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sethvzekiel · 10 months

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141 + könig x cold! squadmate

gn! reader. lowkey inspired by widowmaker from overwatch, mostly platonic unless you squint. reader is very close to laswell in a platonic way + set backstory.

reader x price, gaz, ghost, soap, and 141! konig bc bias. messed with the timeline a little in post-mwii but they’re still 141 and recruited konig. 3k words.

part 2 here.

warnings: canon-typical violence mention. strong language.

callsign is azrael but only mentioned once or twice.

price

Azrael. Angel of death. What the hell did you do to get a callsign like that? Price was almost afraid to ask — if it’s anything like Ghost’s callsign, it can’t be a happy story.

Your file was almost entirely blacked out, but the scant few that he could read was impressive, if not bloody. Laswell always called on you for her most delicate tasks, plenty of it related to human trafficking and stealth operations. You’re not tied to a single company, more a solo merc than a soldier among many, but you’ve served alongside enough armies that your lack of a badge doesn’t matter.

And there’s that feeling again in Price. The dulled rush of anticipation, of knowing that he’s got a good one in his hands, bursting with potential. Laswell recognized it the moment she saw him reading your file for the first time.

“Don’t poach all my good men, Price,” she sighed, but gave him your contact details, regardless.

He wasn’t surprised that you turned him down. Your file was rather explicit in telling him that you’re more a lone wolf than a mainstay. But by the fifth rejected call, he had to play the ‘Laswell’s Christmas drinking buddy’ card and get her to convince you.

It was then that he'd seen you in person for the first time, in the cold light of one of Laswell's safehouses, and it'd be a cold day in hell before Price lets himself get intimidated by anyone, but hell was feeling a little chilly that night.

Still, he'd recruited Ghost. He'd recruited König. Surely, he knew how to handle you.

…right.

Your problem, which Laswell already warned him about, was that while you followed his orders in a professional sense, there was a difference between obedience and genuine respect, the second of which you’d only reserved for Laswell.

Price wasn’t particular about demanding respect from anyone and everyone, but he also had the urge to help you open up, to untangle that knot of bitterness and cold that kept you silent. Yet the distance between your ranks was too wide, with a wall of ice damn near impenetrable for Price. Not that he was the type to give up when faced with such challenges.

If you smoked, he’d easily offer a cigar, but if you didn’t, he’d do most of the talking as you silently stood by him during his smoke breaks just by his office window.

You reminded him a little of Ghost that way, ever the silent shadow with haunted eyes and an icy composure. You also insisted on calling him Captain, which wouldn’t have been an issue if not for how robotic you sounded, even in small talk.

When it got around that Gaz managed to get you to warm up, Price felt half relieved, and half like he'd just been upstaged. That was his job as captain, damn it. He watched you grow from the sidelines, slowly defrosting as you spent more time with the others.

The day after your first leave together out to the pub, he wanted to shut Soap up because of how much he bragged about you taking care of him. Something about you giving him hangover cures and making him food. But he couldn’t have been prouder when he told Laswell the same story.

During your smoke break chats by the window, Price always gave you advice through his stories and musings.

It was only on the last day of your contract that you said anything yourself.

“Kate trusts you.” You spoke suddenly, under the moon of a quiet night.

Price didn’t respond immediately, afraid to break the sudden fragile atmosphere between you two, and silently urged you to continue.

“...she was captured on your watch.” The accusatory sting in your tone was like a knife in the dark.

Price dipped his head low. “And we fought like hell to get her back. We don’t leave our men behind.”

“I know.”

A long silence followed. You were assessing him. Mulling over whether this task force was worth your time or Laswell’s trust. Price could see it in your eyes, and as much as he’d want to convince you to stay right there, that olive branch was already extended a long time ago by Gaz, Soap, Ghost, and even König. As captain, it was his duty to keep you in line. As Price, he wanted to earn your trust. To trust you himself to make that decision.

When his last cigar for the night burned low, the sliver of smoke joining the creeping sunrise, you hummed.

“See you later, Price.”

You retreated back into his office, and from behind him, Price heard the rustle of paper. You left without another word.

He might have rushed to his desk to see what you’d done to his paperwork, and a low, rough chuckle bubbled from within his chest.

You signed his offer.

ghost

‘Laswell’s attack dog.’ That was the cruel summary of your file.

Ghost was the first person Price consulted with on getting you in the team. From how Price and Laswell described you, it slowly dawned on Ghost just how much Laswell trusted you.

If the 141 fails, Laswell will send you.

Naturally, that made Ghost a little wary of you. He trusted Price, he trusted Laswell, but he didn't trust this outlier. You're another sniper, too. Just what he needed after König joined up. Wonderful.

He wasn’t subtle in his caution against you, but it wasn’t supposed to be subtle. It was a warning.

You didn’t cause trouble. Quite the opposite, in fact: you were quiet. Too quiet. Always tending your gear or spending hours at the range, seeming to only have the next battle in mind. He had to check the security feed to make sure that you were going to your room at night and getting food instead of living at the range 24/7.

By that point he’d decided to go to the range and see you for himself.

“Where’d you learn?”

He couldn’t help but ask as you perfected a whole round of targets. You weren’t startled by his presence, already having heard his quiet steps long before he saw you.

“Picked it up as a habit,” was your frosty reply. “Then did it for money.”

“How old were you?”

“Ask Kate.”

There it was. He had his suspicions about how you came to be so attached to Laswell. If you’d served in enough missions, or if there was something deeper than that, with how you would kill for her without question or how Laswell trusted your strength, yet still discreetly asked Price to keep an eye on your well-being.

“Suppose I won’t,” he said, and that was enough for your to pause and turn back to him.

“Thought you were grilling me for info, LT.”

“I know when not to pry. You better not bring old enemies to us.”

“The dead can’t walk.”

Were you cold? Distant? A bit mean? Yes, yes, and yes. But Ghost was patient. So long as you weren’t a threat or nuisance to the team, you could stay. You were even one of the more obedient ones, so he wasn’t complaining.

That changed when he partnered with you on the field for the first time. It was also your first mission with the others, as you were usually the sniper from the far back instead of charging in with them.

Amid the sands and gunpowder, you were a machine. No enemy slipped past your combined strength, and you complemented each other’s combat styles perfectly. He goes in with the heavy fire while you shot down snipers like you already knew exactly where they were.

“Fuckin’ splendid, soldier,” he said on the way back, when everyone else was asleep.

“I try, sir.”

He looked forward to training with you from then on, silently one-upping each other’s skills from shooting to sparring in an endless chase to the top. The competition grew notorious enough that other soldiers began approaching you for advice on how to improve themselves or to compliment your skills, garnering a reaction from you that only Ghost could tell was embarrassment.

Despite not being as close to you as the rest, your standoffishness and frigid personality were things that Ghost was familiar enough with that he could see right through you.

“Aw no, another Ghost?” Soap once complained when Price sent them your file. Ghost had only scoffed then at the ridiculous notion.

Now, though, as you silently fussed over your teammates while insisting that you weren’t at all concerned, it made him feel a little warm inside.

Nothing wrong with a second Ghost if it meant more people looking out for his comrades.

And with how you seemed to have König wrapped around your little finger, Ghost could at least trust you with keeping him in line.

gaz

He can’t explain why, but there’s something about you that reminded him of his old anger; the frustration he had with how much injustice the world let slip between the cracks, the helplessness he’d felt before he met Price.

Your relationship with Laswell… it’s a little like his own with Price, but in the place of brotherhood or mentorship is something quiet and mournful, the kind of loyalty forged out of a dark place. It’s clear that you view Laswell as a kind of savior, the type you’d owe your life to. It’s the only way to explain why you only come back to her.

Gaz kept his distance, unlike Soap. He could tell when you needed space and respected it — unlike Soap. Or Price. Or — he couldn’t believe it — Ghost. It’s just Gaz being respectful, definitely not related to feelings of intimidation or fear. Maybe.

Funnily enough, it’s that wordless consideration of your alone time that made Gaz the first person you warmed up to. It was only a brief chat about when the next resupply for ammo comes in. You’d been running low for a while and your kit is rather specialized, but Gaz was the first you’d spoken to without hostility or work in mind.

With that ice broken, the next conversations were slow-going, but easier. Shared watch duty where Gaz babbled mindlessly about everything he'd been thinking about, just to keep himself awake, while you listened silently, but intently.

Gaz didn't know that you were actually paying attention until you started setting out his favorite tea in the morning without a word or clearing your throat before entering a room because he hated getting startled. Those were things he'd only told you at night, when he thought you were barely tolerating him.

Instead of a terrifying shadow, he started to see the human side of you. The considerate side that you tried to hide with a bitter scowl when he brought it up. Dare he say it, it was a little endearing, like the grumpy stray cat he used to feed as a kid.

When the rest of the 141 noticed, he'd automatically been designated as your unofficial 'translator.' He could decode any of your blank (and sometimes terrifying) expressions to the letter.

"Quit it, Soap, they need a nap."

"Captain, you're bumping into their injured shoulder, sir."

"LT, might want to hide your tea stash, think they saw your cup."

"König, come back! We just wanted to compare gear!... Eh, sorry mate, he's gone."

"What d'you want, black coffee or... latte? Huh. Two lattes, please."

Usually, when you'd be paired up with Gaz, you're the sniper supporting him from far away. Your quiet murmur over the comms, even in a firefight, instantly calmed him down and Gaz swore that he worked better when he knew you were watching him.

Post-mission naps on your shoulder didn’t sound too bad, either. That was a privilege he wasn’t going to give up to anyone. No matter how annoying about it Soap got.

soap

We know Ghost's attitude didn't stop Soap from getting all buddy-buddy with him.

But even then, your demeanor, as sharp as a coldsnap and twice as biting, gave him pause. He's spoiled with reactions from other people to his presence, whether it's reciprocated friendliness or annoyance at his energetic personality. Total apathy, with a tinge of hostility, only came from Ghost and you. And Ghost warmed up to the guy already, so your silence bothered him a little.

Not that he hated you, but it stirred a competitive urge to challenge your coldness and finally get you to crack.

Mercifully, he somehow didn't end up getting killed in the process of fighting for your attention. He's not subtle about it, though: other people on base always referred to him as your 'pet dog' when he's looking for you.

"Hey, your Scottish Terrier came by, was yowling for your attention."

"Put your dog on a leash, would you? He won't stop interrupting R&D to ask where you are."

"Feed your pup, sergeant, he looks pitiful from over here."

But you didn’t look down on him the way others do. You didn’t see some kid trying to play hero, who got lucky because Price took a shine to him and had no other skills to speak of. You looked down on him the same way you did at everyone else: a detached gaze from your metaphorical ice castle, nothing more. And in a twisted way, it’s refreshing.

When he found out that you'd gotten close with Gaz before anyone else, he was ready to whine. Ghost certainly got the worse end of his complaints. Since then, he'd butt into yours and Gaz's conversations, especially when you started joining the boys for lunch instead of eating alone.

It was only on your first leave together, your first civilian outing, that Soap realized that you were closer than he'd thought.

While he was drinking at the pub, you carefully watched him, silently looking out for signs of him getting too drunk, at which point you'd begun secretly ordering watered-down versions of his drink until it was practically juice.

Even with how wasted he was, he saw through your trick, but all was forgiven by the next morning when you'd cared for him through his hangover in your own, grumpy way. You even cooked breakfast for him, but he wouldn’t tell you that it was practically tasteless and mostly hangover cures. The thought counts, right?

And wow, he would not stop rubbing the fact that you took care of him all over 141’s faces.

“Watch your back, Gaz. I’ll be takin’ your spot soon!”

“Johnny, it’s two in the fucking morning.”

“You can’t be their favorite and Price’s at the same time. Pick one!”

“No. Besides, think König is second to me, not you.”

“The fuck?”

könig

You reminded him of the deep winters of his deployments in the north. Cold, cruel, yet beautiful. Sorrowful. Lonely. Silent. Calming.

Make no mistake, the first few months with you around, König was sure he was going to have a breakdown. Your lightless stare bored holes into him, no matter how hard he tried to hide from your field of view. It took enough of his energy to resist the urge to hide behind any of his new 141 teammates. Seriously, how did he get along better with Ghost than with you when you didn't even have a mask?

It didn't matter if you’re built like Ghost or the scrappiest operator around: your chilling aura always left König with his hands clammy and breaths a little short.

If Gaz pre-friendship was giving you space, König was running from you at first sight.

