, a blend of nervousness and anticipation etched on his face. He laid me down on the bed and went to call the private medical team to say it was time. 

Upon arriving, the medical staff quickly took over, guiding me through stages. The atmosphere was a mix of nerves and excitement. Rafe stood by my side, offering words of encouragement as the medical team prepared for the imminent arrival of our baby.

As the contractions intensified, the pain became more pronounced. The medical team coached me through each stage of labor, providing support and reassurance. Rafe held my hand, his unwavering presence a source of comfort in the midst of the intensity.

The hours seemed to blur as the labor progressed. The room echoed with a mix of my determined breaths and the soothing guidance of the medical professionals. Rafe, having attended birthing classes with me at home, was actively involved, offering massages and words of encouragement.

When it was time to push, the room buzzed with an elevated energy. The medical team rallied around, their expertise guiding us through the final stage of labor. Rafe stood at my side, ready to welcome our little one into the world.

"You're doing great, baby; keep it up," Rafe reassured me. "Oh my God, I can't, Rafe, something's not right." The doctors applied ultrasound gel to my belly and discovered that the baby was in an incorrect position.

"Y/n, honey, are you still with me?" I nod weakly, already fatigued from the labor, and nothing has progressed. "The baby isn't in the right spot, so we need to reposition it. This doctor here will adjust it inside you. It might hurt for a few seconds, but then we can resume pushing." The nurse said. “Ok.” I squeezed rafe’s hand as the doctor began turning the baby inside me, it hurt like hell, but eventually it popped into place. 

With each push, the anticipation heightened. Rafe's supportive presence never wavered, and the medical team worked seamlessly to ensure a safe delivery.

The culmination of months of preparation and emotional anticipation reached its peak as our baby entered the world, filling the room with a cry that echoed the beginning of a new chapter in our lives.

“Congratulations you have a baby girl” In that moment, as we held our newborn, exhaustion mixed with overwhelming joy. Rafe and I exchanged a glance, silently acknowledging the profound journey we had just undertaken together, welcoming our child into the world surrounded by love, support, and the dedicated care of the medical team.

“Do you guy have a name for your baby girl yet?” She asked, “Yes we do!”

“This is Valerie Camille Cameron”

PART 2

🔫🤰❤️📲🛡️🚨🤱🔫🤰❤️📲🛡️🚨🤱🔫🤰❤️📲🛡️🚨🤱🔫🤰❤️📲🛡️🚨🤱🔫🤰❤️📲🛡️🚨🤱🔫🤰❤️📲🛡️🚨🤱🔫🤰❤️📲

[happy-mokka]

Happy birthday to me!!! 🎂

Yeah. Hi. It's me.

Middle-aged Aziraphale fangirl did his next big step in the direction of the big 50.

Wahooooo!

Not really…

I hate my birthdays.

Always did.

Even as a child.

Now as this middle-aged queerish-dude I am still having a hard time, standing in the middle of things and being cheered on by others.

I was born. Great. Get along, people, nothing to see here. Can you all just go home please?

"Well, what the f*ck are you doing here then, right now, with this post, in the middle of an internet platform in front of a bunch of strangers?!?"

some of you might ask.

And rightly so, I must add.

Way more than 12 hours before - it is now past 10 pm in Germany - so this morning after I woke up to be exact, I had seriously contemplated the possibility to call in sick on my birthday, and hide myself from the world, quietly sobbing on my couch.

For the first time in my working life of 24 years. I had always been to work on my birthdays. No exception.

But the past months had been hard. I never really felt in control of things, still don't.

Those who know me closer, know that I like to be in control.

Always a plan at hand. Always prepared…

Only that it didn't really work out…hasn't for quite a long time.

I just never admitted it to myself. Always kept on going.

My family was always good in repressing things.

Don't show weakness.

Keep on functioning.

What will the others think?

People depend on you!

My family also never really considered me being "a success story" by their standards.

I am unmarried. Don't have children. No big career.

Ok, I've put enough on the side to live a financial solid life in a nice appartment.

But the first part really nagged at them, and through them at me.

So I was already unhappy for quite some time.

Together with an ongoing above-average and ever growing work-load at the office, this feeling of unhappiness turned slowly into dread and then deep sadness, until I felt close to breaking with the beginning of today.

Now, almost 15 hours later, I am here, writing this sappy stuff and am genuinely happy for the first time in months.

"What changed?"

Well, I was thinking about this a lot in the past hour. While sitting in the bus and later while walking home.

Honestly? Nothing really changed.

I got my eyes opened and my perspective adjusted by someone very dear to me.

That's what friends are for, and she is the best of them. My bestie.

She is the one who got me addicted to Good Omens last year and pushed me onto this hellsite.

She brought me Doctor Who and the Tardis (yeah, I know, shame on me, coming so late to the game…).

She makes me constantly re-think my opinions and keeps opening new windows to look through on things I had missed or never noticed before.

She is challenging me on a daily basis to be more than I normally would go for or did for many years.

She became the closest friend I have ever had in my life.

Sure, I know lots of people a lot longer in years. Some since Kindergarten.

But none of them digged themselves so deep into the darkest corners of my soul.

Places not even my brother or my parents ever got to see.

She made me, a life long rather shy introvert, open up, despite the fact that she is even more introverted than I have ever been.

I still don't fully understand all of it, but here I am, writing all this to an unknown audience, as proof.

A year ago, this wouldn't have been possible, not even in my wildest dreams.

"So, you didn't realize this before?"

I did. It just got pushed aside by all the negative spiralling. Sometimes you don't see, what's right in front of you.

