#not very organized document handling

[thisrots]

── ⊹ ࣪ ˖♡˖ ࣪ ⊹ ──

a different kind of busy

councilor!sevika x assistant!reader

; warnings: nsfw, sub!(fighting for her dominance)sevika, dom!(taunting)reader, oral, fingering, sex in her office, almost getting caught

; 1.7k words

── ⊹ ࣪ ˖♡˖ ࣪ ⊹ ──

Sevika was usually a dominant woman.

Her muscular body, strength, hardened eyes, booming voice that shook everyone to their core, everything about her screamed dominance. That was the Sevika you’d grown to know, too. As her assistant, you spent hours upon hours suffocated by her presence. Cleaning up after her, arranging her files, dealing with her bitching, you name it. It was always on you, which was very fucking annoying. The way she looked down at you as she spoke, smirking with that stupid smug look plastered on her face as she ordered you around.

But today, as you spread her slippery thighs apart under her desk, slick heat pulsating under your touch as your tongue circled around her clit, she had a whole different expression on her face. Sure, she still looked down at you, but this twisted up look was of… desperation. Of need, want, desire, damn near submission. Gods, did that face make wetness pool up in your panties. Her glasses were a little foggy, just barely hanging onto her nose as she stared down at you, your lips pursed onto her puffy bud as you worked your tongue around it, suckling and smacking noises filling up the room.

Her fingers twitched against the chair handles, trying her best to hang onto any composure she had left in her, although her glassy puppy eyes showed otherwise. A dark pink flush spread throughout her face, mouth hanging open, letting out soft moans and pants that slipped out of her mouth, scrunching her face up every time they would to fight against the pleasure. Poor thing was just too lost in the intensity, she was almost over the edge. “F-Fuck—” She groaned out, your tongue traveling a little south, poking at her entrance.

“What is it, Ms. Sevika?” You taunted, your tongue grazing over the wet, tight hole. You breathed in her musk, blowing out warm air against her cunt as you teased. She shook her head, shivering as she looked away, her hands covering her eyes under her glasses.

“Put—Put it in—” Sevika muttered between hitching breaths, refusing to meet your gaze.

You smirked, feeling oh so good about yourself as you stared at the woman that was once ruining your life completely wrapped around your finger, flustered and demanding for more. “What was that? Couldn’t quite hear you, Councilor.”

She huffed, taking off her glasses and throwing them on the desk, looking down at you with furrowed brows as your lips hovered over her leaky entrance. She bucked her hips up, her slick dampening your mouth as she pushed herself onto you, desperate for your touch. “Put your tongue inside me—Just—”

And just as you decided to fulfill her wish, echoing footsteps could be heard nearing her door. Her eyes widened as she pushed herself into the desk, hands erratically looking for her glasses, your face practically smothered in her cunt. “Mmh! Hey! What about me?!” You whisper yelled, causing her to lightly hit your thigh with her foot.

“Stay down there, don’t make a peep. You can do that much, can’t you?” She ordered, putting on her higher power voice for whoever was about to walk in. You scoffed at the change of tone, rolling your eyes as she readied herself by pretending to read over some documents. You heard a knock before a creak of the door.

“Councilor Sevika, are you busy? I’ve got some files for your assistant to look over and organize for you. Do you know where she’s at?” A voice asked, not that you really gave a fuck who it was. Your mind was on Sevika and breaking her apart, so that’s exactly what you were going to do. You swallowed down your pride and slowly pushed two fingers against her hole, tongue quietly attaching to her clit again, swirling around it. Her body jolted a bit, clearing her throat before she spoke, fighting every nerve in her body that screamed of pleasure.

“Right, right. She’s a little busy right now—” She started, trying her best to hold back every moan that wanted to slip out of her mouth. “Give ‘em here, I’ll make sure she gets them. A-Anything else?” She said, her voice hardened, yet you could hear the truth behind it. That small stutter that wasn’t in her usual ‘barking orders’ tone told you everything you needed to know. You pushed your fingers in, curling them against her spongy g-spot as you fucked in and out of her. As much as she seemed like a giver, she sure was taking you well, tight hole clenched around your digits as you pumped. Her thighs quivered, legs spreading out even more, making sure to move slow to keep quiet. Her hands gripped onto the desk a bit, gulping hard, hoping to Gods they wouldn’t have anything else to say.

You could hear their footsteps growing closer, setting the papers down in front of Sevika before they began to walk away. “No, that’s all.” They opened the door again, about to walk out, before, “Are you feeling alright, Sevika? You look a little… Out of it.”

She scoffed, looking over in their direction, giving the best ‘resting bitch face’ she could make. “I’m doing fine. If that’s all, I have work to get done.”

The door creaked shut. Silence washed over the two of you, stopping altogether as you both waited to hear the footsteps disappear. She suddenly pushed the chair back, revealing your cocky smirk, tongue licking up the leftover juices on your lips. She growled, eyebrows furrowing as she fought an internal battle of what exactly she wanted to say next.

You tutted, shaking your head as your fingers stayed still inside her. “Oh, Councilor,” You started, leaning towards her clit, speaking just above it. “What would everyone think if they saw you like this, hm? All broken and needy for me?” Your breath made her clit twitch, her upper lip curled up in anger.

“Just shut up and keep going,” Sevika instructed, making your eyebrow raise as you blinked at her command.

“You know, I should really get started on those files,” You said as you began to pull your fingers out, causing her to gasp slightly, reaching out to grip onto your wrist.

“No! Just—” She sighed, almost like she was giving in, like she regretted snapping at you when all she really wanted to do was melt against you. “Please? Can you please keep going?”

You smiled at her ‘Please?’, her voice filled with neediness, expression almost pouty as she asked. “See?” You said, fingers slowly entering her again, mouth just centimeters away from her cunt. “Not so hard to ask for what you want, is it, Ms. Sevika?” You began to lap on her bud once more, fingers working their way inside her, the obscene noises of her slick filling up the room.

You could see the exact moment when she broke, when whatever dignity she had left went out the door. The second your fingers reached the furthest they could inside, the glare she’d shot at your response melted away, shattering into nothing but a whiny moan. Her back arched, a breathy groan pushed out of her throat as her face twisted up in pleasure. She should feel embarrassed, should fight back. But all she could do was spread her legs wider, letting the pleasure swallow her whole. Your skirt were a mess, sticky with arousal, heat radiating off of your cunt as you watched the scariest lady in Zaun break down in front of you, her cream clinging onto your fingers. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” Sevika breathed out, her chest rising and falling quickly, making a complete mess as her wetness dripped along the ground.

You did not plan on stopping, you wanted nothing more than for her to come in your mouth. To swallow all her juices, to analyze and remember the exact face she made when she reached her orgasm because of you. “Please, please, please…!” She begged between broken moans, and oh how pretty did her voice sound, making your heart flutter with every plead. You could feel her walls tightening around your digits, her clit tense and enlarged in your mouth as her moans picked up. Each thrust of your fingers pushed her closer to the edge, her breath hitching in her throat as she fought to maintain control. You could tell she was right there, so close it probably almost pained her, keeping the same rhythm as you continued.

With a strangled, guttural moan, Sevika’s body finally gave in. She trembled as waves of pleasure ripped through her, leaving her too dizzy to think straight. “G-Gonna fuckin’ c-come!” Is all she let out before her back arched sharply, gripping onto the arm rests so hard her mechanical arm scratched up the wood. Her thighs quivered, spasming against your cheeks as her orgasm washed over her. Her face, usually so commanding, was contorted in pure, unguarded pleasure.

The moment stretched, her breath ragged, each pulse of pleasure sending shivers through her. She gasped, sweat dripping down her face, and for just a moment, she was no longer Councilor Sevika, she was just a woman who’d just come undone by your touch. As you pulled away and her body began to settle, the realization of it all hit her like a truck, cheeks flushed and unable to look at your cocky gaze. “Councilor Sevika,” You smirked, your tone almost mockingly, wiping her excess from your lips. “You sound really pretty when you say please, you know that?”

The sound of her own name coming from your mouth made her throat tighten, quickly regaining her composure as she shifted up in her chair, trying her best to make it look like nothing happened. But the evidence of her release—warm, sticky slick dripping down her thighs—was there to prove otherwise.

“Shut up,” Sevika growled, though her response lacked her usual force. It was softer, almost had a bit of embarrassment to it. She quickly adjusted her clothes, trying to cover herself, but the lingering flush in her cheeks told a different story. Fuck, this was only the beginning of something you’d been dreaming of for ages.

[ilookattextile]

I got a job at a Ukrainian museum.

On the first day someone asks me if I have any Ukrainian heritage. I say I had ancestors from Odesa, but they were Jewish, so they weren’t considered Ukrainian, and they wouldn’t have considered themselves Ukrainian. My job is every day I go through boxes of Ukrainian textiles and I write a physical description, take measurements, take photographs, and upload everything into the database. I look up “Jewish” in the database and there is no result. 

Some objects have no context at all, some come with handwritten notes or related documents. I look at thick hand-spun, hand-woven linen heavy with embroidery. Embroidery they say can take a year or more. I think of someone dressed for a wedding in their best clothes they made with their own hands. Some shirts were donated with photographs of the original owners dressed in them, for a dance at the Ukrainian Labour Temple, in 1935. I handle the pieces carefully, looking at how they fit the men in the photos, and how they look almost a hundred years later packed in acid-free tissue. One of the men died a few years later, in the war. He was younger than I am now. The military archive has more photographs of him with his mother, his father, his fiancé. I take care in writing the catalogue entry, breathing in the history, getting tearful. 

I imagine people dressed in their best shirts at Easter, going around town in their best shirts burning the houses of Jews, in their best shirts, killing Jews. A shirt with dense embroidery all over the sleeves and chest has a note that says it is from Husiatyn. I look it up and find that it was largely a Jewish town, and Ukrainians lived in the outskirts. There is a fortress synagogue from the Renaissance period, now abandoned. 

When my partner Aaron visits I take him to an event at the museum where a man shows his collection of over fifty musical instruments from Ukraine, and he plays each one. Children are seated on the floor at the front. We’re standing in a corner, the room full of Ukrainians, very aware that we look like Jews, but not sure if anyone recognizes what that looks like anymore. Aaron gets emotional over a song played on the bandura. 

A note with a dress says it came from the Buchach region. I find a story of Jewish life in Buchach in the early twentieth century, preparing to flee as the Nazis take over. I cry over this.

I’m cataloguing a set of commemorative ribbons that were placed on the grave of a Ukrainian Nationalist leader, Yevhen Konovalets, after he was assassinated. The ribbons were collected and stored by another Nationalist, Andriy Melnyk, who took over leadership after Konovalets’ death. The ribbons are painted or embroidered with messages honouring the dead politician. I start to recognize the word for “leader”, the Cyrillic letters which make up the name of the colonel, the letters “OYH” which stand for Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN in English). The OUN played a big part in the Lviv pogroms in 1941, I learn. The Wikipedia article has a black and white image of a woman in her underwear, running in terror from a man and a young boy carrying a stick of wood. The woman’s face is dark, her nose may be bleeding. Her underwear is torn, her breast exposed. I’m measuring, photographing, recording the stains and loose threads in the banners that honour men who would have done this to me. 

Every day I can’t stop looking at my phone, looking up the news from Gaza, tapping through Instagram stories that show what the news won’t. Half my family won’t talk to the other half, after I share an article by a scholar of Holocaust and genocide studies, who says Israel is committing a genocide. My dad makes a comment that compares Gaza to the Warsaw Ghetto. This gets him in trouble. My aunt says I must have learned this antisemitism at university, but there is no excuse for my dad. 

This morning I see images from Israeli attacks in the West Bank, where they are not at war. There are naked bodies on the dusty ground. I’m not sure if they are alive. This is what I think of when I see the image from the Lviv pogrom. If what it means for Jews to be safe from oppression is to become the oppressor, I don’t want safety. I don’t want to speak about Jews as if we are one People, because I have so little in common with those in green uniforms and tanks. I am called a self-hating Jew but I think I am a self-reflecting Jew.

I don’t know how to articulate how it feels to be handling objects which remind me of Jewish traumas I inherited only from history classes and books. Textiles hold evidence of the bodies that made them and used them. I measure the waist of a skirt and notice that it is the same as my waist size. I think of clothing and textiles that were looted from Jewish homes during pogroms. I think of clothing and textiles that were looted from Palestinian homes during the ongoing Nakba. Clothes hold the shape of the body that once dressed in them. Sometimes there are tears, mends, stains. I am rummaging through personal belongings in my nitrile gloves. 

I am hands-on learning about the violence caused by Ukrainian Nationalism while more than nine thousand Palestinians have been killed by the State of Israel in three weeks, not to mention all those who have been killed in the last seventy-five years of occupation, in the name of the Jewish Nation, the Jewish People — me? If we (and I am hesitant to say “we”) learned anything from the centuries of being killed, it was how to kill. This should not have been the lesson learned. Zionism wants us to feel constantly like the victims, like we need to defend ourself, like violence is necessary, inevitable. I need community that believes in freedom for all, not just our own People. I need the half of my family who believes in this necessary “self-defence” to remember our history, and not just the one that ends happily ever after with the creation of the State of Israel. Genocide should not be this controversial. We should not be okay with this. 

Tomorrow I will go to work and keep cataloguing banners that honour the leader of an organization which led pogroms. I will keep checking the news, crying into my phone, coordinating with organizers about our next actions, grappling with how we can be a tiny part in ending this genocide that the world won’t acknowledge, out of guilt over the ones it ignored long ago. 

[ms-demeanor]

Due to some stuff brought up in recent posts I believe it is time to once again extol the virtues of Ms-Demeanor's Patented Where Did I Put That Fucking Paper Organizational Binder.

Hello! I am a disorganized adult! This is the system by which I manage my important shit like pink slips for my car and medical records and tax information.

You're going to need:

A 3-Ring Binder

Transparent Sheet Protectors

Notebook dividers (optional but VERY useful)

A backpack (optional)

So the way this system works is you put the sheet protectors into the binder. You can either use the dividers to divide the binder into sections or you can label some of the sheet protectors to make different sections but what you are generally going to do is make sections of the binder labeled things like "taxes" or "vet" or "doctor" and put a few sheet protectors in each section.

Then all of your papers with important information get crammed in that folder. You don't organize them, you don't sort them by date, you don't alphabetize. You put things vaguely relating to taxes into the sheet protectors in the taxes section. You put things relating to cars in the cars section. You don't even attempt to make this readable - you're not using sheet protectors so that you can read each page and keep it legible, you're using sheet protectors because it's a cheap plastic bag that will sit nicely in a binder.

You CAN put stuff into the individual sheet protectors when you get it, but let's be realistic you probably WON'T do that, so just tuck individual papers into the front of the binder until you get to a critical mass of paperwork then take an hour to sit down and sort into categories and put it in the binder once every six months to three years (depending on how frequently you get paperwork). Sometimes these sections will outgrow their original allotted space - since my spouse had a transplant surgery the medical section has had to become its own folder - and that's okay. If you end up with multiple folders just keep them together (this is why the backpack is an option, and one I strongly recommend).

Because yeah, if my organization system relies on opening up a drawer and putting something where it belongs as soon as I get the paper, I will simply not be organized. It's not going to happen. But I can handle a messy stack of paper that sits in one place and grows until it is time to shove it into a binder. I can't organize things for thirty seconds a day every day but I can organize things for an hour once every year or so (maybe two hours every five years when I sort out stuff I don't need like copies of warranties for parts on a car I don't own anymore).

When my mom died she had about fifty pounds of paper files in her office that were neatly organized in a system that didn't make any sense to my dad, my sister, and I. I ended up sorting through those files for twenty hours, tossing out copies of paid invoices from ten years ago and student handbooks from my junior high school. I reduced one filing cabinet, two desk file drawers, and a foot-high stack to a six inch binder that I gave to my dad. My mom died five years ago; two months ago my dad asked me about a medical document and I was able to tell him to go look for it in the medical section of the binder. It was there, because ALL IMPORTANT SHIT GOES IN THE BINDER.

Where is my birth certificate? In the binder. Where is my tax return from 2017? In the binder. Where is the record of my dog's last rabies shot? In the binder. Where are the records for my life insurance? In the binder.

A lot of what people consider "being organized" breaks down to whether or not you can find the specific things that you're looking for. Does my binder look nice? Is it aesthetic? Does it have color-coded tabs and papers all laid out neatly? Absolutely fucking not. But if you ask me where to find a paper I know that I can do so within about five minutes of shuffling through the pile of letter-folded sheets that I pulled out of the appropriate section of the binder.

I've discussed the Where Did I Put that Fucking Paper Binder before, but now it is time to expand that concept to the Backpack of Important Shit.

You likely have Important Shit that does not fit in a binder. Some of my Important Shit that does not fit in a binder is stuff like jewelry and the spare key for my car. Other stuff - the reason I decided to bring this up at all - includes my backup hard drive and packaging (including product key codes) for pretty much all of the software that I own. This is also where I store printed out copies of the recovery codes for most of the online accounts that I have.

There's a lot of weird fiddly shit that we have to have that we might not access all that often. This is the kind of stuff that might end up in junk drawers or under sinks or in disused laptop bags or kicking around under a bunch of papers in a desk drawer.

It doesn't matter so much when that weird fiddly shit is a set of hex keys or a utility knife or a protractor or a copy of a student handbook but it DOES matter when it's something that you might need to put your hands on in a hurry. If your computer crashes, you're not going to want to track down the software in the back of a filing cabinet and the backup drive from somewhere in the bowels of your desk. If you lock your keys in your car you are not going to want to figure out if your spare is in a junk drawer or the old purse where you keep semi-important stuff or the tin on your desk that has buttons and pins and headphone covers. Just put it in the Backpack of Important Shit and when you need it you know where to look.

So anyway, if you are a person who is a minor disaster who has trouble finding important things when you need them please don't think that you have to get your life together and have a nice organized filing cabinet or clear plastic bins full of documents or a neatly divided storage closet where everything from board games to backup drives has its own neatly labeled place. Just assign ONE LOCATION for important shit and start putting the important shit there. It doesn't matter if you have a filing cabinet where you keep old copies of homework and printouts of online orders and family history records - you do not need to keep everything that is file-able in one place and depending on what level of catastrophe you are it might be detrimental to you if you try to do that. It doesn't matter if you have a jewelry box where you keep your collection of gauges and wrist cuffs; if you are going to stress out about where grandma's ring is when you're digging through your collection of cheap earrings and silver pendants then *do not keep grandma's ring or any other Important, Vital, Cannot Be Lost jewelry in with your day-to-day wear*.

I live someplace that has fires. My binder got upgraded to my Backpack of Important Shit when the fires were getting uncomfortably close to the house I was living in and I wanted to have one bag to grab if we had to get out fast. Once I did that, I never took the binder out of the backpack and the backpack has now made three moves with me and has meant that I've had my birth certificate handy when I needed it in the middle of a move between two states, I was able to provide a history of my cholesterol panel going back six years to a visiting nurse, and I was able to give the exact names and contact info of my spouse's previous surgeon to the hospital when I had unexpectedly moved to a new state with three bags and my work computer at the beginning of the pandemic.

Get yourself a backpack of important shit and a folder of where the fuck did i put that paper. It is so much easier to search a backpack for important shit than to go through an entire house and it is so much easier to flip through a binder than it is to dig through a filing cabinet.

Anyway good luck and happy adulting.

[hollyoongs]

⤷ DO YOU NEED HELP, BOSS? (PART 1/2)

시놉시스 ┆secretary!𝘬arina, ─────⠀ceo f!reader 𓂅 𝑤.𝑐: +7k ꒰ ⌗ smut with plot꒱ ℰditoral 4 GIRLS COMING SOON! 𓂂

─────⠀unrequited longing (turned mutual), voyeurism (implied), masturbation, overheard moaning, mutual pining, desk sex, oral (both), fingering, praise kink, slight degradation ("slut", "good girl"), switch couple!!, possessiveness ("own me"), dirty talk (mutual), power reversal, overstimulation, public setting kink (office), mommy kink (brief), light spanking, aftercare implied, mutual obsession, mention of toys (double penetration dildo, strap-on), one scene of partial undressing (Karina strips the reader), intense eye contact and control play, breathy neediness, teasing, orgasm denial avoided (but close), emotional tension driving physical desire.