But when König watched you grow close with the rest of the 141, his sharp eyes catching that lightning-fast flicker of tenderness on your face, it was over for him. He had to see it again, like sunlight glancing off fresh ice.

Cue the big guy trailing after you helplessly, like a fidgety shadow, that the other 141 members politely pretended to ignore. Not that he's any good at hiding.

König may have done a good job at absolutely shattering his terrifying image with his actions at base, but when you're on the field, he's an entirely different person.

A beast. A hunter. A king of the battlefield. He's covered in blood from head to toe, glee rushing through his veins as he bludgeoned two men with his bare hands. For a moment, he wondered if you would be impressed with his kill count. You must be. Then he thought for another moment. Then another.

And he remembered that you were his partner for this mission, and that no, this was not a good look for him.

Slowly, horrified, he turned back to you. You looked over the aftermath: a warehouse filled with bodies, not all of them slain with bullets, and broken weapons. König barely heard you convey your victory to Captain Price over the comms, even if you were right in front of him.

It was only when you clapped him on the arm that he snapped to attention: both from your touch and the miniscule smirk on your lips.

"Don't forget to watch your six."

"You... are not... afraid?"

"Just glad I'm not on your bad side. Let's go."

On the next missions, König would restrain his bloodlust a little, if only to see you in action himself. You moved smoothly and quietly, just like a shadow leaving death in your wake. He watched you snuff out an entire enemy safehouse without anyone noticing.

You truly were the Angel of Death, going from door to door, taking lives like it was divine decree. There was never a more beautiful sight.

König was... stuck to you like glue, to say the least. He'd slowly begun joining you at target practice, or sparring, or running into you around the base and coincidentally offering his help with the reports you meant to file.

Whether you noticed or not, he didn’t care. Actually, he wouldn’t mind if you noticed how helpful he’d been. The more you saw him as reliable, the more you’d be willing to be his buddy on the field, yes? And the more he’d get to see you in action, no?

Now, if only the others would stop hogging you for a second… he could interrupt that conversation you were having with Ghost… if Ghost wasn’t looking… any time now…

#cod x reader #141 x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley x reader #john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #konig x reader #cod fanfic

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mvskedxrtist · 9 months

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Under the Sea

Wᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: PwP (Porn with plot), Tentacles, Mommy Kink, Overstimulation, and Praise

Nᴏᴛᴇ: I saw a lot of people actually liked the first one I posted so I'm doing one of my favorite first years from Twisted Wonderland! Please enjoy and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I'll also say for this one specifically, NRC is co-ed for this to work.

Azul Sister!Reader x Deuce Spade - Under the Sea

Another day, another deal, another contract. That was normal between you and your younger brother Azul. He had done his usual routine of offering his help with finals, and the numbers were definitely increasing than what happened last year.

"225 new contracts, huh little brother." You asked him with a smile while leaning against the office wall, watching him look over what he gathered. "Much more than last year, dear sister." He told him with the same sadistic smile you had on yourself. The initial idea of offering their help was your idea anyway since your first year which lead to Azul doing it when he joined.

The next day while Azul was talking to a client in his office, you were observing the Mostro Lounge for him. Sitting by the counter, you were ordering some of the people with anemones on their heads, looking into the kitchen now and then so nothing bad happened. When you heard the doors open and saw the Tweels, you got up from your chair and walked over. "Well well well! So these are the new people that got trapped as well.. How hilarious!"

Dᴇᴜᴄᴇ's Pᴏᴠ

Oh we had really gotten ourselves into trouble. And ouch do these anemones hurt. Me and Ace were getting dragged into Mostro Lounge during lunch which I had to deal with Ace's complaints about the pain. When it did stop and we were in front of the Tweels, I had shifted slightly and turned to see the most beautiful girl leaning against the counter.

She was dressed in the same Housewarden outfit Azul would wear but with some things adjusted so students didn't think she was the Housewarden. The pants seemed a bit tighter on her than everyone else, it really showed how thick her thighs were in the pants and- NO! I shouldn't be thinking about my upperclassman like that! I have to stop staring.

Nᴏʀᴍᴀʟ Pᴏᴠ

You had smiled and rested your body against Jade, knowing he'd keep you steady before giving them all a cocky smile. "Finally you showed. Ok Tweels, you can get back to work. As for you two new people.. I'll just have you serve tables for today!" It was a simple task indeed, but anything could be turned complicated in an instant.

Seeing the dark orange haired boy ask his other two friends without anemones to help them with the task was funny a bit. So desperate even though it was easy, just how you usually liked it.

So where did you land when Azul pulled you into his office and explained the deal of a lifetime. And all you had to do was stop the small group not get that picture from the Atlantic Museum? It seemed simple enough.

It was simple enough. Way too simple. So you decided to have some fun. Especially with the boy you caught glancing at you. While you were in your merform (a dark and muted green cecaelia), you had spotted the group of Yuu, Jack, Ace, and your lovely target Deuce along with the Tweels who were also in their merforms messing around with them.

You had stepped back slightly while watching the Tweels play around with them before letting your tentacles wrap around Deuce's arms and pull him back towards your looming figure. "H-huh?! Wait... [N-name?!]" The boy looked in shock by your merform as you chuckled and leaned closer to him.

"You're absolutely correct, cutie~" You whispered in his ear before letting another tentacle take Deuce's pants off. "I've noticed you stare at me a few times when you're called for your job in the Mostro Lounge... So why not fulfill your fantasy?~"

Right after you said that, Deuce started squirming when he felt a tentacle go inside of his ass. This was such a new experience for him, it felt a bit weird but maybe he'd like it. The tentacle inside of him started pump in and out of him like a makeshift cock while you actually did grab his cock an started jerking him off. "W-wait no! Nghhh~" He groaned softly from the pleasure of both sides, looking up at you while he couldn't do much in your grasp.

Another tentacle had slid inside of Deuce which made him moan out softly for you. He was excited for what you'd do next, the pleasure felt amazing to him. "M-mommy~" He moaned out while you kept jerking him off, going fast as your tentacles inside of him matched your speed. "Aww, is my good boy close?~" You teased him an chuckled, leaning forward to kiss his neck and leave your mark on him while stimulating him.

"H-hahh— I'm gonna-!" Deuce shuddered before he came all over your hand, the boy already looking exhausted from his orgasm. "Good job dear!~" You cheered for him and kissed his neck again, seeing the second hickey on him. He thought that you two were now done sinc he had came, but he could still feel the tentacles inside of him move faster, making him whimper and whine for you.

You shook your hand slightly, watching the cum instantly get washed into the ocean before turning to look back at him. "M-mommy..~ I-I'm so sensitive—" Deuce whined and panted softly from pleasure before he had came again in the ocean, feeling hypersensitive of pleasure.

"Oh but we've just begun, baby boy~ and isn't this nice to lose your virginity Deuce? Under the sea?~"

#top reader #my writing #femdxm #fem reader #twisted wonderland #deuce x reader #deuce spade #heartslabyul #tentacles #night raven college #mvsked.writing #octavinelle #sub character #submisive and breedable #top fem reader #dom reader #dom fem reader

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janeicethesiren · 7 months

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Kuroshitsuji Hot Take/Headcanon: Sebastian Is Sick of Ciel and This Contract

Hey! New blog, don’t mind me. I have some thoughts that I have to spill out otherwise I literally can’t sleep so here we go! Don’t take it too seriously lol I’m just talking.

Anywho, as the title says, I really think Sebastian is sick and tired of O!Ciel, this contract, the phantomhive drama, and all of the other shenanigans going on, especially after the 2CT reveal.

Sebastian is an egomaniac who believes in his own hype. He’s selfish to his core, self-serving, arrogant, hyper-narcissistic, pedantic, and overall unpleasant unless he has to be. Yana even said she finds him unappealing (and I don’t blame her!)

I love Sebastian, I promise. But, based on how much has happened over the course of less than 4 years and how many times he’s been caught off guard lately, he seems like the type that would HATE to be in this situation.

Look at him! When he got embarrassed by Blavat and that cult, what’d he do? He went to go mingle with some prostitutes. Yeah, he got some information from them but he was DEFINITELY looking for an ego boost.

Sebastian probably has a long list of grievances. To list a few:

1. He’s gonna have to fight Undertaker again most likely (which we all know he definitely DOESN’T wanna do).

2. The reapers are constantly on his ass.

3. Having to raise a child (technically two children if you count finny), and that child being the most spoiled, whiniest, greediest brat you ever did see. (and I say this with love)

4. And having to manage and constantly clean up the messes of his incompetent (day job wise) employees???

5. And how could I forget, they barely made any moves towards revenge! (Although I think this is more of a writing thing then a Ciel and Sebastian in universe thing. Plus I’m pretty sure the Queen did it or had something to do with it anyways, so…)

Like, he’s definitely over it, lol.

Not to mention, motherfucker is STAAAAAAARRRRVIIINGGG!!!! Didn’t William say he was, “half mad with hunger,” or something similar? Could you imagine basically having to fight to the death, jump through rings of fire, literally bend over backwards without a break for years on end JUST to eat, what you hope, is a gourmet pizza??? I’d be aghast!

Sebastian is an uppity bitch that likes to put on airs about being “elegant” and “classy” and “not like those other lowly demons who just eat whatever,” but he was just like that not too long ago himself. He probably, lowkey, still is to an extent. Yana didn’t call him a beast for nothing.

What I’m saying is, yeah, he’ll do the work to upmost perfection for his own personal pride because he’s an egomaniac. And a perfectionist who’s also a callous, narcissist that can never fail and never be wrong, but that doesn’t mean he’s having fun right now lol. I personally headcanon that while he enjoys being a butler to an extent, he secretly feels like he bit off waaaaaayyyy more than he meant to chew.

In his head, I bet Sebastian’s like, “I will literally do ANYTHING to go home at this point. There isn’t a day that goes by that I haven’t wanted to push that damn brat down a flight of, AT LEAST, ten staircases. I’m tired, I’m hungry, I’ve been humiliated by these…. LESSERS….way too many times, I have to tolerate a bunch of annoying humans and reapers, and don’t even get me STARTED on this……this….CHILD! MY GOD! He can’t bath, he doesn’t want to walk, he can’t dress himself or tie his own shoes. I’m surprised I don’t have to feed him myself half the time! I’ve been run ragged way past what’s necessary and-!“

Just, constantly. Everyday.

Lol I highly doubt he’d ever wanna do this shit again. Or would at least take an extended break afterwards.

TLDR: Sebastian is a tired and hungry egoistic demon who would just unceremoniously eat the child if he weren’t so damn prideful.

#kuroshitsuji #Black Butler #kuroshitsuji manga #o!ciel #ciel phantomhive #character analysis #headcanon #this is mostly meant for laughs #I just needed to dump this on you guys so I can sleep #love you!#please don’t take this too seriously

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catcze · 7 months

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via that princess treatment ask that you got, i'm thinking about an angsty sugar daddy wriothesley au in which he truly is spoiling you because he loves you more than life itself, but you're either afraid of ruining whatever contract the two of you came up with or losing what little luxury you can get through him

- cinna ☕️

HAKJSDN BROOO 🥺 Wait that has such potential as like a mutual pining slow burn type of fic wtf 🥺♡ Dude can i b real im such a sucker for those sugar daddy x sugar baby type fics where it's the sugar daddy that falls first, and spoilers their bby so much like lord 😭😭 Dude I'm like actually lost for words ?!?!?!

And omg wait i can definitely see Wrio, who invited you out to be his arm candy at some big, posh event, asking you if you wanna go anywhere before he lets you go for the night. And and and, since you didn't really eat much at the event, scared you might get a stain on your outfit, you tell him that you wanna eat somewhere. Nothing much or fancy, just some quick snack.

And it ends up with you and him dining together on some cheap cup noodles and microwaved pastries at the convenience store on the corner by your apartment. You're both still in your formals, just a bit more laid-back now. Wrio's got his tie loosened, and your hair has already started to get messed up from the careful style you've put it in earlier.

⠀⠀"You know, it's been a while since I had these," Wriothesley muses absently, blowing on the noodles he's snagged with his chopsticks. After he's taken a big bite, a happy sound escapes him. "Forgot how good these tasted." ⠀⠀You have to laugh— it's hard to imagine him eating anything less than food served in three star michelin restaurants, or sitting in some rinky-dink convenience store. But anything is possible, you suppose. Just look at the situation you've found yourself in now. ⠀⠀"Well, if you ever want someone to come with you, you already know that I live nearby." ⠀⠀And he grins— the one that has your stomach flipping and an unknown feeling in your chest. "Really? I might just have to take you up on that offer." ⠀⠀You swallow, pushing down that feeling. Not even daring to think what it could be. "Yeah." You hope he doesn't hear the shake in your voice.

