#cos it's supposed to be quite naturally sweet

[lalovi]

Appreciation to our pink boys ♡

Featuring: Peach Blossom, Pastel Meringue, Whipped Cream

``Just close your eyes...``

Warnings: proofread (but badly)

"My, you're looking quite worn out today... rough day?" Peach Blossom smiles at you softly- just as he always does.

It was late at night, maybe around 12ish. Work today had been excruciating, yet it seems a certain someone decided to stay up and wait for you anyway.

You sigh, closing the door behind you and dropping your bags near instantly. He hurried over to you and removed your jacket. "Shh, it's okay. You can just rest here with me~" He left a quick kiss on your cheek and pulled you over to the couch.

The warm smile never seemed to leave his face. You wondered if he was even capable of frowning at all. Sure... work was exhausting at times and your co-workers sucked, but it was all worth it in the end when you got to come home to your beloved.

"Now.." He gazed into your eyes, gently tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. Though, his hand seemed to linger while cupping your face. "Would you like me to run you bath? Or maybe you'd prefer some tea... Whatever you want."

You tilted his chin upwards ever so slightly, leaving a kiss on his lips. Sweet, you'd think to yourself. "More of those, perhaps?"

Somehow, his face seemed to soften even more, and the faintest of pinks dashed his cheeks. "Of course. Whatever you want, my love."

``Just close your eyes...``

---

"Look who finally decided to show up! You took so long I nearly thought you had forgotten about me." Pastel Meringue crossed his arms and sent you a glare.

Loose prices of fabric and random tools were scattered all around the workroom, though an impressive array of garments were ready on a rack nearby.

"Sorry, something came up-" you sheepishly replied.

He huffed. "You better be sorry. I don't let just anyone model my clothes, you know." He hopped off of his chair and walked up to you, though his glare seemed to lessen.

"Come now, time is of the essence!" He grabbed your wrist and dragged you over to the clothes you were supposed to model. "Pick whichever you want to try on first. Just know we have to get through all of these today."

After getting into one of the outfits, you reappeared infront of Pastel Meringue. He sort of just gazed at you for a while, seemingly admiring you before smiling. "Well? Give me a little twirl so I can see what I'm working with~"

The rest of the day went similarly. You'd try on more outfits, Pastel Meringue would make some comments here and there before you move don't the next outfit.

Now it was the last outfit and Pastel Meringue was fiddling with some fabric near your neck. "Maybe this set would look better with white accents instead of blue..." He'd mumble to himself.

He turned around to his desk and gathered some tools.

"I'm sure it'll look great no matter what you pick. Your designs always turn out that way."

He sighed and looked toward the ground, though he could not help the small smile that appeared on his face.

"Yeah yeah, now stay still while I take some extra measurements."

``Just close your eyes...``

---

Whipped Cream... ever the graceful dancer. You watched with great interest in how his body moved. It looked so natural to him...

"You know you don't have to just watch, right?" His movements stopped when he looked at you.

"What-?"

"Come on, we should dance together!" He smiled enthusiastically at you, expectantly waiting for an answer.

"Wouldn't I just mess you up?"

A low chuckle escaped his lips. "Mess me up? In front of who? There's no audience here."

"Even so, I don't even know ballet. I wouldn't know where to begin."

"We don't have to do ballet. We can always do something else like slow dancing if you'd prefer. I just want to dance with you~"

"I still don't think I'd be very good at it. And besides-"

Whipped Cream cut you off in the middle of your ramble. "You always make things so complicated." He sighed before getting closer to you and extending his hand. "May I have this dance?"

You looked at him peculiarly before reluctantly placing your hand in his and muttering a 'yes'.

He smiled and kissed your hand before pulling you into a twirl.

"Relax, dove... Let me guide you."

``Just close your eyes...``

[milfgyuu]

Lessons in Love Pairing: Choi Jongho x Fem!Reader Series: Mr. Right Next Door Tags: 3.5k, Co-Worker!AU, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Humor Warnings: One good smooch and mentions of more smooching. Summary: Your students learn that both you and the teacher next door are single which brings up the pressing matter of getting you two together. Immediately.

You love teaching your fourth-grade class - they are still sweet and inquisitive. Still learning how the world works and all its wonders. They’ve yet to outgrow their innocence and kindness. It’s a beautiful age to experience with an adult perspective and even more amazing that you’re allowed a hand in growing their ever-expanding knowledge and shaping their character. 

One thing you hadn’t considered was their surprisingly persistent interest in your lack of a love life. 

It had begun at the start of the year when you were getting to know your students and in turn, allowed them to get to know you as well. The kids had so many questions. Did you have a dog? A cat? A house? An apartment? Did you live with your parents? Can you drive a car? Are you married?

It was the answer to the last question that had struck them the most for some reason. You were a grown up but you weren’t married. In their minds, being married is just part of being a grown up so why were you single? What does being single even mean? Do you not know anyone to marry?

A simple introduction had turned into the great inquisition and with wide eyes and a nervous chuckle, you had to re-direct them to the only other interesting topic you could think of. 

Recess. 

Those clever little things hadn’t forgotten about the lack of a band on your left hand though and made it a point to bring it up every few weeks. Did you go on any dates this weekend? What kind of person would you like to date? If you have lunch with someone every day could that be counted as a date?

Admittedly, you fumbled through those. 

You hadn’t realized that you might regret the way in which you answered them because it seems your ever-observant children have been spying you in the cafeteria with the teacher next door whom they’ve also learned is single. 

“So, do you like Mr. Choi? You guys always have lunch together!”

“Yeah! And you guys are always smiling and laughing together!”

“And Mr. Choi brings you coffee!”

“My friend in Mr. Choi’s class said that he is single too!”

“Mr. Choi said you had pretty hair!”

“Mr. Choi has really shiny hair too so your kids would have nice hair!”

Left and right the children pelted you with words you had stopped comprehending after the first mention of ‘Mr. Choi’.

Oh boy. 

Mr. Choi is your next-door neighbor at school. His classroom is actually attached to yours by a shared storage room and you suppose you do spend quite a bit of time together in front of the students but that’s only natural - you spend just as much time with the other fourth grade teachers. 

Well, maybe not the exact same amount of time. You’re usually on lunch and recess patrols together. You always get paired up to chaperone field trips and tend to volunteer for many of the same events like dances and fundraisers. 

If you had to really stop and think about it, Jongho was quite handsome. Broad shoulders, pretty smile, kind eyes. His surprisingly dry sense of humor did always make you laugh and he always leaves a coffee on your desk when he notices you’re running late since he is a chronic early riser. 

Again, you manage to calm the children and their increasing pitch - your eyes darting to the adjoining door between you and Jongho’s classrooms. 

It doesn’t end there, unfortunately, for you and your white blouse, exactly four days later. 

“Imagine the fallout if the kids found out we went on a real date…”

Your mouthful of juice sputters and dribbles down your chin before staining the silk of your top with bright red liquid. 

Jongho’s mouth straightens into a flat line and he hands you several napkins to dab at your ruined mess. “That doesn’t hurt my feelings at all.”

Leveling him with a peeved look you sigh, “It’s not like that,” and glance back down at your blouse, “You just caught me off guard at the worst possible moment.”

Neither of you are on lunch duties today so you’re sat across from each other at a craft table in the corner of your empty classroom. Little paper chains rustle in the crisp air pumping from the school’s icy vents and you’re grateful for them in the moment since they make you keep a long grey cardigan hung over the back of your chair at all times. 

You push back and ignore the sound of your knees popping when you stand to full height. Pinching the material of your shirt you tug at it rapidly as if you have some hope of at least drying the wet spots and speak openly to Jongho who is still diligently picking apart his salad from the cafeteria. 

“I can’t believe they’re all so invested,” you comment before rolling your eyes, “Little gossips.”

Jongho snorts. “I’m surprised that you’re surprised. They love ‘spilling the tea’,” he says with an added flair that tells you it’s something he’s picked up from his students, “Whatever that means.”

“Look at you using the lingo,” you chuckle as you sit back down, “And what ‘real date’? Last I checked cafeteria lunch didn’t count. Thought you’d be more of a romantic, Mr. Choi.”

You’re smirking with mirth until Jongho decides to match your teasing, hooking his foot behind the leg of your chair to haul you closer to the table. You squeak in shock at the jolting motion and he laughs, stabbing another bit of cucumber and moving on like you’re not internally marveling at his flippant show of strength. 

His thighs are kind of thick and firm you suppose if you think about it. 

Which you’re not. 

That would be weird. 

“What?”

You say it so hastily that Jongho looks at you like you’re losing it and laughs. “I didn’t say anything.”

Oh, so it was because you are crazy. 

Embarrassed you shove too much of your sub in your mouth, awkwardly and probably repulsively chewing to manage the gargantuan bite. The sound masks that of the napkin sliding across the table under one of Jongho’s fingers. You look up at him and he just pinches his lips together like he’s sure you don’t want to hear anything he might have to say about the mess on your face. 

After the driest most excruciating swallow you’ve experienced to date, you attempt to wash it down with your water in your stupidly expensive bottle and nothing comes out. Pathetically, you whine and try to pry it open. There is a mechanism on the inside of the lid that keeps jamming and you really could use a new one but they’re pricey and you’re living on a teaching salary and a prayer. 

“Let me help,” he says, pushing back in his little chair to rub his hands over his jeans like he’s preparing to empty his full strength into the effort to open your bottle but when it gives without so much as a pause he snickers and shrugs handing it back over to you. “Not really much of an opportunity to show off.”

You gawk at him. “What are you talking about? That thing was like welded shut!”

Jongho’s brows playfully rise until they’re high enough to hide beneath his fringe and the overwhelming urge to giggle and playfully swat at him nearly swallows you whole. He is so flirting with you.

Openly.

And you’re tripping all over yourself with glee.

Like any free moment in your school day, it comes to an end far too quickly and your classes are due to arrive in less than five minutes to continue instruction. Ignoring the butterflies in your belly, you take both your trash and Jongho’s to dispose of while he straightens up the table and then it’s time for him to head back to his own room and yet…you both awkwardly linger by the door instead.

“We should-”

“Maybe we-”

Embarrassingly enough, you open your mouths at the same time and talk over each other but you know you do not want to finish your own sentence and Jongho rocks back on his heels knowing he’s got a solid sixty seconds before little voices trail down the hall toward the door.

He takes a deep breath and says your name which is so odd because has he ever said your first name? Surely, he has…so why does it sound different now?

“Have dinner with me tonight.”

It comes out in a bit of a rush and he tacks on a “please” after a second thought and you nod because words don’t seem to form and you’re just stupidly staring back at him but…yes…you would like that. A lot. 

Jongho blinks as if he’s shocked that you actually said yes…or well, gestured, that yes you wanted to have dinner together. He hadn’t even planned to ask. He’s not sure when the idea sprouted in his head but once it bubbled up and up and up he just had to let it out. 

Now he has to plan the perfect date in less than five hours which means…

He grins and throws his hand up, thumb pointed toward the door behind you. “Gotta meet the kids…How’s seven o’clock? My place? I’ll cook.”

Still nodding, you manage to say something at last, “Yeah…yes. That’s…fine.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

He slips out the door and you let out a long laughter-filled breath. With your room still empty, no one catches you twirling all the way back to your desk before you flop down into your chair. Well, it’s possible one person saw you since your door bursts open right after and you’re jumping up and into an incredibly animated history lesson.

Meanwhile, Jongho is assembling his kids in a group huddle because they have a new assignment: Helping him decide what to cook.

Your hands shake down at your sides just after you ring Jongho’s doorbell. 

Fingers dance along the skirts of your dress - one different than you’d wear in the classroom. Typically, you wear fun floral or artful prints with plants or planets. Things the kids love to talk about. This however is one you hope Jongho will think about, even after your gone. Even when he sees you in your overalls on Monday because your kids are working on art projects.

The door clicks open and there is Jongho in fitted black slacks and a loose white button-down smiling back at you. His hair is…fluffier than usual which is an odd distinction to latch onto but the combination of his hair and his clothing, the relaxed slope of his posture….you can’t seem to stop looking at him.

“You look different.”

Jongho chuckles. “You look the same,” he says and it jolts an incredulous laugh out of you, “I meant that to say I think you always look good but I see that sentiment isn’t shared.”

“Are you going to invite me inside or what, Mr. Choi?”

“Wouldn’t dream of sending you away in that dress,” he smarts, stepping aside to let you in, “Besides,” he closes the door behind you both, “You have to see what a romantic I truly am since you decided to tease me about it.”

A romantic indeed.

His home is crisp, clean, inviting, and it smells heavenly between the cooking he’s been doing and the candles lit throughout. Your eyes dart to little details along the walls and shelves as he guides you to the dining room - also set perfectly with flowers and more candles.

It’s not at all what you expected.

At work, Jongho is relatively quiet but you learned after a few meetings that he was rather charming and engaging. He likes sports and cars - kind of a man’s man. When you became closer, you realized he was chock-full of sarcasm and dry humor. You appreciated him for his company and the laughter that he supplied more than anything and that still stands true but this is a different side of him you haven’t really mapped out.

Hardly noticing that your feet have stopped moving, you’re surprised when you hear Jongho chuckle from your right. “How did I do?”

He almost sounds unsure of himself until you turn to him with a warm smile. “It’s really nice, Jongho.”

Just the sound of his name from your lips makes the tips of his ear tingle. “The kids said flowers and candles were the way to go.”

Taking your seats at the table, you agree. “The kids seem to know too much about romancing for their age.”

Jongho gestures to your glass with the bottle of red in his hands and fills your glass when you nod. “It’s a little admirable though,” he mentions, eyes glancing up to yours, “They have such a pure and simple definition of love. Everything is still so beautiful in their eyes so all they know is a happily ever after and I wish it would stay that way for them.”

“Oh, you’re such a softie.”

Jongho pokes his tongue into his cheek and grins, using his fork to point toward your plate, “Shut up and try the food.”

Again, not something you imagined Jongho would be good at but the food is delicious and there isn’t a takeout box in sight. He mentions something about not getting too excited because he only knows how to make a handful of meals on rotation but it’s still impressive. He also keeps you laughing and entertained throughout the meal, even with the prickles of ‘holy cow, this is a real date’ floating around in your head. It all feels so natural.