NEVER USED "Y/N" FOR A STORY, BUT HERE IT IS, CURSIVE LETTER MEANS IT'S SOMETHING THAT HAPPENED IN THE PAST

The power you held was absolute and unquestionable. Every decision you made rippled through the walls of your company, and no one dared to challenge it, not because they were afraid, but because you are the best. The glass of your office windows reflected that authority—high above, unreachable. Until Karina came along.

She was efficient, poised, and always dressed impeccably in tight skirts and button-up shirts that hugged her pretty curves. And let's not forget a messy yet elegant hairstyle that showed her beautiful features; her shy behavior was her charm in contrast to how she matched your dominant energy at meetings. She always had her very organized folder at her side, her little notebook writing carefully crafted questions as the executives were speaking—ones that left them speechless and you with a proud smile, proud of the decision of accepting her in your company after many failed secretaries.

In a way, Karina was flawless in her role. Although the way she handled herself wasn’t the only thing that made you notice her. It was the subtle tension that built over time she gave after a couple of months of working with you, the lingering glances that lasted a little too long, and the accidental touches that felt anything but accidental.

In a very short amount of time, she had a way of breaking through the walls that you created with your blood, sweat, and tears, and you hated that you started to like it.

Meetings became the highlight of your day, watching how she tactically maneuvered through conversations, challenging others with a grace that had you hooked. And every time she met your eyes after silencing an executive’s weak argument for some sign of validation in your face, you felt that pang of pride with something more dangerous hiding there—desire. A desire that you realized way later.

You couldn’t deny that it became more than professionalism. The way her fingers brushed against yours when she handed you documents, how her breath would hitch just barely when you stood close to her to discuss quarterly reports, how that composed exterior of hers cracked just enough for you to notice how deeply the tension simmered beneath the surface.

But you kept it together. After all, you were the CEO. Control was what you thrived on and will always be that way. You had never let anyone, especially someone under your employ, cause you to lose your grip on that power.

Oh, how wrong you were until that day—damn that fucking day.

It was right after a meeting; it wasn't as perfect as usual. You could feel the anger boiling inside you. The marketing group of the company did their work quickly, resulting in very bad reports, and handed them to Karina. You both walked to your office. Karina was more worried about your state after rescheduling the meeting and organizing one with the marketing group that day in a few hours.

"Do you want a glass of water, maybe some iced tea?" Karina asked, her voice soft but laced with concern as she watched you angrily pull the tie of your perfectly tailored suit. She couldn’t stop her eyes from trailing over your movements, very interested in the slow reveal of skin as you undid the top button of your shirt. She should have been focused on calming you down, but instead, she was mesmerized by the way your chest rose and fell with each frustrated breath.

"Karina, I'm so fucking mad," you snapped, tossing the tie onto the chair as you collapsed into it. "They had a month to do this, and the work looks like shit. Even a first-year university student could have done it better." You slammed the papers on your desk, the sound echoing through the room, but it was the sight of you sinking into the chair, head thrown back and eyes closed in an attempt to relax, that made her swallow dry.

Your fingers went to your shirt, opening it slightly at the top, revealing the valley of your breasts. Her gaze lingered there longer than it should have; she found out that she liked you like this—angry, vulnerable, undone. Her mind navigated any scenario, all of them far from being PG.

"I'm going to bring some iced tea and let you relax until the meeting with the marketing team," Karina said softly, doing a small bow, ready to escape from the reason for her thoughts. You opened your eyes at her gesture, watching her quietly.

"Don't come to the meeting with the group. You can go early today, Karina," you replied, standing up and grabbing your tie again, your composure getting calmer for your own good. As you slipped it back on, you glanced in the mirror a few feet away from your desk, your reflection staring back at you, still tense from the mess earlier. "And don’t worry, I’ll go get my tea. I need some fresh air."

With your purse and phone in hand, you walked toward Karina, stopping right in front of her. She stood still, her wide eyes following every move you made. Without thinking too much, you reached out, wrapping her in a small hug. Her body stiffened in surprise as you pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.

"Thank you for everything you’ve done, Karina," you whispered. "I don’t know what I would do without you."

The sincerity in your voice lingered in the air, and before she could react, you pulled away and walked out of the office, leaving Karina standing there, frozen in place. Her mind raced, still processing the fact that you—her boss, the person she'd been secretly harboring a crush on for months—had just kissed her.

She turned slowly, her gaze fixed on your hips swaying as you walked away, the loose fabric of your office pants hanging just right. She swallowed hard, heat flooding her cheeks as her mind just short-circuited. She’d always admired the way you moved, the confidence that radiated from you even in moments of frustration. But seeing you like this, relaxed, offering a rare glimpse of your softer side—it was almost too much.

For a moment, she stood in the empty office, her fingers brushing over the spot on her cheek where your lips had touched. She replayed your words over and over in her mind. "I don’t know what I would do without you."

Her heart raced, her mind torn between professionalism and the burning attraction that she had for you. She wondered if you knew. If you felt it too, she wanted to believe in that.

Hours had passed since you kissed her on the cheek, and Karina had tried her best to focus on her work, but the tension had only grown more unbearable inside her. She watched you as you worked late into the evening, your brow furrowed as you wrapped up some final documents. The sight of you only made her more restless, making her look (or at least she thought so) more pathetic than professional.

Karina shifted uncomfortably in her seat, surprising herself when she felt her panties soaked through, even gasping softly once she confirmed it. Her body responded to the images that wouldn’t stop playing in her mind—your lips against her cheek, the warmth of your embrace, the casual dominance you exuded.

With her heart beating on her chest, she excused herself quietly, slipping out of the office and heading straight for the bathroom. She was thankful that the building was nearly empty by now, long after most employees had gone home. Her steps quickened as she entered the spacious corporate bathroom, relief flooding her as she realized there were no cameras, no one to catch her in this state.

She felt a mix of shame and desire as she jumped to the large sink, giving her back to the mirror. Her breath was shaky, but that didn’t stop her from dragging her fingers under her skirt and tugging her soaked panties aside. The cool air hit her damp entrance, making her shiver. Karina bit her lip, her fingers grazing her slit as she sat on the edge of the sink, her legs spread wide in need.

Her mind wandered immediately back to you—adding to today’s events, she thought about the way you had looked at her every time she did something right, the way your lips turned into a proud smile, and the heat of your body so close to hers whenever she needed your approval with decisions. She imagined your hands on her, how strong and sure they would feel, gripping her hips, pulling her against you.

She moaned softly, her fingers circling her clit with a slight pressure, her eyes closed, losing herself in the fantasy. She could see you now, standing in front of her, watching her with that same cocky smile you always had in meetings. Your eyes dark with lust, your chest pressing against hers as you leaned in, your breath hot against her skin.

"Fuck, just like that, boss," she moaned lowly, her other hand grabbing her clothed breast to add pleasure.

She somehow felt like a pervert, lost in thoughts that shouldn’t belong in the office. And yet, the warmth between her thighs pulsed with every memory, every word, every praise.

Karina's breath hitched as she dipped her fingers inside herself, imagining it was you, your hands roaming her body, claiming her. Her hips bucked instinctively, chasing the pleasure that was building inside her. She bit down on her lip, hard, to keep herself from crying out as her fingers worked faster, plunging in and out of her soaked entrance.

She could picture it so vividly—the way your lips would feel on hers, so sure that they were rough and demanding, the way you would push her up against the wall of your office, your body dominating hers completely. She wanted it. God, she wanted you. She wanted you to take control, to take her apart piece by piece until there was nothing left but pure, raw desire.

“Oh… Y/N…” Karina moaned, her voice barely a whisper in the empty bathroom, but it felt deafening to her ears. The way your name slipped past her lips only fueled the heat burning inside her. She pressed her fingers deeper, her slick walls clenching around them as she imagined it was you filling her, your hands all over her body, dominating her just like she craved.

Her breath came in short, ragged gasps as her hips rocked against her hand. Each stroke of her fingers was a reminder of how much she wanted you, how much she needed you to claim her. In her mind, she could feel your hands gripping her ass, pulling her roughly against you, your lips trailing heated kisses down her neck, leaving marks that only she would know were there.

“More… please,” she whimpered, her other hand teasing her breast through the fabric of her blouse, pinching her nipple between her fingers. The sensation made her arch her back, pressing harder against the cold mirror behind her. The contrast between the chill of the glass and the heat of her body sent shivers down her spine.

Karina’s movements became more frantic, her fingers plunging even deeper when she set her feet next to her in the sink, and faster inside her dripping core, imagining the moment when you’d finally snap. When you’d push her onto your desk, your eyes only on her, and tear off her clothes without a second thought. The look on your face—cocky as you took control, your lips crashing against hers in a bruising kiss, your body pressing her into submission.

The fantasy felt so real that Karina could almost taste your lips and feel the roughness of your touch as you claimed her in every way she’d dreamed of. Her hips bucked wildly, chasing the orgasm that was quickly building, her body trembling with need.

“Y/N… fuck, please…” Her voice was hoarse, barely more than a breath as her body teetered on the edge. The slick sounds of her fingers moving in and out of her soaked entrance filled the bathroom, the echo only making her wetter.

And then it hit her—a blinding wave of pleasure that ripped through her, making her whole body tremble. Her back arched violently, her legs shaking as she came hard, her walls clenching around her fingers. A strangled moan escaped her lips, and she quickly bit down on her hand to stifle the sound, her heart pounding in her chest.

She sat there for a moment, slumped against the sink, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her body was still buzzing with the aftershocks of her orgasm, her fingers still inside her, but she was sure that they were white-coated with her arousal. She slowly took them away and stood up on the floor, her hands gripping the sink when her shaky legs almost made her fall.

She stared at herself in the mirror, her flushed cheeks and slightly disheveled hair a stark contrast to the composed secretary she tried so hard to be around you. She knew that no matter how hard she tried to hide it, the desire she felt for you wasn’t going away. If anything, it was growing stronger, more unbearable by the day.

With a sigh, Karina quickly cleaned herself up and adjusted her clothes and hair, trying to shake off the guilt that always seemed to follow these moments of weakness. But as she dried her hands, one thing was clear—her need for you was far from just a passing fantasy.

Karina’s heart dropped into her stomach the moment she opened the bathroom door. There you were, standing right outside, your eyes widening slightly as you met her gaze. The air between you felt heavy immediately, the color on your cheeks giving away more than you probably intended. You knew. You must’ve heard her.

Her body froze for a split second, panic flooding her veins. She could see the flicker of curiosity, perhaps even amusement, in your eyes, but it only made her more anxious. She couldn’t face you—not after what she had just done, not with the sound of your name still lingering on her lips from the pleasure she’d just experienced.

Without a word, Karina darted past you, beyond words embarrassed. Her mind screamed at her to leave, to escape before she made things even worse. She didn’t dare look back as she sprinted toward her desk, her heart racing as she gathered her things in a hurried frenzy. She grabbed her bag and her coat, her fingers trembling as she fumbled with the zipper.

She has always wondered what would happen if you ever found out, if you would push her away or if you would give in to the same temptation that haunted her every waking thought, but it wasn’t in her plans to be this fucked.

The thoughts ran wild in her mind as she turned toward the stairs, desperate to leave the building before she had to confront you again. She couldn’t bear the thought of what you must be thinking. How long had you been standing there? Did you hear her moaning your name?

She nearly tripped over her own feet when she accidentally stumbled into the stairwell, the pounding of her heartbeat louder than her footsteps echoing in the empty space. She needed to get away—far away. Her mind was spinning, her arousal now tainted with overwhelming guilt. What had she done? What if you called her out? What if this ruined everything?

But as she reached the bottom floor, panting from both the run and the sheer panic consuming her, one thing stuck in her mind like an anchor: You had been standing there. Watching her.

Karina's hands trembled as she unlocked her apartment door, barely registering the sound of it closing behind her as she hurried inside. Her mind was a blur of panic and humiliation, replaying the moment over and over again.

She dropped her bag onto the floor, rushing to her desk. Her laptop sat in its usual spot. She wasn’t even thinking straight; she simply wanted to escape the nightmare she’d created for herself for being reckless. Without thinking twice, Karina opened it, her fingers flying over the keyboard like they had a mind of their own.

She couldn’t stay. She couldn’t face you after this. The shame was too much. She had crossed a line, and now there was no going back.

Subject: Resignation Letter Dear CEO Y/N, I apologize for my actions earlier today. I crossed a line I shouldn’t have, and I understand if you’ve lost any respect for me. I’ve been dealing with some personal feelings that I should never have let interfere with my work, and for that, I’m truly sorry. Effective immediately, I will be resigning from my position as your secretary and employee of the company. Please know that I have nothing but the utmost respect for you as a leader and a person, and I deeply regret putting our professional relationship and trust at risk. I will come in tomorrow to submit my official resignation letter and collect my belongings. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Sincerely, Yu Jimin.

She stared at the words on the screen, her chest tightening as she hovered over the send button. It felt like the only solution, the only way to escape the weight of her mistake.

With a deep breath, she pressed send.

The email disappeared from her screen, and with it, a part of her felt like it was breaking. All the late nights, all the effort she’d put into working for you and entering that company—it was all coming to an end because of one moment of weakness.

Her phone buzzed on the desk after a couple of minutes, pulling her out of her spiraling thoughts. She picked it up, her breath catching in her throat when she saw it was a message from you.

CEO Y/N: Karina, we need to talk. Since tomorrow is Saturday and because of the Chuseok holiday, the building is closed. I invite you to have a meeting in my house since I don't find it appropriate to talk about this at a restaurant. This is the direction: xxx-xxx-xx, and please be there at 3pm punctually.

Her stomach dropped.

Karina stared at the message blankly. The tone of the text wasn't angry, at least not from what she could tell, but there was a seriousness in your words that sent chills down her spine. She threw her phone on the bed, not a second thought on her actions.

She bit her lip, pacing around her room as anxiety gnawed at her. She had already sent the resignation email, but this meeting seemed to complicate everything. If she didn’t show up, it would make things worse—like she was running from the situation. Going to your house? That was a whole different level of intimidation.

But there was no escaping it now. You had invited her, and Karina knew she couldn’t avoid this confrontation forever. She needed to face you, if only to try and salvage some semblance of professionalism—or at least to explain herself.

The next day arrived too quickly, and Karina found herself standing outside your house at exactly 3 p.m., her nerves threatening to consume her as she raised her hand to knock. She was dressed conservatively, trying to hide the turmoil she felt inside, but her palms were sweating, and her heart wouldn’t stop racing.

Before her hand even made contact with the door, it swung open, and there you were. Dressed casually in a pair of slacks and a simple blouse, your eyes met hers, and Karina’s breath hitched. You looked strangely calm, yet there was something intense in your gaze—too intense, which made her skin tingle.

“Karina,” you said softly, stepping aside to let her in. “Come in.”

She hesitated for a moment before stepping over the threshold; the atmosphere inside your house was warm, contrasting with the nerves she was clearly showing.

You led her to the living room, and as Karina took a seat, she couldn’t help but notice how close you were to her, your presence overpowering in the quiet space. Her pulse quickened as she tried to figure out what you were thinking when you simply sat in silence.

“You sent me an email,” you started, your tone neutral with your eyes fully on her. “About your resignation.”

Karina swallowed hard, nodding slightly, unable to find the words to speak. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, the intensity of your gaze making her squirm on the spot.

“I read it.” You leaned back slightly, your back hitting the sofa. “But I’m not accepting it.”

Her heart skipped a beat, her eyes widening in shock. “Y-you’re not?”

You shook your head. “No. I think there’s more to talk about before we make any decisions.” Your voice softened as you leaned forward once again, resting your elbows on your knees for support. “Karina… You're one of my best employees. You know how many people I had to fight for them to not give you corporate cards? I can't lose you for… that.”

Karina's heart was pounding, her pulse racing as she listened to your words. She couldn't believe what she was hearing—after everything, you still wanted her to stay. Her fingers trembled in her lap, the tension between the two of you at the mention of yesterday.

"You fought for me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, still processing the gravity of your words.

You gave a small nod, your eyes softening, locking onto hers. “Of course I did. You’re invaluable to this company and to me. The way you handle things, how you think on your feet… I couldn’t ask for a better secretary. But this”—your eyes flicked down to her nervously fidgeting hands—“this situation is something we need to talk about."

Karina’s mouth went dry, her throat tightening, the reality of the situation settling in. She had crossed a line, and now you were confronting it head-on, yet once again, there was no anger in your voice, just a calm determination. It was the part of you that had always drawn her in—your ability to remain firm, even when things got messy.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly. “I never meant for you to… I mean, I didn’t think you’d see—”

“Oh, I did see,” you interrupted gently, standing up and moving around the coffee table to sit directly beside her on the couch. The closeness sent a jolt of electricity through her body. “And I’m not upset, Karina.”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide in confusion. “You’re not?”

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “No. If anything…” You broke eye contact with her, your voice dropping in volume, “It made things clearer for me.”

Karina took a deep breath. The proximity between you two was almost suffocating; she even could feel heat radiating from your body, making her feel dizzy.

“Clearer?” she asked, her voice trembling.

You nodded for the second time, your gaze never wavering after looking back in. “I’ve noticed how you look at me, Karina. How you react when I’m close. I didn’t want to cross that line either, but seeing you like that…” You paused, the look in your eyes giving away how you were thinking about your next words. “It made me realize I want this just as much as you do.”

Karina’s world tilted on its axis. She had been consumed by guilt, certain that her feelings were one-sided and inappropriate, but here you were, confessing that you felt the same pull toward her. Her breath caught in her throat as she searched your eyes for any hint of uncertainty, but all she saw was sincerity.

“I…” Karina’s words failed her, her mind spinning multiple times, trying to comprehend what was happening. She wanted to say something, anything, but the only thing she could think about was how close you were—how easy it would be to close the gap between you if either of you took that step further.

"Don't say anything. You can leave now. See you at the office, and have a good Chuseok." You said, standing up, the air carrying a tension that enveloped you both like a blanket. Karina remained seated, her eyes wide, processing both your confession and the sudden cut. To her, the room felt smaller and quiet to the point that she could hear every heartbeat echoing in the silence between you.

“Wait—” Karina finally managed, her voice rising a little in disbelief. She looked up at you, desperation mingling in her face. “You can’t just leave it like that. You can’t just drop a bombshell and walk away, boss.”

You hesitated, your hand resting on the back of the chair as you turned to face her. “What do you want me to say? I’ve been trying to keep things professional, but whatever this is between us… it’s becoming impossible to ignore. And you are way too smart to know that I’m right.”

Karina stood, the sudden urgency in her movements letting you know how she was belying the vulnerability she felt. “I don’t want to ignore it. I want to understand it. I want to understand us.”

You took a deep breath, taking into consideration her words. You’d never imagined you would find yourself in this position, torn between your responsibilities as her boss and the undeniable chemistry that crackled between you. Even more, you’d never imagined yourself falling for someone. “I’m afraid of what this means. I don’t want to jeopardize your career or mine,” you admitted, softer.

Karina stepped closer, a new version of her, a determined one, shining through. “I’m not worried about that. I’ve wanted this for so long. Just… give me a chance to show you that it can work. That we can make this work.”

Her earnestness tugged at something deep within you. You wanted to say yes, to take a leap into the unknown with her. Yet, because of your positions, the risks involved—it all held you back.

“Just give me time to think,” you finally replied, not even wanting to hide the tone of regret. “I need to sort through my feelings and figure out what this means for us.”

As you walked toward your front door, you felt her gaze on your back. When you opened it, you glanced back at her. “Enjoy your Chuseok, Karina. I hope it’s a good one.”

“Okay,” Karina said, walking to where you were. “I’ll wait. Just don’t take too long.”

With that, Karina stepped out of the house, the door clicking shut behind her and leaving you surprised.

All of that led you both to this moment a month and a half later, each of you unable to keep your eyes off each other whenever you two were in your own bubble, perfectly hiding from the rest of the coworkers. At least, that’s what you were intending to do. What you didn’t see coming was Karina’s bold moves.

Karina had taken things to a new level; her outfits had transformed into a tantalizing display that left little to the imagination. The long pencil skirt that once fell to her knees now clung to her curves, shortened just enough to give a small taste; the first three buttons of her blouse were undone, showing a glimpse of her cleavage—a line that beckoned your gaze like a beautiful temptation.