AND OH can you imagine when he walks you back to your door that night? It's already unusual for you— typically, when one sees their sugar baby off for the night, they stay in their car. Hell, sometimes they don't even see them off, merely sending them home in a chauffeured car. But Wriothesley? He walks you right up to your door, hands in his pockets, and it makes you feel something. It makes it all seem too much like a date, rather than a contractual relationship. Your hands shake— from fear or excitement, you're not sure.

And Wrio— Wrio presses a kiss to the back of your hand before he leaves. Holds it tenderly in his warm palm as he thanks you for giving him your time tonight, again with that stupid, heart-flipping grin on his face.

It ends soon enough, thankfully. He releases your hand and leaves once you've shut the door behind you and fuck— you slump down right then and there in the foyer of your apartment, head in hands with the realization that you might, just might, have feelings for him.

#「 🐈‍⬛ 」 strawberry.milk #「 🍓 」 Fave Flavor !! coffee.&.boba #「 🐈‍⬛ 」 strawberry.cupcakes #BRO CINNA THIS GAVE ME SUCH BRAINROT LMAOOOOOO #HASDJKAHB #MWAH MWAH UR THE BEST ILY

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sixhours · 3 months

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Chapter 10 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

You don’t see or hear from Joel for three days, but the distance proves to be a good thing. You need the space to think and compartmentalization has always served you well.

It helps that your work at the clinic takes up all of those three days. The morning after your date, you get a call on the walkie telling you one of your patients is in labor. It’s a hard birth; a 19-year-old mother with a tiny frame and a larger-than-average baby, and you don’t have a drop of anesthesia to offer, nothing stronger than homemade whiskey and pain pills that barely dull the contractions. The labor drags out over the next two days in a chorus of blood and screams that ring in your ears for hours.

The baby finally makes her entrance, nine-plus pounds and healthy, save for the forceps bruises on her swollen cheeks. Her mother, on the other hand, has a broken tailbone, a mess of stitches, and needs a blood transfusion. You want to give her a stern lecture on the importance of birth control, but what birth control? You can only tell her bluntly that if this happens again, she might not survive.

Just when you think you’ll be able to catch your breath, you get another call. Another labor, this one six weeks premature. The delivery is easy, but the baby is tiny and his chances are grim. The best you can do is put him in a warmer and have the nursing staff watch him around the clock.

Through it all, you’re reminded of how fucking fragile all of it is, how few tools you have at your disposal, how you’re walking a knife’s edge every time someone shows up at the clinic with anything more serious than a paper cut.

It’s infuriating, and you struggle to keep your distance, reminding yourself that Jackson doesn’t need your heartache; it needs medicine that you don't fucking have.

You drag your ass back to your house and peel off your bloodied scrubs as soon as you step inside, leaving them in a pile by the door. You plod upstairs and fill the tub as hot as you can stand it and then some. The water comes up to your chin, and you feel the stress of the last few days begin to seep from your muscles, tendrils unwinding from around your ribs, your shoulders.

You’re dozing in the fast-cooling water when you hear the knock.

You drag yourself out of the tub with a groan, wrapping yourself in a robe and tying up your hair, then padding down the stairs in bare feet to answer the door. Joel stands on the other side, looking as tired as you feel. He raises an eyebrow at your robe.

“Uh, this a bad time?”

“No,” you say. “Come in.”

His eyes fall on the bloody scrubs piled next to the door. “Jesus, what happened?”

“Oh…right. Everyone’s fine. Well, no, everyone’s not fine, but…everyone’s alive. So far,” you mutter. “Want a drink? I need a drink.”

“I don’t–”

“Drink…right,” you sigh. “I swiped some beer from the dance last fall. Help yourself if you change your mind.”

“Bad day?” he follows you, leaning in the doorway and watching as you open the fridge and grab one of the amber glass bottles.

“Days, plural,” you say, wiggling the bottle in his direction. “Are you sure?”

He frowns, then sticks out his hand. “Fine.”

“I am not above peer pressure,” you smile, grabbing a second bottle and pulling the cork before handing it to him. You clink the necks and take the first sip, sour bubbles coating your tongue.

You perch on a chair, crossing your legs and pulling your robe around you, and he takes a seat across the table, looking around uncomfortably.

“Kitchen looks good,” he says after a beat, nodding to the open ceiling, the new floor joist sticking out like a sore thumb, pink insulation peeking from around the studs.

“Thanks, I was going for that ‘construction chic’ look.”

He snorts, takes a drink.

“What are you doing here, Miller?”

He opens his mouth, closes it again, clears his throat, takes another drink, setting the bottle on the table. Normally you’d enjoy watching him squirm, but you’re too tired to wait for his slow Texas drawl.

“Look, if this is about the other night, we don’t have to–”

“I had a good time,” he says flatly.

You blink. “Oh…me, too.”

“I just needed to say, I can’t…uh…I don’t want you thinkin’ I’m…ugh,” he groans, rubbing his face with his hands. You push his beer closer to him on the table.

“Drink.”

You hold up your beer to demonstrate, then tip it back and take three long swigs. It’s homebrew, stronger than the old-world stuff. You put the bottle down with a barely concealed burp.

“Your turn,” you say.

He gives you a look, but then does the same, picking up the bottle and bringing it to his lips. You watch his Adam's apple bob at his throat as he swallows.

“Now what?” he says, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“We wait for the alcohol to kick in,” you say, putting an elbow on the table and leaning into your hand. “And you talk. Or I pass out…whichever comes first.”

He nods, then after a thought, takes another long drink.

Good boy. That’ll help things along.

“I told you I haven’t, uh, done this in a while.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, rubbing at his eyes.

“I recall.”

“I had a…partner…Tess. Back in Boston. She didn’t make it out, but we, uh…didn’t have what you’d call a relationship. She…got what she needed from me, and I got what I needed from her. And most of the time…that was enough.”

You lean back, studying him as he talks, watching his fingers slide absently up and down the amber glass.

“And now…I have Ellie,” he says, growing more serious. “She’s my first priority. End of story. I can’t…have anything get in the way of that.”

“I get it.”

“I just don’t want to give you the wrong idea,” he says, staring at you with those dark brown eyes. “We can’t…I can’t be…with you…like that.”

You plop your chin in your hand, considering this, feeling a wash of relief move through you. Or maybe that’s the beer.

“Look, Miller, I’m not what you’d call girlfriend material. But…I’m down for a good time. Whether that’s looking at meteors or…doing other things.”

He licks his lips, nodding slowly.

“Whatever…this…is,” you say, gesturing between the two of you. “It doesn’t need to be serious. You’re not going to hurt my feelings by giving it to me straight. We’re adults, right? So let’s act like it.”

He swallows hard. “Alright then. Not serious.”

“Not serious,” you smile, then down the rest of your beer, watching him do the same. You pick up the empty bottles to bring them to the sink. “Do me a favor and grab us a couple more. One’s not gonna cut it tonight.”

“Sure.”

He goes to the fridge while you rinse the bottles at the sink and leave them upturned to dry. You’ll give them back to the brewer to be reused.

“What’s this?”

You turn around. He’s holding the orange, looking at you with one raised eyebrow, and you have to turn back to the sink so he doesn’t see the heat in your cheeks.

“Oh, that. Don’t let it go to your head, Miller. I just like how it smells.”

You hear him take an experimental sniff and have to bite your lip to contain a grin. You hear the clink of the glass bottles and the fridge door close.

“Where’d you find an orange in this place, anyway?”

“Did some work in the greenhouse a while back. Guy named Miles…guess he used to be a botanist or somethin’, figured out how to grow ‘em. It’s no mango smoothie, but I figured…”

He shrugs, opening one of the bottles and handing it to you. Clink , sip, wait.

The silence draws in on itself, circling you, and you let it. You consider him, feeling a certain lonely hunger curling inside you, the alcohol making your brain feel pleasantly detached and loose. You catch yourself admiring his profile, the slope of his nose, the slight dimple in his cheek, the patch in his scruff where his beard doesn't grow.

He’s watching you, too. When your eyes lock for one second too long, you turn back to the sink with a sigh, pretending to busy yourself with the nonexistent dishes.

There’s movement at your back, the sound of footfall behind you, the clink of the glass bottle as it’s placed on the counter to your left, a sudden warmth at your lower back. You feel his breath on your exposed neck. When his lips brush the skin at your nape, you barely hold back a shudder.

“This okay?”

You laugh a little as if he hadn’t had you up against the wall in this very same kitchen months ago. There had been no asking permission then. “Mmmhmm.”

His hand slides lower, lower still, then cups your ass, warm hand gripping and kneading in a way that sends desire straight to your sex. His hips push against yours, leaning you into the counter, cornering you like he’s worried you might run if given the chance.

“Shit,” he whispers, rough palm connecting with bare skin underneath your robe.

You suck in a hard breath and it’s like you have to remember how. Air in, lungs expand, air out, lungs contract , but all you can feel is one hand gripping your hip, running around to your belly, sliding under your robe and up. God, his hands are so big, so warm . He cradles your ribcage in his palms like a newborn, running them up your sternum, teasing at the base of your throat with rough fingers, loosening the sash at your waist.

He turns you around, leans forward again, pinning your hips and back to the countertop behind you. He’s watching you, reading your face as his hands skim your breasts. Your nipples are already tight, but his rough palm is cupping, rolling, kneading.

“Not serious,” he says slowly.

“Uh uh.”

You find yourself holding back, trying not to make a sound, not to give him the satisfaction. But his eyes narrow, his hips sway deeper into yours, and his thumb makes direct contact with one erect nipple. You moan, and you can feel him twitch between your legs, his mouth dropping open, forehead coming to rest against yours.

His nose brushes yours, his breath at your lips, but both of you seem determined to let the other one make the first move. It’s tantalizing, infinitely frustrating, almost cruel.

“You sure?” he murmurs, and you swallow his exhale in answer. The kiss is soft at first, tender, gentle. Testing.

He leans in, tongue swiping teasingly over your bottom lip, asking permission. You oblige, tasting him, kiss deepening until you’re both panting, his hand pressed into the back of your neck like a tattoo. His tongue slides against yours in a honey-slick caress.

He lifts you, turning you both until you’re sitting on the kitchen island. You have a momentary flash of his shoulder in a brace and consider reminding him to take it easy, old man , but then he’s kissing you, mouth trailing a hot tongue down the cradle of your throat, your collarbone, and the words are lost to the ether. Your robe has fallen open, exposing you, and he slips his hands inside, pushing it the rest of the way down your shoulders.

You realize he’s never seen you like this and the attention is almost uncomfortable. You can’t hide, you can’t run, you can’t turn around and press your face to the mattress.

“Fuck, you’re pretty.”

You arch into his mouth as his tongue circles one nipple, pulling it between his teeth, grazing the tender flesh before soothing it, over and over. He repeats this process on the other breast until you’re whimpering, caught in a haze of pleasure. Your hands reach for him, sliding under his shirt, pulling at his jeans, but he catches you by the wrist and gives you a gentle shake of his head.

Not yet.

He lays you back, one wide palm stroking the length of your torso, the robe thick and warm between your overheated skin and the cool marble of the countertop. He eyes you hungrily, spread out before him like a fucking buffet. Your throat tightens as his mouth descends upon yours again, suckling at your neck, your chest, your stomach.

“Oh, thank god, Miller,” you breathe, desperately clinging to your last shred of self-control.

“Mmm,” he grunts between open-mouthed kisses, intent on his path. His tongue circles your navel, dipping inside. “What?”

“Was beginning to think you didn’t know what foreplay was.”

He shoots you a dark look over the swell of your breasts, lapping at the sensitive flesh under your belly button, leaving a wet, hungry trail down, down, down.

Challenge accepted.

His tongue dips between your labia and you arch involuntarily, sliding back on the counter. His hands grip your thighs, pushing them apart while pulling you closer, anchoring your center to his mouth. Your fingers thread through his brown salt-and-pepper curls as he circles the pearl of your clit, pressing into it, laving it, circling again and again until you’re trembling, almost begging.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he growls, dipping lower, lapping at you, eating you out like you’re his last meal. Fingers replace his tongue and curl inside you as he returns to your clit, suckling in earnest. One hand leaves his hair to grip the edge of the counter as his fingers thrust deeper, harder, faster.