“So, you clean up nice, your house is immaculate, you can cook, you’re good with kids…” You twirl you wine, bellies full and plates empty as you sit across from one another, “What are you hiding, Mr. Choi? Where is the catch?”

He grins, crossing his thick arms over his chest. “No, catch. I’m perfect.”

“The catch is that you’re an awful smartass,” you chuckle before draining the last of you drink. “I suppose I already knew that though.”

“I suppose you do,” he returns, gathering the dishes to deposit in the sink for later - for now, he moves you both into the living room to relax on the couch and continue the conversation. “I am genuinely a ‘what you see is what you get’ kinda guy so I don’t know how much I’ll surprise you but ask the hard questions and I’ll answer them honestly. Anything you might want to know before we decide this is a good idea or just mutual attraction and peer pressure from ten-year-olds.”

Because you’re both adults, co-workers, and friends. It would be a waste to pursue a relationship you both want different things out of.

You purse your lips and think for a minute. “Dogs or cats?”

“Both,” he answers easily, “You?”

You tilt your chin in thought, “Both is good…I’m still in the ‘plant mom’ phase so I don’t have any pets but I’d like to. Any plans to relocate in the future?”

Jongho shrugs, “I’m not particularly attached one way or the other. The area here is pretty nice but there are lots of nice places.”

“You’re not overly picky, are you?”

He laughs. “No, not really. I’m pretty laid back.”

In the time you’ve known and worked with him, that tracks. You pivot in your seat, facing him a little more fully. “Oh, boy,” he jests, “Getting to the big stuff, huh?”

“Marriage…kids,” you state plainly, “Thoughts and feelings.”

Jongho rolls his shoulders. “I’m interested in both,” he says simply, though there is a tinge of hesitation like he’s waiting for your reaction, “My parents have been married for thirty years and are still very much in love so it’s probably given me a set of rose-colored glasses when it comes to long-term commitment but the idea of having ‘a person’...like “my person’ to share love and life with, to grow old together…that sounds good to me.”

You nod, chewing on his answer. “And kids? Singular? Plural?”

“Eight.”

You instinctively recoil. He’s playing with you, so you’ll play.

“Well, this has been great,” you pretend to stand up to leave, “See you Monday, frien-”

A funny little ‘oof!’ puffs from your lips when Jongho grabs your hand and pulls you back down onto the couch. It’s just a lucky coincidence you land much closer this time and when Jongho releases your hand, he keeps it close, almost hovering nearby like he’s aching to take it again.

“Yes, I would like kids and no, I don’t care how many. Even one is a blessing and I would be over the moon to be a dad,” his eyes twinkle and it kindles a little warmth in your chest, “You look all ooey-gooey right now. I think you like me.”

You give into the urge to swat him this time. Right in the chest.

Jongho loves it.

“I already like you,” you roll your eyes at yourself for admitting so out loud but it’s a bit obvious at this point and he’s teasing. “I’m not ready for all…that…just yet but I would agree we have enough in common to maybe…give this a try?”

You don’t mean for it to sound so unsure but you haven’t dated anyone in a while and this is your friend, your co-worker…this is kind of a big decision to pursue a relationship and you want to take it seriously.

Jongho squeezes your hand and doesn’t remove it this time.

“If you’re asking me to go steady, I’d gladly accept.”

You let yourself lean into him as you laugh. “Do you always have to give me a hard time? You’re so unserious!”

“That’s not even a word! Aren’t you a teacher?”

You push yourself back with a hand against his arm, “Unserious is totally a word! Aren’t you a teacher?!”

Dissolving into laughter, you wind up holding your hands over your belly to soothe the ache, heads dropped back against the couch. It takes several minutes to settle down, no thanks to Jongho and his smart mouth, but you’re having so much fun you don’t care that your stomach hurts or that your cheeks sting from smiling too much.

Spending time with him like this is something you want more of. 

Rolling your head toward him, you break open the fresh silence with a question.

“So, Jongho,” you manage, still a little breathy from laughing, “Would you like to go steady with me?”

He smiles and it’s gorgeous to behold. “Yes, I would.”

Both shoulders jump up to your ears as if the excitement you feel is trying to escape your body and you grin like a fool. 

A boyfriend. That’s fun.

“Don’t get mad,” Jongho chuckles, taking your hand back into his, now playing with your fingers comfortably, “I might have seen you dance all the way back to your desk after I asked you out today. You’re really cute.”

Like a vortex opening up and swallowing you whole, you crumble, shrinking into the couch. “You’re kidding...”

Jongho almost feels bad for sweeping your high away so quickly but he’s telling the truth. It was the cutest thing he’d ever seen and shot his ego through the roof. “If it makes you feel better, I called an emergency meeting with my students. They helped me choose dinner and suggested the flowers and candles.”

“And the wine?” you raise a brow, coming back out of your shell.

Jongho uses his free hand to scratch the back of his head. “Called my mom.”

It’s quiet for only a moment and then you’re fawning all over him. “Awww!!! Who’s cute now? That’s so sweet!”

He pretends not to love all your attention. “Yeah, yeah…so, it’s a Friday night and we don’t have school tomorrow…”

“Mhm,” you grin, nodding along playfully.

Jongho lists options off as if he’s reading off a menu. “We can grab another glass of wine, or a beer, I have that too,” he winks, “and bullshit the night away. We could watch a movie or if you’re tired of my company I could just kiss you goodnight - I mean - walk you out.”

He’s smirking like he’s just so funny.

“You could kiss me now, grab me a beer, and then we could talk shit for a little while longer,” you suggest with equal teasing, and his brows shoot up.

Butterflies hardly have time to take flight in your belly before Jongho’s lips touch yours, though it’s not rushed at all. It’s an easy sort of confidence in his movements like he’s so comfortable kissing you - like it’s not the first time and most certainly won’t be the last.

One hand cradles your jaw and he’s still smirking when he pulls away because it was a good kiss and he knows it.

You know it. The universe knows it. 

“Beer, movie, and makeout?” he jokingly suggests and you’re hopelessly falling for every ridiculous, unserious word coming out of his mouth.

“You really are just a man’s man, aren’t you?”

Jongho shrugs and gets up to retrieve two cold beers from the fridge calling over his shoulder, “I’m not really into guys, but I could be your man!”

Letting out a sigh that fades into a breathy laugh, you smile to yourself. Yeah, he absolutely could be your man.

Series M.List | ATEEZ M.List | Main M.List

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[ethicaltreatmentofcowplants]

Watch Party: New Start

To be read co-currently with this. Warnings for WooHoo references. And terrible screenies.

KIM: So what do we think, ladies? Will the Ice Queen cometh? SARA: Kim, c'mon. I think that she's actually rather lonely. KIM: Really? Up in that big old house of hers? SARA: Exactly. CECILIA: Does your bartender's intuition tell you that, orrrr the fact that her husband is an out-and-out wanker? [All three laugh.]

KIM: So. What do we think of her chances? CECILIA: If it weren't for the fast-paced nature of these things, I'd say fairly decent. But Araminta is quite reserved. KIM: Exactly. And everyone else is being so quick off the mark. If you ask me - whiiich you won't, but I'll say it anyway - she needs to act faster and sooner than she's ready for. CECILIA: Really? Before she is sure of the contents of his character, and of her own feelings? Why, how very Charlotte Lucas of you. KIM: I'm just stating the facts!

SARA: Anyway. More importantly, Team Leo or Team Dodo? KIM: Well, both are better than that hobbit, Celia. CECILIA: Agreed. For me, Team Dodo all the way. Leo would never let anyone come between him and his mirror. KIM: Really? I think that I could come between him and his mirror. CECILIA: Seriously, Kim? KIM: Oh, c'mon. Where's the risk-reward factor otherwise? People don't go to Leo because they want the white picket fence. I could fix him. CECILIA: Says woman who is worse. [Cecilia and Kim meet eyes, laugh]

ROSAMUND: Evening, ladies. Thank you for inviting me. I took the liberty of bringing a Tartosan vintage from our cellar. CECILIA: And we will most certainly liberate you of that Tartosan vintage. SARA: It's no trouble at all, Rosamund. We... we weren't sure if Richard would be at home, and if you might like the company. KIM: Speaking of which - won't Richard miss this, ahem, 'grape juice'? ROSAMUND: Oh well. What doesn't Richard miss this days? KIM: [quietly to Cecilia] I think she's already been pre-gamming.

KIM: Really? A solo date? And our girl is the one going? Henford-on-Bagley represent! CECILIA: A solo date if Leonardo doesn't show... KIM: Yeah, at this rate he's going to crash the wedding in a white gown of his own. And have a deeper cleavage than the bride. SARA: Well, it makes sense. You'd want to build the friendship first, wouldn't you? That's a good foundation for any relationship, don't you think? ROSAMUND: Ah. Ehm. Yes.

ROSAMUND: Oh. Oh my. KIM: Well he's not as smooth as his brother. That's for sure. SARA: I'd say that lack of artifice is refreshing. CECILIA: And I'd say that he's been eyeing her like some prize winning pumpkin ever since they arrived. SARA: Celia. Just how much have you drunk? ROSAMUND: Not enough, I'd say. At least for my part.

SARA: Oh my - look. He popped the question. And she's accepting! ROSAMUND: Oh dear. Oh my Watcher. This is something that no mother should ever have to see... KIM: More grape juice, Rosamund? Or something stronger? ROSAMUND: Definitely something stronger. In fact, I think that I shall get it myself. Cecilia, if you don't mind? CECILIA: It's okay - they're doing the good old 'Fade to Black.' ROSAMUND: I still have seen too much...

ROSAMUND: Well, thank you ladies for having me. And to you of course, Cecilia, for hosting. SARA: Our pleasure, Rosamund. Same time tomorrow night then? CECILIA: Nice of you to offer up my house like that. KIM: You're the only free woman among us all. Of course it has to be you. Can you imagine how our husbands would react if we're cheering this on like some football match? ROSAMUND: Oh, I think that I can do you one better. Richard should be out for the night. CECILIA: Then don't mind if we do.

[just pretend that Rosamund isn't right there in the background lol]

KIM: Well. That went better than I thought. On every count. CECILIA: Yes. She - Rosamund, although both are applicable, I suppose - was clearly trying. It was rather sweet. SARA: And she has excellent taste in grape juice. CECILIA: Just between us femme Sims. Why do you think she's still with her husband? KIM: Well it can't be for the WooHoo, that's for sure. I'd be smiling a lot more if it were the WooHoo. Normally she could outcurdle Agnes. SARA: Kim. KIM: Okay okay, I admit. She was actually alright company. And who knows? If we keep her around, we may get some real dirt...

[ourlastbastion]

Reading a book review for a book I'm currently reading (Iron Widow) and you can just tell this review was written by someone who didn’t actually read it.

"The protagonist is supposed to be a feminist, but she hates women and being a women more than men!" Zetian hates the role women have to play in this dystopian society, where their families will drown their girls if they 'bring dishonor' (Even if the dishonor is bc they got r*p*d, so ya know, victim blaming) and girls are expected to quite literally mutilate themselves to be pretty, and a whole lot of other toxic misogynistic bullshit. She is constantly lamenting about how the concubines march happily to a painful and miserable death and how she refuses to let any more girls be sacrificed for men.

"Where she learns to hate the society that has bound her feet and left her handicapped is never explained to readers." Uh, maybe because having your feet broken and mutilated as a kid, and then continuously mangled as you grow up is something you'll naturally hate? That you're naturally going to hate society for encouraging and endorsing that kind of violence?

"Luckily for her, she is conveniently and immediately chosen as the co-pilot of the very man who murdered her sister. She quickly gets her revenge." Amazing how convenient it is that the pilot you and all the other girls in that room specifically signed up to be the concubine for is the pilot you become the concubine for.

"But not before Zetian considers sleeping with the murderer of her sister right off the bat, because he’s attractive, not that mean, and it’s expected of her as a concubine." Dude just really missed the whole point of that scene. His behavior was leaving her confused bc she had expected a monster and instead was facing with a seemingly sweet and normal boy. Plus, she knew that she needed his guard down and him in a vulnerable state if she had a chance to kill him. Meaning out of his armor and asleep. She couldn't reject his advances if she wanted to stay close to him. It had absolutely nothing to do with "Hurr durr he's hot and nice so imma fuck him"

"Then, to furthur the 'woke agenda' it creates a forced throuple" Bitch there is nothing forced about it.

Iron Widow is an amazing story that blends scifi with ancient China, and is filled with righteous survivors rage. I am convinced the dude who wrote the review didn't read it and just read some tumblr posts about it. Especially cause they say 'It has the quality of a Wattpad fic"

[roundbellyramblings]

Britt's Maxed Out Tits

Another story using Maxi Corp, created by @expansion-growth-fanatic

Brittney Boulders used to be a record-holding porn star: Largest breasts. Technically, the largest implants, as each boob was 20000 cc. But since nobody came close to her cup size, she proudly took the title of biggest in general. In her most popular video, she gave two men a tit job at the same time and their cocks never touched. With that much saline, she stood out and was famous even if people found her boobs tacky or trashy.

Brittney retired from her career and settled down. She never reduced her breasts, she was proud to hold the record and she liked the attention she got from them. She married a former co-star and they had a baby. As time passed, things changed. The baby girl grew up into a beautiful college student. Brittney began to stand out less from the introduction of Maxi Corp. Her shirts and bras were no longer unique to her alone. It never bothered Brittney, she was happy with the money she spent to make herself the way she was.

Brittney was sad when she lost her title. A girl in California had grown to 50 feet tall. She wasn’t the bustiest around but when everything scaled with her height, her breasts took up the most volume. The record was changed to mean largest breasts compared to body size. But even that didn’t last for Brittney. She went from “Largest breasts” to “Largest augmented breasts (Non-Maxi Corp)”. It was a mouthful and didn’t sound sexy, so she stopped using it to brag about her implant stuffed boobs. But it didn’t stop her from showing them off.

Brittney never returned to the role she once had, but taking saucy pictures was a habit she would never kick. Her revival online was smaller in scale than some hoped, but still welcomed by all. She was happy to share her beauty with paying customers, especially now because she could brand herself as a milf. Tits her size weren’t hard to come by, a bottle of Titty+ would get the job done. But she knew what men (and some women) wanted. Her tits were fake, but her talent was all natural.