During meetings, you found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. Her confidence was even more intoxicating, and every sly glance exchanged felt charged. When the office was quiet, Karina would often approach you, her steps deliberate as she approached your desk with that playful smile, a smile that you know to catalogue as one that promised trouble.

“Need a little help, boss?” She’d tease, leaning just close enough for you to catch a whiff of her floral perfume, a very common sent that made you feel shivers down your spine.

You’d look up, pretending to be busy with work, though every fiber of your being was attuned to her presence. “I’m fine,” you’d reply, your voice betraying a hint of nerves.

In the past, she would have been shy and cut it; this time, she wouldn’t even think of letting it go. As the days went on, Karina found ways to brush against you as she leaned over your desk, her hands lightly grazing your arm while she offered suggestions on projects. The massages she gave you were discreet, her fingers kneading your shoulders just enough to bring you back to the moment yet leaving you craving more. The thrill of being caught made every touch feel electric, the boundaries of your professional relationship bending with each fleeting moment.

One afternoon, as the sun streamed through the office windows, casting a warm glow over everything, and once again, everybody left, Karina slipped into your office with an almost predatory grace. She closed the door behind her, her eyes sparkling. “I thought we could use a little break,” she said, her voice a sultry whisper that made your pulse quicken.

“What kind of break?” you asked, attempting to keep your tone steady, but the question hung in the air, the fair-skinned girl leaving you waiting for a response.

With a smirk, she stepped closer, her hands finding your shoulders like she used to do, fingers digging in as she started to massage you. The pressure was firm yet gentle, and you could feel the tension of the day melting away under her skilled hands. “The kind that helps you unwind, boss,” she murmured, leaning in closer. You could feel her breath against your ear, her lips just inches from your ear.

You closed your eyes for a moment, allowing yourself to sink into the sensation. But the reality of your situation crashed back down. “Karina, we can’t—”

“Can’t what?” She interrupted, her tone teasing, and the brief glimmer of seriousness flickered in her gaze that, even if you didn’t see it at first, you thought could pierce you. “Can’t enjoy what we both want?”

The boldness of her words sent your heart racing. You opened your eyes to find her staring at you with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. “This is risky,” you warned, though your voice lacked conviction. The truth was, you wanted her—needed her—but the repercussions of crossing that line were terrifying.

“Maybe it’s time to take that risk,” she replied, her fingers pausing as she searched your eyes for a sign of hesitation. “What if it could be more than just… this?”

Her words hung between you. In that moment, with the door locked and the world outside fading away, you realized the only thing standing in your way was fear, your fear. Karina was offering you something thrilling, something that could change everything.

Taking a deep breath, you weighed your options, your heart pounding in your chest. “What do you have in mind?” you finally asked, her eyes shining as she left your shoulder alone.

"I want to take control," she said, her voice low and sultry, laced with a challenge. The way she said it sent a shiver down your spine, awakening a part of you that craved surrender.

“Take control?” You repeated, laughing a little. “You really think you can?”

"Why do you even question it? You’ll know it if you give me the chance, boss," she replied, showing a confidence that you only saw in meetings.

You arched an eyebrow, intrigued by her boldness. “And what exactly does that entail? You think you can just waltz in here and take charge?”

Karina stepped closer, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, I don’t just think about it—I know it. You’ve felt it too, haven’t you? The way I make you feel? All that tension building between us?”

Her words struck a chord within you. She was right about the tension; it was undeniable. Every encounter, every lingering touch had only added fuel to the fire. “Okay, let’s say I’m intrigued,” you admitted, trying to keep your tone light, though the seriousness of the situation settled over you like a heavy blanket. “What’s your plan?”

"I'm starting like this." Karina grabbed the back of your neck, her lips connecting with yours in a surprising kiss.

The sudden action hit you like a jolt of electricity, igniting every nerve ending as she pressed into you, her warmth enveloping you completely. It was unexpected, but the rush of passion that sent your heart to beat faster couldn’t compare. You found yourself leaning into the kiss, your hands instinctively moving to her hips, drawing her even closer.

Karina deepened the kiss, her mouth moving against yours with a fervor that took your breath away. It felt both exhilarating and forbidden, making you lose yourself in the moment. You could taste the sweetness of her lip gloss, her warm tongue spicing things up.

As the kiss lingered, you felt her fingers tighten around your neck, grounding you in the dizzying rush of desire. Every worry about the implications of this moment melted away, leaving only the raw need that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. She pulled back slightly, her breath mingling with yours, her eyes dark with desire. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she teased, a satisfied smile playing on her lips at your state.

"Oh, shut up," you shot back playfully, your need for her burning brighter than ever. This time, it was your turn. You leaned in, capturing her lips in a heated kiss, making her turn in surprise.

Karina moaned into the kiss the moment you introduced your tongue into her mouth, starting a small fight with her. You hissed as she playfully bit down on your tongue, clear pleasure as she smiled.

In one swift motion, she pulled off the coat of your suit, casting it aside like it was nothing. The sudden exposure of your blouse made your heart race, but you didn’t have time to process it before she ripped the buttons off, leaving your blouse gaping open.

“Karina!” You gasped, shock washing over you with the expensive shirt being torn apart.

“I’m buying you another one,” she replied with a wicked grin. She busied herself with taking it off as well as tossing your bra aside, her mouth immediately finding one of your nipples.

The sensation of her warm mouth enveloping you sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You arched your back, pressing into her as she expertly teased and tugged your left one with her lips. The movements made you gasp, each pull drawing you into desperation.

Your composure was far from gone; too focused in the moment, your mind swirling with sensations as you surrendered to her completely. The office, the risk—it all faded into oblivion. All that mattered was the heat of the moment that soaked your entrance, delight at the way she took charge, and the way you willingly followed.

Her fingers moved deftly to the zipper of your skirt, pulling it down and letting it pool around your ankles. The cool air rushed against your skin, only heightening your arousal.

With your feet, you let the skirt drop to the floor, her fingers slide down your thighs, coating them with the wetness that had begun to gather quite fast. It sent a shiver up your spine, and you couldn’t help but gasp at the sensation. The anticipation was almost unbearable; you wanted her to take you, to fill that yearning space inside you.

“Sit on the desk,” she commanded. Without hesitation, you did as she said, climbing onto the polished surface. The cool wood felt exhilarating against your heated skin, and you leaned back slightly, watching her with eager eyes.

Karina started to take off her own clothes, slowly peeling away the layers that separated you. She was beautiful, her confidence radiating as she left only her bra and underwear on. With a practiced grace, she gathered her hair into an updo, ensuring not a single strand fell across her face. The sight of her—barely clothed, focused, and so undeniably in control—made your heart race.

“Karina…” You breathed, your voice laced with need, feeling how you clenched around nothing.

Without responding, she got on her knees, her face hovering just in front of your entrance. The proximity made your breath hitch, every nerve ending alive and completely ready for her.

“Are you ready for this?” she asked, although the answer was clear as day.

You nodded, unable to form coherent words, your mind too consumed with the sensation of having her so close. “Just give it to me,” you finally managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Needy girl,” she replied, her eyes darkening with hunger. She leaned in closer, her breath warm against your sensitive skin, and you could feel every ounce of her intention radiating toward you.

Her tongue darted out, teasingly brushing against your entrance, sending a rush of adrenaline through your body. You gasped, instinctively pushing your hips forward, craving more of her touch. Karina grinned; she was enjoying your reaction, and with a gentle but firm grip, she held your thighs apart, making sure you were open for her.

She started painfully slow, exploring you with her tongue, swirling and teasing as she expertly drew out every moan that slipped past your lips. You couldn’t help but writhe on the desk, your body responding to every movement she made, the waves of pleasure coursing through you.

“Karina,” you gasped, the name escaping your lips like a prayer. “That feels so good; you’re doing so good, baby.”

She responded by intensifying her ministrations, adding pressure and speed as she buried her face deeper between your thighs after the praise. The world around you blurred, your mind covered in pure ecstasy. You could feel the knot of tension tightening within you each second, ready to unravel at any moment.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” she murmured against you, the vibrations of her voice sending another wave of pleasure shooting through your body. “So responsive.”

You gripped the edge of the desk, your knuckles turning white as you fought to keep your composure. It was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain any semblance of control. “I’m close,” you breathed, your voice trembling with urgency.

Her answer was her palm slapping your wet cunt; your moans got higher as she put inside two fingers with ease, “Fuck!”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull as she thrust in and out, surrendering completely to the pleasure, allowing yourself to be swept away in your building orgasm. She chuckled a little before her tongue went back to work, flicking your swollen clit to push you closer to the edge.

As she worked on you, you couldn’t pass on the fact that your body was coiling like a spring ready to snap. “Fuck, baby, I—I can’t hold it,” you cried out, your voice echoing in the quiet office.

“Come on, baby,” she murmured, “Let it all out. I want to feel you come apart from me.”

Her eyes locked onto yours with a smoldering intensity as she focused on sucking the life out of your clit, the pretty view sending a rush of bliss through you. You gasped as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over your whole body. You cried out her name; Karina didn’t relent, continuing to overstimulate you through your climax, her tongue drinking every last bit of orgasm from you until you were left tired and gasping for air on the desk.

“Lay on the desk; you’re going to eat me out,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. With a swift motion, she pushed everything off your desk, scattering papers and office supplies to the floor without a second thought. You barely registered the chaos as your heart raced.

As you settled back onto the desk, you watched her climb up, her movements showing the urgency of how badly she wanted you. The sight of her—the way she positioned herself—only added to your arousal. She leaned down, capturing your lips in a messy, passionate kiss. You could taste yourself on her lips, the mingling flavors driving you wild.

She separated from you to take her panties off, making you lick your lips, beyond ready to eat her out. Karina positioned herself, kneeling on the desk at the side of your face, exposing her glistening core to you. You could see how she was clenching around nothing like you did previously, her body eager and ready for your touch.

“Come on, boss. Own me,” she urged, her voice filled with need. You grabbed her thighs, feeling the heat radiating from her skin, and pushed her down, your mouth finally making contact with her entrance. As your tongue brushed against her, her hands went straight to your hair, fingers gripping tightly as she gasped for air.

“Such a good girl,” she breathed, her words starting a fire deep within you. You could see from above how she was slowly losing it, her mouth opening to let out the sweetest moans alive.

You began to lick and tease her, your tongue exploring her folds with an eager hunger and fast pace, far from how she started. Each stroke was met with a delightful response from Karina, her moans becoming background music. Her hips instinctively moved toward your mouth, grinding herself into your mouth and urging you to take her deeper.

As you continued, you found a rhythm that seemed to drive her wild. The taste of her arousal filled your senses, becoming addictive to you in seconds. You focused on her clit, swirling your tongue around the sensitive nub, watching as her body reacted with excitement.

“Just like that,” she encouraged, her voice desperated. “Don’t stop.”

You loved the way she felt on top of you, her hands tangled in your hair even more, pulling you closer as if trying to mold you into exactly what she needed. Each gasp and moan fueled your desire to give her everything you had.

“Please, don’t hold back,” she begged, her voice trembling with urgency. “Fuck me, please.”

With a wicked grin, you lifted your gaze to meet hers, locking eyes as you plunged your tongue deeper inside her. The sight of her pleasure, the way her back arched and her breath quickened, drove you to push harder, to give her every ounce of pleasure you could muster.

Karina’s gasps turned into cries, each one a beautiful melody that blasted in the dimly lit office. You loved the power of bringing her to this point, of watching her submissive self before you. “Pussy so good for me,” you murmured against her, the vibrations of your words shaking her whole body.

“God, I’m so close,” she cried out, her voice strained as she clung to you. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare stop!”

You obliged, working your tongue with renewed vigor, alternating between teasing licks and deep thrusts as you sought to bring her to the brink. Her body quivered, her breaths coming in short, desperate gasps as she mumbled incoherent words, too fucked out to speak coherently.

“Come for me, Karina,” you urged, your voice dripping with lust as you gave spank after spank to each of her ass cheeks, causing her to jump in your face, her arousal covering the tip of her nose. “Can you also be a good slut and give me your cum?”

With that encouragement, you felt her tighten around your tongue, her body trembling with no signs of stopping. “Yes, mommy!” she cried, her voice loud and proud as she let go, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave.

You savored the moment, relishing the taste of her release as it washed over your tongue. Karina’s body shook beneath you, the sound of her moans filling your ears as you continued to pleasure her just like she did, even going as far as to hug her thighs with force with no chance to escape.

“Mommy!” she screamed with a broken laugh, and you moaned in her cunt, practically making out with it. You decided to give her a break; she took that moment to relax her body.

You pulled back, gazing up at her with a cocky grin. “Such a good slut for me,” your voice was low, more focused on kissing her thighs as a reward.

Karina looked down at you, breathless and flushed, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. “You have no idea how much I needed that,” she replied, a smile breaking across her face.

You couldn’t help but return her smile, the connection between you deeper than ever. “I think I’m starting to understand,” you said softly. Karina sighed happily before speaking.

"Let's go to my place," Her face was still showing the bliss of the moment, and you raised your eyebrow.

"Can I ask why?" you said, smiling at her state.

"I have a double penetration dildo and a strap-on I want to use on you."

─── TO THIS ANON! thanks to my baby @awqken that decided for me, here is my upgraded Karina fic, there are a few things added and a few eliminated bc they were awful (imo), but I hope you enjoy it #HAPPY PRIDE

[viaxslz]

·　　₊　 Ⳋ I CAN’T HANDLE CHANGE ꒷.

享受 ! .°. ݁₊ 𐙚 f!reader (idk gender is really specified), cw: ceo x secretary, mention of an oc (Jiwon), attempt at crack in between not proofread :P, 1.2K WC

Masterlist

When you walked into Hyunjin’s office that morning with a somber expression, he didn’t expect to feel the sudden heaviness that dropped in his chest. He had barely taken a sip of his morning americano when you quietly announced you’d be taking a short leave to take care of your sick mother. It wasn’t forever. You’d be back in a week or two, depending on how things went. You promised to keep him updated, and you even emailed a full, color-coded schedule for the next ten workdays, complete with notes, reminders, backup documents, and even motivational post-it messages for when things inevitably went wrong.

Hyunjin blinked at you for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly, not trusting himself to say much.

“Alright,” he said after a beat, trying to sound neutral, professional. “Family comes first. Take all the time you need.”

You smiled softly at him, and he returned it, even if his felt tight around the edges. When you left that afternoon after wrapping up the day's work, he sat in his chair staring at your now empty desk outside his office, wondering why the thought of not seeing you for a few days made him feel so off-kilter. It’s not like he liked you. That would be completely inappropriate. You were his secretary. A very good one. Efficient, organized, smart, annoyingly intuitive about his moods. That was it. Just a secretary. A very competent, extremely capable, incredibly witty, irritatingly cute—

He cut himself off with a grunt and tossed a pen across his desk.

—

The next morning, the substitute secretary arrived. Hyunjin had been assured by HR that they found someone “just as qualified” as you, someone with experience and a calm demeanor. Her name was Jiwon, and she seemed nice enough. On paper. She walked in ten minutes late, introduced herself with a chirpy tone that made his eye twitch, and proceeded to unpack a Hello Kitty stapler, three pink gel pens, and a very large mirror from her tote bag.

Hyunjin stared. Then blinked. Then stared some more.

To be fair, Jiwon wasn’t bad at her job. She just wasn’t you. And that, unfortunately, meant that everything began falling apart.

The first thing to go wrong was the meeting schedule. You always arranged everything with precision. Hyunjin never had to check twice. But now? His Monday meeting with the marketing team was double-booked with the finance review, and instead of his 2 PM lunch with a client, he was dragged into a Zoom call with someone named Gerald who kept calling him "Mr. Huang" and asking him about stock investments in Albania.

The second thing to go wrong was the coffee. You always knew how he liked it. half sweet, no foam, two shots of espresso, slightly less ice, stirred counterclockwise, and served in his black mug with the little red crown on the side. Jiwon brought him iced vanilla lattes. With whipped cream. In a cup with a paper sleeve that said “Slay Queen.”

The third thing…well, by the time they reached the third thing, Hyunjin had a headache. And not the usual, manageable kind. No, this was the I-miss-my-secretary-and-the-world-is-burning kind. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was spiraling. The office looked the same. Functioned the same, technically. But something was off. You were the glue that held everything together, and now it felt like the glue had melted and everything was sliding into a chaotic pit of doom.

One morning, Hyunjin walked into the office, sat down at his desk, and stared blankly at the screen. The company’s quarterly review was that afternoon, but the numbers on the slide deck didn’t make sense. You always prepped the data for him, color-coded the charts, and wrote notes in the margins with little jokes to keep him awake during meetings. Now, all he had was a spreadsheet and a sad little sticky note that said “You got this, boss!” with a winky face.

He slumped in his chair. “I don’t got this.”

Jiwon poked her head in a second later. “Did you call me, Mr. Hwang?”

“No,” he said flatly.

“Oh. Okay. By the way, there’s a guy named Gerald waiting on Zoom again. I think he’s in Albania.”

Hyunjin slammed his head gently against the desk.

By the end of the week, everyone had noticed. He was moodier. Snappier. His tie was crooked two days in a row. He accidentally wore mismatched socks. During one staff meeting, he nearly burst into laughter halfway through a very serious presentation because he remembered how you once drew cat ears on his financial report when he wasn’t looking. He missed your weird little habits, like humming when you typed, or sticking post-its on his lunch container with puns like “lettuce meet deadlines today” and “you’re egg-cellent.”

He was in denial about it, of course. Anytime someone asked if he was okay, he’d wave them off with a grumble and mutter something about seasonal allergies or being behind on sleep. What he would never admit was that he had started checking his inbox way too often just to see if you’d emailed an update. When he finally received a short message from you that Friday afternoon, saying your mom was doing better and you’d likely return the following Monday, he nearly stood up and cheered. Instead, he calmly replied, “Glad to hear it. Take your time. Let me know if you need anything.” Then he stared at the screen for another five minutes and whispered, “Please come back before this place burns down.”

Monday came like a blessing. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. He even managed to tie his tie correctly on the first try. And when you finally walked into the office, tote bag in one hand and your usual iced coffee in the other, Hyunjin swore he heard a heavenly choir somewhere in the distance.

You beamed at him like you always did, setting your things down at your desk and immediately pulling out a notepad.

“Alright, what did I miss?” you asked brightly.

He looked at you for a long moment, then leaned against the doorway of his office.

“How much time do you have?”

You blinked, a little wary now. “That bad?”

“Let’s just say Gerald might have bought stock in our name. Also, there’s whipped cream in my soul.”

You snorted, clearly confused but entertained. “What?”

“Don’t leave again,” he said, too fast and too serious.

You raised a brow. “Hyunjin…”

He cleared his throat. “I mean. If you do. Give me a week’s notice. So I can mentally prepare. Or maybe just… take me with you next time.”

Your laughter was loud enough that a few interns turned to look. Hyunjin didn’t even mind. He was just happy to hear that sound again. To see your post-its appear one by one around his office. To have his coffee taste right and his schedule make sense and his thoughts stop spiraling every time he walked past your desk.

Maybe it was inappropriate. Maybe it was bordering on ridiculous how much he’d missed you. But when he caught your eye later that afternoon and you gave him that small smile the one you reserved for private jokes and quiet moments he realized something.

The office wasn’t the only thing that felt out of sync without you. He was, too.

And now that you were back, the world made sense again.

Even Gerald.

Kind of.

PERM TAGLIST 📌🔖 ──── @the-sea-called-history02 @oc3anfloor

[jintaka-hane]

Guys, what can i say?? I fucking love Tumblr!! This is a trade I did for this lovely art <3 <3 <3 The way I am in love with it!!!! The ask of the fic was:

I was kind of looking for Smoker kind of comforting female reader who is a bit stressed and sad from work/life. Would love kind of a self confident dom Smoker who kind of turns into an awkward flustered soft Smoky when affection is returned to him. <3

@missrandomdreamer, honey, this is for you 💖

*******************************************

A Walk in Town

Masterlist

Summary: The workload at the G-5 naval base is exhausting. As the head librarian, your job is to sort, organize, and deliver top-priority reports. You're completely worn out and on the verge of burnout. When he base's Vice Admiral notices this, he decides to take you out for a walk to give you a break - something that, secretly, he could use himself too. Word count: 3400 (wtf? XD) Notes: img url; fluff; hard work; burnout; reader is a librarian; Smoker is your superior; skating; walking; brusing hands; he gives you his jacket; almost a date; awkward asking for a date; smoker is a sweetheart <3 Warning: English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes I might make.