“Mm-gonna–”

“That’s right, you’re gonna come for me,” he pants. “Come for me.”

You do, clenching hard around him, arching into him, throbbing wantonly against his mouth.

“Good girl,” he purrs, kissing your trembling inner thighs, licking and sucking his way back up your flushed, overstimulated body. You kiss him, taste yourself on him and moan into his mouth, feeling his hardness, still clothed, pressing into your hot center. “So fuckin’ good.”

When you reach for his jeans this time, he doesn't push you away. You sit up, and he waits as you undress him, unusually patient, hands stroking your bare shoulders, your back.

He’s wearing the same shirt as when he thought he was having a heart attack, you realize, the one you had to deface to get to his chest. The buttons have been sewn back on with thread that doesn’t match, and for some reason the thought of him sitting on his couch with a needle in his lips makes your pussy clench.

His torso is puckered with small scars, the one on his abdomen freshest and most pronounced. He takes a sharp breath when you run your fingers over it. You can see the outline of the messy stitches that once held him together. He’s watching your face, cautious, as if he expects you to stop, to come to your senses.

Instead, you run your hands up his chest, down the thick muscle under his biceps, the soft fur of his forearms. You arch up to kiss his throat, feeling the rumble of his sigh under your lips. You taste his skin, salty and smoky and deeply masculine.

When you pull down his jeans, he presses himself into your hand involuntarily, closing his eyes and tipping his head back when you grip him, tracing the outline of his cock through his briefs. You push them down and stroke him, letting your thumb slide over the wetness at the tip, around, back down, watching the effect on his face, the slack of his jaw, the quickening of his breath.

He pushes you back, dragging you to him, positioning himself at your entrance. You groan at the contact as he drags his cock up the seam of your cunt, circling your clit, back down, up and down, until you’re writhing underneath him.

Where before he thrust into you without warning, now he’s painfully slow, teasing you to the edge of sanity. His head pushes inside and you can feel every fucking twitch of his cock at your entrance. You reach for his ass to pull him deeper but he’s using one powerful hand on your chest to hold you back.

“Gotta go slow,” he whispers, voice thick with arousal.

He rocks his hips forward and back, waiting for you to adjust, even though you’re so fucking wet for him it’s hardly an issue. Where was this Joel, you want to ask him, the one who’ll eat you for dinner and fuck you for dessert, but then you can’t because he’s pushing deeper, deeper, deeper, filling you up until the only thing you can focus on is the thick, heavy heat of him inside you.

It’s luscious, your hips rolling, snapping up to meet his until his hands clamp down on them to control your pace.

“Not gonna…last…if you keep doin’ that,” he growls. He pulls you up until you’re flush with his chest, changing the angle, cupping your ass and thrusting more shallowly, breathing hard as his teeth graze your neck.

Your fingers slide between your joined hips, seeking out that one spot. “Want…” you pant, unable to form the words as your pleasure spills from your body in needy moans and whimpers. “More…”

His fingers follow yours until you’re both cupping your pussy, then gently pushes you out of the way and presses a thick finger to your swollen core, circling your clit with increasing pressure. You clench around him, so thick, so tight, feet pressed to the backs of his thighs to pull him as deep as you can.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby,” he groans, but his words are staggered, catching in his throat. “God you’re…so…tight. Need you to…come…for me.”

He kisses you hard, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other working delicious circles around your swollen bud. You moan into his mouth as he leans you back until he’s filling you again, your hips arching off the counter to meet his, and the extra pressure on your clit sends you flying.

“Ah fuck,” he gasps as your walls clamp around him, milking him, and with one more solid thrust, he’s buried to the hilt and pulsing hot and sticky inside you.

“Not…serious,” he pants, nuzzling at your throat, teasing your lips with his.

“Not serious,” you repeat, but the words have lost all meaning in your sex-addled brain, and then he’s sliding you off the counter without letting his mouth leave your skin, and he practically carries you upstairs to bed.

~*~

And this is how it starts, the beginning of your unraveling at the hands of one Joel Miller, the town’s resident asshole and, to your amazement, a really fucking good lay.

He makes up some excuse to be at your place whenever your schedules align, which isn’t often…but you make the most of the time. You’ve learned a new thing about Joel–when he sets his mind to something, he doesn’t fuck around.

Or maybe it’s more accurate to say he does.

He’s almost ruthless in bed, controlling in a way you’ve never experienced in a partner…maybe because no one until this point has been up for the challenge of trying to control you. He edges you to the point of pain, teasing you, playing with your clit and your breasts and sucking on your neck until you’re trembling and begging for release–and when he finally gives it to you, you come hard. You always come hard.

You’re used to being the dominant one, but something about his hissing “good fuckin’ girl” in your ear, while he pulls your hair and takes you from behind, makes you melt, turns you into a whimpering raw nerve. He fucks you until it hurts to move, until you’re chafing and walking slowly from the constant friction between your legs.

He fingers your asshole and calls you a filthy slut and then kisses you like he could drown in you. He marks you with bruises then soothes them with his tongue, whispering sweet words that fall like candy from his lips.

He pushes you to your knees and spills his seed on your chest, your face, your neck. You’re debased and degraded in a way you’ve never let yourself be before… but then he trails one finger from your temple to your jaw, and his black-brown eyes go slack with something more than lust until you have to look away.

You move through the winter days in a clouded haze of arousal and overstimulation, always too warm, distracted, and thinking about the next fix. You amass a collection of turtlenecks, grateful for the bitter winter wind.

Sometimes you hate the sheer madness of your desire, the gnawing sensation of want, of need . You don’t like the way you lose control when he’s inside you and cursing about how fuckin’ good you feel.

And yet, when he shows up at your door, you never turn him away.

#fanfic #fic recs #the last of us hbo #joel miller #ellie williams #the last of us #joel miller x reader #joel and ellie #joel miller x you

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hell-drabbles · 1 month

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Your fics are probably one of the few things keeping me in the fandom now and I honestly have a lot of questions so I hope you don't mind. Since the Halloween event where Minhyeok turns into a devil by Satan kissing him to transfer a bit of his power into him when we pull for white hair Minhyeok, he is said to be in Satan's camp. And after my ask and you said something about dying and going back to being alive again, do you think a pact/contract/seal from a specific king is needed for Minhyeok to turn into a devil and become that king's servant? Because I just think it can't be all that Minhyeok can turn into a devil only by just dying like there has to be something else like with Companion.

If he becomes a devil he already has to serve a king he makes a contract and be in Hell without coming to Earth to his family anymore (I think he will live with Ppyong cause the red lump did make that offer). Also after becoming a devil will Minhyeok still gonna be a simp for Raon? Will their relationship turn more toxic (that sounds very likely)? Or will he just put himself in the same hole as Raon like other devils before getting out like them? What would the Companion's opinions on the whole thing? Will they just gonna cut ties with Minhyeok and Raon at some point? Without Companion being in their right mind anymore after their angel's transformation, Minhyeok and Raon are for sure gonna become even more of a mess.

Sorry for asking too much but I think fiction that makes you question a lot is great, it keeps you there and contemplates, your fics do it for me so they're really amazing.

Hehehehe it's a habit of mine to read things that are lacking or very disappointing and just, turn them into reader inserts and also tweak them in a way that would be enjoy for me. You have no idea how many other obscure webcomics, manga and other things I've did that with. It's fun for me, and it's fun to just, drag people into the pit I'm in when there's little Fandom. It's fun! I'm serious when I say I write for real obscure things.

Hmm let's see, I have an floating around in my head. If Minhyeok has the intention of becoming a demon, and he makes a contract for that to happen, I feel the other devil kings will make it a bitch for him to become one. Minhyeok is about the only string that's keeping Ra-on from fully converting into Hell, and with his presence here, he serves as a constant reminder to Ra-on about how much he wants to come home.

Now, onto the contract making with the devil kings and how that would go.

Sure, the easy solution would just be give Minhyeok what he wants and fully turn him into a demon, but, again, the thought of just giving him what he wants without at least some entertainment on their end just isn't in their nature. So, if Minhyeok wants to become a demon, he'll probably have to injure himself for it. You know, as proof of Minhyeok's conviction. What they weren't expecting was Minhyeok's capacity of self-harm for the sake of taking care of others that are in very clear distress. He coddles Ra-on and it's infuriating, and what makes it even more irritating is how Minhyeok is willing to run himself to the ground to take care of everyone. Certainly, Ra-on takes priority, but given the chance, he would not say no to the Companion also shutting themselves up in his house.

So anyway, Minhyeok's decision to become a devil is meant to be the peak of his self destructive tendencies. He's willing to throw away all of his humanity and be forever bound to Hell if it meant he can take care of his childhood friends in that moment.

I feel that originally, Minhyeok only approached Satan with this idea since he shared power with him once, so his chances of getting something out of this were a little higher than anyone else. But then the other devils hear about it, and then they're all hit with the fact that, depending on who Minhyeok ends up serving, that's the devil Ra-on is going to be spending time with the most.

So... yeah, most of them are probably going to fight over who gets to be the one to turn Minhyeok into a devil. Which is funny to me.

And then I'll probably do a twist of irony where Lucifer ends up winning somehow, probably talking some sense to him like "Do you think, in the state they're in now, that they would recognize you if you were to become a devil?" So the deal changes from Minhyeok turning into a devil, and more someone that ends up healing real fast. But then he dies, because the Companion is ruthless in their berserk state. And so Minhyeok is revived. But he dies again. Then is revived. It happens, over and over again, and it makes one question how many times can a human be revived by a devil without said human being unaltered. Either way, the idea here is that each revival changes Minhyeok a little bit until it can't be reversed.

In the end, Minhyeok gets what he wants, at the expense of his ability to go home, to go back to everything that he knows.

So anyway, yeah he's still coddling Ra-on on hand and foot. And, of course, without the Companion to be the voice of reason and hand of of discipline, the dynamic that Ra-on and Minhyeok have would devolve into something a whole lot worse. It goes from "let's go back home when everything's over," to "Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it, no matter where you are." Completely and utterly sucked into the world they're building for themselves, indulgent in all their worst vices.

Alrighty alrighty, what would the Companion think of it all, after everything they've been through. The funny part about it is that the Companion was ready to cut ties way back at the start. They gave themselves a deadline and if things don't start to change at least a little bit by that time, then they're packing their bags and leaving. But, of course, Hell comes and swallows them after the angels come in, so that put a damper on things.

The Companion is stubborn and wants things to go their way. They want for all of them to go home first, and then continue with the plan with cutting ties, because at least then they're not at risk of losing their lives to an angel attack. So if Minhyeok shows signs of missing the human world, of missing his family and wanting to go home, then they can breathe for a moment, regardless if he's a devil or not. The chances of Minhyeok going home are minuscule, but they're just as small as the Companion going home.

So, really, the only way for the Companion to truly cut ties with Minhyeok and Ra-on is when they imply they're happier here than the human world, when they do things that show how much they're slowly starting to devalue the human world they're born in. When all they're focusing on is the flaws of the human world, and how nice this world of Hell is, that's when the Companion just cut ties. No warning, no prompt on their part. They're just done. They want nothing to do with them anymore. There's no point.

But yeah, that be the idea. Seems like something fun and angsty.

Also, I'm kind of sleepy, so if there's any information here that's contradictory, whoooops.

#admin #embittered companion au

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sucrosette · 6 months

Text

★— ⋆｡˚ [Pillows]

For Day 15 of Carry on Countdown 23, Familiar. @carryon-countdown

In which Simon is an actual half-dragon and he's found himself in a bit of a situation with a certain human mage. He's not exactly unhappy about it, somewhat surprisingly.

This part is rated T, mostly just for the language.

Part one (for Day 9) can be found [here]

⋆｡˚

“Perhaps you’re a dwarf,” Simon’s would be captor mused, flipping through a giant tome from his safe place out of Simon’s binding circle. A safe distance from all the nipping and biting and fire breathing that would have been happening if Simon could just bloody leave.

Simon circled anxiously in his circle, pacing along the edge of it once, then twice, and a third time before curling up on himself, blowing more smoke up at the studious mage out of his reach. His chin settled on his claws and he closed his eyes, determined that if the mage wasn’t going to pay attention to him, he may as well nap.

“You certainly don’t appear as a fairy dragon would have,” The mage kept talking as if Simon was listening at all, “Beyond just your size, your wings and scales are all wrong. Much too sleek and far too unkempt. A fairy dragon would never allow themself to become such a mess. Not to say you’re not a very handsome whatever kind of drake you are, but you’re certainly not the kind I was seeking.”