Brittney sat on her bed, dressed in only a shirt and underwear. She pulled the bottom of her shirt to show off even more cleavage. Puckering her lips, she winked into the camera when her phone suddenly began to ring. Seeing her daughter on the caller ID, Brittney quickly sat up and answered.

“It’s rare for you to call so suddenly. Are you alright?” Brittney asked, frantically.

“I’m better than alright! My second puberty is kicking in! I’m so happy with how I'm growing!” Emma squealed over the phone.

“That's wonderful Em! So what is it? Are you getting some big boobies like your mommy?” Brittney asked in a teasing tone.

Emma paused, before stuttering out an answer, “I, um, I don’t…”

“Oh, I’ll call Christophe! He hasn’t made me a bra in quite some time but I'm sure I can get him to make something for you sweetie!”

“You don’t have to do that mom.”

Brittney’s eyes lit up as she remembered something. Her lips curled into a devilish grin as she spoke.

“I'm sure your boyfriend is pleased with your changes. Is he treating you well? I want to meet him, he sounds so sweet from the way you gush over him.”

“Oh my gosh, Mom! You can't just…” Emma was flustered. Her parents were so casual about the topic of sex and constantly made sexual remarks. “I don't know if he’ll be able to come over break.”

“Are you embarrassed about bringing your boyfriend home to two ex-porn stars? He won’t mind my boobs, women all over have similar sizes.”

“No, it's because of your boobs specifically,” Emma said bluntly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Brittney asked, offended.

“Your implants. They're so old. Boobs should have some jiggle. Yours are weird, with how hard they are.” Emma spoke frankly. “I have to go, class is starting.”

“Oh, Ok. Bye Em, I love you.” Brittney said quietly.

She brought the phone away from her ear, only to find that Emma already ended the call. Dropping her phone into her canyon of cleavage, Brittney looked at herself in the mirror. Her shirt was stretched thin. Her two massive tanks of saline blocked her view of her stomach. She gave a few poses, cupping her breasts and giving herself a wink.

“Old? As if.” Brittney scoffed.

She was undeniably a bimbo turned milf. Her hand lingered on her boobs. She tried to give them a pinch only to find that her skin was stretched thin over the implants, as she couldn’t grab any. She then squeezed her boobs together. There was a slight compression, but Emma was right. Her boobs were rock hard and didn’t even jiggle when she let go.

“Ricky? Could you come here for a moment?” Brittney yelled out.

Footsteps made their way to the bedroom, where Richard opened the door. He found his wife posing in front of the mirror and found himself aroused. He never would have imagined he would have a fetish for back muscles, but seeing his wife’s back flex to hold the 40 pounds of implants she had, it made him hard every time. Her ass and hips were no joke either, but there was no competing with the modified and enhanced boobs.

Walking up to his wife, Richard hugged her from behind. He groped her boobs, causing her to smile. After a quick kiss, he raised an eyebrow as to why he was summoned.

“Do you like my implants?” Brittney asked innocently.

Richard's mind and body froze. There was never a moment that Brittney second guessed her implants. She told him that she would do anything to make her boobs the biggest. Likewise, there was nothing in the world that would make her downsize.

“I’m thinking of getting rid of them,” Brittney said while still rubbing them.

Richard wasn’t sure what was going on so he spoke objectively, “Your skin is stretched thin. If you take those out, you’ll have really saggy and flat boobs. I don’t think either of us want that.”

“Getting rid of isn’t the right term, then. I’m thinking of replacing them. They seem, I don't know, outdated?”

“Replace them with what?” Richard asked, intrigued and aroused.

ONE MONTH LATER

Richard went to open the door. Waiting on her porch was a young couple. They didn’t seem like salespeople, but they both looked like they worked at a gym. The woman’s face was turned, speaking to the man. She had long blonde hair tied in a ponytail. Richard wasn’t sure if she was dressed in workout gear or if that’s what women’s fashion was nowadays. But what he was sure of is that her pants emphasized her thick thighs and fat ass. Her crop top showed off her chiseled abs. The man had a familiar face but Richard couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Can I help you?” Richard asked politely.

“Dad, it's me,” the woman said, almost offended.

Richard’s eyes widened in shock. The last time he saw Emma was when they helped her move into her dorm. She was a skinny brunette that loved baggy sweaters. Emma was never fond of gym class, so seeing her as a bottom heavy gym bunny caught him off guard.

“Oh, Emma! I couldn’t recognize you with, um,” Richard needed to find an excuse quickly, “With your hair like that! You grew it out and dyed it. When did you go blonde?”

Emma was not impressed. She put her hands on her plump hips and pouted. Richard noted that the boyfriend’s eyes were glued to her jiggling ass as she shifted her weight.

“Mom never told you about my second puberty, did she?”

“No, she did not.” Richard said as he hung his head in defeat. “I’m guessing she forgot to tell me that you and Jack were coming as well?”

“It’s Jake,” the man spoke up.

Richard winced at his second mistake. He opened the door fully and simply let them in, not wanting to embarrass himself more.

“No, this is a surprise for Mom too. Where is she, anyway?” Emma said as she sauntered inside. Richard couldn’t help but notice that Emma changed how she walked to put more sway into her hips. Jake was obviously enjoying it.

“Upstairs. She’s either still in the shower or getting dressed. Go up and say hi.”

Emma went up the stairs, her yoga pants barely being able to contain her expanded curves. Her fat ass almost clapped with every step. Jake began to follow after her, or rather her jiggling booty, but Richard held him back.

“I know what it's like, women are sexy, but I have two rules.” Richard said sternly, holding up a finger. First rule is no tears. If you make my little girl cry, I’m kicking your ass. You understand?”

“Yes sir”

Richard held up another finger and continued, “Second rule is no babies. If you make her a mom before she graduates, I’m ripping your dick off. If you try to be a wise guy and make her waddle across the stage when she gets her diploma-”

“I understand.” Jake said, as he tried to put some distance between the two of them.

“WHAT. THE. FUCK!” Emma screamed from upstairs.

Quickly pulling in the boyfriend, Richard spoke in a faster and hushed tone, “Now that I have the intimidating dad stuff out of the way, let me tell you something. Emma is a lot like her mom. That’s a problem for us because they are both terrible at communicating. They mean well, but you need to learn how to figure out what they’re thinking and just agree with them. Arguing is not worth it with these ladies.”

Looking up, the men saw Emma fly down the stairs with a red face. A short sprint, even with the caboose she had, should not make her exhausted. Emma was clearly flustered and blushing.

“Dad! What did you let Mom do to herself?” Emma accused.

“Technically, she didn’t do anything. The staff at the store did the math and injections.”

After that phone call a month ago, Brittney decided to give into Maxi Corp. If they could make everybody have boobs as big as hers, imagine what they could do with her boobs. Brittney had a consultation and even paid commission for somebody to do the math for her. Her breasts were stretched tight from the implants, so her one rule was that her breasts could not sag. It took a week, but Maxi Corp was able to calculate the exact doses needed for Brittney to have her new dream tits.

The two college students looked up in awe while Richard looked on with smug approval. Brittney’s breasts now dwarfed her entire body. In fact, the trio could only see her head and shoulders. Brittney’s boobs were perfectly round and almost touched the floor. Her dress showed “little” cleavage, as her boobs were mostly covered. But there was still a yard of her breasts that could visibly be seen squeezed together. She held onto the rail and slowly descended the steps. Her breasts jiggled and shook the entire way down as she had to kick and feel for the next step.

As Brittney reached the bottom, Emma and Jake could take in all the changes. Brittany had taken out her implants and filled herself up on TittyMax until her skin was equally as tight. The change meant her tits were larger, heavier, and much softer. They were so big that Brittney had to take several doses of MaxiGrow and Muscle Max just to have the space and strength to carry them around. Brittney struggled to touch her nipples with her implants. Now, she couldn’t even see them.

“Jakey! Come give mommy a hug!” Brittney said with an eager smile.

Jake was frozen in place, a hormonal college student could only handle so much boob. Brittney simply engulfed Jake into her cleavage, resting her arms around his head.

“Mom!” Emma yelled, now red with anger.

She stomped her foot, making her booty and thighs jiggle. Richard hid his smile as for the first time, Jake’s eyes weren’t glued to his daughter’s posterior. Brittney fixed her hair and then turned to face her daughter.

“What’s the matter Em? I thought you said boobs should have some jiggle.” Brittney said as she swayed side to side, the only way she could jiggle her breasts while staying in place.

As her mother walked towards her, Emma had to look up. Brittney now stood seven feet tall, but nobody ever noticed from far away. Emma gulped, she could never recall a time her mother seemed mad or upset.

“Like mother, like daughter. You get horny when you're upset. How else would I come up with the idea to get tits like these?” Brittney spoke bluntly. “Go take your boy toy upstairs, I am not walking up those again. There's some Maxi samplers on the nightstand.”

Emma was mad that her mother was right. She needed Jake to fuck this frustration out of her. With a grunt, she turned and stormed off, grabbing her boyfriend's hand and leading him to the stairs. The couple ran up the stairs, Emma’s cheeks clapped together as Jake eagerly pinched and groped them.

“Meeting my parents isn’t going to be anywhere as fun as this,” Jake retorted as pull Emma’s pants down to give it a good smack.

“Shut up and fuck me.” Emma said as she swallowed various pills from the bottles on the nightstand.

Downstairs, Brittney and Richard gave each other a suggestive look. The couple didn’t have to lean over the counter or move to the couch, Brittney’s tits were a makeshift water bed. Opening her dress and standing inside her cleavage, Richard began to make out with his wife. Brittney’s boobs began to ripple as the tit job enveloped Richard’s whole body.

[ancientgreekyuri]

Ribbon Bows (1/2)

Summary: Asterius ponders his relationship with Lady Dianthus while sharing a dessert with her.

Notes: Originally from a longer fic, but this particular scene was scrapped due to no longer fitting the overall mood! It had enough to it that I thought it would be worthwhile to post it on its own, though. This is set before Dia and Asterius are officially romantically involved, but are starting to catch feelings for one another. I didn't really edit this one much so be nice 💔

TWs: Food and eating + some slightly suggestive scenes. if ur really grossed out by the idea of someone getting their hand licked don't read this (it's not overly detailed but still 😭)

~ 806 words. Titled after the song "Ribbon Bows" by J.oanna N.ewsom (tho the title only makes sense with the part 2 of this particular fic...), except the actual song is very sad and has nothing to do with this thematically. Still!

Elysium was a strange realm. The godly magic that held it together was in no doubt powerful, but it still bent to the will of those who lived within it. The world itself would shift to reflect a person’s true desires. Asterius assumed he was imagining things at first. But now, there was no doubt; when he’d first entered the lady’s home, his horns would nearly scrape against the ceiling. Nowadays, there was more than enough space for him to comfortably move about, horns and all. It was not an unwelcome change. But any of his attempts to rationalize it would fell flat. When he observed Dianthus within her home, stirring a bowl of powdered sugar and sweet cream, it didn’t seem as if anything had truly changed about her or the relationship they held. And yet… the proof of it quite literally surrounded him. Dianthus’ gaze turned towards him, once, then again, before she set aside her bowl of icing. She came near him (the scent of sugar mixed with her natural flowers). She reaches upwards, her hand inching near his jaw, before dropping it back down to her side. “Asterius,” she began, “ you’ve been quiet for quite some time. You’re not starting to doze off, are you?  Or… perhaps something is bothering you…?”

Asterius did not shy away from touch. He reached forward, and lifted her chin so that she would be made to look at him. Icing had splattered onto her cheek. Though it would no doubt make his fur sticky, Asterius wiped it away with his thumb. “It is nothing, my lady.” he noticed the way she clutched at her peplos, “I was merely thinking about you.” “Oh…” though he’d spoken with the intention of alleviating the lady’s worries, it seems his words had the opposite effect. Her breath hitched, and her fists balled even tighter. When Asterius released his hand, her shoulders slumped, though her gaze remained hazy and distant. “Asterius, I… I really need to finish icing these cakes!!”  she jumped up, suddenly energetic, and got to work. Asterius observed as she dipped her spoon into her bowl of icing, and slathered each of the small cakes she’d made. She seemed to avoid looking at him now— something about it made him ache. It was odd. In the past,  did not mind if he and Lady Dianthus could co-exist in silence. But now that he had her attention, he found himself craving it.

Asterius, filled with a strange desperation, hurried to change the topic: “Why do you choose to cook?”

“Huh?” She looked at him again, her brow furrowed. 

“Shades do not need substance,” Asterius explained, “There is no real purpose for food here. Why, then, do you choose to cook?”

“Oh, well… I’ve honestly never thought too much about it. Force of habit, I suppose. And… while eating certainly isn’t necessary, it’s still nice to do.” Dianthus brought one of the small cakes she’d made to her mouth, and took a bite. She smiled, apparently satisfied with how it came out.

“Though, I think… sometimes it's nice to just do things for the joy of it. That may not make much sense to you right now, but… I hope as you spend more time here in Elysium, you’ll come to understand it. Now, then… would you like to have a taste?”

The cakes weren’t perfect; on one she’d placed the icing far too early and it’d begun to melt. Another  cake had somehow become slightly lopsided. But Asterius, who had no reason to care about such things, thought they looked delicious all the same. He nodded.

“It’d probably feel uncomfortable to get icing in your fur, so…” Dianthus took one of the cakes, and held it up to him. Asterius froze; to put her hand so near his mouth seemed a dangerous thing, considering his past. But she did not appear nervous. Her green eyes were calm, despite being focused so intensely on him. He expected her to flinch when he gripped her arm to hold it in place, but she continued to stand firm. So be it. It was impossible for Asterius to take small bites, but he remained mindful of where he placed his mouth as he ate from her palm. When he’d finished the actual dessert, he dragged his tongue against her hand, intending to clean all that remained. She felt her shiver, though she did not attempt to pull her arm away until he was finished, and he released her from his grip.

“...Thank you for your consideration, Lady Dianthus.” 