Arms full of papers stacked higher than your eyes, you feel around for the handle to the Vice Admiral’s office. The hardest part isn’t finding the doorknob without looking, no... What tests you is holding all that weight one-handed, without letting anything fall.

But you are no stranger to the task. As the chief librarian and archivist of Naval Base G-5, it falls to you to supply high-ranking officers with whatever documentation they require. Classified reports, intelligence dossiers, navigators’ journals, ship logs. The Vice Admiral Smoker is known to request them all.

"Here they are, sir, all the files you ask -aaah!"

The chair shouldn’t be there, but it’s the first thing your knees hit as the door swings open. As you trip over it, your arms struggle to hold onto the stack of papers.

The fall isn’t too painful; your palms take the worst of it. But what truly hurts is watching the endless sheets scatter and drift down like confetti around you. Hours of sorting and carefully organizing, gone in an instant.

“Miss! Are you okay?” You hear the Vice Admiral’s hurried footsteps drawing near.

“Y-yes sir! I… I’m very sorry,” you rise immediately, barely giving yourself a moment before you start frantically picking up the mess.

Ashamed and exhausted, you feel a sorrow in your chest that would bring tears if you were alone. In fact, it will make you cry as soon as you step through the door. But for now, you must hold it together. Vice Admiral Smoker is a stern and strict man, and expects nothing less than discipline from his subordinates. 

“It’s alright, leave it…” he says.

“No sir! I have to put them back in order! I have to…” you notice his military boots come to a stop beside you.

“Miss,” he insists, and you bite the inside of your cheeks to hold back the tears. “I’ll handle it. Go back to the library and rest.”

“But-”

His gray eyes lock onto yours, full of authority, but there's a flicker of concern where you usually find hardness.

“Rest.”

*********

You obey and return to your post, but not to rest.

After the recent frantic events, activity at the naval base has multiplied, and so has everyone’s workload. Captains, sergeants, and cadets, all seem overwhelmed. But while their work is visible and they’re granted breaks, yours remains in the shadows.

Locked away in the library and general archives, you spend your days organizing and sorting, barely noticed by anyone. It’s a lonely job. And it’s exhausting. Yet you don’t like to complain. After all, this is the job you always dreamed of. You fought hard to be recognized and to earn it. You have no right to complain.

Wiping away the tears you just shed after scolding yourself for your clumsiness in the Vice Admiral’s office, you glance over your schedule with a sigh. Looks like you won’t be eating today either.

06:00 — Review of archives and books. ✅ 07:00 — Briefing with superiors on new missions . ✅ 08:00–12:00 — Cataloging and digitizing information. ✅ 12:00–16:00 — Meetings with Cipher Pol to consult files. 16:00–18:00 — Study of ancient texts or writing reports.

Where were the texts to review? On the shelves to the right or to the left? Usually, you remember perfectly where everything is, but the workload is too much that your memory plays tricks on you.

That only makes you feel worse about yourself. It’s not enough. You need to keep going. Work harder and faster; you can’t let the naval base down...

Climbing the ladder, you run your hand along the spines of the files holding the ancient texts. They are organized alphabetically by mission name. A-B-C have already been reviewed. Your fingers stop at the first volume cataloged under D. At a glance, you see countless volumes under that letter alone.

Normally, you would have simply sighed and resigned yourself, but a heavy unease settles in your stomach. You don’t recognize yourself, and your eyes fill with tears again, falling down your dark circles uncontrollably.

“Miss?”

Your heart stops at the low rumble of the Vice Admiral’s voice. You hadn’t heard him enter. He can’t see you like this.

Quickly wiping away your tears, you almost hide your head among the volumes so he won’t notice. Maybe he’s here to scold you for your clumsy behavior in his office?

Though Smoker is known to be a strict man, he has always been kind to you. It’s not as if you’ve had much contact. You work in such different departments. But he’s the only one at the base who addresses you as ‘Miss,’ and not by your military rank. And every time he’s requested documents, you’ve received a kind response from him. A response muttered and muffled through his cigars... but kind nonetheless.

“I came to check if you were all right.”

All right, he’s not here to reprimand you. Yet instead of relief, you close your eyes, weighed down by sorrow and guilt.

“Thank you, sir, I’m feeling better now,” you say with your head still buried among the books.

With your small lie, you hope the man will leave. But to your dismay, he stays right there at the foot of the ladder.

“In that case, could you pass me the third volume of A?”

That volume is at head height, and your desire to please him is as strong as your wish to be left alone. So you raise your arm quickly. So fast that the hand holding the ladder slips and causes you to fall backward through the air. Fortunately, the ladder isn’t very tall, and strong arms catch you before you hit the ground.

“Woah! Got you,” he says, his voice as soft as his touch, holding you like you’re made of porcelain.

The moment your eyes meet his, a wild heat rise up your cheeks and ears. Smoker seems to notice too, because his gloved hands immediately set you down, carefully sliding around your waist. Then, with a somewhat awkward gesture, he averts his gaze from yours.

“You need to rest,” he rasps. “A little light and fresh air will do you good. So much work and hours locked away aren’t good for anyone.”

You want to tell him you don’t need it, but you know he’s right. If you keep going like this, you’ll collapse. You watch him approach one of your tables, frowning as he inspects your schedule. Your thoughts rush to find a reply, but he gets ahead of you.

“Come on, let’s take a walk,” he points at the door with his thumb. “A break would do me good too.”

Let’s? Too? Being as solitary as you are, a walk with a Vice Admiral isn’t exactly what you had in mind for rest and relaxation. Your instinct pushes you to take refuge in work again.

“But sir, those papers need to be sorted before 5 p.m. The captain of-”. 

“Those damn papers can wait a while,” he grumbles, swinging the library door open and motioning for you to come along. “And so can that captain.”

Your eyes flick from the Vice Admiral to your desk. "But-"

“Librarian,” he slips into his commanding tone as he crosses his arms with impatience, inadvertently crushing the cigars pinned to his jacket. “A walk. That’s an order.”

****************

The town where the naval base sits is small and far from charming. Sleek navy ships mingle haphazardly with the modest boats of local fishermen. But as the sea breeze and sunlight brush your skin, your whole body seems to relax. You really needed this brief escape from the base.

Smoker isn’t exactly the best company. Too serious and without saying a word, he keeps his disciplined gaze fixed straight ahead as he walks beside you, taking slow drags from his cigars. You have no idea if the walk has any particular destination. You don’t really care either. You just let yourself be carried along as the fresh, salty air fills your lungs and clears your mind.

One street leads to another. His stride is long, but despite your shorter legs, you keep up easily. After all, you’ve had military training too. As you pass through a local market, delicious smells reach you along with the vendors’ shouts. There are some food stalls where you’d like to stop and check out the displays, but Smoker doesn’t slow down, and you don’t want to bother him with such trivial things.

“Did you eat lunch?” he asks suddenly, barely looking at you. If it weren’t for the screeching seagulls fighting over some scraps, your stomach’s growl would’ve bee heard.

“No, sir.”

“Mmh,” he mutters, then he stops in the nearest street stall. 

Curious, you glance at the menu: skewers of vegetables with your choice of battered beef or hake. You're so hungry your mouth waters, but in your rushed exit from the library, you forgot your coin purse.

“Beef or fish?” Smoker asks.

“Oh… that’s not nec-”

“Beef,” the Vice Admiral tells the vendor, who hands you a pair of hot skewers with a smile.

“Thank you,” you say politely.

You would have actually preferred the fish, but you devour the skewers eagerly anyway. 

As you continue the walk, you can’t help but let out a silly little giggle, thinking that what you’re having is almost like a date. If you had known, you would have put on that pretty dress still hanging in your closet with the tag on. What nonsense, you tell yourself, blushing. When you look down, you miss the Vice Admiral’s sidelong glance.

With your belly full, the town looks different. Kinder and warmer. Some children run around playing near you, and you laugh when one of them bumps into you. Smoker remains mostly silent, and simply grumbles when he stops to light a new cigar.

When you reach the central square, people crowd on one side. Laughter and small excited shouts make you get ahead of the vice admiral’s steady steps. An ice skating rink, almost as big as your training area, has been set up for the locals’ enjoyment. Your eyes light up with excitement. You love skating! Before you can stop yourself, you’re at the edge of the rink, watching everyone glide on their skates with enthusiasm.

“Alright,” you hear Smoker say behind you.

When you turn around, his hand is already outstretched, holding just the right amount of berries to rent the skates. You don’t think he remembered the exact price from before - he probably just checked it. Under any other circumstance, you would’ve refused, but now...

“I’ll pay you back, sir.”

“Nonsense,” he mutters.

You know there’s no use asking him to skate with you. The answer will be a firm no, so you simply run to the skate rental stand, clutching the coins tightly in your hand.

The cold of the ice bites your cheeks, though the effort of skating round and round the rink brings a lovely flush to your face. You are no more than a child again .Free and laughing, unburdened by the weight of duty. Every now and then, you sneak glances at Smoker, who stands with his back to the rink, his gaze wandering elsewhere.

You try different rhythms, crossing your feet over one another, pushing off with your arms, and even taking a small jump. When you look back at the vice admiral, he’s watching you. 

The cigar smoke swirls lazily upward. He doesn’t notice the fur cuffs of his jacket getting damp from the ice on the railing. His face is hard to read, but the creases around his eyes seem to be from a smile. He’s a truly attractive man, you think to yourself. The cleanly shaved sides of his white hair suit him remarkably well.

Lost in thought, you don’t notice the man skating in front of you until it’s too late. You collide and both tumble clumsily to the ground. It’s your third fall of the day, but this one ends in a nervous little laugh as you apologize. The stranger helps you up, steadying you by the waist. When you glance back at Smoker, his brow is furrowed. He’s a bit far, but you could swear the smoke rising around him isn’t exactly coming from his cigars. Maybe it’s time to head back, you tell yourself.

The sun begins to set as the two of you make your way up a small hill. It’s a path you don’t recognize - despite serving at this base for years, you barely know its surroundings. On either side, trees and thick vegetation rise to form a small but beautiful forest. At the top, a wooden bench faces an idyllic lookout. You both sit down, each at one end, and silently watch as the open sea stretches beyond the quaint houses of the fishing village. Deep, vast, and blue.

"I come here whenever I need to clear my head," Smoker says, keeping his eyes on the horizon as the last rays of sunlight bathe the view before fading away.

That’s true. He mentioned earlier that he needs a break too. You’ve never really thought about how exhausting his job must be. Always on the move, commanding a sometimes inept group of marines, constantly giving reports, and maintaining a reputation. You’ve heard rumors that he never wanted to rise above captain, and yet there he is, carrying a heavy, suffocating authority. Smoker doesn’t know what a quiet life is, or what it’s like to have a loving wife and a bunch of kids waiting at home.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, meaning the view, and the bench gives a soft creak as he turns slightly to look at you. His white hair looks more gray now in the twilight.

“You should get out more. It’s not healthy to spend so many hours locked away and alone in the library.” 

“Yes, sir,” you reply simply with a sad smile. 

He sighs and turns his gaze back to the horizon. His profile is refined, with that silver sideburn framing his cheek just right. Then he removes the cigar from his mouth to speak, a gesture he only does when he’s truly angry… or about to say something important.

“I understand if you’re upset with me. I failed to notice how overwhelmed you are. I’m sorry about that.” 

The poorly stitched scar running diagonally across his face pulls tight as he frowns. You react quickly, trying to stop the way his shoulders slump forward.

“No, Vice Admiral. Of course not. It’s not your fault. We’ve all been overwhelmed at the base lately… you included.”

He closes his eyes and rubs his temple. “But I’m responsible for you. It’s my job to protect you… I failed at that. And please… call me Smoker. Not Vice Admiral. Not here.”

And not you, you almost finish the words he leaves unspoken.

It hurts to see him like this, so even though it’s completely inappropriate, your hand finds his on the bench.

His gloves are thinner than you expected; the warmth of his skin seeps through. As your thumb brushes his in a shy gesture, Smoker glances down. Then, slowly, he turns his palm upward to hold yours. It only takes a second for you to realize how out of line this is. You ease your hand away, settling it quietly on your thigh. His eyes track the movement, but his own hand returns to the wooden seat. When a sudden chill from the approaching evening makes you shiver, he rises and steps behind the bench.

"Come on, it's getting late," he says, and just after, you feel the weight of his jacket settle over your shoulders.

******

Wearing Smoker’s jacket feels like he’s holding you close as you walk. Like his arms are draped protectively around your shoulders. Like he’s guiding you gently by the waist. The heavy coat is way too big on you, but it’s warm and smells like him. A mix of cigars and a spicy aftershave.

If this isn’t a date, then honestly, you don’t know what is.

Smoker walks back to the naval base just as silently as he did on the way there. He’s so serious that you start wondering if your behavior at the lookout was really appropriate. You never actually answered when he said it was his responsibility to protect you… And that hand gesture? Totally out of place. You blush again just thinking about it, unaware that he’s tilting his chin slightly, watching you.

By the time the moon adorns the darkened sky and the night shops begin to light up their signs, you reach the base entrance where you must go your separate ways.

“Thank you for everything, sir. It really helped me clear my head, and I had a great time,” you say, quickly folding his jacket before handing it back.

“It's alright,” he takes it somewhat reluctantly and throws it over one shoulder, “it helped me too.”

The Vice Admiral’s pupils carry such intensity that your heart starts pumping blood harder than usual. You think he’s going to say something else, but his lips remain sealed around his two smoking cigars. Not wanting to drag the moment out any longer, you give the usual bow meant for superior officers.

“Good night, sir.” 

“Good night,” he gives you a slight nod of courtesy. 

He’s barely finished the last word when you’ve already turned on your heels, walking away with feet that seem to trip over themselves.

“Miss,” he calls behind you, and you stop at once. His voice sounds more like a plea than a command. “Wait.”

You have to lift your chin to meet his eyes when he stops in front of you. He’s a man who towers over most of the G-5 base, and you’re no exception. 

"I..." he starts, but the way your bright eyes look at him disarms him in an instant. "Mmmh, listen, since I saw you like meat... earlier, the skewers you picked," -you didn’t really pick them, but you keep that to yourself- "I-I..." he stumbles, then runs his gloved hand over his face. "Damn."

You stay quiet, giving him a moment to collect himself, and he goes on. 

"Okay, there's a restaurant in town you might like. They serve all kinds of grilled meat. I've been a few times... for lunch or dinner... always alone," he quickly adds.

He’s giving you more explanations than you really need, and you struggle to hide the smile that is spreading across your face. It’s not easy. And neither is ignoring how white his knuckles are from gripping his jacket so tightly.

“I was thinking that tomorrow, if you don’t have anything better to do. Of course, you must have things to do, but maybe... I mean, if you don’t have anyone-”

“I don’t, sir, and I would be more than happy to accompany you to the restaurant.”

As he looks at you, there they are again. Those adorable creases around his sharp eyes. It’s a restrained smile, but somehow a lovely one, that makes you almost forget the scar splitting his face in two.

“Dinner?” he asks, and his posture already seems more relaxed.

“Sounds perfect, sir.”

He nods and his hand moves slightly forward, but he seems to think twice and slips it into his pocket instead. “Very well then. Good night.”

“Good night, sir.”

*********

Back in your room, you let yourself fall onto the bed, hugging yourself as you remember the feel of his jacket on your skin. You can almost smell his aftershave again…

Tomorrow you’ll have to work hard to make up for all the time you lost today. But the thought of having dinner with the Vice Admiral makes everything feel… completely different.

You close your eyes and think about those perfectly shaved sides. You mustn't forget to take the tag off the dress before going out. :)

➡️Continues in 1 year later

.................................................

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @armiliadawn @pandora-writes-one-piece @i-am-vita @eustasscapitankid @nocturnalrorobin @daydreamer-in-training <3

[vetted-gaza-funds]

hey i'm not sure who to go to for this, but do you have resources on vetting a specific gofundme? most of the "vetted" ones i see on here just link to a tumblr post as "proof." my friend is trying to convince me to donate thousands to a gofundme that has a "deadline" of overnight, to me it seems scammy. i thought people in gaza can't access money immediately? can't find any other info about the fund online.

tl;dr below

Re: how to check up on a specific fundraiser, a lot of organizations running verification efforts will keep a spreadsheet of fundraisers that you can search by name, campaign title, social media handles, etc. That’s what I do when checking campaigns that are new on tumblr, since sometimes they were verified by OOB or another org before making a blog here. You can check my pinned post for some links. You can also find websites and/or social media accounts for some of the verification efforts that will explain who they are and how they verify people.

The ones linking to tumblr posts as proof are doing so because certain users are known to be Palestinian Arabic speakers who are personally vetting fundraisers. el-shab-hussein, nabulsi, or 90-ghost vouching for a fundraiser means that they have spoken personally to the organizer, seen ID documents, cross checked socials/phone numbers, sometimes even called them on the phone in real time and heard the war planes overhead. Hussein and Nairuz keep a spreadsheet as well that is also linked in my pinned post. It’s the source for most verifications on this blog.

All I can say is that you’ll just have to read what you can about the person or organization who did the vetting and use your own judgment. That’s all the vetters are asking folks to do. If this is a fundraiser where you can’t seem to find a verification source at all, dm me at palms-upturned and I’ll try to see what I can find quickly since the deadline is so urgent.

Re: the deadline, off the top of my head I don’t know of a fund with an overnight/today deadline, but I have seen a lot of funds with multiple deadlines. Needing to raise x amount of money to evacuate a member of the family who is in most urgent need, needing to raise a certain amount by a certain day in order to ensure that an evacuating child can be accompanied by an adult family member, needing to meet the goal by a certain day to make sure that the whole family isn’t separated, or in Bilal’s case recently, because he was raising funds from Germany on a visa which was not renewed simply because he is Palestinian, and needed to meet the goal before potentially being deported to Palestine, where he would no longer be able to raise funds. It’s not necessarily unusual for people to set a very sudden deadline or even multiple ones. Emergencies are constantly happening and the banks and travel agencies are also trying to squeeze as much money out of people as possible.

When people set these deadlines and goal amounts, they are also trying to take into account things like how long it will take to access the funds and how much of a cut will be taken by all the third parties down the line. Honestly, if there’s something that needs clarifying, you can usually just talk to people. Ask the organizer or one of the users who have been keeping in touch with them and promoting the fundraiser with updates. These folks are trying to be as transparent as possible and stay connected with anyone who can help them. They’re not going to dodge your questions. And they can explain best what sort of time/money constraints apply to them specifically. It differs depending on the banking situation, number/age of family members, offers and/or ultimatums from the travel agency, etc.

But the truth is that you and me both don’t have the know-how to verify this sort of thing ourselves any more than we could verify whether or not someone has cancer or is living on the streets or any number of reasons people launch fundraisers. Any time you donate to a cause like this, you’re putting some amount of trust in the organizer, the platform, and the people promoting the fund. But never in my life have I donated to a crowdfund that has been put through such intense scrutiny and as many layers of verification as Gaza fundraisers right now. Platforms like GFM are requiring constant updates about every penny spent of raised funds, and it still doesn’t guarantee that people’s verified fundraisers won’t be nuked and refunded without any real explanation to anyone involved. I’ve had I think five or six donations to various fundraisers refunded back to me at this point when I didn’t even want a refund. Zionists are mass reporting Gaza funds and smearing both the families and the people who are verifying and promoting them. Scammers pretending to be Gazan are not going to have a remotely easy time of it. Things are engineered to be as difficult as possible for people actually in Gaza.

tl;dr— if you need help with finding an actual source of verification, since this seems to be an emergency, dm me at palms-upturned for assistance. Obviously can’t say if this campaign is legit without knowing which one it is. Otherwise, you can check my pinned post for a list of orgs/spreadsheets/master lists of verified campaigns that you can cross reference. If you need more info on who’s doing the vetting and how, find the website and/or socmed page for the person or organization. You can also usually ask organizers/the people helping promote their campaigns directly for clarification on anything that’s confusing. But considering the harsh discrimination against Palestinians on crowdfunding platforms like GFM and PayPal, and the extra scrutiny their fundraisers are subjected to, you’re at a pretty low risk of being scammed most of the time. Sudden deadlines aren’t uncommon because emergencies are happening every day and the banks and travel agencies are squeezing as much money as possible out of people.