Simon cracked his eyes open just to shoot a glare at the pacing mage standing at the edge of the circle. He flicked his tongue to express his discontent at being called unkept. Not that his captor was wrong, but it was impolite to just call someone that before you even knew them.

“Not to mention the language barrier… I wonder where I went wrong with the summoning…”

Simon squawked up at Basil and that seemed to finally draw his attention. Sure, it hadn’t landed him a blanket and a pillow or anything like a proper nest, but it was something. He raised his head and flicked his tongue again, watching as the mage came to a halt in front of him.

“Wait,” The mage breathed, a hand running through his raven locks, “Can you understand me, then?”

Simon raised a wing as if to say, yes, of bloody course he could. It wasn’t perfect, but it seemed to do the trick.

“Oh, well maybe we can work something out after all,” The mage declared, “Let me explain what I’d been intending, and we can figure out where to go from there.”

Simon scrunched his nose up at the larger, his discontent clear.

“Okay, clearly I need to not parse my words. Let me start over.” Baz set his tome down on the floor, kneeling just on the other side of the circle.

“I go by Baz,” The mage started, “I’m looking for a familiar, and it’s all supposed to be entirely consensual, despite how it might seem from in there. If you weren’t able to consent to it in the first place, I was going to set you free. Further, if you didn’t want to abide to the contract, I’d set you free. I just need something to… mmn… essentially serve as a magickal conduit for me. Something that can channel and hold for me. Perhaps a sort of equilibrium in the matters of my work.”

Simon just gave the mage– Baz– a confused look.

“Right,” Baz laughed a little when he realized he’d been about to go into theory, “You don’t have to understand it, I suppose. It’s just when I need to do magick that’s bigger than me and my body alone can handle, a magickal assistant can take the impossible and make it possible. Fairy dragons are particularly good at this, which is why I was specifically seeking one, but really, any magickal creature with capacity to consent will serve. Do you understand?”

Simon’s tongue darted out over his little dragon teeth and he nodded. He guessed he got enough of the meaning behind the words Baz had rambled out.

“Okay, great. Now, the next part. I’m going to break the seal, please don’t fry me.”

Simon uncurled himself and shook himself out, stretching as he stood. He circled another moment, as if considering, before finally nodding his agreement.

Baz broke the seal with a quick swipe of his thumb through the chalk lines of his seal. Simon crawled himself forward slowly, eyeing the lines with mistrust, hissing as he crossed. No invisible force struck him back or kept him bound though, so he strode through the rest of the way all too confidently.

“Can you read?” Baz propped the open book up so Simon could see it’s lettering more clearly.

The look Baz got for the question was absolutely dead inside.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I don’t know how common it is for dragons to read human languages.” Baz paused for a moment, brushing his hair back out of his face, and Simon huffed at him, rolling his eyes in a terribly exhasperated way that could only be expressed in such a tiny shape.

“Okay, so obviously you read,” Baz corrected, “Would you consider a contract with me? It’s not all one way. I’d keep you fed and housed and such. Give you enrichment activities.”

A small moment of extended eye contact passed between them.

“Alright, fair, I realize how that sounds. But there’s a lot of nuance to a familiar contract. You wouldn’t be like a pet, more like a partner in magick.”

Simon sat up on his haunches so he could look more properly at the awkward expression his proposed partner was wearing. Maybe he wasn’t all bad.

“Okay, so yes, you caught me,” Baz sighed out. Simon, on the other hand, had no idea what he’d caught in the first place. “I was about to say partners in crime. Not that it would be magickal crime we’d be committing. Or any kind of crime. Do you even have a concept of human law and crime? Bloody hell, this really isn’t how I was expecting this to go…”

Simon hissed out an almost laugh, as close to the sound as he could get his vocal cords to manage in this shape.

“Okay, good. So I am being ridiculous. I’ll leave the contract here for you to go over. If you like it and want to sign it great. If not. We’ll figure out how to teleport you back from wherever you were before this. You can crash here for the night.” Baz gestured to a small bed shoved up into the corner of the room Simon’d been summoned into.

He took a moment to really take it in, since he’d been too distracted by being unwillingly bound in a circle before. It looked like it was a basement, a bit dim for lighting, but not particularly dready or unkept. In fact, it was a very, very neat space. Overly neat. Too neat. Shelves lined the walls, filled with either meticulously colour-coded magickal components or diligently alphabetized books. Baz was scuffing more of the circle up with the toe of his boot, and Simon figured he could take the contract and hop on the bed and give it a proper look over.

It didn’t seem like a bad deal. He was a bit in dire straights about food and shelter most nights, and he knew he had a wellspring of magick he couldn’t quite tap into. Maybe this mage boy could help him figure out some of that nuance too. They could be mutually beneficial. And, as Simon read further down, there were ways to break the contract without death of either party involved. That was good. He wasn’t sure he had the stomach for death if he wanted out, if he found out Baz wasn’t the sort of person he wanted touching his magick.

He huffed again, but quieter, resting his head on the pillow he’d been provided. A pillow — Simon could die happy now. It’d been months since he’d last rested in a proper bed. Apparently Baz had managed to sneak past him when he’d been going over the details, but that made sense. Simon had never been the strongest reader, even if he was completely capable. He just required a little extra concentration to get through things.

Well, why not? He figured. He flitted his way over to Baz’s inkpots, dipped a claw in, and signed his name on the dotted line. There were worse places to end up than at someone’s side as their familiar. Besides, Basil seemed nice enough.

Simon had even gotten the blanket and pillows he was due. And a mattress! Morgana and Merlin, bless, a mattress. There were far worse fates to be tied to, and it was with that thought that Simon passed out on his newly provided bed. A not so temporary bed.

He woke to the intoxicating smell of pancakes. It’d been a bloody era since he’d had proper, fresh pancakes…

Simon slipped from the bed thoughtlessly, snatching the contract as he went and drifted his way up the stairs, following that heady smell all the way to the kitchen. “Bloody hell, that smells delightful,” Simon declared as he plopped himself down in a chair.

Baz turned to look at him.

Simon blinked cluelessly back at Baz.

They stood their like that for a moment. A long, long moment. And then Basil was pointing his spatula very threateningly in Simon’s direction. “I’m sorry, whomst the fuck?”

Simon blinked again. He looked at the contract, exactly as he remembered from the night before. He looked to Baz, also exactly as he remembered from the night before. Then Simon looked at his hands. Then down to his legs. He waved his fingers. “Oh,” He said dumbly.

Well, at least the reaction made sense.

#Carry On Countdown #COC 2023 #baz pitch #simon snow #snowbaz #carry on fanfiction #my writing #there's more of this to be posted

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thehollowwriter · 7 months

Text

Summary: Ace is my victim as he's forced to memorise all the rules on customer/plate service so I can study for my Hospitality Studies exam. This is more of an information splurge than a fic, but hopefully you guys will learn some new things!

I did not check for spelling mistakes 💀

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ❤)

The Woes of Plate Service

Being an anenome wad quite possibly the worst thing that has ever happened to Ace. Not only does he have hours of gruelling work to look forward to, but he has to sit through a bunch of stupid rules too.

Unfortunately for him, Mostro Lounge mimicked the style of a fine dining restaurant in many many ways, so Azul Ashengrotto was exceptionally strict regarding how to act and treat guest.

Ace looked at the crows of customers waiting to enter.

As Azul loved to repeat, the waiters were the front of the restaurant and incredibly important to its success.

Their service included greeting and seating guests, taking orders and timing and serving the meal. They communicate with guests whether it is answering their questions or making suggestions if asked.

Essentially, the Mostro Lounge's reouatatiin depended largely on the waiters, and Ace deeply feared what would happen to him if he messed up.

Ace stepped into the main area of the lounge, running through the many instructions in his head.

The maitre d'hotel (the head honcho, which is Jade because Azul works in his office) keeps track of vacant tables, reservations, ans seating and is the first person to greet the guests.

Now after Jade, Ace had to approach these guys with a greeting and then, if they had no reservation ask where they wanted to sit.

He would then lead them to their desired table and place menus in front of each person, then open serviettes and place them in each person's lap. It was also important he knew who the "host" was but that was always a nightmare nightmare figure out with how high and mighty everyone in this damn school acted.

Ace then had to approach his guests again after giving them enough time to look at the menu, greet them again and give them his name.

He would then suggest drink orders and mention all of Azul's cheating specials for the day.

If he was busy when new guests arrived, he was to politely mention he would be with them shortly.

Taking orders always sucked ass. Constant umming and awing and stupid questions that made Ace want to yell at them.

But he couldn't. He was to be polite, suggest menu items and give advice if he was asked for it.

Drinks were to be brought immediately unless otherwise specified. Also, he had to present those stupid bread rolls he hated with a passion.

The timing of the meal was also entirely his responsibility as the waiter, so that was fucking awful.

And there was a specefic order to serve in too? First the guest on the immediate right of the host- serving from the.. the right was it?- and then you move anti-clockwise.

Usually women were served first, but this was an all boys school so that was useless to learn, then the men and Las the host last.

Plate service wasn't quite as bad as dealing with customers.

The food had to look nice- the chefs were really good at that- and Ace got to show off by carrying 2-3 plates at a time in his left hand without disturbing the presentation.

However, he had to clear the table with each trip from the service area to keep it nice as quick as possible, but there was absolutely no rushing the guests.

Ace groaned when a Pomefiore student yelled for more coffee.

He wished he never made that contract.

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

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed Ace's suffering lmao, or at least the information. Lemme know your thoughts!

#ace trappola #jade leech #azul ashengrotto #heartslabyul #octavinelle #twisted wonderland

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distant-velleity · 6 months

Text

Overdue Punishment

Summary: After the events of "Hold Your Tongue," Chrysos is somehow still left dissatisfied and angry. Word count: 1.9k+ (????? wtf) author's note is at the end!

Chrysos is not, as his delicate appearance might suggest, stupid or simple-minded. Far from it. In fact, he’s almost too observant for his own good.

There are certain things that he never fails to notice, no matter how much people try to conceal them from him. For example, the nervous tics of a liar. The fearful trembles of a contract breaker. The subtle glances and a-second-too-long touches of lovestruck students.

Of course, he can’t forget how he easily spots the obvious scheming of an audacious freshman and the deceptive placidity of an irritated upperclassman.

What a nuisance, Chrysos thinks, side-eyeing the door to the VIP room as he serves a gaggle of students their refreshments. Ace had been dragged inside just a few moments prior for causing a scene and harassing Finn, which—good. Chrysos could have seen him trying to butter up their upperclassman from miles away. Clearcove-senpai doesn’t need to deal with that bullshit.

He pauses, then, gaze shifting to where Finn and Floyd are together—the former struggling to stand, visibly weak in the knees, and the latter subtly trying to shield him from sight with his body. And then he recalls how Finn had looked somewhat exhausted all day, drained of patience his entire shift even if he didn’t quite let it show…

Even then, Trappola still had the absolute temerity to try and play the white knight? When all he was doing was being an extra pain in the ass?

Chrysos doesn’t scowl as he goes to deliver some more just-finished orders, expression perfectly schooled, but by the Seven does he want to. The thought of someone messing with one of his respected upperclassmen on a day like this is downright infuriating.

Who does that idiot think he is? What are they teaching him over at Heartslabyul—no, his ‘friend’ from the same dorm is well-behaved, it’s clearly him that’s the problem…

A glance. Floyd is glaring at the VIP room door now with murderous intent, although he keeps supporting Finn.

The sight puts Chrysos somewhat at ease, knowing that another person shares the sentiment. (Not that the rest of his seniors in the dorm wouldn’t, what with the four of them… you know.)

It’s fine, he tells himself. Stop thinking about it. Your senpais have it handled.

Ace ends up coming back for another shift the next day, somehow still well enough to work.

Chrysos is not usually one to go back on his word or disrespect those who have earned his respect, but there’s a sick sense of dissatisfaction that wins over his catharsis at seeing his fellow freshman wincing every time he moves a limb ever so slightly in the wrong direction. Yes—dissatisfaction, because really, it doesn’t feel like enough.

If Chrysos had it his way, he would’ve beaten Ace to the point of being unable to walk. He would have left a lasting message, a final warning. Something that would tell Ace to stop mouthing off once and for all. Because, at this point, Chrysos has grown sick and tired of witnessing the constant disrespect. He’s starting to wonder, rhetorically, if his senpais did have it handled.