“You’re… very welcome, Asterius.”  she mumbled, once again refusing to meet his gaze. “I’m going to… um… I’ll be back!” With that, Dianthus disappeared into some other room of her home, leaving Asterius with only the sweet taste of lemon and honey on his lips.

[collegeoflore]

7 snippets, 7 mutuals

tagged by the wonderful @rosieofcorona!!! thank you!!

i am. an awful and inattentive mutual and i don’t actually know who has any writing projects on the go right now who would want to share, but i know some of y’all do sooooooo consider yourself tagged :3c

i also have the memory of a goldfish so if you’ve already seen any of these snippets in my wip tag just pretend you haven’t

1. “rare and sweet” (subject to change lol) xarrai/astarion

This was supposed to be easy. He’s done this for two hundred years, lured lamb after lamb to the slaughter to save his own hide. It should be easy, natural, instinctive. But Astarion looks at Xarrai and he can feel the gravel under his knees, the resistance of their muscles under his fingers, their nails on his scalp.

The disgust is one thing – he knows that, knows how to work around it. The disgust has been his to have and to hold for centuries. The desire makes things complicated.

He wants them. He does not want to. Their wrist is still held inches from his face.

Astarion bites.

2. untitled xarrai/astarion piece

From anyone else, it would sound candid. But Xarrai, Shadowheart has noticed, seems far too guarded for candor. What may be candid from someone else’s lips is just as likely to be deceit from theirs; a layer peeled back only shows yet another layer beneath, opaque and inscrutable even as their lilting voice rings clear and true.

Then again, it might not be. That’s the trouble with liars – how does one know when they’ve stopped lying?

3. yet another untitled xarrai/astarion piece. i swear i write other things too sometimes

The problem, of course, is that he wasn't the only charlatan on that Mindflayer ship.

And so, Xarrai sees his deception plain. Why shouldn't they? It mirrors their own; careful misdirection and flippancy wielded like a knife up a sleeve. A liar sees a liar sees a lie. They are both wolves in patriars’ clothes, spiders spinning webs of cheerful deceit. And even if they hadn’t caught his lie when they first met, they watched him dip his fingers into a tiefling’s pocket on their way out of the grove not an hour prior. There are few magistrates with the balls to try that.

4. ALSO untitled xarrai/gale piece

Xarrai’s thumb is on his cheek, now. He can feel the callous where it brushes his stubble. Their voice almost shakes, but not quite. “Can I kiss you?”

Gale has scarcely dreamt of anything except hearing those words again since the last time they asked it. He breathes deep and closes his eyes. There it is, that hint of bergamot and rosemary and brandy. The smell of graveyard dirt and blood. They aren’t his. Anger and grief and love like a house fire tear through his chest. “You know the answer to that,” he says, softly. None of the anger, all of the grief. He won’t think about the love.

“I do,” they say. They linger, one last moment. “I’m sorry.”

5. untitled gale/ieriyn piece. as u can tell titles are like the last thing i do lol

“You must know,” says Gale, eyes half lidded, “that there is only one star in the sky brighter than Mystra’s.”

“Of course,” Ieriyn murmurs. Gale’s hand is in his hair, twining the strands between his fingers like silken flame. Ieriyn melts into it, into him; he presses his hand to Gale’s chest and feels the steady beat of his heart.

“Ieriyn. The Sailor’s Star.” It’s breathtaking, the way most anything can sound like a prayer on Gale’s tongue.

6. i bet u can guess what this one is. (xarrai/astarion. no title. lol)

For once, Xarrai doesn’t know what their face looks like. Their ears are ringing, their lungs filled with rage, their heart pounding in their chest. Astarion looks at them with that same fire in his gemstone eyes, wild and panting. Cornered. The Weave is alive on their tongue, a mouthful of electricity. They could show him exactly what they know of fucking tyranny. They could make him feel the pain he seems so certain meant nothing. They could peel apart the folds of his mind with a flick of their tongue. They could grab the knife in his ribs and twist, twist, twist. They want to. Their whole body screams at them to do it, to use the truth he’s given them like a weapon until he weeps before them like the frightened child they used to be.

7. i'm predictable. i'm sorry. LOL. this one is Very nsfw though be warned

Astarion doesn’t hesitate before he nods. “Of course I can.” He leans into their touch. “Honestly, dear, you’re more trouble than you’re—“

Lips on his and a sharp nail dragged lightly across the head of his cock and Astarion forgets entirely what he was trying to say. He shudders, nails finding purchase on the ridges in Xarrai’s back. He whines into their mouth and feels them laugh against his lips as their hand finally closes around him, the fingers of their other hand still pressing relentlessly into his prostate. He breaks the kiss to press his face into the crook of their neck again instead, breathing in the smell of the oiled leather of their collar where it mixes with the salt of their sweat and the warm musk of their cologne. His gasps and whines are muffled by the leather, and he digs his nails into their skin, fucking himself on their fingers and rutting desperately into their hand. “You are—“ he gasps softly, lips nearly brushing Xarrai’s ear, “fucking incredible.”

“Oh? And here I thought I was more trouble than I was worth.”

[labyrinthofsphinx]

Statistical Outliers

Part 9 ish of drabble. I had to cut this part from the other because it was just too long. I think. It seemed long. Some hints into my headcanons for Vox's backstory too.

“Velvette, the kid is going to stay with me today.”

She gave him a look in the reflection of her mirror. He caught her in the middle of putting on what she would call ‘her face’. To be honest, he always thought she looked just fine without the makeup. She was a natural beauty, not an artificial one. But, she insisted, and he was never going to tell her that her efforts were a waste. It was an artform, he’d suppose. Back when he was alive, he’d only ever used the barest amount of makeup right before filming, enough to make his face look, universally, one color. It was a bit of a pain to work around when TV switched to color, but you got to keep moving forward, as they say.

As she lined her lips, a shadow of suspicious snuck into her eyes.

“Why?”

His chest hurt from the breath he was holding. When he let it go, it shook his body down to his shoes.

“You know why.”

He knows that Vel had probably also been trying to get the kid to sign the dotted line. Her methods usually involved some bullying, some sarcastic remarks, then switching it up to something that sounded sweet. She played both good cop and bad cop in her negotiations. ‘Oh, look how terrible you are, see how people dislike you’ and ‘But I like you. Here, let me help make other people see what I see. Let’s show them the real you’ are common phrases of hers. Clearly, it hasn’t been effective in this particular case. Not that anything Vox has done has been any better, but, well, he’s glad someone else tried at least.

“What do you plan to do?” She asked, pressing her lips together and making a pop sound.

“Feed him to the wolves, I suppose. Threats didn’t do much. I tried the honey after.”

“We could always make him to watch Val break your screen until he agrees.” She joked.

The worst part was, he had a sneaking suspicion that that might’ve actually worked if Vox wasn’t completely against the idea of Val beating the crap out of him. Besides, Val was indisposed today. His moth girls kept fluttering about the lounge tending to him. He’s pretty sure one of them already got her wings pulled this morning.

“Already filled my quota for broken screens this week, but thanks for the advice.” He said a little bitterly.

“Got it fixed in record time though.” She mentioned as she moved on to double checking her eyelashes. “He’s quite the little handyman.”

Ah, well, then she knows.

“He fix something of yours?”

“Yeah, my stupid co-worker.” She teased. Then, she ran a quick finger through her hair and turned around. “Look good?”

“Always.” He acknowledged.

Had she not just finished fixing her lipstick, he might’ve just got another kiss on the side of his face.

“Vee?”

“Yeah, Vel?”

“Don’t hurt yourself, yeah? With this whole…thing. I know you and Val are kinda stuck on getting it in writing, but there’s always something else we could do.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. An electrical collar or something. Just don’t beat yourself up too, ‘kay?”

First Val was being introspective, now Velvette. Was Hell freezing over?

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

She turned about, the waves in her skirt shifting when she moved. She readjusted her leather vest, then blew him a kiss as she stepped out.

“Kisses, darling.”

He pretended to catch it and put it in his coat pocket.

He took a moment to collect himself, then stepped back out. He was not prepared, at all, for the kid to leap over the furniture towards him.

“Velvette said we were hanging out today. Is that for real?”

Okay, Vox. You can do this. You’re on air! Smile for the camera!

“Yeah, you’re my problem today.” The kid’s tail swished behind him, just barley containing joy. “I’ve got some work to do this morning, and a conference around noon. I want you to come with me.”

“What’s the conference about?” He asked.

“A company concern that needs to be addressed. With any hope it will be a short meeting.”

“Are there going to be a lot of others there? I don’t need to get dressed up do I?” He says, as if he wasn’t already in top of the line fashion via Vel. Everything from the cut of his pants to the lining of his shirt was custom. It wouldn’t be good enough for her feed otherwise.

“You’re fine as is.” He answered, using his phone to distract himself from those peering, curious eyes.

“Do you want me to get coffee for you and, uh, your presenters?” He said, obviously not sure what Vox had in mind. He can only imagine that he was thinking of every other conference meeting from every movie about a dad who doesn’t spend enough time with their kids around the holidays. It was always a bunch of old men discussing numbers, profits, and something that sounded too greedy for the message of the movie.

“That won’t necessary. Either way, we…have some time. I’ve got some broadcasts to do. It’s not something you can really help with so-”

“You mean when you plug yourself into your chair setup?” He asked.

“…yes?”

“Do you mind if I tag along? It gets boring sitting down all by myself.”

He had planned on just keeping him here, or maybe even his room, until the time came for the…conference. Problem was, he really didn’t need the kid catching on. And he didn’t have an excuse for why he couldn’t be in the monitor room that didn’t sound like an excuse, not after having him by his side all morning just the day before.

“Alright, but same rules as last time. No bothering me when I’m in the middle of something. Got it?”

“Yes!” The kid clasped his hand in a silent fist pump.

He took only a few steps forward, just enough to enter the lift, when a hand reached up and grabbed his own. The kid backed up away from the outer circle. He knew where the line ends now and where the actual lift began. That didn’t seem to make him any more confident that he wouldn’t trip and go falling down the chute.

Come on, Vox. You’re not his friend, remember?

He pulled his hand away, bringing it instead to cross across his chest. Crossed arms were not a good look. It always seemed defensive, and Vox has made a point of avoiding that particular posture for a long time now. If he was going front of media, he’d never allow himself to be filmed like that. As they were just going to the monitor room, it didn’t matter. Still, the kid knew something was up. Nervous as he was about the lift though, he didn’t fight Vox for his hand back. Instead, he grabbed onto his coattails. He better not rip them, he thought.

The lift dropped them off right where they needed to be. His sharks swam over a little eagerly. Vox’s presence in the morning always signaled breakfast, and today was no different. A quick wave and the electronic dispenser dropped down their usual chum. No special, living treats today…at least for now. Anyone could piss him off and end up as a side snack. His patience was already trying on himself.

“Hi, Anchor! Hi, Barge!” The kid greeted them as he walked by where they swam. Weirdly enough, Vox could swear they responded to the names, turning for a moment to focus their beady eyes on the kid. They were probably sizing him up, to see if Vox would finally be tossing him their way but…for a second, it almost looked like…whatever the shark equivalent was for tolerance.

“What did I say about touching the tank?” He made himself groan.

“But I didn’t touch the tank.”

“Yeah, well, don’t stand so close either. Your spit fogs up the view.” He was trying to pick an argument. Give him something to be mad at the kid for until noon, anything to make the time more tolerable. Instead of giving him a fight though, the kid sighed, shrugged, then joined Vox by the monitors.

Fine then! He can just drown himself in his work, a proven method of distraction. The cables snapped in, sparks dancing around his head, before he was suddenly pulled across the city. Millions upon millions of smaller consciousness ripped apart from the main stem and sent spiraling down wires, across phones, and popping up in TV sets across the ring.

So far so good. He kept his gaze out, to his empire and his enslaved viewership. ‘Trust us’ echoed back to him like a never-ending tunnel of voices. He could just stay here if he wanted, where physical things mattered little and his kingdom of stolen time lasted forever. He could get himself lost down winding threads of random topics: what new places popped up, what’s the latest trend, what’s the biggest gossip. The internet was a clusterfuck of thoughts all screaming into the void a bunch of nonsense with the hope that someone else out there would respond with something intelligent. It was a bunch of questions asked that have been asked before and by millions of others. It was a collection of knowledge; it was a dumpster fire of idiocy.

It was a great, mind-numbing distraction.

But his physical body felt something tapping against his chair. A series of taps, a code he’d memorized so long ago in the past that he remembered more from the muscle memory of writing it a hundred times than recognizing it from a glance.

It was a transmission. At least it would be, if hooked up to a transmitter.

Loxley to Foulfellow. Airways open. Ready to receive transmission.

That was just the kind of thing that would snap Vox from any distraction. The wires plugged into his head popped from the surge. His claws dug into his seat, creating a series of scars from the drag. Hot, seething rage forced his fans to overwork. All around, monitors sparked, accidentally catching them in the after current of his shock and anger. A piercing eye bore down on the little fox sitting next to him.

“Who are you contacting?” His voice filtered in from every single speaker about, making an odd feedback that contorted the message. It hardly sounded like a voice at all.

The kid seemed surprised by the sudden outburst. His head tilted to the side, innocent act already showing its face.

Oh, but he wasn’t going to fall for that again. And to think! He might’ve actually felt bad for what had to be done later. But it was always a trick. It was always a lie.

“Huh?”

He slammed his fist down, putting a dent in the metal armrest. The kid actually fell backwards from the impact and his own alarm.

“You think because you tapped in Morse that I didn’t understand? You think you could trick me? ME? That code is my mother tongue. I spent four fucking years of my life speaking only that code, and you thought you could slip that by me? Really?”

It was Alastor. He knew it in the pit of his heart, it was Alastor. Who else would he be contacting if not the fucking Radio demon himself.

“I wasn’t contacting anybody-”

“Don’t. You. Dare. Lie. To. Me.” He snapped, teeth ripping from the digital plane into the physical as he snarled.

“I’m not.” He said in a small voice. “Foulfellow is my grandpa.”

Vox pulled back, only slightly.

“…Explain.”

“My grandpa taught me morse when I was little, ‘cause I was too scared to talk when I was really young. I kinda tap things out of habit sometimes now when things are too quiet. His callsign was Foulfellow and my is Loxley.”