[gurugirl]

Can We Start Over? | Ch. 2 The Job Offer

Series Summary: From the first day you and Harry meet, your relationship is beyond complicated. A one night stand leads to hurt feelings and then a job opportunity that you simply can't pass up is offered. But can you handle working for a man like him? rich!harry x plus size!reader | enemies to lovers

A/N: This is a 5 part series commissioned by @justfattiethings (thank you hon!).

Chapter 2. Summary: You can't stop thinking about what happened the night you met Harry and how much you hate him. But then you get some really good news about a new job. Except there's a catch.

Word Count: 9k

Warning: 18+ only, angst, alcohol consumption

Can We Start Over? masterlist

“Oh my god, Y/n. What a fucking dick. But your response was gold! I wish you’d stayed to see what happened. Holy shit!” Brandy laughed as she clinked her glass with yours, “That was some gangster shit right there!”

You both laughed at your recount of what had happened with Harry. You met your best friend Brandy for Sunday brunch at your usual spot. You had called her on Saturday after your exit paperwork was taken care of with Mr. Spector and said you had some very interesting news to tell her but that you wanted to share it in person. This wasn’t over-the-phone kind of gossip. It was a with-a-martini-in-hand face-to-face kind of gossip.

“And besides… the most important thing is at least you got off. Typical fuck-boy, good in bed but an absolute slut.”

You nodded, “Exactly. And it doesn’t bother me too much, really. Not now. Plus Mr. Spector gave me a really nice parting bonus. And I’m sure I’ll be matched with someone soon for another gig but even if it takes a few months, I won’t have to dig into savings thanks to him.”

And it was true. Mr. Spector presented you with the check and a hug and well wishes and you were nearly in tears by the time you left his estate. The movers were there the whole time, taking furniture out of his lovely home. A home you’d gotten to become very familiar with over the years. You held events and small parties there, you helped him redecorate the master suite and all the bathrooms (well you organized it all and helped the decorators and builders with the design and material selection). You even had your own room there. Not that you often needed to stay but that was part of your job description as a personal assistant. Sometimes you needed to stay. But usually, you’d go home at night.

The service that you worked for assured you there were a few clients in need of a personal assistant and if it was a good match, they’d refer you. That was important. To have the right match. You were lucky you were single and without kids. That meant you were more flexible. But that didn’t guarantee a good match.

You were sure you’d be enjoying a couple of weeks off work off to do nothing. It sounded fantastic.

.           .           .

You hadn’t expected to get an offer so soon. When Monica emailed you on Monday afternoon with the file and details of your new assignment (if you accepted) you perused the document with your mouth agape. You’d been matched with someone with what was known as stealth wealth (most were), who traveled frequently. You’d need to keep a bedroom in their home (not out of the norm) and travel with them from country to country. You would negotiate holidays and time off once meeting in person but the salary offered was the first thing you saw when you looked at the contract. There was no pressure to sign but how could you say no to an offer that would erase your college debt and allow you to buy a home in a year? You couldn’t let this one slip away. 

You emailed Monica back right away that you’d accept it and like to move forward. The next step would be to meet in person. Then, you’d find out more about who you’d be working for. The service was very discreet. The client was always given absolute anonymity until it was time for the first meeting.

You stared at your computer screen as if to will Monica to respond faster. Sipping your coffee you tapped your foot against the floor in anticipation. You kind of would have enjoyed some time off. A week or two of downtime. Sleeping in. Catching up on all the movies and shows you hadn’t had time to watch on Netflix. Order in pizza and Chinese, and day drink in your pajamas. But this opportunity wouldn’t be on the table for much longer. Another person would snatch this up in a heartbeat. That dollar sign alone would see to it.

When Monica finally responded you placed your mug of coffee down, held your breath, and clicked the email.

You’ll be meeting with the client tomorrow at 8:00 am at an address that will be sent to you via our private messaging app at 5:00 am. He requests you bring a physical copy of your resume and if you both agree to terms tomorrow he’ll bump up your salary 10% automatically. Confirm this is okay and I’ll set up the rest. Monica

You squealed as you quickly typed back a resounding Yes! Book it! Thank you!

You stood up and paced. Okay. So you learned the client was a he. Well, you’d blow him away. You’d make him want to hire you on the spot with that lovely little 10% bump.

You already knew the outfit. Thanks to working for Mr. Spector, you’d been allotted a stipend for very nice, and well-tailored outfits for when you needed to look chic and professional. Great for a first meeting, your double-breasted jacquard wool coat in neutral colors with a pop of blue, and your blue silk button-up tucked into your jacquard wool skirt, matching the coat. Stylish, flattering, and appropriate for meetings with a wealthy man who would undoubtedly be dressed very nicely as well.

It was perfect. You couldn’t believe how lucky you’d gotten. A new assignment so quickly and one that paid so well? It felt like fate.

.           .           .          

Harry had his house manager, Lucio, contact a highly recommended service to find a personal assistant for himself. He hated to find someone new because that was just one more person who knew his business. And he preferred having very few people in his circle. But Thasi was dumb. He couldn’t bear to have her working for him another minute. She had trouble with very basic tasks, like adding events to his calendar. She’d even missed two flights that he had booked for her and the last flight she missed he only realized it when she came into his study with a folder asking him about an account he needed to close out.

He stood from his desk and looked at the girl in astonishment, “Thasi. Why are you not 30,000 feet in the air right now? Why are you here standing in my house asking me this question? You are meant to be headed to New York City.” His voice was firm. Irritated.

The girl dropped her mouth open and blinked her eyes until it had finally dawned on her that she had forgotten to make her flight to meet with an art dealer on Harry’s behalf.

“I take it by the look on your face that you now realize your irreversible blunder. You’re fired. I’ll have your things sent back to your home by tomorrow afternoon.”

The poor girl couldn’t even argue with him. She knew she’d blown it. That was her second missed flight, of equal importance. And Harry felt he’d been quite generous and patient with her by giving her another chance. But he shouldn’t have.

So when he learned about Personal Premier Services from a few of his colleagues he decided to look for a PA that way rather than on his own like he had with Thasi. Harry’d had good luck finding staff for everything he needed for the last five years without help. The personal assistant was something rather new to him as he usually did most of his own errands by himself or had Lucio do them. But things were changing in his business and he needed an assistant quite desperately.

Harry woke before the sun rose and took his morning jog. He loved getting his day started earlier than most people. It meant he had time to do things like, exercise, catch up on world news, meditate, shower, and eat breakfast all before most other people would even be out of their beds. He also wished he could just stay awake forever. Wished he didn’t need sleep. There were so many things he could accomplish during the hours he wasted sleeping. But, being that he was only a mere human, his body required sleep.

“Sir? Y/n Y/l/n has just arrived. I have her waiting in the sitting room. Would you like me to bring her up?”

Harry cocked his head and looked to Lucio as he sat his pen down, “What did you say her name was again?”

“Y/n Y/l/n.”

Why did that name somehow feel so familiar?

“No. That’s okay, Lucio.” He stood from his chair, “I’ll go and greet her myself. Thank you.”

Harry’s immediate instincts told him that name was familiar. But why? And oddly, he first let his mind wander to it being you. But it couldn’t be. You were at the ball and he was certain you were wealthy just like him based on your outfit and your demeanor. He’d only gotten your first name that night, not your last name. And while Y/n was your name, the person looking for a job waiting for him downstairs certainly wouldn’t be the same woman who had put a used condom on his hotel door’s handle only to have his now ex-friend-whatever-she-was find it.

Yes. The ex-friend. Aster. He knew he should have stopped their little arrangement before she got too attached. It was never meant to be anything serious. From the start, he told her he was seeing other people but she never wanted to hear about anyone else he might have been sleeping with. And when he realized she started getting attached he should have recognized it was time to end it. But he didn’t.

Harry clenched his jaw and swallowed.

The knocking on his door had come a lot faster than he’d hoped. Aster wasn’t even supposed to be there. Her flight had been canceled so she wasn’t going to make it to New York City. He told her he’d see her the following day when he flew back. But of course, she rebooked a later flight without him knowing. As a surprise. And the call from Aster telling him she was on her way had shocked him and really put a damper on the night he thought he’d be enjoying with you. He just hoped she hadn’t passed you on her way to the door.

As soon as he opened it up, Aster slapped him across the face and held up a napkin with a blush-colored lip stain on it and a scribbled note. But what really had his attention was a droopy condom on his doorknob. Fresh with his come.

“What the fuck, Harry? What the fuck?!”

“Aster, I don’t… what is this?” He knew goddamn well what it was. It was you. “I think someone is just playing a joke on me. This isn’t mine…”

“The note, Harry? Whoever it is knows your fucking name.” Aster pushed passed him to make her way into the room.

Harry looked down the hallway and then cringed as he pulled the condom from the knob with the discarded tissue he picked up off the floor.

“Babe, this was just a cruel joke from someone–“

“Don’t you dare call me babe! And I don’t believe you. Who is going to play this kind of joke on you and then write your name on a napkin from the event you were just at?” She tossed him the napkin, “Hmm? I bet I know who. Someone you just fucked and kicked out because you didn’t think I’d come.”

Harry looked down at the napkin. Sure enough, it said A Secret Garden in the City with Alfred Spector’s company logo printed on it, as well as the note you’d written – Thank you, Harry xx. Bitch. He dropped the napkin onto the bed and ran a hand through his hair.

He didn’t know what to say. And it wasn’t like he’d been all that serious about Aster to begin with. She was gorgeous and they’d known one another for a while but that was where his attraction ended. In all honesty, he didn’t like her that much. Perhaps this was for the better, as much of an asshole as that made him seem.

“Aster, look…” he sighed and sat down at the edge of the messy bed, “You and I weren’t exactly serious. It’s always just been casual. You know that,” he looked at her with her hands on her hips, red in the face, tears just breaking her lash line. “I’m sorry. You and I were never headed for marriage. It was just some fun for a bit.”

“Some fun? I flew out here to see you on a whim. Not because I thought you were just a bit of fun but because I actually did like you. But you know what? You’re right. I don’t think I could have ever pictured myself marrying someone like you. Selfish, pathetic, overly regimented. You’re doomed to die alone, Harry.”

She pressed her lips together and waited for a response but when it didn’t come she stomped toward the door, slamming it behind her on her way out.

Harry smoothed his expensive blazer out and brushed off the feeling he was getting as he walked through the hallway to the foyer and then peeked into the sitting area where his interviewee would be sitting and waiting for him.

He nearly jumped back when his eyes met yours. Both of your faces held the same expression. Complete shock lined with minor disgust.

“This must be a joke,” you stood up from the plush silk-lined chair you’d been sitting in and looked around the room as if someone were going to pop out and tell you that you were on that show, Candid Camera, and it was all for a good laugh.

But the only person in your sight was the man you had a one-night stand with. The cocky asshole who’d treated you like garbage and then kicked you out of his room when he got a call from someone.

“I think there must be a mistake… You’re… are you a personal assistant? I’m confused.” Harry mimicked your body language, pivoting himself to look around to see if he could find someone and demand answers.

“Yes. That’s what I do for a living. But clearly, I have no intention of working for anyone like you, so if you don’t mind…” you picked up your briefcase and began to walk toward Harry to move past him and see yourself out.

But just as you walked through the threshold of the sitting room to the foyer Harry spoke, “Y/n.”

You stopped and turned to look at him in question.

“Come. Let’s have a chat,” he turned and began walking toward the grand stairwell that led upstairs, turning back to make sure you were following.

You blinked your eyes and scoffed as you looked down at your red-painted nails. Should you follow him? What would be the point? Just to hear him insult you and turn you away at the end anyway?

“You are looking for a job, are you not?” Harry spoke from the bottom of the stairwell, his hand on the lacquered wooden banister.

“I am. But… I don’t think this would work out.” You gestured at him.

“You and I are professionals and you come highly regarded. I’m in great need of an assistant. At the very least we can have a discussion and see where it takes us. I don’t like my time wasted and I’m sure you don’t either. You came all the way here. Let’s at least talk.”

Harry thought you looked cute and he could see the gears turning in your head. He could deal with the one night he’d had with you and the very improper thing you’d done which outed him to Aster if you were good at what you did.

“Yeah, but we…” you chose your words carefully, “Friday night? I honestly don’t think–“

“I can look past that if you can. This is strictly professional. I’ve no interest in anything more.”

What were you to do? He hadn’t just been a one-night stand. He was an asshole. Could he really pretend that none of that had happened? Could you?

But. There was the matter of the salary he was offering. An enticing and frankly irresistible number that could have you swallowing your pride.

“Fine. But I can assure you I will not tolerate being treated like…” you paused to carefully choose your words again. You were certain his house had staff listening in.

Before you could find the word you were seeking, Harry spoke, “Like an assistant who is paid to do her job flawlessly?” He began to take the steps upward and you followed.

You frowned at his description. As if you wouldn’t do your job flawlessly. You weren’t sure what he was implying but you had a bad feeling about this.

When you followed him into a large study with dark woods and big windows with heavy drapes, a huge walnut desk with an expensive chair and bookshelves lining one of the walls he closed, and locked, you noted, the door behind himself, “Sit.”

You looked at the plushy green velvet chairs with tufted cushions and ornate carvings in the arms and legs and placed your bag down on the chair next to the one you sat in. He sat in his own chair at his desk and looked at you, a harsh expression on his face. He was far more intimidating in this setting.

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he spoke clearly as he kept his eyes pinned to yours, “What you did when you left that night is unforgivable in a personal setting. And because of that, you and I will never be friends. But that doesn’t mean we can’t work well together as boss and employee. I expect complete discretion and a professional attitude from anyone that works for me. Is that a problem for you?”

You felt your ears growing hot as your anger slowly rose, “I am the most professional and discreet personal assistant you’ll ever find. Anyone else will disappoint you and I would also expect that any employer would treat me professionally and fairly. What you did to me that night was insulting and something I will never forget nor forgive. So don’t worry, I’d never want to be a friend to anyone like you.” 

Harry clenched his jaw at your response and nodded, “Fair enough. Now that that’s out of the way, let’s talk job details and salary.” Harry looked down at his folder and opened it up.

“Salary? That part was already determined. Plus 10% on top if we come to an agreement on terms of employment today.” You reminded him.

Harry laughed and looked up at you with his head tilted to the side as if he were curious about you, “That was before I knew who I was offering such a generous salary to.” He looked down at the paper in front of him, marking something out and scribbling over it. He held the sheet of paper out to you.

You squinted at him and leaned forward to take the paper and your eyes widened at the new number he’d written in on the contract. You laughed and crumpled the paper as you stood from your chair, dropping it onto the floor and lifting your bag, “Goodbye, Mr. Styles.”

Turning and walking over the grand Persian rug that took up most of the floor you reached for the handle and when you pulled realized the door was locked. You placed your fingers over the keyhole and turned back to the smug fucker. He sat comfortably in his chair with his brows raised at you, unimpressed.

“Unlock the fucking door. This conversation is over.” You were fuming.

“And why’s that? I feel like that’s just a starting place. A negotiation if you will. Tell me why you deserve more and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“This isn’t a game. You had a perfectly fine offer that I was willing to negotiate off of but now you’re just insulting me, once again might add. I’d never work for anyone for that wage. Much less a self-absorbed man who treats women like rubbish.”

Harry folded his lips into his mouth as he tampered his grin. His cocky attitude was infuriating, “Oh please. Save the dramatics. Sit.”

You scoffed and shook your head, “No. You’re an overly egotistical moron with nothing to back it up. I will not stand for being insulted this way.”

Harry pushed himself out of his chair and began to walk toward you, “Nothing to back it up? Wrong,” he grinned as he looked around his extravagantly decorated room and back toward you, “This home is a great example of what I’ve got to show for my accomplishments. My bank accounts as well,” he slowly walked to your side and put his hand onto the heavy oak door you were standing in front of as he licked his lips and looked down at your outfit before looking directly into your eyes, “And I’m pretty sure I had you crying my name over and over again when I made you come. I’d say that’s a great reason for my inflated ego. You certainly thought I was great when I had my dick inside of you.”

You swallowed and then scowled at his nerve to bring up such a thing, “Well, like you said, I’m a bit dramatic. I was overplaying it that night because I didn’t want you to feel bad. Now open the fucking door.”

Harry’s smirk didn’t fall as he leaned in closer, “Liar. You loved it,” then he backed away, giving you enough space to breathe, “Not that you’ll ever have a chance to experience it again.”

“Like I’d want that little thing anywhere near me. Now, are you gonna open the door or do I need to call 911 for attempted kidnapping?” You dug into your bag and pulled your cell phone out.

Harry laughed and you watched in dismay as his dimples appeared. He looked too handsome to be such an asshole. He put his hands up in surrender, “Okay. Fine. We’ll go back to negotiating off the original salary plus 10%. Okay?”

You sighed. You hated that you were even considering it. The salary he was offering was too good, though. You could handle him if he kept personal matters out of your working relationship. The worst-case scenario would be that you quit and told the service about him and how he treated you (of course you’d gather evidence so no one else had to put up with his shit) and then find another job working for someone else.

You rolled your eyes and moved past him to go back to your seat.

Harry rounded the desk and sat down, putting his elbows on the desk once again, just like he’d done when you both first sat down to negotiate terms, “There we go. Money talks doesn’t it?”

Unfortunately, he was right. Money does talk.

You rolled your eyes again and looked at the back corner of his office to relieve yourself from his intense gaze.

“Less attitude, Y/n. Let’s begin, shall we?”

You suffered through an hour of going back and forth on expectations with Harry but at the end realized it wasn’t that bad. Once you both got out your frustrations at the beginning it seemed to flow smoothly after.

You even talked him into paying you 15% more, rather than just the 10%. Which you felt was a big win. Harry didn’t seem that phased by it.

He led you to what would be your room, which had your jaw dropping to the floor. It was… gorgeous. Like the rest of the house, it was grand and old but well-kept. The wide plank dark floors were covered with a light cream wool rug with small yellow, green, and blue flowers woven into the fabric. Long soft, lacy drapes hung from the ceiling and brushed against the floor over the tall windows that overlooked the massive back garden full of trees and flowers and fountains. The king-sized four-poster bed had a pale yellow, silk canopy with tiny blue birds sewn into the material. The bedspread was white silk with the same yellow and blue birds sewn in. Ornate, heavy wooden side tables, a dresser with a big vanity and silk-covered cushion sat across from the bed. An antique chandelier hung in the center of the room, high above the bed. Flowers and potted plants with green leaves rounded out the space. There were two closed doors. One led to a small closet (not a surprise it was so small for the period of the house), and the other to a fully updated, spa bathroom which… you really had to pause for a bit as you took it all in.

Harry handed you keys to the house and a fob key that would allow you in the gates that surrounded the home and told you to arrange to have your things moved in by the following day (on his tab) and that you would start work at 8am sharp.

You called Brandy the moment you drove out of the gates to tell her what had just happened.

“It’s him. It’s the asshole one-night stand. I just accepted the offer to be his assistant.”

“I’m coming over with a bottle of wine. I need details in person.”

“Brandy, I’ve got to make arrangements and get everything ready, I don’t know…” you hemmed as you drove down the road with your heart beating fast in your chest. You couldn’t believe you’d just accepted to work with Harry Styles.

“Don’t make stupid excuses with me. You can do all that with a glass of wine in your hand.”

.           .           .

“I see why you took the job. Damn. I’m jealous,” Brandy spoke as she stood in your bedroom doorway while you packed up things you’d need right away. Harry explained that you’d be staying at his house more often during the week than your own apartment. He ran a tight schedule and driving an hour to his house every morning didn’t sound appealing and he didn’t like to be kept waiting.

“Yeah. I was going to say no. I really was but… how can I turn down that offer? I’ve never made so much in my life and honestly? Probably never will again. I figure it’ll be like a trial run. We’ll see if he can be professional.”

You called around and found movers and arranged for them to have everything delivered to Harry’s address the following afternoon. It was still early in the day so you scheduled to have a set of your spare keys delivered by a courier by 5 pm so they could have access to your apartment the following day as you’d be gone.

You were busy the whole time Brandy was there but you were glad she was with you. You marked items you needed to have delivered and printed out a sheet of paper for a checklist for the movers.