All of it fills him with almost irrational fury. Fury that he’s sure he’d find the underlying reasons for if he just dug a little deeper into his psyche, but the surface-level rationale for it is that troublemakers and deviants need to be punished, right? And that’s about all the justification he’ll ever need for wanting to go against Azul and the others, who he feels didn’t punish Ace enough.

…But he has more self-control than that. He’s better than that. His upperclassmen would never do anything unreasonable, much like the clever Sea Witch herself, so he ought to follow their example. He really ought to.

It’s just extremely difficult to rein in these thought crimes of his. Especially at times like these.

From across the Lounge, Chrysos watches as Ace beams at customers. It’s a forced smile, made even more strained after having to suffer one of Floyd’s “squeezings,” but it’s no less brilliant for it. At least some practice went into it; it’s one of those things you can just tell is an overused lie.

I want to see fear on his face again, not that smile.

The thought disappears from his mind as quickly as it formed.

Stop that, he chastises himself, handing a pair of tired juniors their drinks and returning to the kitchen. Seriously, I need to get a grip—

A little preoccupied with his own thoughts, Chrysos is startled when someone taps his shoulder. He glances beside him to spot Ace, who’d been heading in the opposite direction as him. Of course their paths would cross.

“Hey,” says Ace, at a normal volume but slightly swallowed by the hustle and bustle of the Lounge. His gaze darts around, shifty and paranoid. “You’re Chrysos, right? From class 1-D?”

Chrysos looks at him for a moment, unimpressed, before nodding his affirmation.

“Cool. Well—you seem like a real stand-up, role model student. You’re always scoring within the top three in freshmen exams, right?” Ace smiles at him—to anyone else, it might seem casual and charming, but the uneasiness and desperation lying beneath is clear. “And you have the whole singing gig to deal with on top of that. I’ve always been impressed by what your work ethic must be like.”

Is… Is he going after me because I’m an easier target, as a fellow-first year? Trying to get on someone’s good side for something—again?

Honestly, Chrysos isn’t sure whether he should be affronted or amused. It’s offensive that Ace seems to believe he’s so dumb as to be such an easy target, to not be able to notice the obvious stench of pure bullshit here. But at the same time, it’s so funny how Ace still doesn’t quite know who he’s talking to.

Maybe he thinks he can repair things by earning my favor? As if.

“You should get back to work, Trappola,” Chrysos replies bluntly.

Ace deflates ever so slightly. “Right. You’re as strict as I expected… Still, would you mind meeting up with me tonight after my shift? There’s something I wanna talk to you about in private.”

Can you not take a hint? Chrysos internally grimaces, but decides to throw Ace a bone anyway. “Sure. Housewarden Ashengrotto has some spare consultation rooms.”

“So we can talk there uninterrupted… Great! You’re a real one. Thanks, Chrysos!” Ace, immensely relieved, waves at him as he scrambles off to take a table’s orders.

Chrysos almost glares at his turned back.

Giving me an opportunity like this… You can thank me all you want when I finally put you in your place.

Ace’s shift is over soon enough (give or take a few hours), so they meet up and head deeper into the Lounge. The keyring in Chrysos’ hand jingles as he opens the door to a side room.

“Here,” he says simply, gesturing inside.

The spare consultation rooms are not nearly as lavishly decorated as Azul’s VIP lounge, but their simple desk and two chairs get the job done well enough.

“Thanks again.” Ace grins as he enters. “So, like, about what I was saying earlier…”

Chrysos shuts the door and secretly locks it with a soft click behind him.

“…I was gonna ask for your help with a little something,” Ace continues, “since we’ve got some stuff in common. Both freshmen, both working at Mostro Lounge… you know.”

Have you forgotten the part with both of us being defiant, dirty liars? Chrysos wonders darkly. He steps closer, pulling out his magic pen. “So… you really want my help specifically?” he asks, with insincere kindness. “Not the help of Housewarden Ashengrotto, Clearcove-senpai, or the Leeches…”

Ace takes a step back, looking confused and a little fearful all of a sudden. “Yes…? I mean, your housewarden and his lackeys—”

“Then how about I help you keep that big mouth of yours shut?”

Chrysos raises his pen and points it at Ace, imagining sweet, uninterrupted silence. Imagining not having to hear the card soldier’s voice at all.

There’s a flash of sparkles, magic being activated. Ace opens his mouth—

“…”

—and nothing comes out. His eyes widen, hands flying to his throat.

“I learned it from an old textbook recently,” Chrysos says off-handedly. “A spell that temporarily cuts off the subject’s voice. Since you and your big mouth keep getting in trouble.” When Ace shakes his head frantically, Chrysos’ lips press into a thin line. “I don’t care if that’s not what you wanted.”

He steps forward again. In a panic, Ace takes another matching step back and finds himself hitting the wall.

How laughable. He can still find it in himself to be scared when he brought this on himself?

“You keep sticking your nose in other peoples’ business…”

Chrysos grabs Ace by the shirt, slamming the Heartslabyul student back against the wall.

“But no one’s going to hear your cries for help.”

Letting go of his shirt, Chrysos’ other fist collides solidly with Ace’s cheek, right beneath the painted-on heart. Ace staggers to the side with his weight against the wall only for Chrysos to step over and kick him, heel continually pressing into his stomach as if trying to drill through him and into the wall. He releases his foot.

Ace sinks to the floor, knees giving out. With a twisted sense of satisfaction, Chrysos notes the pained grimace on his face, likely from previously sore areas and injuries being aggravated.

And then Ace glares up at him defiantly.

(being punished for ‘causing trouble’

“what a problem child”

“shouldn’t have ever taken him in”

“it’s always those inhuman full-breeds”

anger and self-loathing

thinking he was in the right

glaring up at that person because he couldn’t do anything else—)

How can you still be so defiant? You spoiled brat who hasn’t come to terms with his own audacity, his own arrogance—

Ace struggles to his feet. Chrysos sees red.

—He’s not really sure what happens, seeing as hand-to-hand combat has become something like second nature to him now, but he at least remembers a lot of thuds and things popping or cracking that really shouldn’t be.

The taste of blood in his mouth.

A distinct absence of screaming or cursing, although he’d expected that.

And by the time Chrysos has somewhat returned to reality, Ace is sprawled on the floor, lying on his stomach. One of the chairs has been overturned and there’s some blood on the corner of the table.

Chrysos jams his foot between Ace’s shoulderblades and kneels, grabbing a fistful of ginger hair to roughly tug Ace’s head back. “I don’t want to see you messing with Clearcove-senpai or the others ever again,” he demands, quiet and dangerous. His chest heaves with exhausted breaths he hadn’t noticed. “And that includes slander. Got it?”

“…”

Another, more harsh tug. “Got it?”

Ace nods weakly, so Chrysos lets go and stands up.

Without so much as a glance backwards, he unlocks the door and leaves. Sure, maybe it counts as littering to just leave Ace there, but… whatever. He doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care.

…or so he thinks, really, because he barely makes it back to his room before he stumbles and falls to a kneel in front of his bed. It hits him like a shipwreck, his next thought, packaged with a burst of horror and shame:

What the hell did I just do?

A/N: wow. 2k words and an abrupt ending. oops my bad guys ill try to produce smth better next time ahskdjsfd i'm really sorry ace enjoyers one of these days i'll write a fic that does him justice to make up for the suffering he underwent. he should not have done some things but honestly in his position i wouldve done the same. anyway. will ace survive octavinelle constantly hating on him? will chrysos ever learn to communicate or healthily let out his anger? will kai ever stop tormenting every character he can get his hands on? find out next time on dragon ball z-- *shot*

"hold your tongue" and finn belong to @thehollowwriter

#kai's writing #twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #chrysos pendentif #ace trappola #im. very sorry ace SJSKFJSKFSD he did not deserve that #reasons why chrysos being protective is sometimes not a good thing: THIS #bro needs to schedule an appointment with the school therapists asap #... but i forgot the counselors may as well not even exist their effect is so unapparent asdjfksfhs #anyway. this isnt good. but have the food regardless

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theyungihven · 2 years

Text

Sweetest Devotion ☆ Yunho

Pairing : alpha ceo yunho x omega secretary male reader

genre: romance, fantasy, office au, a/b/o universe

word count: 5.8k+ words

warnings : mentions of blood, unprotected sex, blowjobs (m receiving), claming, breif mentions of trafficking

networks : @underworldnet

tags: @star1117-archives ♡

The soft sunlight falls on the chairman's desk where he sits, in all of his glory, signing the documents and the pile of contracts that need his final approval to kick-start the project. His eyes carefully span across each line of the document, pointing out any errors in the final document which needed to be revised by the head of the concerned department.

The perfectionist attitude towards work is what he says, brought his company to great heights in 10 years after its founding in the chairman's sweet 20s. Quantum tech, the company pioneering in areas of advanced science and space travel is a booming business in the share market, as it has never faced a great loss in its history and the chairman swears by it every time in his meetings.

Charming as the very first time you'd seen him, he sighs, dropping the fountain pen on his desk and spilling its ink onto the office writing paper. But he has you, his saviour of a secretary to clean up his clumsy messes occurred in moments of peer pressure such as this, where he sighs again dropping his head low which hits the desk.

“Secretary y/l/n?” The chairman calls in a tired voice as he barely slips the words out of his lips. You fail to listen to them as you're lost in your dreamland while you stare out the clear glass window. He moves his arm a little to tug on your sleeve and it directs your attention at him. He looks up with his pleading innocent big round eyes then points at the mess on his desk.

“Sir, you've got to be careful with your favourite pair of shirts!” You worry about his favourite white dress shirt as you force him to sit up and push his chair a few inches away from the desk. The material of the clothing is one of finest and it has been tailored to fit the curves of the man you serve, which increases its worth more than your existence.

The weakness of your sick body resurfaces again as you have trouble standing straight and start losing the balance of your feet. You support yourself against the desk, as you wipe off the ink smeared on the desk with paper towels, under the prying gaze of your boss. Droplets of sweat roll down your forehead, as it wets the stiff collar of your shirt and you feel yourself close to collapsing at the very moment. Can he just stop staring? The predatory gaze of the chairman did nothing but just worsen your state plus the tight waistcoat makes it harder to breathe normally.

“Are you alright, Mr. y/l/n?” The devil in disguise, your chairman asks, arching an eyebrow. He knows his secretary well and zoning out at such serious times is a habit his secretary dreads from the bottom of his heart. Your hesitation in answering him draws his attention. So he studies your face searching for something, as if he's concerned about your health.

“I'm alright, sir.” You answer without any effort, as you wipe the sweat gathering on your forehead with a handkerchief while standing beside his desk and your back facing the mirror you were staring through a moment ago.

“Knowing you, secretary (y/l/n), you're someone who said ‘I'm okay' while suffering from covid last month.“ He mutters, darting his eyes at you while studying every inch of you as if he's intrigued by your very existence.

“I apologise about that, sir.” You mumble, shifting your gaze to the hardwood floor underneath your shoes. “I dread burdening other folk, especially you, with my troubles.“ As an apology, you bow diligently in front of him and adjust the strap of clothing tracing the curve of your waist.

“It's okay, I understand but....you look so close to fainting right now, secretary y/l/n.” His eyes lay on you again as if they never left your figure in the first place. “Is there something you're hiding from me?” He asks with an emotion you've never heard, laced in his voice which now echoes in your ears. Your cold and narcissistic boss, asking if you're alright? Never in your wildest dreams....or maybe this is a wild dream of yours.

“Sir, its-...... i-” You shutter, failing to find a believable lie to say to your boss. It has never been a hard task until this moment where his very existence in the room makes your breathing and the beating of your heart irregular. How are you going to tell him something very personal? You are in your twenties anyway, and with a profound mind you could get hired anywhere else.

“I'm not hearing a no again. As my personal secretary, I will be held responsible for overworking you.” The chairman hisses with anger laced in his tone as he slams the desk, standing up from his seat. He raises his eyebrows as he rolls his eyes and you nervously gulp at how the simple act stirs heat in your stomach.

You press your lips together, gathering some courage to spill the truth, knowing there was no gain in hiding information from your boss who definitely knows about your infinite lies. “It's- It's due to the blood transfusion.... l-last week, sir.” You shutter, forcing your eyes to look at the floor instead of meeting his piercing gaze. Damn, why is it suddenly so hot in here?