“Callsign?”

“Yeah, he was a pilot, you know? Back in World War II. His squad called him Foulfellow.”

His fans overcame the last of the heat, now just comfortably sitting at a cold, neutral temperature. Foulfellow? He felt like he’d heard the name before.

“Foulfellow…as in the ‘Flying Fox’ Foulfellow?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Why? Heard it before?”

Heard it? He watched it.

“He was one of the best, kid. Maybe the best. I don’t think they ever tracked his kills right.” He remembers it, clear as day. Assigned to get new footage to send home for the broadcasters. Show us something amazing, they said, something that was going to sell bonds. Well, he found it, filmed it, and set it home. Years later, he even played a role inspired by the man who terrorized the sky that day.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he was one of the meanest cats in the sky. I saw him scalp six in one day, then kept strafing the ground troops. Had them pinned until he finally had to go back for fuel. Did…did you not know your grandpa’s a war hero?”

“I mean, sort of. He didn’t talk about it too much. He always said killing people didn’t make you a hero, saving people did.” A glint caught in the kid’s eye. “Wait, did you know him?”

No, but he wishes he had. After the war, people made heroes into stars, real or imaginary. If you served, which nearly everyone did whether they wanted to or not, you had a much better shot of being America’s new headliner. He knows. It did wonders for his career. Before he’d been offered the role, he heard that the directors went to the man himself to play the character inspired by him. He was told he refused, said Hollywood wasn’t for him. Last he heard, the Flying Fox planted his feet in the ground someplace, started a family with that little army nurse he married.

And here was proof. Huh.

“Don’t ever tell anyone what you just told me.”

“But-”

“Listen. There’s a reason most everyone here doesn’t use their real names.” Unless you were a nobody in real life, like a certain red freak, then it didn’t matter as much. “Everyone’s got enemies. Scores to settle. If you’ve got a famous name, you’ve got a big target on your head.”

“…is that why you don’t see like…really famous evil people from history down here? They’re all hiding?”

“Trust me, kid. If they aren’t hiding, they’re dead and never coming back.” Hell didn’t tolerate rivals. If someone died and their large movement died with them, they are immediately targeted by overlords. Most didn’t last the week. Hell also had its own weird code. Similar to a prison, perhaps, where inmates decided that certain people were just not worth the breaths they were taking. That’s one of the reasons that Vox almost never saw anybody from the opposite side of the war. That, and he might kill them himself. There was never a bad time to burn one of them from the inside out.

“I always thought it was because of the deals, ‘cause you have to sign your real name for it to mean something.” He added.

That was another part of it. People have drawn the similarities between deals in Hell with deals in fairytales. As far as Vox knew, which was considerable judging from how many employees he had, dealmaking didn’t strip a person of their name entirely. Though, maybe it could, in a warped sense of the meaning. And, it was a road that seemed to go both ways. Say what you will, ‘Vox’ was a completely different person when he was above ground and still going by the name his father picked out.

On the subject of family members, he wondered what dear old dad was doing. It’s strange that he hasn’t come across him down here. Then again, maybe he has. He could’ve barbequed him a long time ago and just never known. Aside from personal experience, he wasn’t exactly memorable.

“Names have power here.” He conceded. “And so does knowledge. Keep yours close to your chest, got it?”

“Got it.” He nodded back. “So…you said you were speaking Morse for four years-”

He rolled his eyes.

“Kid, I am not going into my past.”

“Um, okay, but I just wanted to know what your callsign was.”

Oh. Um.

“…Bogie. They…the boys called me Bogie as a joke, after the actor.”

“Bogie? Like Humphrey Bogart?” He chirped.

He fought tooth and nail with his face to keep it the fuck together. Don’t you dare smile at that.

“How do you even know who that is?”

“How could I not?” He almost sounded offended, before winking. “‘Here’s looking at you, kid’.”

Okay, whoever it was that forced this child to watch the classics…well done. Bravo, truly. There was one of them left in the world with taste…until they killed him. See, this is why they can’t have nice things.

For just a moment, in the back of his head, he wondered if he could start up movie nights again. He tried so hard with Vel and Val, but he had to let them pick the films sometimes. Either it ended up with Val putting on something to seduce Vox, or Vel put on some recent flick she learned about through the grapevine, things hardly ever worth the hours wasted watching them. Then, she’d jump on her phone the whole time it was playing. Both of their attention spans were exactly zero for any movie with drama, charm, and dialogue that required there not to be explosions every two seconds. Look, he enjoyed a CGI action flick like anyone else, but if he ever wanted to watch a movie that was actually good, not just entertaining, then he had to watch it in his own time. And when did he ever have that?

“You know, for a kid that died in the 90s, you sure do watch a lot of old crap.”

“It’s not crap.” He defended immediately. “And ask Velvette. Certain things never go out of style.”

Oh great. He was quoting them now. The last thing he needed was for the kid to start sounding like any of them. If he ever quotes Val, he’d seriously consider a muzzle.

“Right, well, I’ve got to get back to work, so keep quiet and out of the way.”

“’Kay.” He proceeded to do exactly not that, walking up close to the tank again and encouraging his sharks over. His fingers played against the floor like piano keys. Vox’s eyes from every corner of the room caught the pattern, even if he couldn’t hear from softness of the taps.

Loxley hailing Bogie. Message received. Ending transmission until all clear. Over and out.

A series of blips peppered out from one of his speakers. It was so inconvenient how convenient it was to transfer his thoughts across the mainframe sometimes.

Bogie transmitting to Loxley. Read you loud and clear. Directions to be given shortly. Over and out.

The kid’s ears flicked back, and he lit up as Vox turned his attention back to work.

Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/ Part 6/ Part 7/ Part 8/ Part 9/ Part 10

[komotionlessqueenmm]

My We Happy Few Bobby OC.

Lionel F. Edwards

(I'll add more to this periodically.)

(If I could draw I would draw him, but I can't so we'll just use this picture, and imagine the changes I've made lmao.)

Notable features - Lionel has sandy blond hair, which is a little longer than most of his co-workers, but he keeps it swept back and proper. His right eye is a crystal blue, while his left eye is a honey brown. Under his happy mask he hides several scars, which he obtained from a downer some time ago. He has several other scars littering his body, but the worse he has, aside from his face, is on his ribs, and he can't remember how he got them. For someone that spends so much time outside Lionel is pretty pale. His ears are pierced, and he has no idea when it happened, or who might have done it, and no one seems to even notice the silver studs in his ears.

Personality - He's surprisingly shy, at least when he is around someone he either finds attractive, or just straight intimidating. Super sweet with the ones he loves. Will be a teddy bear and total cuddle bug with his SO. He's honestly nicer than most other bobby's. Freak in the sheets, gentleman in the streets! Loves autumn and winter like so much. He just loves the cold because of how high his body temperature always runs. Man's a walking furnace, like seriously. Loyal AF, he'd do anything and I mean anything for his SO. A bit insecure about his scars, and even his height, so he relishes in any reassurance his SO gives him. Loves playfully spooking his SO, but doesn't startle very easily himself.

Age - 32 his birthday is December 6th.

Height - He's a tall man, even compared to his co-workers. Standing at a staggering 7'3". (The bobby's and doctors are very tall, some people have guessed that they are 7'0" or taller.)

Build - Broad shoulders, bit lanky like most of the other bobby's, but Lionel is also pretty strong, not quite shredded mind you, but still surprisingly muscled. Heavier than he looks as well.

Scent - He smells of vanilla, honey, and his natural manly musk, with earthy and cherry undertones.

Love interest - (Y/n) (Y/l/n).

Interests - Joy, music, (Y/n), art, uncle Jacks shows, mystery books, photography.

Dislikes - Downers, talk of plague, yams, and vanilla Joy because it leaves a funny aftertaste in his mouth.

Weaknesses - Fresh pie, grapefruit juice, and of course (Y/n).

Sexual interests - Breeding kink, size kink (and no, I'm not talking about him being tall.), food play, light bondage, biting, praise, body warship, public sex, he's naturally dominate, but he kinda really loves when (Y/n) takes control.

District - St. Georges Holm.

Favorite flavor Joy - Chocolate was always his favorite, but he's grown a liking for the new coconut flavor Joy.

Hobbies - Painting/drawing, reading, and spending as much free time as he can with (Y/n), and taking pictures with his Polaroid, especially pictures of (Y/n). (Man's madly in love y'all)

Friends - Really only friends with (Y/n), and a co-worker named Frank. (However Franks been on holiday for some time now.)

Family - Can't honestly remember any. Maybe he had a sister? Or a brother perhaps?

Favorite song - ↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓↓

Favorite color - Purple is his all time favorite, but he also loves bright orange, and sea green.

Favorite foods - Lionel is a simple man, so a V-meat sandwich, with a side of blue currant berries is divine in his book. Also loves dipping apple slices in honey. And coffee yogurt, he's not really supposed to have it, because it messes with his belly some, but he loves it regardless and will suffer the rumblies for it.

Fears - Spiders, puppets, and loosing (Y/n).

Miscellaneous notes - His hands are huge, soft and littered with small scars. He has freckles that dust his shoulders. His right ear rings almost constantly, after the fight with the downer that he got his facial scars from. His hands shake a little, but they always still the moment he picks up a brush or pen. The F in his name stands for Francis, and he hates the name, so much so he was even reluctant to tell (Y/n) what his middle name is. Even with Joy Lionel suffers from nightmares, he suppresses them, but with (Y/n) by his side, his nightmares don't plague his mind. He loves loves, loves playing with (Y/n)s hair.

How (Y/n) met him - "Miss what are you doing out here?" The Bobby asked approaching the woman watching the sunset. "It's beautiful." She muttered... Continue reading story here.

When Lionel asked (Y/n) out - His hands shook as he approached her with a bouquet of beautiful flowers, sweat beading on his forehead under his happy mask... Continue reading story here.

(Y/n) receives a bad batch of Joy, and can no longer take it - Lionel had very few options. Turn (Y/n) in, hide her, join her, or get out of Wellington Wells with her... Continue reading story here.

Can I commission someone to draw Lionel for me? You perhaps? Or someone you know? I'll happily pay for drawings of him. (💚ω💚*)

Anyways I'm gonna be writing some stories with Lionel soon, so keep an eye out for that in the near future.

[cheqorb]

MER-LOVE, 1.1

request. “Hi hi!! I decided to take you up on your offer and request a part two to the Mer-love fic. This time can you add in reo and what would they do if researcher!reader brought someone along with them, like a co-worker and they think it’s reader’s partner?”

featuring. reo, isagi, bachira, chigiri, nagi

notes. jealousy hcs are always fun to write, thanks for requesting!!

mer-love masterlist here !

On occasion, you see REO coming to drag Nagi off your boat if he overstays his welcome there, or if he thinks the lazy bastard needs a swim break before he dries out in the sun. You don’t mind him, he’s very polite and as a first impression; you would say he’s a solid guy. The type people can rely on.

The merman doesn’t do anything to go against that initial perception either, acting as the epitome of confidence and elegance. But if you get to know him better, his playful and more down-to-earth nature shines through. While there’s not necessarily a huge gap between the two, he definitely felt like he was trying to keep up appearances as the former personality. You suppose it’s a good thing he came out of his shell, because he visits you a lot nowadays!

Sometimes, you think even a bit too often.

He usually comes with mountains of gifts in his arms; stuff like pearls and any other valuable treasures from the water.

And similarly to Isagi, he’s another who willingly engages in conversation and take an interest in your research (particularly the financial aspect) so that’s definitely a plus. It’s very sweet of him regardless of his intentions, so being a charmer must just be part of his personality.

────

As the days pass, your boat becomes a second home for not just one, but two mermen — Reo and the ever-present Nagi — albeit with varying levels of enthusiasm for things. Their banter feels oddly nostalgic, like you’re back at the lab, chatting with the colleagues who don’t piss you off.

Unbeknownst to you however, during those quiet moments when Nagi drifts off to sleep and the conversation wanes, Reo's attention shifts solely onto you.

He can’t help but find your funny mannerisms and strange (from his perspective) habits endearing. From your animated hand gestures, to the way you absentmindedly twirl a strand of hair, he doesn’t miss a single detail.

────

All in all, Reo’s quite the sweetheart once you’re closer to him!

For the second part of your request, I imagine you bringing someone who you’d trust to keep this a secret from the higher ups — a close friend of yours. So, what you consider innocent gestures like leaning over their shoulder, sitting together while eating, look quite misleading from a mermaid’s perspective (especially if their love language was physical touch/in merfolk society, you only do those types of things with your lover).

REO would be mortified at the sight of them. Who is this person? Why the hell did they come along with you? And why are you talking to them? Please and I stress this, don’t tease him by saying, “oh, haha, they’re my s/o.” What you see as a harmless joke, is something he’d rather die than hear again. Unlike the others, he can and will be openly irritated with your friend’s presence and isn’t scared to voice it. To the point where your colleague is wondering if you were talking shit behind their back to the merman.

ISAGI is arguable the most ‘normal’, rationalising that they’re probably just a coworker that you know. He’d only get antsy if your partner decides to get a little too close to you. Even as chill and unassuming as he may be, Isagi’s still got a pretty nasty ego on him and a bit of a potty mouth to boot. May or may not curse your coworker’s entire generation for the rest of eternity.

BACHIRA would be friendly at first, acting all smiles and being his usual chatty self. But if your coworker decides to try anything the merman deems too…unprofessional, they’ve got another thing coming for them. He’ll snap at their fingers, or tear them off… just kidding! But he wouldn’t be thrilled by it for sure. Kinda just sits on a rock, lost in his own thoughts for a while until they leave.

CHIGIRI would pretend to not care at first, but it’s obvious by the glares he throws their way and the way his sarcasm seems to triple when talking to them that he doesn’t like them. Seriously, why this person? He simply tries to get your attention on him at first, until that doesn’t work and he decides to ‘accidentally’ chuck water onto their face.

NAGI couldn’t care less at first — key word being: at first. But then you’re paying them more attention than you do him, and his brain subconsciously makes up excuses to why he doesn’t like them. Granted some of these could be plausible but others are just straight up mean. Their voice is so grating he can’t sleep, their figure is blocking the sunlight shining on him, among other things. Get them off your boat.