But by the time your keys were picked up by the courier and you were halfway through the bottle of wine, you’d finally had time to sit and relax.

“You two are totally gonna fuck again,” Brandy grinned as she looked at the TV.

You scoffed and smacked her arm, “We are not. I’d never go near him again. Not after that night. I actually, fully despise him.”

“Yeah… sure. I mean… I know he was an asshole but also the way you spoke about how good he was in bed? How do you turn that down? You two are gonna practically be living together and traveling together. I don’t know… I looked him up. He’s hot, Y/n. An asshole but… we all have needs.”

Shaking your head you sipped your wine and ignored her. The thought had very very briefly crossed your mind but it was quickly pushed away because the reminder of how he treated you Friday night couldn’t be ignored. You’d never ever forget the way he made you feel so little and so disgusting.

“He literally cheated on someone while he was with me. He had a girlfriend. He fucked me as she was on her way over. Like…” you flailed your arms dramatically, “how could I possibly sleep with someone that is a cheater? I mean willingly? Now that I know?” You shook your head.

Still, Brandy didn’t seem deterred in her assumption, “Yeah… but we don’t really actually know who called him. And if it was someone he was seeing? I mean… come on. It’s not as if they were married. We can gather that much. Yeah, he’s shit for what he did but like… I don’t know,” she shrugged, “It’s not like he cheated on his wife or something.”

Brandy had always looked at things through rose-tinted glasses which was annoying. Where you were more practical and stubborn. There was no way you’d end up in his bed ever again. You didn’t know the excuse for why he kicked you out after he spoke on the phone and called someone babe. But that was beside the point. The more important factor was the way he treated you and that was simply unforgivable.

.           .           .

You were running late. You couldn’t believe it. Your alarm had gone off on time. You showered, ran through your quick morning routine, double-checked that all your things would be delivered to the correct address, and then you were on the road by 6:45 am. You allotted an extra 15 minutes in case of extra bad traffic.

But traffic is unpredictable.

“Hello?” Harry spoke into the receiver. You had your phone on speaker.

“Harry? Mr. Styles!” You corrected yourself, “Um… I’m stuck on the highway and it’s a bit backed up. I’m just giving you a heads up that I’ll be like…” You sighed and looked at the clock trying to make some kind of conservative estimate, “twenty minutes late?”

You heard him grunt in response and then sigh, “Fine. Please come up to my office the minute you walk in.” And then he hung up. That was it.

And of course, you half expected such a response. He gave you little indication of his opinion on you being late. You just hoped he didn’t hold it against you on your first day. It had genuinely been out of your hands. But then again, you being at the house with him on subsequent mornings would mean that being late in this way wouldn’t happen ever again.

When you parked at the front of the house you finagled your suitcase out of the backseat and lugged it up the front steps just as the door opened, “Good morning, Miss. Can I bring this to your room for you?” An older man stood with a smile as he scooped your suitcase away from you.

“Oh. Uh… Okay. Are you sure?” You followed him inside.

“Absolutely. Mr. Styles is expecting you right away.”

You swallowed and watched the man walk away as you took a breath. Your first day working for Harry Styles. Possibly also your last, depending on how everything went.

You climbed the stairs toward his study and knocked twice before pushing the door open gently.

“Come and sit.” He spoke right away. He didn’t even glance your way as he continued typing at his computer when he spoke.

You sat in the same chair you had the day previous and waited for him to finish whatever he was doing.

He cleared his throat and squinted at his computer screen, “I’m an art dealer as I mentioned yesterday. But… it’s more complicated than that sometimes. I deal in art and cultural artifacts that can sometimes be a bit…” he looked at you, “morally grey in the way they are handled. It’s rare but I do occasionally have opportunities and come across certain pieces when a collector is willing to pay an exorbitant finder’s fee for the item.”

“Morally grey. Which means illegal.” You corrected, keeping your eyes on him.

He shook his head, “No. Nothing I do is illegal. Some take issue with some of the items I procure and where they come from, but ultimately, everything I do is technically legal.”

You nodded. You didn’t know what he meant exactly. But you assumed you’d be finding out soon enough.

After Harry explained in detail your schedule from day to day, he had Lucio give you a quick tour of the parts of the house you didn’t see the day before. He even had a binder with your tentative weekly schedule, important numbers to have on hand, addresses, passcodes, a new laptop, and passwords to his login details for various online accounts. He also handed you a credit card, “You’ll make all your own arrangements as well as mine. The limit on this card will cover the cost of flights and accommodations. You and I will be traveling frequently, as I mentioned yesterday.”

Your morning was filled with short bursts of Harry giving you information and what to expect, but half of that consisted of you waiting while he spoke on the phone and typed out emails. You couldn’t imagine why an art dealer would be as busy as seemed to be. Clearly, he was making lots of money so there was no doubt that he was busy with clients. But why?

You researched the ins and outs of being an art dealer the evening before, once Brandy’s Uber arrived to take her home. The typical art dealer did not make the kind of money you knew Harry had. Most also typically worked through auctions, galleries, and museums. Harry seemed to be his own entity doing deals as an individual.  So you knew he wasn’t typical in his field.

At lunchtime you were hungry. You’d eaten something small before dashing to your car that morning but that had long been digested.

“Mr. Styles?” You looked at him from your spot in your chair as you closed your new laptop.

He looked at you with an eyebrow raised.

“It’s lunchtime for me. I was hoping I could get something to eat if that’s okay? You should probably also eat. I can bring you something if you take your lunch up here.” You honestly couldn’t have cared less if he ate, but you were so used to making sure Alfred ate that asking Harry was automatic.

Harry’s brows scrunched together and he looked at his computer screen, “Hadn’t realized the time. Sure. Feel free to make something for yourself or you can ask Carl to. I’d like a vegan cassoulet.”

You stood and looked at him in confusion, “A vegan… what?”

“A vegan cassoulet,” He pronounced the word obnoxiously, “Carl will know what I want. Just tell him.”

You repeated the word to yourself. Cas ooo lay – cas ooo lay… You thought it sounded like one of those French dishes you’d never ventured to try.

In the kitchen, you found Carl right away and told him what Harry wanted.

“And what for you?” He began to pull out pans and got to work right away.

“I can manage. I think just a sandwich. Is everything here in the fridge?” You opened up the door and immediately were overwhelmed by the amount of groceries and items packaged inside. The fridge itself was state-of-the-art. Everything in the kitchen was.

Carl laughed and stepped up behind you, “You can find everything you might need in this kitchen yes. But perhaps we’ll leave the cooking to me today, just until you get used to where everything is. What kind of sandwich would you like?”

“Oh. Maybe that’s a good idea. You don’t mind?”

Shaking his head, Carl reached passed you to pull out some vegetables, “Not at all. This is what I do. How about a French bread panini? I can slice up some turkey and Swiss, load it with vegetables? Or maybe you’d prefer grilled chicken and pesto? Egg salad? Or are you vegetarian?”

You laughed and shook your head, “I’m definitely not vegetarian. And the first one sounds fine. Turkey and Swiss panini. Any veggies you put on it will be good. I just don’t like mayo.”

It was wild to be having lunch made for yourself by a professional private chef. And Harry’s cassoulet looked divine but after googling it you learned it’s usually made with various kinds of meat and that the duck confit is what makes the dish. But since his version was supposedly vegan, you couldn’t imagine it tasting anything like it was probably supposed to.

You also learned that Carl wasn’t just a personal chef. He also did all the grocery shopping.

After lunch, your belongings arrived. The movers placed everything in your new bedroom and handed you the key to your apartment before they left.

“This is it?” Harry asked standing in the doorway as he looked around at the boxes and bags you’d had delivered.

“Yeah. I don’t have much I need to keep here. You’ve got the room fully furnished. Just my clothes and essentials.” You shrugged as you opened up the box near the bed.

You could feel Harry’s eyes on you as you dug into the box and pulled out your potted Pothos plant. “What?” You looked at him as you placed the plant on the floor.

“Nothing. Um,” he scratched the back of his neck, “I think it’s a good stopping point today. We’ve got you set up on everything so you can unpack and relax. Normally our days will be longer but since it’s your first…” he put both arms down by his side and stopped fidgeting, “It’s good for today. And like I said earlier, you are free to watch TV in the main room downstairs or get anything from the kitchen you need at all. You don’t need to just stay in your room all night unless you choose to.”

You squinted at him, wondering if there was some kind of catch. He was rather pleasant, you had to admit. After you both got everything out of the way the day before things had been fine. Normal even. But you still had to keep your guard up around him. And all it took to remember who you were dealing with was what he’d done that night.

You decided against going downstairs to watch TV. Maybe you’d feel comfortable enough to do that later on but that night, it felt nice to take a long bath and listen to music and then curl up on your soft, silky bed with your laptop and Netflix.

Though you did get thirsty. And a bit hungry around 8. So you ventured down and hoped to not run into anyone.

Except of course, you ran into someone. When you entered the kitchen you saw Harry standing in front of the refrigerator looking in. Apparently, he had the same idea as you.

You cleared your throat and Harry turned to see you there, “Oh, hey.” He closed the fridge and faced you, “Need something?”

You nodded and stepped toward the pantry, “A little hungry and thirsty. Is it okay?”

“Of course it is. Help yourself to whatever. I was just about to make some pasta. Something simple. Would you like some?”

“Yeah. I can help you make it. What do we need?” You neared the fridge and opened it up, pulling out a glass pitcher of water.

Harry ran down the list of ingredients, which weren’t many, and you helped him slice garlic while he boiled the pasta and poured a can of San Marzano tomatoes into a small pot.

Everything came together quickly and you both sat at the island to eat the late-night meal together.

“Tomorrow we’ll book a trip to Vancouver. Someone has a few pieces I’d love to see in person.” Harry explained what to expect on the trip as you listened.

Then you got to talking about your parents and then college. Harry shared a little about himself but it wasn’t much. You didn’t expect that he would, but he did tell you about his mom and sister. You could tell how important they were to him just by the way he spoke. It made you feel warm toward him in a way knowing that he cared about people other than himself. Something you hadn’t been sure about as he seemed so cold.

When you were both done you tried to help him clean up, “You don’t have to do this, Y/n. I’ve got a housekeeper who will be here in the morning. Why don’t you go to bed?”

“Are you sure? Are you headed to bed?” You asked as you placed the forks into the sink.

He nodded, “Yeah. Time to call it a night.”

“Do you always go to bed this early,” you grinned as you refilled your water to bring it with you to your room.

He raised his brows, “Yeah. I get up at 4:30 in the morning to start my day so 9:30 or 10 is about when I go to bed.”

You cringed to yourself. 4:30 in the morning? That sounded like hell.

You both went your separate ways as you bid Harry good night.

.           .           .

You had a busy morning. You booked a trip for the following week to Vancouver for yourself and Harry. Two nights at The Four Seasons (2 separate rooms, connected), first-class airline tickets, a reservation for the 2nd evening at a nice restaurant for four people, an on-call driver for the whole visit, and set-up details with someone’s assistant named Lana for the meeting.

Harry wanted everything to be perfect so you had to work at extracting as much information from Lana as possible. At first, Lana sent you an itinerary that was rather simple and would have most people feeling good about the meeting. But Harry took one look at it and knew he needed more information. So you spent the majority of your morning speaking with the young woman and filling in details that appeared to be missing.

“This is excellent, Y/n,” Harry looked up at you as he stood from his desk. The itinerary and all the bookings were taken care of. “I’m leaving to take care of something personal. You can have the rest of the day off. Thank you.”

You felt pleased. So far, working for Harry hadn’t been all that bad. He was picky and hard to please but you could handle him. You just hoped that the momentum you two had would continue into the weeks ahead.

.           .           .

You met Brandy out at your favorite club. You wore a cute black dress and black booties and your black leather jacket.

“Oh damn, girl! You look good!” Brandy called to you when she spotted you through the crowd.

“I can’t stay all night! I have to work in the morning, so I stop at 2 drinks!” You spoke loudly so Brandy could hear.

Brandy’s side eye told you that your friend would be trying to get you to enjoy yourself for longer. But you couldn’t. The last thing you wanted to do was to be on Harry’s bad side and be hungover the next morning.

But, Brandy was convincing. Too convincing at times.

Four martinis in and you were painfully aware that you wouldn’t be driving back. You’d need an Uber and that kind of sucked because Harry would know when your car wasn’t there. But… since you’d already need to Uber and you were already out, you had a fifth martini and danced with Brandy and forgot all about your promise to yourself.

The night grew blurry and you couldn’t stop talking about your boss.

“He’s so put together too,” you slurred as you and Brandy leaned into one another, too drunk to dance or drink anymore.

“I know. You keep saying that. And how big his cock was,” Brandy laughed and you pushed her, causing her to stumble back dramatically so you reached out to steady her but wound up falling with her to the floor in a fit of laughter.

Yeah, you’d gotten sloppy drunk.

“I need to go,” you pushed yourself up to stand as you reached for your cell phone. You could hardly see straight, and pulling up the Uber app was simply not going to work. Instead, you called the second to last person you’d texted, Harry. You really hadn’t put much thought into it.

He answered the line and you pushed your way toward the front of the club to go outside, dragging Brandy with you, “Harry!” You howled loudly.

“Where are you?”

“I’m at Club Yega. Can you pretty please come pick me up? I’m so drunk.” Your voice was scratchy and your words were watery.

Once you got outside you repeated your question, unable to hear what Harry had responded to you.

“Okay. Just wait for me outside. Is there anyone with you?” He sounded concerned.

“Brandy is here and the security guy standing by the door,” you said matter-of-factly before hiccupping.

Harry told you he’d be there soon and Brandy wobbled into your side as she used one eyeball to call an Uber for herself.

You were unable to recall how long it took for Harry to arrive, or when Brandy had gotten into her Uber and left but when you saw him, he was standing over you with his hand out, “Up you get,” he grasped your hand and helped you stand up. You’d been sitting on the sidewalk.

“Should be more responsible,” Harry chided you as he helped you to his running car, “No one’s watching over you. Where’s this friend you had with you?”

“She was here I promise but her Uber came to get her,” you stumbled into his car and plopped down into the seat with an umph!

Harry looked back at the front door security person and nodded to him as he rounded the car and got inside.

“Harry, I’m sorry. I was going to only have 2 drinks. Swear.”

“It happens. But you should have called me sooner. Don’t like that you were sitting out there alone like that. It’s late. And we have an early day tomorrow.”

You turned to look at him as he pulled into the street and reached a hand up to the curl that covered the top of his ear, “You’re so pretty. Which is weird because you’re such a fucking dick.”

Harry shook his head and laughed to himself as he kept his eyes on the road.

“I’m serious. You’re too pretty for it to be real. Your voice even.” You croaked.

Harry glanced at you quickly, “Oh yeah?” His grin widened. He knew the alcohol was talking but he certainly didn’t mind hearing your thoughts about him while you were inebriated.

“Yeah,” you lowered your finger to his shoulder and then poked at his bicep before dropping your hand back into your lap, “Nice everything. Except you’re not actually nice are you?” You let out a garbled laugh and closed your eyes for a moment.

“Hey… Come on. You’re drunk. Just close your eyes and we’ll be home soon.”

You shook your head and looked back at him, “Bossy too. But it sucks because it was so good that night. God I still think about it… and then I remember how you kicked me out like I was filthy. That was mean. Hurt my feelings.”

Harry sighed and stayed quiet. He was not going to engage in this kind of conversation with you while you were drunk. He was sure you wouldn’t remember any of it anyway.

But you didn’t stop there, “I wish I could stop thinking about it, though. S’not fair.”

Harry kept his eyes on the road and listened.

“The way you sounded when you were coming. I keep hearing it,” you squeezed your thighs together and looked out the window with a soft sigh. “Never had it like that before. But fuck you.”

Harry swallowed and blinked his eyes. He was a little surprised by your drunk confession. He liked that you thought fondly of some aspects of that night. Clearly you had enjoyed the sex. But to hear you saying how your feelings were hurt and that you were still angry about it all?

He looked over at you and down to your thigh where your dress had ridden up quickly before looking back at the road. He still refused to engage in this. You were drunk. Very much so.

“And your hands, Harry…” you reached over to brush your fingers over the back of his hand that was gripped on the steering wheel, “Oh god…” you breathed your words, “Your fingers. How good you are with them,” you bit your lip and leaned your head back into the leather seat and closed your eyes. “But still fuck you.”

When you were silent for a few minutes Harry looked over at you and noticed you were asleep.

He was glad you’d stopped staying the things you were. Your words had him confused. You were going from hot to cold fast. But he knew you wouldn’t ever reveal such things to him if you hadn’t been so far gone.

Waking you up gently, he put his arms under yours to help you out of his car, “We’re home, Y/n. Let’s get you up to bed.”

You were able to use your legs, but things were spinning. You clung tightly to Harry as he slowly brought you upstairs to your room.

When your bottom hit your mattress you laid back and sighed, “I might throw up,” you said.

Harry laughed quietly and shook his head as he helped you out of your shoes. He knelt down and unzipped the leather to pull each one off. He didn’t intend to let his eyes wander over your legs and your thighs, but your dress had gotten bunched up so he could practically see your panties. And then they were fully on view when you scooted yourself into your bed further.

Harry leaned over you and pulled your blankets up over your body, “I’ll be right back with water.”

He couldn’t believe how adorable he thought you were. Even though you were still angry at him over what he’d done he liked the sass a little. He was definitely attracted to you. There was no doubt in his mind about that. He tried not thinking about that night with you but after you’d brought it up he couldn’t help himself but to indulge in thoughts of the way you felt and how wet you got for him. Your body, your voice… You were good with your hands too, he smiled remembering your comment about how you liked his hands. But of course, the smile fell from his face when he remembered how the night ended. How shitty he’d been. But now things were too complicated and he wasn’t sure that any kind of apology would ever be enough.

When he got back to your room you were asleep. Out cold. He placed the water on your nightstand and brushed his fingers along your forehead. You were cute.

He plugged in your cell phone and smiled at your sleeping face.

“Good night, pretty girl,” he whispered as he turned off the lamp next to you before leaving the room and closing the door behind himself.

Part 3

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[nujins]

  [ 𓆩♡𓆪 ] for you... maybe — cedar height's student council!

[ SYNOPSIS ] ━━ you and woonhak are in different friend groups, different classes, different social bubbles, but always find yourselves in the same place: the student council’s shared committee space. why? because the two of you and your friends somehow all, coincidentally, represent the student body despite all their hidden crazy. woonhak? doesn’t really care. you? cares a bit too much. disaster? abso-fucking-lutely. well your respective friends are very much over it. yeah, they all see what’s going on. all the bickering, the accidental eye contact, the weird tension when you’re both stuck doing posters together at 10pm. so they form an unofficial matchmaking pact. but because both sides can’t really rein in their chaos for shit, the plans are anything but smooth.

masterlist | next

.・。.・゜✭・. PRESIDENT ━━ Yoo Jimin ✼ the highest authority ✼ oversees the entire council ✼ makes executive decisions ✼ the face of the student body. .・。.・゜✭・. VICE PRESIDENT ━━ Park Sungho ✼ second-in-command ✼ supports the president ✼ steps in when president is unavailable ✼ helps manage internal coordination. .・。.・゜✭・. SECRETARY ━━ Shin Yuna ✼ handles all documentation ✼ takes down meeting notes ✼ oversees official communication ✼ in charge of scheduling. .・。.・゜✭・. TREASURER ━━ Hong Eunchae ✼ manages the budget ✼ organizing and overseeing fundraising activities ✼ allocates funds for events ✼ approves spending. .・。.・゜✭・. LOGISTICS LEAD ━━ Yang Jungwon ✼ coordinates operations and timelines ✼ ensures everything runs smoothly behind the scenes ✼ works closely with the president and event team. .・。.・゜✭・. HEAD OF EVENTS ━━ Hwang Y/N ✼ leads the planning and execution of all major school events ✼ develop and implement publicity strategies for events ✼ creative force + people wrangler. .・。.・゜✭・. HEAD OF ACTIVITIES ━━ Lee Chanyoung ✼ organizing and facilitating inter-house and year-level sporting competitions ✼ maintaining school spirit through extracurriculars. .・。.・゜✭・. SPIRIT COORDINATOR ━━ Myung Jaehyun ✼ leads pep rallies, spirit weeks, and anything hype-related ✼ voices the interests and concerns of the student body ✼ keeps morale up. .・。.・゜✭・. ASSEMBLY LIAISON ━━ Han Dongmin ✼ plans and runs student assemblies ✼ public speaking overseer ✼ makes announcements fun (or dramatic). .・。.・゜✭・. OUTREACH CHAIR ━━ Lee Sanghyuk ✼ connects with external partners (clubs, local businesses, parent orgs) ✼ promotes inclusivity ✼ encourages student participation. .・。.・゜✭・. DESIGN COORDINATOR ━━ Kim Donghyun ✼ in charge of visual branding, posters, event promo, and decor aesthetics ✼ overseeing the design process for various projects ✼ permanent subscription to canva. .・。.・゜✭・. CO-DESIGN CHAIR ━━ Kim Woonhak ✼ right-hand to the design coordinator ✼ brings the ✨extra flair✨ ✼ often the chaotic creative type who makes the visuals pop.