“Oh, did they not test it before giving it to you?” He tilts his head, as if plotting a crime in his head and the subject of the crime is your doctor.

“The thing is... sir... the tests came out fine....but the donor was an omega.” There is a high potential your lips might end up bleeding at the end of this interrogation by the rate you bite them whenever he asks you something though it has never been your thing.

Perhaps, today marks a change in you. A beginning of something new?

“And?” He arches his eyebrows in a comical way which makes you almost laugh in the midst of the serious situation.

“My doctor suspects I might go into a false heat because of the hormones.” At the end of your sentence, you were oh so sure the chairman's eyes flashes a dark tone of red through his irises. It is similar to the colour of the wine he prefers; deep red as a human's fresh blood dripping out its wound.

The atmosphere turns heavy, as the chairman takes deep breaths in attempts to calm himself. You start feeling a little uneasy and decide to leave the awkward conversation after the embarrassing confession and run out of his office.

You hurry to grab your briefcase from the reception of his front desk and mutter a “I'll explain over text” to your assistant, then rush down to the lobby which has been a few floors of steps down. The elevator is just, not your thing. Plus, the chances of getting caught by the security are higher in it.

“Secretary y/l/n!” You hear someone yelling your name from the distance as you try to rush to the entry of the building, while speeding through the lobby.

The voice sounds too familiar so you don't turn around and continue your pace until a hand wraps itself across your wrist. They turn you around, only to face your boss looking at you with great distress and concern plastered on his face.

He breathes heavily due to all the running with you being the main cause as everyone in the lobby stares at you two, whispering the heavens know what.

“Sir? Are you alright?” You ask him, making sure he's alright. It's a habit that you've come to adopt whilst caring for him all these years.

He moves closer without any hesitation, close enough for your lips to touch each other. He then brings his lips closer to your ears and whispers, “you see all these people? They won't hesitate to pounce on you any moment. So come with me and you'll be safe.”

Within the extremely close proximity of your hot and handsome chairman, all you could do is nod your head to whatever he whispers in your ear as his breath flutters against your earlobe. Your eyes find their way to his fingers wrapped around your wrist, which he never lessened as he uses them to drag you back to his office.

You enter the familiar office of his on the highest floor, fitted with highest grade material and the exquisite decorations that were added to enhance the space are way out of your pay grade. It is clearly unexpected when he seats you on the premium leather couch reserved for his special guests and rings his front desk for a coffee.

Being a dedicated secretary you know his caffeine preferences at this time of the day, a vanilla latte with extra sugar but the extra order of a cup of espresso with a chocolate steals your breath.

He knows what type of coffee you drink and even the additional preferences? What is with him and his sweet kdrama lead attitude today? It is so unlikely of him to act like it but....you're different too today. Are the Greek gods of fate bored on their thrones in the heavens today? Seems like it....

“Thank you, sir.” You thank the chairman as you sit a metre away from him on the same couch. Your eyes still quiver to meet his gaze as they focus on the watch you wore to work today. They widen in surprise when you realise it's your gift to him on the company's 10 year anniversary.

“It would be a shame if I didn't even remember your coffee preferences, when you know my entire diet.” He chuckles, fidgeting his fingers as he looks around the place, afraid to share the same gaze when he realises you noticed the watch on his wrist.

“You never fail to flatter me, sire.” You mumble, eyes coincidentally falling on his slender fingers decorated with accessories which strangely dry your throat.

“I suppose, you barely know about the a/b/o anatomy.” His voice draws you out of your trance as a strange lavender scent fills the air and your chairman strangely likes it as he breathes deeply. Did he ask the staff to change the fragrance of his humidifier??

“I fear I skipped biology class at school sir.” You shyly mumble, rubbing the back of your neck as you grow embarrassed about skipping the biology of high-school.

“It's alright, I've got you covered!” He almost chimes, grabbing the writing pad laying on the glass table in front of him, as he flips the cover open and proceeds to place it on his lap. You pass him a pen as he has broken it after dropping it on the desk earlier and he returns a soft smile at you which makes your heart oddly flutter.

You observe the movement of his fingers and the lines and letters they trace down the paper similar to a questionnaire with enough space left for writing answers.

“Here are the five main things about wolf anatomy. Pheromones, Heat cycles, Marking/claming, the Secondary sex and Mating.” The words he mentions make you uncomfortable in your seat since you are aware of some of them thanks to your loud roommates. “Let's start with the sub types or secondary sex, shall we?” He marks it number 1 with a circle around the number and you take a deep breath. You nod to agree with his question?It sounded more like his orders or were you used to his everywhere sounding like order ready to be taken care of?

“Within the wolf communities, we have 3 subtypes. Alpha, beta and omega.” You try to take in the information in an anatomical sense but all your brain does is relate it to physics experiments.

“Oh, are they like a hierarchical order?” You question him, humming as your brain questions their origins. You swear the look on his face is utterly comical when he hears your words and sighs.

“No no it like decides whether you can reproduce or not.” The chairman says, as your eyes fail to focus on his words and are rather interested on the ring he wears on his index finger.

“Ah, as in sterile and fertile groups?” Your mindless questioning tests his patience but he curls his hand into a fist to retreat his anger.

“It's more complicated than that, Mr y/l/n. Listen carefully.”

“Yes sir.....” You divert your eyes to the floor in fear of getting scolded again.

“The alphas basically are the male sex of the wolfs, meaning they can fertilise the eggs of the female sex, that are omegas.” His words light a bulb in your ocean of thought even though his speech is a bit different counting the awkward subject but nevertheless you understand it.

“Ohhh, so you can reproduce....” you blurt out without any second thought and his earliest turn red with embarrassment.

“Where did you hear that?” His question sounds more like a scream which shakes up your whole body from its resting place.

“They call you the big strong alpha outside!” and like a complete idiot you point outside with your index finger.

“You are a bit comical today, secretary y/l/n. I like it.” The smirk creeping up his face makes you want to kiss it off his lips because it does something to the heat coiling in your stomach. It adds more fuel to it, making it burn harder and sending you down the road of devastation.

He observers your facial features for a while before continuing his lecture. “Anyways, betas are the ones that are sterile. Even though they can't reproduce, their group is prone to human trafficking for sex trade.”

“That's...a bitter truth I failed to hear all these years.” You nervously retort your eyes off his lips and trail along the curve of his thighs in the tight fabric of the pants.

“The most prone are omegas, secretary y/l/n. Being the female sex, meaning they have a uterus and can give birth, are most prone to sex trafficking. Major factor is their heats..”

“What happens in heats?”

“Did your doctor not explain the cycle?”

“Umm..sir..I kinda..”

“I understand. We might lose focus under stress.” You weakly smile, pressing your lips together and rub your sweating hands against the fabric of your black jeans.

“Moving on the pheromones” He continues while glancing in your direction every other moment to make sure you don't run away or your state doesn't get worse? But he is the fatal cause of your deteriorating state and the mess you are in the moment to be exact. “So these are hormones, sex hormones to be exact.”

“Ohhh like oestrogen and testosterone in humans”

“Yesh, my dear, but let me finish” He fakes a cry of distress and attracts all of your attention, sending you into panic mode.

Unable to compute the situation, you opt for the only measure in confusing situations; apologise, “Sorry, chairman.” and you did. Buy the look he gives you after raising his head, sending shivers down your spine.

“Call me sir!” He orders, as if it's running an errand for him.

“Sorry?”

“Just call me sir.”

“Yes sir.” You nervously gulp, looking around to change the topic. “about the pheromones...?”

“Oh yeah... the pheromones...they are like scents, flowers released to attract bees.”

“So... that means…” your cheeks burn with hotness and you find yourself unable to think straight. “I'm sorry if I'm bothering you sire. I apologise if my condition is causing you any kind of distress.”

“I'm alright, secretary y/l/n.”

The moment of peace is interrupted by his receptionist walking in without knocking and it turns the soft expressions on your chairman's face into sour ones as his smile falters, replaced by a scowl. She places the 2 cups of coffee on the coffee table then almost says something but the chairman's dark gaze has her fleeing out his office.

“ Is my sickening scent making you nauseous, sir?”

“Well...it is sickening indeed...but im alright.” Your eyes fall back onto the curve of his thighs and you notice he's oh so clear boner straining against his tight fabric.

“Shall I sit far away, so it doesn't affect you much?” You say nervously gulping as your mind flashes the image of his erection even when you look away as quickly as you can.

“I'm okay...we have stuff left, Mr kang.”

“Sir, please continue if you only can.” Your eyes finally meet his soft ones which quickly look away as if trying to hide something for you. He clears his throat, and looks at you again, a little long for now.

“Are you alright sir?”

“We shall leave, secretary kang. I'm done for the day.”

“As you wish, sir. Let me make the arrangements.”

As you find the chairman's driver's contact and dial his number, the chairman slides his burberry coat onto your shoulders and whispers, “this will cover your scent for a while.” You breathe in his strong oud wood scent which covers your weak lavender scent and makes you feel at ease. You slightly bow, thanking him for the generosity and he returns you a warm smile which makes his lips curl up, showing his sharp canines.

The walk down the lobby is a fest of attention as everyone stalks you both from head to toe after the incident a few minutes prior in the same place. A stern gaze from the chairman drives them back to their work and then he looks at you with warmth in his eyes as if it's his way of saying “I've got it covered' and your heart skips a beat.

Things take a soft turn when Mr. Jeong asks his driver to lend him the keys as he wishes to drive himself home and without a question, he is handed the keys as asked and opens the door for you to sit then walks across the car to get himself inside the automobile.

The atmosphere in the car is comfortable for both to breathe normally and exchange a few words as the young chairman starts his lecture for a little crash course about the wolf anatomy to you who never indulged in studying biology.

“About the heat cycle, you have the paper right?” He says softly as his eyes focus on the road ahead of him while he tries his best to drive in the 'insane' traffic of the metropolitan city.

“Yes, sire, I do have the writing pad with me.” You hold the writing pad which you snatched from his office the moment the paper attached to it contained important information.

“Note this down.” He says and your hand is a machine ready to record his words on the paper and so you do, write what he says as you cannot devalue his words saying 'I'll remember this' because it could get you fired the very minute.

“Heats are basically breeding cycles. Alphas have their ruts and omegas have their heat, which usually last upto a week.” His words make you gulp nervously but not listening to them is not an option. You write it down as your cheeks burn with embarrassment and he drives the car with the scariest expression you've even seen on his face. HOT!!

“In the next section, the mating one.” He points out using his index finger of the free hand which isn't on the steering wheel. “You can write, it's an act of claiming or marking your partner.” Excuse me? What kind of beauty and beast stuff is this? You mark the one you love? “Also, after mating, their heat cycles sync up to help them......in helping each other i suppose.” The chairman clears his throat then turns into the next lane as he pulls over in front of the pharmacy. “I'll be right back, y/n. Stay right here and lock the door.” His authoritative voice works wonders on you as you nod at his orders and lock the car door after he steps out of it.

You take a deep breath, relaxing yourself in the car seat as you pull out your phone to call your fellow roommates, to inform them about the embarrassing events with your boss in his office. Their reaction is out of this world, just as you expect it to be when they learn about your heat and how your boss reacted to your pheromones.

They are excited to hear more from you, judging from the screaming and shouting and your boss is nowhere to be seen so you spill every detail on the phone. Sadly you have to end it when he returns but a message graces your phone from your doctor and it says 'important' in all caps which has your heart stop beating for a second.

“These are scent blockers, heat suppressants and some other stuff to help you.”

“Umm. Sir...you shall see this..” You glance at the message and back at his face in uncertainty of what you've read and hand him the phone because he has proven to possess more brain cells than you even could in the morning.

His eyes glance at the screen as he reads the text and they stare there for a whole minute while you nervously bite the inside of your cheek. You observe how his eyes widen, and he bites his lower bite as he mumbles, “I'll be back” with nervousness laced in his soft tone. With that he opens the car door, slips out of it and runs back to the pharmacy with the cover of medications he had just handed you over a moment ago.

He gets back after a few moments of utter despair of you wondering if this is the end of everything and you're going to die but he gives you a reassuring smile which melts your heart to the pit of your stomach. Why does he have this effect on you?

“Is my condition worsening, as every minute passes by?” You ask him with teary eyes and guilt in your voice as if you have yet to ask forgiveness from your best friend for stealing their chips.

“Do you have a partner to spend your heat with, y/n?” He asks you in the most serious tone, the one with which he orders you around like a dog in the office and it hurts your Oh so fragile heart as your lips curl into a frown.