[blondrichclosetwitch]

The truth will set you free, but first, it'll piss you off

But you know what they say, you can't help who you fall for

I bet you think about me when you say "Oh my god, she's insane, she wrote a book about me"

You'll never wait so long

Venus

Maybe the riddle of this accident goes back to your gossip with a ferocious strategy you play wounded in his cockpit

but I think that you forgot my days of teenage hustling

It's going to save me, save me, save me, save me, save me, save me from your dirty dealings

My time coming, voices saying they tell me where to go

California, a prophet on the burning shore

Standin' on the beach, the sea will part before me

I know where to go

Those women got them evil loving ways make a man go crazy don’t know what they’ve done

A man can do anything they wanted to

one thing that I asked my baby: bring yourself up

All I wanna do is jump in your saddle and ride. You’re my sweet little mare, I’ll ride you everywhere. Let me ride.

Little girl, 17

I could fly that night. Shotgun. And a sheriff behind. Keep on running.

I know when there’s some cookies baking, I can smell ‘em a mile away

Mama, turn your oven around.

You want some entertainment?

Go on, shove it up me - if you must.

Jarvis' comments: “I've always been fascinated by plants growing in places where they shouldn't really be - like weeds growing in cracks in the paving stones. For some reason I thought: "That's a bit like humans in a city - you're a natural thing but you're growing in this slightly hostile, crappy environment but somehow managing to survive." I started thinking about how most good music comes from people who are in shitty circumstances and then the Svengali comes along and makes all the money and the artist gets fucked off. Then there was the drugs connotation. There's a slumming-it mentality in our society which is going back to a Common People theme - people getting a buzz from scoring drugs off a council estate: "It's so authentic, I was in a real council house, and these people had tattoos and everything." It's like they've got real contempt for these people and they'll spit on them, but when they want some drugs or they wanna shag a prostitute they're OK. And then there was the whole thing about weeds being considered to be weak things. You get called a weed in England in a school if you're supposed to be a weak person, and yet weeds, as far as i can see, are the most tenacious plants 'cos they grow in very hostile [places] - they'll grow in a little tiny bit of soil. I always like it when you're going down a street and you see a roof and there's this big bush growing off the top of it...”

I know I keep you amused, but I feel I'm being used

Oh, Maggie, I couldn't have tried any more

Five to one; one to five

No one here gets out alive

Why do you come so far?

" Trying to get to you”

Used to be that my head was haunted

I feel strong, I feel lucky

Said I'm going to get to you

I've gone and quit my worshipping of the false gods and golden sins

Cause we've made love in the Tower of Babel and it fell down

It'll take a lifetime to clear your name

Betcha if you had ur way you’d turn back the hourglass

Somebody call 911 and leave his name

Oh, still running game, y’all

I dare you to stay with me

One way to find out if it ever gets better than right now

Maggie. Do you want to hear a story? It goes like this:

Every morning, I do a Latin clearing prayer on my shoes and the kids “spirit tools”, so I won’t fall and they’ll be clear. And there’s a thing I say three times.

The first time I see Bubbles. The second, the Tarot Reader. And the third, you. And every time I envision you, I hear either “I’m sorry” or the word “sad”. And you def look sad in my mind. End of story. Could be worse; when I see the TR, I hear the word “evil”.

And then Chloe in the Afternoon is your three of swords song today. The day I died for a sec.

Girl, I feel ya.

You analyze me, tend to despise me, you laugh when I stumble and fall

There may come a day when I'll dance on your grave

“And I yearn for the truth that you know of the years, years ago.”

Put a little music in my day

She's a real good friend right to the end

(Ain't no woman like the one I love, people)

I don't know why it is but I have to laugh when she reveals me

Tough on the teeth, but what the hell?

How long before the judgement day? Before we cut the fat ones down to size?*

“Did you hear what I just heard?”

You know this space is getting hot

I've been on the other side; then you call me, call me in

You think I am your possession

So maybe I let your big wheel turn my fantasy…I've been drinking down your pain.

White Ferrari. I know the car was white and sporty, I’m a glutton for detail.

(Sweet 16, how was I supposed to know anything?)

“Mind over matter is magic; I do magic.”

Que sera, sera

But I never got over the secrets I kept

The woman that you once dated: Who were you then, and who is she now?

I've heard lies that could curdle your heartstrings

(Drunk girls)

Rih

It’s such a long journey, children

You guys know I’m going to leave this blog, right

And then what will you do

[fujunfuren]

Just Woong sniffing coffee and drinking jujube tea at the same time to mask the taste like the dutiful boyfriend he is.

[yestrday]

— YANDERE! MALEWIFE GENSHIN AU part one

⇢ venti, albedo, bennett, diluc, kaeya, razor

introducing! a nagging from your boss and the side effects of overworking is definitely taking a toll on your body, but luckily you have your husband to take care of you! as people of mondstadt, their culture has taught them to treat their lovers with the warmest hospitality they can manage! so just sit back and let them do everything from here on out! ... oh, and why do you smell like someone else’s perfume? + 3.4k words

warning! obsessiveness, possessiveness, creepy behavior (fuckin venti), manipulation, jealousy takes place in modern teyvat

a/n! this fic legit got me procrastinating 💀 tried out a new style and it was so fucking long I ended up putting this off for months. an aquarius at their finest

― WINDBORNE BARD. venti | 温迪

[ “you’re home! thank barbatos, i was about to die if you didn’t come soon!” ]

⇢ to think that the sloppy bard you met at the winery all those years ago would now be your husband... love really is a mystery

⇢ you’re well-aware that venti has little to no house managing skills whatsoever, but anemo visions really do come in handy, so cleaning up the house while you’re gone is an easy task for him. his real talent in being a husband shines when you’re finally home

⇢ true to his nature as a bard, venti’s songs never fail to make you relax. after a day of cleaning up after your co-workers and getting run ragged by your boss, venti’s sweet voice and lyre is just what you need to take the pain away.

⇢ he’s quite doting too! although he doesn’t have many recipes up his arsenal, venti excells in homemade food that are warm and comforting, the kind that truly makes you feel at home. he’s a sucker for compliments too! so keep praising him and his good efforts, alright?

⇢ your husband is quite the alcoholic, and it’s times like these where his true nature tends to shine through. whether it be at the tavern or at home, his endless rambling could be shrugged off as the produce of alcohol, but to the more perceptive friends of his... they’re just downright obsessive

⇢ he sings songs of praise about you, from the twinkle in your eye to your hard work and perseverance to the XXXX ! XXX ♡! XX ♡ XX?!?!! ♡♡♡ of your XXXX! XX ♡ ANd .. oops... did he ramble too much again?

⇢ sometimes, when the memories are too much, he comes to your touch seeking for comfort, but sometimes he’s too handsy for your comfort, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a liqour daze too disturbing for your liking

“perfect...” he mumbles, mouthing against the skin of your collarbone and holding your hands in what is supposed to be a tender touch. instead, his nails grip too tight and he presses his hot forehead against yours. your breath hitches.

green eyes bursting with hearts and adoration, a drunken blush covering his cheeks as he giggles against your lips. the very picture of obsession.

“as i expected,” he breathes out, his nails drawing out blood from your skin.

“you really are a mortal worthy of my songs.”

[ “i’ve devoted my everything to you... won’t you grant me a little favor?” ]

― KREIDEPRINZ. albedo |  阿贝多

[ “your office overworks you too much. i can’t do much about that, but eat everything in your lunch today, okay?” ]

⇢ albedo, with all his talent and skills, found more gratification as your subservient housewife compared to all the popularity and applause his title as an award-winning alchemist brought him.  why would he choose a profession with such high and demanding expectations when he can enjoy a cozy life with you?

⇢ he pays a lot of attention to what food you’re eating. he knows all your allergies, dislikes, likes, and uses that to his advantage to create the perfect nutritious meal that he’s sure you’d like. due to a younger sister he’d grown up taking care of, the meals tend to look a bit childish, but hey, that’s part of the charm.

⇢ your home is like his own exhibition, canvases covered in vivid imagery hanging from your walls and sketches stacked on top of each other, pages fluttering whenever a cool breeze passes through your home. 

⇢ on the days when you have the time to laze around the house, albedo always gets a flash of inspiration. you watch him from the couch as he immerses himself in his painting. sometimes his eyes would flicker back to you, and he holds your stare with such intimacy that you have to look away and fan your hot red blush back down. honestly, this man really knows how to make you so embarrassed!

⇢ princely artist though he may be, let us not forget that he’s also a highly valued professional of the alchemy world. when he’s not spending his time painting or maintaining the house, he’s shut away in his own personal underground lab to tinker with chemicals at his leisure.

⇢ and without his co-workers to become his little lab rats, well, he has to resort to using you. don’t worry, the chemicals he’s researching on are all harmless fun! he’ll just place a little drop in your food, just a little bit, and stand back and watch you writhe and try your best to suppress your heating cheeks. or maybe he’ll use some… persuasion to have you all to himself for the rest of the day. honestly... what kind of partner are you, leaving him alone like that?

⇢ oh, and don’t even try to bring other people into your home. this is your little cozy haven between you two. they’re only ruining everything by entering.

“a little green?” albedo smiles from across the table, eyeing the man coolly as he folds his hands politely. to you, his smile is prim and polite. it’s stiff, but it’s only understandable because of the presence of your co-worker. you squeeze his arm in attempt to comfort him and he gazes at you fondly.

but once he turns back to the stranger, the loving light from his eyes quickly die. 

trash. dirt. maggot. pest.

of course, it’s only proper to get rid of insects.

“eat up.” albedo mouths, never stopping his smile.

[ “now, now, don’t be so shocked. this is but a trial experiment.” ]

― TRIAL BY FIRE. bennett | 班尼特

[ “a-ah! don’t look! the food isn’t finished yet!” ]

⇢ for you. he tries his very best! he’s always been a hard worker, taking care of his dads and scurrying to finish commissions, but being your partner and taking care of the house while you’re away gives him the most satisfaction! 

⇢ he takes immense pride in being your husband and is always supportive of whatever you do! he loves to hear your stories from work and is always a great listener. his reactions are cute and eager, and sometimes you have to take a deep breather just to hug him because you just can’t resist at all!

⇢ he’s friendly with the neighbors and he tends to help out with community services when he’s done tending to the house. the old people of town adore him, and children like playing with him! but folks say that as soon as your name comes up, he immediately turns into a blushy, rambling mess, and everyone can tell how much you really mean to him!

⇢ you’re really... too amazing, juggling a demanding job and an overclingy husband like himself. an inferior being such as himself should work hard to not lose his position next to you! after all, everyone has shunned him because he was such a nuisance to be around... who’s to say you won’t do the same?!

⇢ ah--! he dropped another plate in the middle of his overthinking. and... what’s that creaking sound...? is the... is the tree collapsing?!

⇢ this... can’t be! not again, not again, not again! he has to clean up before you come home, or you’ll get mad at him! he doesn’t want to disappoint you! he’s finally found his role as your husband— he can’t imagine life without you! no matter how painful the splinters spear into his hand, or how the ants bite and make his hands throb, he has to endure this pain.

⇢ this is nothing compared to life before you, anyway.

sometimes your husband could be stubborn for all the wrong reasons. you eye his bandaged hands and how he grimaces when he insists to hold your things for you.

“this is nothing,” he smiles when he notices your worried gaze. he brings your hand in his and sigh at the warmth of your hand. it’s warmer than his own flames. another sign of your superiority.

“i’m used to it anyway.”

it’s so bitter and dark that your own words fail you.

[ “not now, not ever... i can’t live without you anymore.” ]

― THE DARK SIDE OF DAWN. diluc | 迪卢克

[ “present yourself with dignity at all— gh! don’t try to distract me with a kiss.” ]

⇢ absolutely fucking hopeless with affection. you’ve dated, had your kiss, held hands, then married and did all the steamy stuff that comes after it. but one peck on the cheek and he’s this close to keening over and dying. 

⇢ he tries to lecture you even with a flaming hot blush on his cheeks. he’s standing there behind the counter, preparing your lunchbox for the day, droning on and on about creepy men and proper etiquette, but all you do is slyly look on knowing that you’ve stirred him up with one kiss. he shoves the box in your hands with a glare, but still escorting you to your car with his usual gentleman aura. pull him in for another kiss, won’t you?

⇢ he’s less of a househusband and more of a work-from-home kinda guy. come on, did you really think he’d abandon his multimillion mora company for the domestic life? he’s still busy within the house, taking phone calls while he sweeps and dusts. he could hire some maids and butlers to take care of everything, but this house is only fit for one medium-sized family and he’d rather do without the fussiness that came with helpers. 

⇢ think balls and fancy suits and ties. you’ve married a ragnivindir, and high society etiquette demands that you show your faces in a social setting at least once per month. the upper class is filled with people who sin as a lifestyle, that including diluc, so he pulls you in and makes sure that none of these people corrupt you with their impurity. his teeth chatter when a man leers at you or when a woman covers her face with a fan as she sneers at your obvious naivety. diluc is trained to smile no matter what, but you as his partner have already caught on to the lightless look in his eyes. 

⇢ archons forbid someone dare insult you in front of him. most people have the sense to not insult a ragnivindir, but there are still a few loose tongues that he hadn’t cut off. the look on diluc’s face is so cold that the lively atmosphere of the party have dropped rock level. how laughable, that someone as impure as they are have the gall to insult you. he didn’t marry you for nothing. you were a different existence than the rest. compared to him and the lowly dwellers of society, you’d be the only one to reach celestia.

⇢ he’d snap their neck himself, but he had given too much of himself away tonight. the only other way is to slowly watch them descend from society. and diluc would be watching, unaffected, and your hand tight in his as he forced you to watch too.

diluc is nothing but a loving husband to you, but you still fail to comprehend how monstrous he really can be once it came to your dignity and honor.

it started off slow, whispers of laundering and debauchery behind the scenes brushed off as mindless chatter. but then the receipts of illegal transactions broke the news, then head witnesses, then a full-on court case. they had won, much to the dismay of the public, but their reputation already had branded them as scum. there was no doubt about it— the court had been bribed.

diluc sips his grape juice from the kitchen counter, casually listening to the television news as you shift uncomfortably on the bar stool. setting down his glass, his eyes curves fondly as he swoops in for a kiss, never minding the way you had stiffened.

it was greedy, it was warm, it was hungry. it was a show of power. you reminded yourself for the nth time in your marriage to keep yourself the way he liked you.