[ A. NOTE ] ━━ not much to say over here except that HERE YOU GO! these are the student leaders/nerds/agents of chaos in this story! they’re a bunch of fairly smart and responsible idiots that just so happened to get into the stuco. let’s just say all of them being friends and being in the stuco is NAWT a coincidence,, fate brought them together really (read: everyone else BUT y/n and woonhak ran for their positions cuz those two just got dragged in but only one of them took their new responsibility seriously). so yep. their social media profiles will be posted soon?? 🔜 hopefully i don’t get too lazy. like and comment yall! byeeeeekslsks&/₱)-):

[ TAGLIST ] ━━ (open) @s0shroe @kazukazukiiii @beomev @sfnctzen @tempewra @aeminju @wondoras @mensisim @person-line @g3laatin @jungwonbropls @tkooooop @w3willris3 @woonbabie @prodkwh

[stormy-river]

Transcripts from the Humanity Hotline 7

As I finished this, I discovered it's been exactly one year since I posted the last Transcript. A lot has happened in that year; I've graduated college :) . I want to thank everyone for the support I've received, and I hope to get back into some of my creative projects and give you guys an opportunity to laugh, and maybe learn something. This one is inspired by a request from @a-romantic-twst from forever ago; I hope it was worth the wait (sorry about that). (It's about periods if anyone's uncomfortable with that and wants to skip this one.)

------

Operator: "Hi, my name is Mindy. How may I help you today?"

Caller: "Hello, Mindy, I am very concerned about one of the humans on my ship."

O: "What seems to be the problem?"

C: "Well, I'm the chief medical officer and this particular human has been on the ship for just over two Earth months now. On two separate occasions during that time, she has requested strong painkillers citing 'Shark Week' as the reason. I looked into what 'Shark Week' is, and found an Earth television special about certain aquatic predators, and I'm unsure how that could cause a human physical pain lightyears from Earth?"

O: "Interesting, is there anything else you can tell me about this human during these events?"

C: "Yes, I've also received reports from other crewmembers around these events that this human is not as outgoing as usual, and shows signs of discomfort with facial expressions and changes in appetite, but does not respond well to the standard psychological protocols for team building and social connection."

O: "What about the timing? You said this has happened twice, correct? How much time was between them?"

C: "Yes, I've documented both with dates. The human requested the painkillers twice, 28 days apart. The crew reported signs of distress for a few days following each request, and two times in the day before the first request."

O: "Alright, I believe your human is using the phrase, "Shark Week" as a euphemism for the start of the menstrual cycle, which is often referred to as a 'period'. To put it simply, one of the female reproductive organs sheds its inner lining roughly once an Earth month, lasting anywhere from a few days to a full week."

C: "Similar to how the Rythyani shed and replace their stomach linings?"

O: "Yes, though the uterus has blood vessels that extend into that lining, so shedding also causes bleeding."

C: "Bleeding? How much blood is lost? Why has she not requested bandages or a transfusion?"

O: "For most, a period is not life-threatening. The amount of blood loss does not require a transfusion to replace, or bandages to stop, though iron deficiency may be a concern for some that can be easily remedied through their diet. Ultimately, your human will know her body and how to handle her cycle best. We learn to deal with periods from a relatively young age. You should have received a human anatomy and physiology textbook when the first human joined your crew. Do you have it?"

C: "Yes, though I do admit I have not yet had the time to read it."

O: "That's alright. The chapter on human reproductive systems goes into more detail about the biology of the menstrual cycle than I can tell you. For the time being, make sure your human knows that she can ask for support if needed, and inform your crew that not all humans will be happy all the time, and they don't need to be. Over time, you will gain a better understanding your humans' patterns. Until then, trust them to express their needs, and talk to them if you have specific concerns. I can give general advice, but they will know themselves best."

C: "Thank you for clearing up the confusion, Mindy, I will look into this and update the protocols as necessary. I have no more questions for you at this time."

O: "You are very welcome, please don't hesitate to call again if something else comes up."

End Transmission

[rottenpumpkin13]

how do the soldiers deal with taxes

Sephiroth: Couldn't care less about taxes. In fact, the very concept enrages him, because "Why should I fund a system I actively despise?" He has an accountant who handles everything, since Sephiroth doesn't care what's actually on his tax forms. He's just waiting for capitalism to collapse under its own weight so taxes become irrelevant.

Angeal lightly suggested Sephiroth try to understand where his taxes go. Sephiroth but back with "I already know where they go: into funding this miserable cycle of oppression."

Angeal: Has a neatly labeled accordion folder for every year's tax documents, organized by category: income, charity, groceries, keeps copies of every single receipt he's ever gotten. Gets excited about calculating deductions. A model citizen.

Genesis: Takes taxes seriously, but in the most Genesis way possible. He always files on time, but his accountant hates him because of his utterly ridiculous deductions. He tries to write off things like designer red leather coats as "essential work attire", and imported Banora Whites as "nutritional supplements." One time he tried to deduct his entire income as "the cost of being an artist" and it's a wonder how he hasn't been arrested yet.

Zack: Angeal started taking care of them for him.

Angeal: Zack, have you filed your taxes yet?

Zack: What do you mean? Don't they just... happen?

Angeal: You've never filed taxes??

Zack: I thought that was just something people complained about on TV!

Angeal: You've been working at SOLDIER for FIVE YEARS.

Zack: So? I haven't gotten arrested yet!

Angeal: You can't just—

*Sephiroth high-fives Zack*

Angeal: DON'T ENCOURAGE HIM

[weskie]

Imperfectly Perfect (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader) - Lover, Leader, Liar

700 words, non-chronological/plotless one shot, s.t.a.r.s. wesker, wesker yearning, mentions of corporal punishment, flashbacks (kid wesker), may count as some degree of angst, part of the lover leader liar series | Fic Directory

To ache for the idea of it...

He's breaking the rules. 

The heat of the flashlight prickles his skin, but he must continue on. The blanket conceals precious little of his infraction, though he'll only be caught if one of the wards enters the dorm. 

Or if one of the other boys rats him out in the morning. 

The skritch of his pencil is the only audible sound save for a gentle snore here or there. His eyes ache. 

But he must fix his error. 

Penmanship was no laughing matter. How could he ever hope to be taken seriously one day if he failed to carve eloquent lines, perfect in their mimicry of the template, onto paper? Of all things, this is where he suddenly falters. He'd already broken the need to rest writing utensils between his pointer and middle fingers, having been reprimanded over and over by the teacher until he, like the others, utilized the space between his thumb and forefinger. 

The right way.

He chews his tongue as he traces the intricate curvature of a cursive A, looping slowly into an L until, suddenly, his first name stares back at him. 

Albert. 

To be etched upon document after document, form after form, contracts upon contracts… 

“Captain,” you greet him, awkwardly entering his office as you always do. Afraid to disturb him, you've said – consideration even if you were there on his orders, even if to surprise him with your kindness. You've grown accustomed to his subtleties, picking up organically on the nearly nonexistent nod he gives to enter. 

It is strange to feel known. 

Paperwork, he assumes before you've even reached his desk. You no longer clutch the stack to your abdomen as you once did, devoid, now, of the nerves that once rattled your ability to approach him, the ever intimidating Captain Wesker. 

“I've got those reports you asked for.” You hum, extending them to his waiting grasp. 

He makes sure to look away upon taking them. It diffuses any suspicions as to why he always manages to brush his fingers against yours. 

How else is he meant to feel such a jolt zap through his very being if not by sneaking this part? 

“I appreciate you.” He says, tone firm and proper, never wavering despite the smile that threatens to cut through his cool demeanor. Ah, but he could let it. Observe and take note of how you react to such an uncommon occurrence. You looked about shell shocked the last time he let one slip. 

His glasses touch the table with a soft click. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. The coffee mug's warmth seeps into his fingers even through the handle. 

You're caught off guard, it seems. Your lips part to accept his appreciation, but you simply blink. 

Most find his gaze uncanny. Too cold, too calculating - sharp and cunning in a way that cuts into their minds and leaves behind the salt of unspoken threats. 

“I, uh…” you stammer, eyes blinking rapidly as if to return yourself to Earth. “Y-you're welcome.”

You'd left him with an invitation for lunch. He'll certainly be taking you up on that offer, but first he's got to tear his eyes away from your delivery. 

He's meant to be reading this, interpreting the details and checking for errors. All he can do, however, is trace a finger over the etch of your words, digits just barely registering the sensation of the fine-point carve left in your wake.

You are imperfect, he instantly concludes. Your letters are all wrong, slanted here and there, inconsistently joined in one instance and broken in another. Your writing changes periodically, telling him exactly when your mind had been pulled elsewhere and left you starting again with a renewed flow. 

You are nothing like him. 

His touch traverses the submission details. You've etched his name into the sheet. It hovers slightly above the line, dipping down beneath with the sharp tips of the A and W. 

His penmanship teachers would have labeled you unfit and chaotic. Your knuckles would be split with their rulers over and over again until you were naught but a simple reflection of their ideals. 

But you aren't. 

You are a contradiction to all that he is meant to find worthy. Despite this, you've begun to bleed into him. He should find you no different than his teachers would. 

Instead, as you poke your smiling face in the door, he finds you otherwise. 

You are radiant. 

AO3 LINK

[terrence-silver]

would you write something about reader who has baby fever but isn’t dating Terry, she works very closely with him, and he starts picking up how much she wants to have a baby

Fringe Benefits

Terry Silver x Reader

—

Each of his future employees got this questionnaire.

It was standard procedure, they said.

Basic inquiries, you supposed. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing you haven’t encountered before. Qualifications. Education level. Past recommendations. Experience level. Why you wanted to work here in particular. Why you considered yourself a reliable member of a team — specifically his team. Your devotion. Devotion, you thought. What did that even mean exactly? Your marital status. Family. Children. Whether you planned any. What you brought to Cobra Kai. To Cobra Kai’s table, that is. What you could offer. The memory of circling each response on the interview application still lingered in your mind like a hazy fog, more so when you sat opposite of him, separated by a black, sleek work desk, immaculately organized and entirely minimalist to a pristine level; something both disorienting and weirdly comforting about the basic aesthetic layout of the dojo gym grounds and the offices adjoined to it, all blue and red neons, creating a vaguely purple sense of womb-like dimness — Terry Silver’s eyes carefully assessing your application paper right before his gaze shot back up at you, speaking with immaculate distinction, yet with ease, like he wasn’t in a hurry whatsoever. You were merely after the job of a junior intern — a starting position; someone who handles basic paperwork, greets people at the registry, makes themselves useful wherever and however is required of them, still, everything felt like you were aiming after the most important position in the world. Perhaps due to the fact there was nobody here and the place felt liminal. Intense. Like you were given every bit of attention contained in the universe by a single person.

-"Most employers —"-

He begins.

 -"They’d consider the responses you circled a professional shortcoming."- 

He points his nose at the document next to his tidily clasped hands. You gulp.

-"Reason enough not to give you a job. Hire someone else instead."-

He explains maintaining near unblinking eye contact and part of you, that anxious bit coiling around in your belly was convinced this was a lost cause; he was about to gently tell you you’re not getting the job but that he nonetheless wishes you all the luck elsewhere. The deep sinking of your stomach interrupted only by the sudden tenderness in his features overcast by a crimson shadow of a halogen ceiling pipe above head; not an expression of pity, but one of possibility. His brows shoot up. This wasn’t standard procedure anymore, to your knowledge. The actual owner of a company conducting interviews so personally. One on one. Usually, it was a manager's manager. A secretary. Someone almost random in the hierarchy of things, giving off the basic impression that these job openings were merely formal and that the empty spots were long since filled and that everyone who came along to these interviews was going to be rejected anyway and they didn’t really care who does the rejecting so long the impression is given they’re actively searching for new staff. But, this guy? His personal investment in this almost daunted you. Was this some sort of marketing trick for his newly opening dojos? To make him seem relatable? Approachable? Humble enough to do this himself?

 -"But, me? Cobra Kai?"- 

Terry Silver’s stare flickers with delight.

-"I actually see it as a perk!"- 

He smiles with a weird innocence, momentarily distracting you from the fact you still had no clue what part of your application elicited such a positive surprise in him. You supposed you just had to go ahead and ask. Something about him instilled a sense of amicable disposition in you.

-"What do you mean, sir?"-

Before the question even passes over the threshold of your mouth, his index finger extends forward, landing precisely on the circled answer about whether or not you plan on getting pregnant any time soon. Your eyes meet. -"Kids."- He’s suddenly serious, chewing that word like it was a morsel intended to be juiced. -”You want them.”- He adds flatly and you weren’t certain if it was an accusation, praise, a mere statement or something he wanted you to further explain yourself on. His finger holds your circled answer hostage, refusing to move from the paper’s surface. Holding it there so long you had ample time to notice the sapphire pinkie ring finger on his hand. -"Says it right here."- He further assesses and once again, it was so hard to read him. His meaning. If he was pleased by this or not. You choose the best policy to appease him regardless of his mood; by being centrist and entirely politically correct. Trying to say everything and nothing. You really needed this job. You didn’t want to flunk it just because your circled an application answer that implied that maybe, perhaps, just maybe, you’d have kids. -"Well, one day, yes. Sure. Not right now, but I’m leaving my options open for anything. Everything."- You shrug, going for honesty of the most inoffensive kind. He actually flashes you a smile full of teeth. His whole face smiling with him in a net of wrinkles. It hits you then that in spite of his age, he was quite handsome. In fact, his age enhanced him. Made him seem warm. Paternal. Well lived. -"Good."- He coos at you, content. -"Because we’re all about devotion here. Dedication. Working with young people. Investing in the future."- There it was. That slightly baffling word again. Devotion. You say nothing. Choosing to listen instead. Avoid weakening your chances here. The fringe benefits were quite stellar from what you’ve discovered. Amazing healthcare, for one. -"And someone who sees a major plus in having kids of their own? That’s exactly the type of people we need. Means they’re built from the right kind of stuff."- A flash of determination overtakes his features and for a moment, you see him grit his teeth. -"I see."- You fill the gap between dialogues with a filler line and he chuckles, somewhat amused, catching you doing it. This place. Disorienting in spite of the AC unit nowhere to be seen, yet you could feel the cool air blowing in from somewhere from within this state-of-the-art, hypermodern setting where every utility seemed tactically hidden.

-"Don’t you wanna know what kind of stuff the right kind is?"- 

You catch a hint of teasing in his tone and you find yourself slightly embarrassed, nodding wordlessly.

Felt like a child examined in class.

-"The type who’s prepared to dedicate their life to something greater than themselves. A belief. A creed. A legacy."- 

He enlightens you.

You could guess what the dojo’s philosophy more or less was in vague terms — it was a dojo, after all and the man in front of you was a triple black belt Sensei in his own right and a Vietnam war vet from what you’ve heard, but you weren’t here to lay down life and limb to larp The Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon with anyone. You just wanted to do paperwork for a decent salary with your employer imbued with the knowledge, that hey, he might have to organize paid maternity leave for you and find a replacement for you in case that ever actually happens. Figuratively, of course. You maintain a serious composure, feeling something you weren’t supposed to feel; scared. Curious. Interested. The fervor with which he spoke? You cross your legs underneath the table and you could swear, for the briefest of moments, Terry Silver’s eyelids flutter down, towards your seat, catching you do it. -"I’m not that impassioned, Mr. Silver. I’m sorry. I just don’t mind the idea of having children one day, in the near or distant future, when all the puzzle pieces fall into their place, if all the puzzle pieces fall into their place, and I’m willing to be transparent enough about it within the context of a work place environment so no surprises happen, is all. I’m not raising the next Spartan army, though. Hope that isn’t a disappointing answer."- You find yourself shrugging once more, this time on instinct, keeping calm, wondering why on earth you were justifying yourself so badly anyway. Sure, you did a basic Google search on this place. And on him. Terry Silver didn’t have any children of his own in the first place. No marriages under his belt either. You almost expected bigwigs like him to have several of each. You weren’t judging, you just felt it was peculiar. He was more than good looking too. So, why was this such a huge topic, anyway? Was this even allowed? He kept the questions about your qualifications to a minimal and then — he laughs, apparently delighted by your response.

 -"Oh, not at all!"- 

He shakes his head, blue eyes practically shimmering.

This felt like one of those weird dreams people tended to have; the type that were almost entirely inexplicable.

-"Cobra Kai isn’t going to let you go or terminate your contract or penalize you if anything unexpected happens. Not my policy. We take care of our own."- 

The tension in your back drops hearing that, almost as if a certain weight was lifted from them.

For a man, Terry Silver was as understanding about maternity as a woman would be.

And then he cocks his head to the side.

-"Wouldn’t be very fair play and Spartan if we didn’t, would it?"-

Clearly, your comment entertained him enough for him to repeat it back to you, producing a new piece of document from a drawer and setting it down in front of you alongside a sleek, perfectly jet black pen. Everything here was black. His suit. His desk. His walls. His floors. His ceilings. You weren’t certain if there were any windows. Difficult to tell. Amidst all that neon lit darkness, the pristine white paper stands out, almost burning. A white block of ice. Matching his pale face and gray hair, briefly resembling a clay death mask. -"Just one last form to fill. Right here. Some final questions and you’re as good as set. Monday sound good?"- His finger points once again, down the dotted line, spilling out information so fast that it took you a second to register the fact he was effectively letting you know you got the job while you were too busy looking at what his finger was showing you on yet another questionnaire, your eyes falling on the first of many inquires. One in particular catching your notice, causing your breath to hitch.

- DO YOU TAKE BIRTH CONTROL?

—

You weren’t certain how you ended up in Terry Silver’s bed.3

All you knew is that you wanted to.

It was so easy.

Too easy.

It began with a deep yearning; observing a class for students between ages 3-5 five taking their first steps in Kata on the studio’s mat and Terry doing circles around the dojo, assessing their stances, their movements, how they held their tiny arms, their tiny bodies, the enthusiasm in their eyes. His voice was in your ear once he did a full spin throughout the length of his own domain, encompassing everything like a satellite, keen eyes missing nothing, finding himself next to you and your place at the counter, checking filled application forms and the schedule of classes, while fists punched through the air in unison. Exactly thirty two young students working like perfectly tuned clock work. Funny how kids that small could achieve such discipline. Your heart almost ached. -"Natural, raw talent. Gotta start when they’re young."- He chuckles from next to you, observing his handiwork from a relative distance, giving his small acolytes time to spread out. -"Don’t you just get emotional watching them train?"- His eyes dazzle your way, accompanied by a smile and something within your twists as you nod wordlessly, keeping your attention on your folders and files, suppressing the voice inside of you.

 Yeah, wish I had my own, it says.

The months that ensue get harder. It was always the opposite for everyone else, you supposed. The more time they spend at a place of employment, the more the novelty wore off and things tended to settle into their place, but you? You grow restless, leaving the toilet having recovered from an unbidden fit of tears during your lunch break, possibly the second such concealed outburst within just one work week alone, finding no particular reason as to why it happened. Why it kept happening. Nobody was unkind to you here. Quite the contrary. Everyone was like a newfound friend or family, but maybe that’s what made things so difficult; the fact that when you went home every evening, you’d find yourself all alone with nobody to care for. You didn’t even have time to tend to a pet. A cat. A dog. And this wouldn’t be the only occasion he’s cornered you on the topic either. Terry Silver had this uncanny ability to decipher you as upset regardless how craftily you sought to hide it and continue with your work. -"I know what bothers you and I can help."- He corners you in the empty foyer. One thing you learned about him with certainty that he had this habit of invading people's personal spaces. Invading your personal space. Standing too close. The most baffling thing, though --- how much you didn't mind, even as you kept your head bent, gaze averted. You didn't want him to see how obvious it was that you cried even though were certain he guessed.