After work, I walked her home. I like doing that. Sometimes talking all the way. Sometimes just walking in silence side by side.

At her place she handed me 2 presents and just like that, it clicked.

Sometimes, it doesn't take much, if it comes from the heart…

People, meet my new Michael Sheen mug!!!

So, we basically bonded over Good Omens and as faith would have it, we are exactly Aziraphale (me) and Crowley (her) coded.

100%.

It makes me beyond happy, knowing that everytime I'll sip my coffee with my beloved Sheeny, on the other end of town she will sip her hot cocoa out of her corresponding new David Tennant mug.

Good Omens was not the only thing we found out to have in common.

The common ground sometimes is really breathtaking and we still regularly stumble over new things it contains.

So many things that we equally love. Books, movies, music, long walks, just sitting there in silence and taking in a beautiful view…

On the other hand, we are so different in so many aspects, but with the feeling of it rather complementing than dividing us.

She loves to chrochet, I can't even hammer a nail strait into a sponge.

Speaking of which, meet my 2nd gift: Audrey!!!!!!!!!

We watched "Little shop of Horrors" (the 1986 version with Rick Moranis) a few weeks ago. Both for the first time. Loved it.

I immediately fell for "Audrey", the flesh-eating alien plant. Didn't speak anything out loud, still it didn't go unnoticed…and, yes, it is hand-made!!!

*sigh*

"So, what am I trying to say here?"

Good qestion…

Life can be cruel.

Life will be hard at times.

It will make you cry, like, a lot.

Try to not go through all this alone.

Sometimes those that you least expect it from, turn out to become your anchor in the stormy sea or the lighthouse showing you the way.

Build your own little family of friends (even if its just one).

Hold them tight, once you found them.

Love them with all that's in you.

You will get it back ten fold.

Why?

L🥰ve!

@uncleadelheid-will-eat-your-soul , thanks for being all that for me, little introverted geeky metal edgelord office girl, and thanks for enduring my annoying love for bad jokes and even worse puns…

P.S.:

Sorry btw for the storm, lighthouse, anchor metaphors with you hating all that's related to the dark blue sea…I still didn't edit them out…maybe we'll be getting there. At least I left out fishy fish…

🐟🐠🐡🦈🌊🦑

[dk-wren]

Buddy Daddies Week - Papa Rei's Onigiris

Welcome to Day 6 of my Buddy Daddies anniversary celebration week! I am so excited for today (even though it got a little delayed) as I present to you...my attempt at Rei's onigiris from ep. 9!

In all honesty, it's something I've been wanting to do for a long time. And I'm so glad I finally had the time and special occasion to do it! Since episode 9 premiered, I always thought Rei's choice of filling sounded different, but good. Maybe that just says something about my taste buds/food preferences. I don't know.

Anyways, the three fillings I used in my onigiri were based on what Miri, Hinata, and Kotori described in theirs. So, I used strawberry jam, Choco Rings (aka chocolate Cheerios), and grape gummies. I don't think it was specified what flavor of gummies was in Kotori's onigiri, but based on what I thought would taste or pair the best, I went with grape.

Here are my "ingredients:"

I made about a half a cup(?) of rice and was able to make 5 rice balls (of varying sizes). In the end, I made 2 rice balls with Choco rings, 2 with the grape gummy, and 1 with strawberry jam. Here's a cross section of a rice ball with Choco rings as I was attempting to shape it.

After I finished making/shaping the onigiris, I let them sit for an hour to cool down before putting the nori on it.

And finally...the finished product!

But how did they taste, you might ask? Well I got you!

I tried the Choco rings onigiri first because that was the one I thought I would like the best. In all honesty, I was a little let down. I think it was a personal/"chef" error because I forgot to let the rice cool down before making them. As a result, the cereal got soggy, so it didn't have a crunch, which would have added to the its distinctness. Likewise, because it got soggy, I think the cereal lost most of its flavoring since I snacked on some beforehand and could definitely taste the chocolate flavoring. There was a bit of sweetness when taking a bite with a large concentration of the cereal, but otherwise the cereal to rice ratio was not that great (and I was left mostly with rice with a hint of sweetness). Final ranking - 3rd

The second one I tried was the strawberry jam onigiri, which I thought would be my least favorite. Perhaps it was because I was let down by the choco ring one, but this was one ended up being my second favorite. This onigiri was on the larger side, but I was able to (unintentionally) spread the jam more evenly across the whole rice ball. This meant every bite had a bit of sweetness to it, and towards the center, I could really taste the strawberry flavor. What was even better was when I got a bite of the rice, nori, and jam. The flavors of each part mixed pretty well and created a pleasant taste.

The last onigiri I tried was the grape gummy one. This one ended up being my favorite. The ratio of rice to gummy was really good, and the grape flavor was really strong. That being said, because of consistency of the gummy compared to the rice, I was left with more gummy at the end of my bite.

Final Ranking:

Grape gummy onigiri

Strawberry jam onigiri

Choco Ring onigiri

.

.

.

Thank you for reading about my attempt to recreate Papa Rei's onigiris and indulging in my chaos with me! I genuinely had such a fun time doing this.

On another note, based on my personal struggles/difficulties that came up while making these, I can somewhat understand how the rice balls got their shape. If Rei made them with the inexperience I did, he might have not waited for the rice to cool before making the rice balls. Thus, trying to make them round or give it any type of shape became difficult. Likewise, each topping messed with the shape in comparison to how much rice there was for that specific onigiri.

Thank you again for reading and following along as I attempt to cook/make something (I am not a cook by any means and I think everything above supports that claim)!

-Dakota Wren