[ “remember this: you are my love because you are the purest being possible.” ]

― FROSTWIND SWORDSMAN. kaeya | 凯亚

[ “oh, dear me, i think you’ve forgotten my goodbye kiss!” ]

⇢ he’s a real tease, alright. every moment with him feels like the first time you’ve met, tipsy on the bar counter and drunk flirting with you till you jabbed a finger into his chest and told him to ‘piss off, pretty boy.’ since then, he had completely devoted his life into pestering you for your attention and love. now here you both were, married and still playing this game of cat and mouse.

⇢ well, whatever. he’s handy around the house, but if any of those children who came looking for spare money came by, he’s all too eager to send them off and do the cleaning for him. you try to berate him for ‘child labor’ but he shrugs and says that they asked for it. then he’ll swoop you into a hungry kiss (he’s secretly been agonzing over your lack of presence the whole afternoon— the kids are already tired of hearing him groan) in front of the poor children, and it’s really just an awkward time for everyone but kaeya.

⇢ he’s known as the cool adult around the block, but you and the childrens’ parents can’t deny his bad influence. oftentimes the kids do weird things like putting out lit street lamps because apparently they were trapped souls and the parents have to complain it to you because kaeya never listens. when they do confront kaeya, he immediately glides over the topic and smooth talks them into treating him to the finest wine in their cabinet. up to this day, no one has realized kaeya’s doings.

⇢ despite his seemingly chummy relations with the neighbors, you’re really the only one who knows knows him. oftentimes he’s needy, hugging your back and pressing kisses across your neck while you try to prepare food. sometimes you catch a dark glint in his eye before he throws you on the bed and make you breathless for the rst of the night. you brush it off as your own imagination.

⇢ but you’re right, however. just because kaeya’s a retired knight doesn’t mean he’s lost all his connections. he knows the ins and outs of your workplace, has one or two people keeping tabs on you and your friends. he knows the shady dealings of your company and how your boss likes to prey on naive little things like you. he’d be lying if he said it didn’t make him uneasy, but the sadistic glee that comes with the thought of your crying and terrified face overrides any concern he has for your safety.

 ⇢ fighting with him… well, it’s honestly pointless. the man is manipulation incarnate. he has your weakpoints memorized and abuses it until he has your crying and shaking. you’re so cute when you’re docile and clinging to him like this. it’s endearing to hear you hiccup curses at him while your tears stain his clothes. really... you should just listen to him. makes everything a lot more easier.

“now, now,” he coos, not bothering to hide the delight when you stumble forward into his chest and start bawling.”i’ve said nothing but the truth, have i? you started this mess. shouldn’t i be the one crying right now?’

“n– no,” you hiccup, glaring at him through tears and sniffling your snotty nose. “you know— you know what you’re doing! you’re being on– on purpose. you’re like this every– hic!-- every single time!”

“oh, and now you accuse me of things i never do. i speak nothing but the truth with you dear.” grabbing your chin roughly, he sneers down at you and wipes away a tear. “it’s not my fault it hurts you so much.”

[ “crying again? goodness, come here. can’t you handle a little joke every now and then?” ]

― WOLF BOY. razor |  雷泽

[ “lupical... back home early... missed you lots...” ]

⇢ one would be uncertain if razor, the wolf boy who was raised in the forest, would be fit for domestic life. surprisingly, he’s quite the good boy… guaranteed that he gets his time outside. did you really think you could keep him inside all the time?

⇢ if you get him a wide backyard space to run around or tend to, razor would be a very happy boy! he’s only ever known how to hunt for food, to scavenge for berries, and dig up roots to fill his stomach. but you’d be surprised to see wolfberries slowly sprouting in your backyard and his proud little smile as he skips over to you for praise. you could get him a birdfeeder too, if you get into his head that those pigeons are not prey.

⇢ despite being strange, the neighbors find him very endearing. the two of you always manages to get freebies from the neighborhood moms and you have razor to thank for it. since his knowledge of cooking is only limited to eating it raw and sticking it on a stick then grilling it over an open fire, you tend to cook most of the time. no worries, though! razor will do his best and learn!

⇢ although the mothers in the neighborhood fawn over him, he still has a hard time trying to communicate with anyone but you. so his days lounging about the house tends to be lonely, and oftentimes he’s whimpering into your shared bed as he inhales the side of your pillow. he knows you have to work, but still… he can’t help but feel abandoned. the moment you enter the house, he immediately latches onto you and never lets go.

⇢ beware though, the moment he smells someone else on your clothes his fangs are immediately bared. his lupical have thought him to be territorial, to not let anyone take away his possession. and you, my dear, are his possession just as much as he’s yours. he’s utterly confused. didn’t you two ‘marry’ just to be each others’? why did you let someone scent you?

⇢ he feels betrayed, but he couldn’t be mad at you! he is, after all, just a stray you picked up from the streets. it isn’t his position to do so. what he does, however, is immediately drag you into the bath and wash off that overwhelming scent off you. no, no, no. you’ll spend the rest of the night pressed against his body so that he may smell himself on you again. you don’t bother to comment on his angry red eyes and his shaking hands as they scramble to feel your body all over.

⇢ wrapped in a tight embrace, your thoughts drift to your friendly co-workers, and you pray that razor doesn’t sniff them out. human though he may be, he was still raised by wolves, and he had been taught to never lose to the enemy pack. 

“razor, they weren’t trying to scent me,” you try to explain, even if he looked at every part of your body but your eyes. “humans don’t scent each other.”

razor knew that much, even if he found it a bit perplexing. but even if that was true, the strong scent of both women and men on you was too much for his territorial nature to bear. his dull eyes zeroed on your nape, before swooping in and nuzzling his lips against a soft spot. 

“razor is yours,” he mumbles. the vibrations tickle your skin. “and you are my mate.” 

teeth start to grind your skin and if one looked into his eyes, they’d be convinced that they were staring at a beast. 

[ “ you can tell razor to do anything. even if it means blood.” ]

[riacte]

Hermitcraft on r/place - the story so far (1/4/2022)

Day 2 Day 3 Part 1 Day 3 Part 2 Day 4 Part 1 Day 4 Part 2

(Tweet from Wels)

(Because I am currently obsessed with this. Keep in mind r/place is an extremely large collaboration open to every Reddit user and thus it's very hard to summarise, and every user likely has a different experience. This is also exceedingly dramatic because the discord chat is strategising real hard rn)

Basically, r/place is Reddit's April Fools joke for 2022 (it launched in 2017). It's a large pixel canvas in which users can place a single pixel every 5 minutes. This time, it'll last for three days until April 5th midnight (Eastern time). Naturally, r/HermitCraft decided to get going and leave their spot and be preserved in Internet history.

1. The Beginning + Alliance with MCC

Ever since r/place was announced, the Reddit was buzzing with energy. Plans were made and a logo was decided to represent the Hermitcraft community. Three pixels for every hermit plus our logo- seems simple and sweet, right?

... Obviously, if you can tell, it didn't last. However, what did last is our everlasting alliance with the MCC Reddit :D MCC Reddit established their stuff (zombie, chicken, MCC logo) right next to us early on and began to defend Hermitcraft's logo. In the beginning, MCC's live chat was full of people fixing the logo whenever it got griefed :)

The green "craft" and the line of hermit pixels were abandoned and the top bit was expanded to include "Hermitcraft", which became our primary area to defend for a good few hours. The "craft" initially expanded into Brazil's area, but that was sorted out and the Hermitcraft and the large Brazil flag managed to co-exist.

But everything changed when the GME line attacked.

2. Attack of the GME (and Tiny Brazil Flags)

So to recap, GME is Gamestock, aka the Reddit that made news by sucking money from hedgefunds. They have their spot below us (with Argentina and Love Live in between), with their green line (representing stocks) skyrocketing to the moon- which also cleanly slices through our HC logo (seen threatening the Gem face in the pic from Wels' tweet).

GME wanted their green line to go through. Hermitcraft didn't want their logo to be split. Thus ensued a fierce battle of pixel placing, green vs black. MCC Reddit, fairly settled in, helped with the defence. However, while forces were distracted, the tiny Brazil flags (next to their large flag) kept on expanding- and ended up consuming the MCC chicken's legs. Oh no!

The HC-MCC alliance (in the MCC live chat and HC Reddit discord) was in a panic. The chicken and the HC logo were both threatened. But then suddenly, something popped up to replace the chicken legs- a simple Keralis face. This caused some confusion because the HC-MCC alliance weren't supposed to grief each other and the HC side of the alliance did not plan the Keralis head. So some other HC groups must had done that. Well, MCC Reddit reckoned, it's better to have a Keralis head instead of tiny Brazil flags. This, combined with the Etho head existing below, started a whole new wave of Hermitcraft movement.

3. Order of the Hermit Heads

Hermitcraft community, upon seeing Keralis and Etho, decided to add more heads. Mumbo was the first to appear (quite expected, considering his popularity), then Grian, then Stress, and it just snowballed on and on. The Hermit Heads expanded into the tiny Brazil flags territory, bordered by the GME line which stopped right below the logo thanks to efforts to defend it. Considering we were taking up someone else's space, we were conscious of the tension. There was also major confusion on which hermit they were currently making, with the HC Reddit discord having different opinions from the HC place Reddit livechat, not to mention all the rouge Redditors (affiliated with neither group) going ham and making their own posts. Despite that, slowly but surely, 9 hermit heads formed - Keralis, Mumbo, Stress, Etho, Grian, Scar, Impulse, Tango, and Bdubs. Yes, the faces are one pixel off. Yes, no one cares at this point.

But then came the important question- where to expand to next? To the right was the GME line and tiny Brazil flags, and after replacing so many Brazil flags we were afraid of retaliation. To the south were Argentina's tiny flags, and we were unwilling to start conflict with another country. Meanwhile, DotA2 (red squares above us) were starting to get eaten by Brazil flags. They shared a border with us, but we were too preoccupied to worry about them.

Conflict was inevitable. Negotiations were needed.

4. Alliances and Truces

This was around the time when people from other servers came flying in to start conversations. Ahh, diplomacy. The initial agreement with Brazil was that we would expand till our side of the GME line. As for Argentina, they said they would prefer us not to expand, but we added a line of Hermit heads anyway (Doc, Wels, X) and they were fine with it. A shaky alliance with the two countries were now established. This was also around the time when Brazil and Argentina saw a collaboration in the form of a heart between their large flags (which is cute tbh). Our mural would be dead if either decided to attack.

Love Live (the anime girl [Ruby Kurosawa] next to the big Argentina flag) popped in to establish contact, we would touch neither of our areas but would go against GME line (which the girl is holding as a pole) if they got aggressive. Love Live is apparently besties with Argentina and they're watching us closely lest we expand too much further down.

At some point our red DotA2 neighbour from above suddenly destroyed their GME line (giving us hope), but just as suddenly they got utterly annihilated by tiny Brazil flags. Was Brazil expanding? HC Reddit was panicking once again.

5. State of the Neighbours

Have no idea how or where to add it but here it is (without much reference to timeframe. It all blurs together).

SpaceX to the left became Sexy Sex.

MCC Reddit started to add Dream and CPK above the MCC logo, then a larger Fruitberries on top. Subsequently, Block Wars logo was placed next to Fruit and a smaller Illumina on top (MCC Reddit LOVES their Fruitninja).

MCC Reddit also secured their Noxcrew logo, with presumably HC forces adding a purple Watcher logo below.

Blue shadows were FINALLY added onto the logo which people have been desperate for. It took a long time because people were anxious about the GME line and were furiously defending the logo, so everytime a shadow pixel popped up it was IMMEDIATELY replaced.

More hermit heads were added, with Gem and Jellie being prominent.

6. Battle for Gem

Despite the hermit heads coming merrily along, the threat from the beginning was still present and more menacing than ever. A Gem face was constructed right below the logo and straight into where the GME line would invade. Thus started a fierce battle to defend the mural of a certain Miss Geminitay. It appeared neither side would give up. Talks with GME were needed.

Redirect the green line? Portal it? Or wait for GME to give up?

After a tough hour or so, Hermitcraft Reddit managed to hold the line back, but its presence remained somewhat of a threat.

7. Rogue Redditors

GME appeared to be tired of fighting. Not much contact had been made with DotA2 from above but also nothing had happened. Brazil and Argentina were currently okay with our hermit heads given we don't expand. In addition, allies were being established with the Techno shrine and DSMP heads from all over in the left corner. They were being attacked by a plague of amongus and required help (it's seriously terrifying). As fellow MCYT fans, HC Reddit felt obligated to help out, however the situation at home was still tense.

"Do not expand," they said. "Hold. Defend. We cannot afford more."

So what happened? Of course other people fucking expanded hermit heads.

We agreed not to go below Doc, Wels, and X. So people started building Iskall and Ren below. Rogue redditors were expanding and making new posts asking people to help them WITHOUT consulting either HC Reddit or HC place chat. Because the consensus in discord was that we should NOT expand as that would destroy our allies. We stood no chance against Argentina/Brazil, and they could annihilated our entire mural if they so pleased. So we were anxious to preserve peace and the border but people kept on expanding and nobody could stop them.

ANYWAYS

If you want to help out, join the HC Reddit Discord server, active discussion has been going on in #other-spoilers. Please do NOT attempt to coordinate attempts on your own, especially when it comes to expansion. We cannot afford to be attacked by subreddits bigger than us. Our mural would cease to exist. Please don't be greedy. I understand the need to have all hermits be represented but we're also looking like an aggressor rn and we DO NOT WANT THAT. We do not have enough power. We need to fly under the radar. If you have to place a pixel, defend what we already have. DO NOT EXPAND.