In spite of that, you fail to recoil once his hand lands on your stomach.

He's done this before. You've let him.

-"Fill the gap right there."-

He whispers and it sends a shiver down your spine.

He came with a proposition a few weeks ago and suddenly, all those peculiar inquires on the job interview questionnaire started to make an awful lot of sense. Too much, in fact. He wasn't just being nosy and scoping out whether or not you'd get impromptu pregnant and leave your own spot vacant for God knows how long. No. It was infinitely more than that. He told you that if you had an itch, he was lending himself available to scratch it. You still haven't given him a yes or no answer on the topic, though and by the looks of it, the devil has come to collect his dues. -"I’m sorry, Mr. Silver, I —"- You stutter, going for avoidance, trying to wiggle out from the closeness of his proximity, but his arm comes up leaning against the wall, cutting your way off.   Already, in your mind, you could see tangled limbs, a spine bending forward and his fingers travelling up your back. Instead, you get a voice. His. You inhale sharply once his thumb came up, caressing the outline of your cheek, the slightest remnant of moisture dabbed again by his lingering touch. You weren't sure how to label your relationship with him. Terry had yet another uncanny gift. The ability to make himself disconcertingly close to someone with little to no effort. You've been fucking the man for three months now and god knows why. Why you craved it. Why it felt right. Confusing, but right. Letting your boss hit it raw? What do you even call that? Stupidity? Desire? Falling in love? Being manipulated? -"Ambition requires it’s sacrifices, doesn’t it? Even small, day-to-day ambitions. The ambitions of a Junior Intern. The sacrifice being family. The fact that I can tell there’s no place you’d rather be right now than at home with someone."- His touch touches your earlobe and you close your eyes.

You haven't been doing good lately.

He caught on.

Thing was, you weren't a girl anymore.

You were still young but you were entering that stage in life were every year mattered more and more. Your contract with Cobra Kai alone was one for two years and you imagined it expiring and you once again having nothing. Going home and finding your apartment empty. Would you have time to build something for yourself? Build anything at all? Instead, Terry Silver's arms were right there. Warm. Inviting. So hard to resist. Bearing the promise of everything you that seemed so close, yet so far out of reach.

-"You want me."-

He coos tenderly. You resist, shaking your head, refusing to open your eyes.

-"No."-

-"You want me."-

He repeats himself with more vigor. More conviction.

No. No. No!

-"This is crazy! I don’t wanna get knocked up at work by my boss who’s twenty years my senior!"-

Instinctively, your hands come up feebly, attempting to serve as a shield between your own body and his, only to get caught and trapped by his grip, fingers grabbing wrists, pulling you closer to him. His smile is shark-like. Sharp. -"Thirty."- He corrects with ease, seeming proud of himself. -"Thirty years your senior."- You didn't know what to say to that. Somehow, it made things worse. The guts inside of your belly tighten with ache. You feel it vibrate between your legs. It was hormones. All hormones, you tell yourself. Hormones had the habit of being senseless and dumb like that. Terry Silver was the one giving you your salary, he was old enough to be your grandfather and he was offering to get you pregnant. For your sake, as he claimed. For his own too. You wanted the same things, he explained. So, why not complete each other's long-standing yearnings? Wasn't that what loyalty was all about? What better foundation for an alliance? A relationship, he asked? Suddenly, he lifts his arm, freeing you. -"And why not? You can leave any time. You still haven't."- His eyes flare up with the light of challenge. You were being taunted and tested and you realized as much, finding your body growing stiff, legs refusing to move. So, why didn't you leave? This was technically sexual harassment at the workplace. Yet, you reveled in it. Consented to it. His offer was tantalizing, the way a cup of fresh spring water was to the someone dying of thirst. Your lips part. The thought of having someone completely your own. Cradling them in your arms. Was that so bad? Instead of your belly, the palm of his hand travels lower, cupping you between your legs. -"It would make you happy and you know it."- He murmurs and you didn't have the strength to fight it. You let him continue. He squeezes you ever so lightly, until you felt an internal pressure tickle you from the inside. The type that craved to be filled. -"And I told you the very first day you walked into my office. In Cobra Kai, we’re all about devotion. Taking care of of our own."- He reminds and you lean your head back, allowing yourself to enjoy the sensation, feeling the back of your neck comfortably hit the wall.

-"I didn’t think you’d be so literal!"-

You mutter, breathlessly, letting him do his special magic.

Rubbing you through the material of your trousers.

His cock in his other free hand, pulled out of the thick, black material of his Gi.

-"I’m always literal."-

He clarifies.

You knew as much now.

Knew well enough to take him seriously.

More seriously than anyone before.

You wanted him. Wanted him to knock you up. Crude, but truthful.

-"Let me help you."- He groans, unzipping your trousers, only to spread your legs, slither his hands behind you and grab you by your ass, lifting you up against the wall, fingers digging into tender flesh with bruising ardor. You moan and yelp. Maybe it was you being touch starved, starved for love, in need of sex, missing companionship, but the fact you were about to impale yourself on his cock in the middle of the corridor seemed of little consequence. It was a Friday evening. Past working hours. -"Let me fix everything. All you have to do is be willing to receive it. Receive me."- Terry speaks against your open mouth and you mumble into his, already seeing the future unfold. Feeling it on his breath. The warmth of his tongue. -"I'm willing."- You babble, eyes half-lidded, fumbling with the elastic lace trim of your undergarment, lowering it, giving him entry, feeling yourself wet. -"What was that?"- He teases, tone beaming seriousness, asking you repeat yourself. You do. Anything. You'd do anything. Funny how quickly a person could go from being level-headed and logical to throwing all caution to the wind, you thought. -"I'm willing to receive it."- You almost plead. He pulls back. Momentarily, the warm haze he emanated was lost and you find craving it. Craving it back like nothing you've ever craved before. You could see it so clearly now. His hand tracing the outline of your swollen belly, smiling down at you and unwittingly, your mouth moves with a will of its own. -"Sir."- Terry instructs, unblinking, his cock stroking itself against the lips of your cunt. -"Sir."- You eagerly mimic his words, ready to devour the very air you shared, the distance between you nonexistent. -"You know how some schmucks out there claim they know the exact moment of conception?"- Terry chuckles in between wet kisses, his tip finding it's way between your Labia guided by his hand. You're sloppy, loose and ready for him. -"Well, I always thought that's a load of crap."- He adds, grunting once he nestles himself inside of you, driving you further up the wall, your legs flying up, on either side of his shoulders, held by one free arm. It was astounding how he could expertly hold his balance and your own too and not falter.

He picks up his pace and for once, you smile.

Never in a million years would you think Cobra Kai's workplace contractual fringe benefits would involve this.

-"I just plan to fuck you until I see some tangible results."-

He seethes and now there was a plan you could agree with.

[crustyfloor]

Anakt Garden is so fascinating, the school's significance in the main casts lives and it's role in upholding and maintaining the system they live in and the grand scheme of Alien stage and its contestants and it's way of elaborating on Aliens and mankind's great shift after earth's invasion is just amazing to me even if it's not talked about in the story as often, most importantly Anakt Garden practically functions like a religious private school, and the religious undertones adds to the story significantly because (surprisingly) religion doesn't function so differently in Alien stage than it does in the real world

Religion is an integral part of human life, as it has preserved itself even after decades into the modern day. But even beyond that, it is human nature to seek guidance in something or someone, a god, deity, object, etc. It's a case-by-case basis on "Why am I religious?", but I believe that is the basic consensus.

In ALNST, religion still exists despite Earth's eradication. How come? Aliens and Humans obviously don't understand each other. Yet, the aliens implement religion so closely to how any human would recognize it, I think with the help of history and documentation, the aliens could've pulled this off if they didn't have a god already, given they're also sentient beings, it's not out of the question per se. Still, all in all, religion would've been an unintelligible concept to aliens, but they do know something about humans' vulnerability. They inherently see them as smaller, so handling them is like training a puppy, isn't it... they can't do well without a motivating factor, and that's where religion should be coming in. The goal of religion in this context is exploit and control humans with their vulnerability and their innate longing in a world like this they have a hole in their soul that needs to be fulfilled with something like a purpose, In Sweet Dream- a song that absolutely has religious subtext has lyrics that are like a desperate plea for reassurance from a "God" in the hope that one day it will answer.

Mizi's retrospection in My clematis is very interesting to me, because she's mostly just parroting facts as if she got it from a book, or teachings, because pet-humans are taught about theology. Even when speaking about the humans in the past, she's not particularly demeaning them either, even though their beliefs were quite self-centered. These things are just facts. In the past when earth existed humans believed in heaven and that the universe existed to revolve around earth and that anything outside their control was of the will of those gods, from the moment humanity left the universe, they forgot everything about that, they're the most distant from their society, so this parallels the way pet humans are made to function In Anakt garden, to worship a god and to put complete faith and trust that they'll be saved or that they'll find purpose within it's comfort, if the aliens know this, than the aliens know how to appeal to them.

So the aliens make religion into a pacifying and exploitative tool to gain leverage on these human vulnerabilities. The "god" that exists in ALNST is the "Great anakt", it's a figure that represents Anakt Garden (and other affiliated organizations such as Anakt CO.), it's also a made-up figure by the aliens to represent Anakt Garden and serves as a way to control and brainwash pet humans into subservience.

Anakt garden is also its own significant topic, for one thing, its appearance is cartoonishly childlike and simplistic, meant to replicate the environment of Earth that humans are best suited to live in, it suits their needs too, but it's not at all realistic. The psychology behind establishing Anakt garden in this way, like an idealistic "heaven" (or heavenly garden) in which pet-humans flourish and are "born" as their voices are cultivated, and where pet-humans are laid to rest, and where they eventually return to in death. It sounds a lot like Heaven as we know it, right? That much inherently establishes that strengthened belief in god and that comfort, even though Anakt Garden is a painful place for pet humans too, they're meant to see Anakt Garden and the Great Anakt as safe havens

It works in the aliens' favor because, again, humans gravitate to the security of a god to follow, and most of them trust in the Great Anakt completely. Anakt garden is said to have a distinct cult-like environment. Pet humans are to sing with their hands clasped and praise, and it is reinforced even in basic training for formalities during singing. So, pet humans are taught to use their voices or "cries" to fulfill their purpose. Religion is made to mold humans into obedient performers who worship the craft, the figure that represents music rather than being human, which is mostly what religion in the real world was made for anyway, religion in alien stage only seeks to either distance humans from who they really are or make them so fragile and susceptible to manipulation that they fall for it

Without God, without something to truly believe in, humans who are aimless in this life, even under a shallow god, are just living in the system. It is no wonder that in Alien Stage, even those who sing with heart and passion are prioritized over those who simply drone over lyrics because they're doing what they're told. Because aliens made something that doesn't actually speak to humans like God does, the great anakt is a concept. That just speaks for their disconnect, but aliens love to see humans in their most passionate, whether loving, distraught, etc. And you only really see that in humans who aren't worshipping aliens' god, or in humans that are driven by other purposes, and that is enough to keep them driven

Religion and looking up to a god are also explored intricately through human relationships. Mizi, Till, Ivan, and Sua do not necessarily follow "God". But they do find faith in the love they have instead, which is the closest thing to a religion besides the literal thing. And that is what ignites true passion and freedom to live on and sing with life in them

(Here comes a tiny analysis of sweet dreams) But Sweet Dream is incredibly theological, even though Sua sings knowing there is no god, she can't help but still wish for a force bigger than herself to save her, perhaps that is to speak for how humans are born in this hopeless situation, they know suffering, but religion or depending on someone is their only crutch, that's how the system is built to trap them

Finding a god in someone else also exists in this universe, despite the influence of the great Anakt; Mizi is the most apparent example. Mizi’s belief in god is surprisingly quite subjective (or not so surprising) because, in her eyes, according to what a god is, Sua must be her god! (which is a very romanticized way of seeing it in her case) The thing is, Mizi already recognizes herself as human, but in her monologue about religion, she directly answers the question of what a human can do in this universe, but believe, they choose to love, if believing in and loving god makes her human, than Sua was the greatest blessing to her, and therefore, she was her god before any great deity they knew.

Till and HyunA are the last examples, not driven by religion, but by the passion of what they hold dear. Till and HyunA are the best parallels to each other because of their themes of reclaiming humanity and their right to their art and their agency, they're driven by love and passion for others, and creating art and music rather than just a god to follow. They're driven to create not because it's what the aliens want but because it's what they love to do, for others, for themselves, etc. It's entirely their own thing.

Who knows if they even vehemently disregard The Great Anakt,, but I think it's important that, because of how distant they are from those overarching themes of religion that Sua and Mizi's characters embrace, for example. The freer they are from those restraints and the deception, the more they rebel and fight back against the very system that seeks to tame and use them as products and entertainment, the freer they are to still embrace their humanity in a way that made them ungovernable by the aliens (And HyunA and Till are the biggest parallels for their avid rebellion too)

[ask-blog-for-cold-family]

more headcannon about Frieza (11)

Out of fear of accidentally hurting others, Frieza almost never initiates physical contact—even something as simple as a handshake makes him hesitate. If someone suddenly approaches him, he instinctively takes half a step back. Due to chronic sleep deprivation, Frieza occasionally experiences hallucinations, such as glimpses of Cooler’s angry face. However, he always pretends not to see them. The base of Frieza’s tail is extremely sensitive—if touched, it causes his scales to bristle involuntarily. Frieza actually dislikes fighting in person. He fears accidentally destroying a planet, grumbling, "Then I’ll have to recalculate taxes and population statistics again—how bothersome." He much prefers resolving conflicts through negotiation or threats. When forced to sleep, Frieza usually lies like a corpse: hands folded neatly over his chest, tail coiled tightly around him. It’s a hyper-vigilant yet deliberately still defensive posture. However, during nightmares, his body may lash out on its own—so when he wakes up, he’s no longer in that position. Frieza’s brain is slightly sensitive to intense light and chaotic noise, making him prone to mild sensory overload. His private chambers are always kept soundproofed, dimly lit, and cold. He can read over 90 languages and secretly enjoys translating ancient poems from long-lost civilizations. Frieza likes collecting interesting stones, oddly shaped planetary seeds, and miniature toy models. He claims it’s for “imperial sample collection,” but in truth, he just likes them. Frieza is actually a bit messy. As long as it doesn’t interfere with his work, he’s indifferent to everything else. He leaves wine bottles and glasses scattered across the floor and desk. His documents and books are organized with near-perfection—even down to the exact alignment of page corners—for efficient reference and system analysis. But at the edge of the desk, there may be a half-drunk wine glass or spilled liquor. On the floor, there might be shards of glass, crushed empty bottles, or old galactic newspapers. As long as it doesn’t trip him, he won’t bother cleaning it. He only directs his energy and cleanliness toward things he deems “valuable”—such as power, order, knowledge management, and strategic systems. Frieza adores sweetness. When drinking tea, he adds an absurd amount of sugar—turning strong black tea into something syrupy. Most others would wince at just one sip. He feels no shame about it and will calmly explain: “Sugar supports cerebral stability, emotional regulation, and strategic clarity.” although he enjoys original flavors too, the sweeter, the better. Due to his race, Frieza doesn’t actually need to eat, so he rarely eats unless he really wants to. When he does, he only eats things he enjoys. He can’t handle spicy food, has a very strong preference for sweet flavors, but does okay with salty dishes.

[ilovetheriddler]

egon spengler fluff alphabet please?

I've never done one of these alphabet ones before, but I'll give it my best go, I hope that you enjoy it!

Egon Spengler Fluff Alphabet.

A: Attention (How much attention do they regularly give you?)

He gives you a fair amount of attention, as much as he reasonable can in between his research and his work as a Ghostbuster.

B: Bedtime (How do they prepare for bed with you each night?)

Egon is a very straightforward man. He showers, brushes his teeth, makes sure his alarm is properly set, and then lays down. However, you do have to remind him to take off his glasses every time, a small oversight on his part.

C: Cuddles (How much do they enjoy Cuddles/How good are they at giving them?)

He doesn't necessarily require them, but he understands that they make you happy, so he allows you to cuddle with him whenever you ask to. Despite not needing them himself, he's very good at giving them.

D: Date Night (Where would they take you on a date?)

He's done a fair amount of research into what would commonly be viewed as the best place to take someone on a date, so he gets a reservation at a nice restaurant for the two of you.

E: Effort (How much effort do they put into what they do for you?)

A lot more than you'd think, in fact, he has an entire list of things about you that he's noticed and how you overall like things. If he's asked about the list, he will deny its existence.

F: Fun (What fun activities do they like to do with you?)

He lets you help him organize all of his charts and research notes. And after that he enjoys reading to you.

G: Gestures (What sweet gestures do they like to do for you?)

He's compiled a list of everything that you like and will regularly do research into it so that He's always able to share in your interests.

H: Hugs (How good are their hugs?)

It's a bit stiff and sometimes awkward if you hug him first, but if he's the one hugging you, then he's a bit more relaxed about the whole thing.

I: Infatuation (When did they first realize that they loved you?)

He definitely knew that he found your presence enjoyable, but he didn't realize that it was love he felt until quite a few months into knowing you.

J: Jokes (How funny are their jokes?)

He believes his jokes are extremely well thought out and educated. You sometimes find them funny, but most times, you don't even realize that what he said was meant as a joke.

K: Kisses (How often do they kiss you?)

He gives you kisses on the cheek quite often, but he's not a big fan of PDA necessarily, so he prefers to save anything more than that until you're both alone.

L: Love Letters (How would they write you a love letter?)

It's extremely well thought out and well written, however, decoration wise.... let's just say that for a moment, you thought he was handing you a document.

M: Movies (Their favorite type of movies to watch with you)

Other than documentaries, he doesn't really have a preferred genre. He'll enjoy whatever you want to watch, most likely.

N: Naps (Do they ever really take naps?)

He's not too fond of napping. He has a planned out schedule, and he intends to stick to it, and resting outside of his scheduled seven hours of sleep each night would throw everything off.

O: Observations (How perceptive are they when it comes to you?)

He's extremely perceptive most of the time. However, sometimes he's a bit blunt when asking how you're feeling.

P: Presents (What type of gift would they give you?)

He regularly gifts you interesting mugs that he finds. It was really sweet at first, but now you have 30 mugs and are running out of room!

Q: Quirks (Something specific that they do)

Instead of stopping giving you mugs, he gets you another cabinet. It would be easier if he'd just stop, but he won't.

R: Resentfulness (How likely are they to hold a grudge against someone?)

He doesn't really hold any bitter feelings for anyone for that long. He doesn't see a beneficial reason to do so.

S: Stress (How do they handle stress?)

Egon has gotten fairly decent at working under a lot of stress. He can handle that just fine, but stress related to his personal life? That's more draining for him.

T: Trust (How much do they trust people?)

Most people? He averagely trusts them. You? He's given you his spare key, a list of his medical history. If you told him something, he would trust you without much question.

U: Unexpected Kisses (How do they react to sudden kisses?)

Once again, he's not a big fan of PDA, so if someone else was around, he'd be a bit embarrassed. However, if no one was around, then he'd expect another one.

V: Valentines Day (What do they do for Valentines Day?)

He got you a whole bouquet of flowers! Lilies, Roses, Marigolds, a bunch of different kinds, because he believes that you deserve them.

W: Wishes (What do they hope for from their relationship?)

He has a 27-step plan for your relationship. No, he will not disclose what exactly is all there, but the important thing is that step 19 is marriage.

X: X Ray (What goes on in their mind regularly?)

"How can I implement this into our ghost busting? Hmm..."

"Reasonably that wouldn't make much sense.... however...."

"They really seem to like it when I cook dinner, perhaps I should do it more often?"

Y: Yearning (How much do they miss you while away from you?)

He sees no reason to really spend too much time thinking of you while at work. After all, he'll see you afterward, and you're fully capable of taking care of yourself, so why worry?

Z: Zzz.... (What do they dream about?)

His dreams tend to consist of him capturing ghosts, so, surprisingly, pretty much the exact same as his work every day.