I'm losing my mind over here so pardon mistakes/inaccuracies blah blah, also thanks for reading.... whatever this is lmao

[piratesfromspace]

Finance Management (Deckard Shaw/Reader)

Deckard Shaw (Fast & Furious) x Reader

Word count: 1.9k CW: mention of food & alcohol, smut

Female reader

Note: This short fic has been inspired by a friend of mine who created the character of the financial advisor of mister Shaw.  Also there is not enough fics with Deckard Shaw so here we are. 

Read on Ao3

MASTERLIST

“Mister Shaw, it’s me again, I’m so sorry but I really need you to call me back please. It’s important. Thank you.”

You let out a deep sigh as you hang up. Handling the finances of rich people is a lucrative and thrilling job, but damn it sometimes those clients of yours are annoying. Especially Mister Shaw.

First, he’s annoyingly busy and unreachable. Most powerful people are, but he can disappear for weeks on end without so much as sending an email.

Second, he’s also infuriatingly handsome and smart and funny. And he has an impeccable sense of style. He has nothing in common with the other clients of your firm, mainly old and boring men, whose only conversation subject is their money and how they hate their wives.

And finally, the worst thing about him is how good of a lover he is. You found out half a year ago, when you ended up in his bed after what should have been a regular business dinner. It was a mistake of course. One that could have cost you your career because it was a very serious breach of contract to sleep with a client.

You never told a soul, and you promised yourself to never do it again. But it was still hard to forget the feeling of him pressed against you, of his hands holding your waist, of his mouth between your thighs...

You try to focus again on your task and stretch your legs, kicking out your high heels. Feet bare on the soft carpet, you walk to the floor-to-ceiling window of your posh office, taking a second to admire the view, as the final rays of the sun disappear over the lake, and Geneva lights up under you. It’s breath-taking, really. But it also means you’re once again staying way too late at the office. Your assistant has gone home a couple hours ago, and your colleagues are either on vacation or on business trips, making you the only person on the building’s 7th floor. You still have a few things to finish so you plop on your leather chair and get back to work, hoping to make it home before 11pm.

That’s when you hear it: the familiar *ding* of the elevator’s door, at the end of the corridor. You tense immediately. You’re not waiting for anyone, and the security guards always use the stairs when completing their patrol.

Steps are coming down your way, and you grab your phone, ready to dial for the security team. And then you recognize his silhouette through the polished glass wall. There is a knock on your door before it opens to reveal Deckard Shaw himself. He’s wearing an expensive suit and an even more expensive watch, a very light stubble is highlighting his perfect jawbone and his deep grey eyes bear a mischievous glint. Handsome, as always.

“Mister Shaw…” you stammer.

“You know you can call me Deckard.” His stupidly sexy British accent and cocky smile will be the death of you.

He’s been in your office for two seconds and you already want to slap him in the face - or climb him like a tree, you can’t really decide.

“It’s quite late, Mister Shaw, you scared me. Anything I can do for you?” you insist on saying his family name, in a feeble attempt to maintain a professional façade.

“You needed to see me.” it’s more a comment than a question, and you’re suddenly reminded of the dozen of unanswered phone calls you made trying to reach him.

“Yes… yes, that’s right, but honestly you could have called tomorrow morning.”

“I’d rather see you in person.” he answers, looking you straight in the eyes. You can feel yourself blushing under his gaze. “Wanted to make sure you’re alright. You’re working too much you know.” he says with a soft smile, as his eyes drift down to your sore bare feet and then to the discarded heels under your desk.

What a condescending prick, you think. But at the same time, he’s right and his care seems somewhat genuine. It will not make you forget you almost lost your job because of him though.

“How did you know I was still here tonight?” you purposely redirect the attention on him, rather than you.

“Well, let’s say I would not leave the woman in charge of my assets without any... supervision.”

“Is that a polite way to say you’ve been spying on me?” you retort dryly.

“Oh I love when you’re getting all angry and snobbish, your French accent is even cuter.”

You’re gonna murder him. You really really want to tell him to go fuck himself, but he’s the one responsible for a very generous part of your paycheck, so you have to keep quiet.

“I would be more comfortable if we keep our conversation strictly professional, Mister Shaw.”

“Everything you want, dear.”

-----

“Mmph, fu-ck... Deckard, don’t stop”

The professional attitude has been long forgotten, since Deckard has pulled you onto his lap on the velvet couch of his presidential suite at the Four Seasons hotel, where you were supposed to only review the important documents he needed to see. But when the room service had brought a very nice bottle of Scotch, you knew you were screwed. You could not refuse a drink, and the warmth of alcohol combined with the warmth of his hand slightly brushing against your thigh had overcome all your resolve.

You are now sprawled on the king-size bed, moaning his name as Deckard Shaw is destroying your sanity very methodically. One foot on the floor, one leg bent on the edge of the bed, he’s pounding into you, holding your hip with one hand, and circling your clit with the other. His pace is calculated, not too fast so you can feel every inch of him, but not too slow so your nerves don’t have any respite, and it’s driving you crazy. Hands tangled in the dark silk sheets beneath you, you try to catch your breath to no avail.

“I won’t stop darling. Not until I can feel you coming again all over me.” His voice is like heavy honey, dripping all over your senses, drowning you in sweet and sinful promises.

You want to close your eyes to focus on the overwhelming feelings, but the view in front of you is too good to be missed. He looks like some demi-god, bathed in the subdued light of the room, broad and muscular chest, abs perfectly drawn. What is his job again? You vaguely remember him talking about serving a few years in the military when he was younger, but he is still definitely hitting the gym on a regular basis.

His muscles flex when he brings you down on his thick cock a little more sharply than before, and you keen as he hits that perfect spot inside of you. You can feel your orgasm build again, and so can he.

“You’re close, princess, aren’t you?”

You mewl in response and he chuckles darkly, keeping up with his ruthless assault on your most sensitive parts. He angles his fingers just a bit differently on your clit, and keeps thrusting into you, stretching you so perfectly you can’t remember the last time someone fucked you this good - wait , actually you can, it was a few months ago and it was by mister Deckard “annoyingly perfect” Shaw.

“Come on, I know you want to, I’ll keep going until you give me one more anyway princess…”

And that's it. You’re gone. Back arching off the bed, you come hard, harder than the first time, clenching around him. You barely hear him hiss in pleasure as you spasm helplessly on the soft sheets, the silk feeling almost cool against your burning skin.

----

“Good morning darling."

You open an eye, natural light is flooding the room, as is the delicious smell of fresh coffee and tea. At the foot of the bed, you spot a room service trolley loaded with breakfast treats and through the open door of the bathroom, you can see Deckard is looking at you in the mirror reflection while buttoning a crisp white shirt.

"Your tea is ready. Black, no milk, right?”

He's right and it's annoying because is there anything this man messes up?

"What time is it?" You ask, suddenly remembering you have a busy schedule today.

"You have 27 minutes to eat and get ready, so I can drop you off at your office in time for your first call of the day."

He knows about your tea preferences and your professional agenda, of course he does , he was not joking when mentioning the whole "spying-on-you" situation, or "supervision" as he liked to call it. He needs to stop it, but you decide to keep this discussion for another day.

You stretch, and rise to put on the hotel bathrobe, sighing at the thought of having to wear the same clothes as yesterday. Last you saw them, they were scattered on the floor all over the room and your underwear were positively ruined.

"The concierge was very helpful this morning, thanks to him I got you a few clothes delivered for today." Deckard adds as he pours himself a cup of coffee from the cart and gestures to the leather armchair where a couple of bags doning logos of luxury brands are perched.

You make your way to the packages, and open the first one to reveal a sophisticated dress, fitted and sexy, but not too much that it would be inappropriate as office wear. The second bag is a thoughtful selection of high end make-up products. And the last one contains a gorgeous set of lacy lingerie, nothing too raunchy but sexy nonetheless. Of course everything is in the right size.

"Thank you..." you whisper, a little stunned. The assortment must have cost him a couple grands at the very least - not that he can't afford it because you're well placed to be sure he can, but still, he did not have to do this.

You have to suppress a smile, because damn he's being annoyingly perfect once more, but you don't want to give him the satisfaction to reveal he was right when promising you could stay the night instead of going home and still look fresh for your day at work.

"I was thinking, I'm free tonight, so maybe we can finally review those documents, you know the ones you were supposed to show me before you jumped on me on the couch last night?" Deckard states as he bites in an apple in front of the window, casually looking at lake Geneva glinting in the bright morning sun.

You blush unwillingly, struggling to find a reply that would save you from admitting you had failed at enforcing your usual work ethic.

"I'm kidding dear!" He barks in a laugh. "I know enough to trust you on this venture, you have my approval to go on with the investment." He continues more seriously.

You open your mouth to answer but he's quicker.

"I'm not kidding about being free though, so what about dinner and then we can see where this takes us…"

When you don't answer immediately, he turns to look at you. Maybe he's realizing the situation can be awkward and precarious for you since you're technically working for him.

"You can say no, I won't take any offense." He adds without irony.

"Yes..." You finally answer, tip toeing toward him until you can snatch the apple he was eating from him. He protests but you shush him.

"...Yes, I would like this very much..."

As he starts to protest again, you take a big bite from the fruit with a knowing smile.

"...but only for dinner. Nothing more."

"You'll be the death of me." Deckard says, falsely irritated, his voice dropping lower.

"At least the feeling is mutual, mister Shaw ..."

[amjustagirl]

Firecracker - a meet cute with Suna Rintaro (923 words, fluff) 

It doesn’t begin with the standard hello, it’s nice to meet you. 

Instead, it begins in the middle of a crowded hallway in school as you’re facing off one Miya Atsumu. The disparity in size is what makes him chortle at first, you’re dwarfed by the six foot tall blonde pain in the ass, and that is probably what makes Kita hiss in disapproval, ready to curb his wayward kouhai from courting further trouble with the discipline master. 

But from his vantage point, he notices a few things. 

First, while Miya Atsumu is currently holding your pencil case hostage, dangled teasingly way above your head, he’s keeping a careful distance from you. Second, you show no signs of being dissuaded by your physical disadvantage, nor are you resorting to whining to get your way - something he detests. Instead, your stance is light and casual. You're even advancing with deliberate, sure steps towards Atsumu. Third, you’ve somehow managed to shift the terrain to your advantage, cornering Atsumu beside a study bench, his idiot teammate blind to the fact that he’s being played. 

Suna does, because he observes and thinks. Like you, he thinks appraisingly. He appreciates that. 

Perhaps it’s just sheer curiosity that makes him catch Kita’s sleeve before his captain darts out to diffuse the situation, or it’s his penchant for filming Miya twins shenanigans (his camera was out the minute he spotted Atsumu stealing your pencil case from your bag). 

Whatever it is, he thanks his instincts. 

Because with one swift step onto the bench, you manage to negate the height disadvantage. The way your feet kick off the raised platform the bench offers makes him think of a feral cat hunting its prey, and everyone in the vicinity gasps in disbelief as you leap into the air. 

(You’re wearing shorts beneath your skirt, but Suna’s face still heats up as he watches your skirt flutter up to expose the soft skin of your thighs). 

Before Atsumu can react, you snatch your pencil case away with one hand. Your other hand isn’t idle, because with a hearty thud, you slap the back of his head so hard he nearly face plants on the floor.

(You’d make a damn good spiker, if the force of that slap were any indication)

“She’s crazy” he hears a girl whisper. 

“Definitely psycho”, he hears a boy sneer. 

Kita and Aran just shake their heads at the entire scene, eerily in sync. 

Osamu just snorts. “Serve ‘Tsumu right. He’s never gotten the better of her, even when we were kids.”  

Very casually, Suna stops filming. “His girlfriend?” he asks casually, keeping his face neutral, even though he knows Atsumu has absolutely zero interest in anything that doesn’t have anything to do with volleyball. 

Osamu snorts again. “Our neighbour. Grew up together, practically our lil’ sister. Tsumu likes clownin’ on  her cos’ he doesn’t wanna admit that he’s always gonna lose.”

Interesting. 

He’s never quite known how to answer when the other guys ask what his type is. His teammates answer easily - Kita likes quiet, intelligent, competent girls (a robot, just like him), Aran likes nurturing, sweet girls (boringggg), Atsumu likes girls that don’t get in the way of volleyball (they don’t exist) and Osamu likes good-natured girls that make him laugh (tepid, but alright, he supposes). He always adopts an amalgamation of their answer, but he personally thinks kind, sweet, smart - those attributes are just the bare minimum he desires. 

Now, staring at you, he discovers something new about himself. 

He likes girls who aren’t afraid to play with fire, who crackle with spunk. 

So he decides to dig for information from one of the twins (Osamu’s definitely a better bet than the sulking Atsumu), to see if he can strike up a chance meeting with you. But he doesn’t need to, because you’re waiting for him when practice ends, an ice-cold glare directed at Atsumu making him scuttle off in the opposite direction, a friendly poke to Osamu’s side when he just shoots a half smirk at you and warns you to play nice. 

“I want the video you took”, you say without preamble. “Need it for blackmail purposes.”

“What do I get out of it?” he challenges, a thrill running down his spine. 

“Depends on what you want”, you snap, expression simmering into a glower. 

Perhaps he should be more honest with his intentions. 

“Your number so I can send the video to you”, he says, and because he suspects fortune rewards the bold - at least, it should, with you, he adds - “if you’re looking for more blackmail on Atsumu, I have plenty. I can share them with you if you’d go out for ice cream with me.”

Your eyes narrow and you remain silent for a beat. He wonders if he’s next in line to get slapped but he doesn’t retreat, stares at you unflinchingly. 

You surprise him by sticking your hand out. “Deal”, you reply, eyes sparking, mouth slanting into a smile. “I guess it’s a date.” 

He takes your hand, squeezes it. 

The Miya twins watch on from their hiding spot. “Sunarin’s not gonna know what hit him”, Atsumu pronounces, whistling low and amused, shit eating grin on his face. Osamu tilts his head, considering. “Nah”, he eventually says. “Different strokes for different folks. Seems like Suna’s the kind to enjoy playing with firecrackers even if they might explode in his face.”

“He’s crazy”, Atsumu remarks. 

“Definitely psycho”, Osamu laughs. 

It doesn’t matter what they think. Suna thinks he might like you.

a/n: coughs. well this was a blast to write, esp since it’s how (according to mr. nikki) i caught his eye in school. hope you enjoyed this! <3