“Um- no?”

“Not anyone you can trust too? Like someone close? Your doctor clearly stated not to spend it alone, as it might be painful.” His voice turns a bit soft, homely almost as he fidgets his fingers resting on his thighs.

“Well...you're the only alpha I know and whom I'm close enough to. People dont give a damn about humans these days. Even if you're tall as fuck.” You sigh, as you fake cry in front of your boss who sports a concerned expression on his face.

“I mean only if you are willing to..... also there's no pressure!”

“ I like you, Mr.jeong.”

“I always have ever since the first day I was appointed, as if I was inclined to your very being. I know I can be quite serious at work but I'm just trying to be professional in front of someone who fills my stomach with butterflies by doing the bare minimum.”

“Secretary kang, i- I never expected this from you.”

“I'm sorry, if I have breached the contract sir, but....”

There is a pause in time as if everything just stopped for a second.

“I don't think I can hide it any longer.” You say, the thing you've been dying to say since the aroma of his favourite earl grey tea hit your nose in the morning. “Your scent..... is doing something very strange to me. Because, why do I care if you'll leave me alone to spend this heat? What are you even doing this to me?” You let the string break and the dam collapses, giving your emotions the chance to flow out.

You bawl out, with no care in the world and the chairman does the courtesy of talking to you in his embrace. The immense pain in your chest surges as you take deep breaths but something about being in his warm embrace, his arms around your body, calms you down the very instant.

“I'm sorry, y/n. I'm really sorry.....for making you cry.”

You break the hug and face him in utter disbelief but before you could say anything he shushes you by placing his index finger on your lips.

“I know I've been a fool for punishing you all along. The very reason I hired you was, you attracted my attention. To be honest, you demanded it, as if, as if it belonged to you.” He is breathless by the end of it as if he has been dying to tell you this from the moment he first saw you in his life. “Yes, yes I like you too.”

He brings forward his hand to cup your cheeks and looks into your eyes with his soft ones that are so close to tearing up. “Infact, I like you so passionately that...that you're the only thing I can think of everyday, ignoring everything else in this world. You have no idea what you do to me, y/n. The very idea of hearing a ‘no' from you or you leaving me scares me the most.” And he breaks into tears, letting his head down as he dwells his heart out in your hands that support him.

You draw him closer to your chest and whisper sweet nothings into his ear in attempts of calming him down. It works as he now looks up at you with red, puffy eyes that still hold their softness and warmth. You stay still for a moment or two until he finishes admiring your face, then mumbles ‘I'm going to kiss you' softly and places a chaste kiss on your lips. But you pull him in again, not having enough for his soft lips and kiss him passionately as your lungs beg for air.

You pull apart, gasping for breath and he chuckles, pressing his forehead against yours. “What is it?” You question him breathlessly, and he returns a fond smile.

“Nothing” He says, softly as his nose brushes against yours and your eyes meet his warm brown ones. He then pulls aways saying, “I don't want us to spend the day in here.” and pulls the hand bream, steering the car onto the main road.

You discuss how embarrassed you were in the morning, when he had asked you to confess. After listening to your side of the story, he breaks into a fit of laughter. “Were really going to quit, y/n?” The question echoes in your mind as you rethink your decision and wonder what would have gone down if you did quit at the very moment. Would he still fetch for you or would this moment where you are playfully bickering ever take place?

You are pulled back into reality as he parks the car in front of his oh-so gorgeous house and pokes you on the arm with his index finger. You glance at him as his raven hair falls over his eyebrows. He isn't any less than a perfect man at the moment, who sends your heart swooning to the pit of your stomach.

What have you even pulled yourself into?

Your stomach curls at the thought of him lying about everything but you pushing it aside, you reassure yourself that it's just trust issues and paranoia acting up.

Yunho opens the door for you, taking your hand in his as he holds it while you both walk on the pavement leading towards the greenhouse; his favourite place to relax and unwind and, so do you now, as you both make yourselves comfortable on the couch placed at the end of the Mirror Palace, which you had named the greenhouse.

His housekeeper, whom you're very familiar with, walks in, asking if you need anything and informing that you both can enjoy the night in peace as everyone has gone home early. At which, your cheeks burn up due to embarrassment. She also hands you a pair of comfortable clothes to change into as the one you are wearing look awful tight. But Yunho denies it, saying he'll need it later, as he sits on the couch, which leads to you and the housekeeper shyly blushing.

"Get back on the couch before I drag you again" He says in a stiff tone, the one he used before to threaten you as his eyes roam all over your body. It curls the heat in your stomach, and drives to the edge when he grabs you by the waist, making you sit on his lap.

"You didn't have to say that, you know" you mumble in the thin distance between both, as he gazes up into your eyes.

"I thought you'd run away" He says with a teasing smile as his grip tightens on your waist.

"Why would i-... oh...my pants!" Realisation hits you in the face like a truck, but it's too late as you feel the warmth of the liquid sliding down your inner thighs and the wetness of your pants. "Is this normal? I'm not dying, right?" You say as tears cloud your eyes in worry but he is quick to caress your cheeks and whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

"It's perfectly normal, my love." His lips graze against the tip of your ears as they trail there for a moment, then move towards your neck. "It's called slick, my love."

"Oh...I know what it is... please don't explain!" His tongue circles the soft skin of your neck, lapping on it delicately as he then sucks on it which only adds fuel to the wild heat in stomach. A soft whimper of pleasure escapes your lips and you are quick to cover your mouth in embarrassment.

"I didn't get to kiss you properly, back then" Yunho says softly, as if drunk on the sweetest liquor while he pulls aways with a sly smirk on his lips. His brown eyes are hazy, with their warmth still present, but with a glint of mischief. He then licks his lips, as his gaze flickers between your teary eyes and soft lips.

"It would have been a disaster." you make a brave decision to lean in and your lips lay dangerously close against his, with your warm breath fluttering over them.

It is not in the slightest surprise to you when he procures your lips and tightens his hold on your waist, only to brush your thigh against his erection straining in the cafe of his pants. His hands wander across the span of your clothed body in desperate attempts of grounding himself.

The dress shirt keeping your decency falls down as his fingers fiddle with its buttons and soon you're half naked in front your boss. He stares at your sweaty chest with lust gleaming in his eyes and you bite your lips in embarrassment. He then proceeds to widen his thighs apart, unbuckling your dress pants in haste. They are dragged down to your knees and further down with one hand and he lifts up your waist with another, as if you're made out of foam.

You wrap your legs around his waist in attempts of securing your balance, only to realise he's bare underneath you. Your cheeks flush as they meet his eyes, but being the tease he is, Yunho presses down your hips against his unclothed groin.

His fingers caress the flesh of your buttcheeks, as they then travel lower towards your clenching hole, whose rim he circles with the pad of his index finger. You bite harder on your lip as he attempts to press his finger into your wet hole which provides him friction.

You raise your hips a little to chase the friction as your eyes turn hazy but it ends up in pressing the head of his cock against your hole. It urges you to bite your lower lips in attempts of hiding your moan but Yunho uses his thumb to unleash your lip trapped underneath your teeth.

He places a chaste kiss to them as his hands caress your face, his hands leaving the arch of your hips and your balance trips but he quickly catches you, chuckling away the mistake.

You are then placed carefully on the couch with your back against the soft fabric and his broad figure leaning over yours. He leans in, lowering himself to your level as he captures your lips again while his hand finds solace in the curve of your waist.

His fingers brush against your hard cock as he takes it in between his fingers, rescuing it from the dreadful hardness. It escapes numerous moans from your lips as he pumps your length against the soft skin of his finger's hold, which tightens every minute and chases the warm fuzzy in the pit of your stomach. It is not long before you reach your limit, patting Yunho’s thigh as he had asked you to when you are close to heaven. So you did, as he twists his wrist in a certain way and as he had promised, he blesses you the magnificent sight of heaven in his presence. Oh dear lord!

The next moments is fuzzy as your brain gives up when his oh-so big length pushes into your hole as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. But you promise yourself one thing; to hand in the resignation letter after your heat ends.

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omegaprotocol · 4 months

Text

Old Friends

Jason lives in a studio apartment with a single window outlooking the city with a fire escape. The place has clothes lying around and several instruments on stands looking pristine. Next to the instruments is a desk with a computer, sound system and mixer. Jason’s alarm clock is blinking as if a power out hit it. Jason is unconscious in his bed, with messy hair and dirty pajamas. One eye opens as he lazily reaches out for his phone with one hand. The time says 4:25 Pm. He stands up and puts his slippers on. He looks at the mess and gives up on cleaning it right now. He sits down at the desk, picks up his guitar and begins playing a few notes. On the computer screen is a new song that he had been working on for months with no progress. He looks at a picture of him and his grandma at his graduation from college and lets out a deep sigh.

“I’ll make it one day.” Jason plays a few more notes when the doorbell rings. Jason changes shirts to something cleaner and opens the door. On the other side is Hailey, a childhood friend of his from all the way back in middle school. She’s standing with a robot in a lab coat and the baseball cap Jason had given Hailey years ago.

“Hey Jason, I need your help with something important.” Hailey walks past Jason into his apartment and looks at the mess. “I see you still have the same organization skills as you did in college.”

“Hello to you too, and I wasn’t expecting company from you and your next science fair project. Why is it wearing my hat?” Omega holds her hand out to Jason excitedly.

“Hello, it’s wonderful to meet someone new! I am Omega Zero and I am programmed to save the world!” Jason looks Omega up and down before taking her hand and shakes it.

“That’s cute Hailey, but why is it here?” Jason turns to Hailey, “And frankly, why are you here? You don’t return my texts or calls, flake when we make plans, and disappear for a year and all the sudden you need something from me.” Hailey goes to Jason’s kitchen and grabs a soda from his fridge without making eye contact.

“That sums it up pretty well actually, and I was working on something really important.” Hailey gestures to Omega. “After I got that contract from the government, she needed my full attention." Jason sighs knowing that she says this for every robot she builds, and this time is no different. “I need a place to hide her until I figure out what to do next.” Omega begins looking around the room and shows interest with Jason’s music studio setup.

“Hide her? Why does she need to hide?”

“Turns out the government didn’t actually want a robot to protect Earth, they wanted a weapon to use for themselves. So I had to steal my blueprints and sneak Omega out of the lab so the government couldn't have her. She is much too important to let fall in the wrong hands.”

“Wait, so you actually built like a super murder robot for the government?”

“No, I didn’t. Omegas programming is very clear. Her only two objectives are to protect the people of Earth, and defend the planet from any harmful threats.”

“And why can’t she stay at your house?”

“The government is on my back and would expect me to hide something there. This is way less obvious.” Jason looks over at Omega, who has picked up a drumstick and is looking it over with genuine curiosity. Jason face palms before answering back.

“You're lucky I hate the government. Fine, I’ll house your little fugitive until you can build some other invention that magically solves all your problems.”

“Thanks Jason, you're a lifesaver.” Hailey quickly leaves the room and closes the door behind her.

“Yeah no problem, I live to serve you.” Jason looks up at the ceiling and lets out a groan. He looks at Omega waiting to see if she is going to do anything. Omega is now sitting quietly at Jason’s drum set. She takes the baseball cap she was wearing and holds it out to Jason with a smile.

“This is yours, I wanted to return it to you. Dr. Hailey would wear it around the lab but it has your name on it.”

“Oh, thanks. I gave it to her a long time ago.” He sets the hat down on the kitchen counter. “So are you really going to save the world, like, superhero crimefighter robot style?”

“Someday I hope so! Right now I don’t know much about the world and I hope to learn more. From what Dr. Hailey lets me read, humans seem really complicated, but they are really cool!” Jason’s expression changes from tired to curious.

“You hope? That isn’t something that robots normally do.”

“Well, I am not a normal superhero crimefighter robot.” Jason see’s Omega’s genuine happiness and innocence and can’t help but smile back at her.

“What was your name again?”

“Omega Zero! But you can just call me Omega.”

“Do you like music?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never tried it.” Jason sits down at his studio setup and begins showing Omega what all of his equipment does and plays some music for her.

#superhero #superheroes #comics #original character #original story #ocs #omega protocol

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idiasdiscordkitten · 2 years

Note

Hello~ Spicy Prompt! 😇

Jade, Jamil, Riddle, Azul, Malleus

How would they react to their SO telling them that they are into brat taming?

You decide who gets to be the brat here lol

ohhhh boy

for some of these choices, this goes absolutely wild

thank you for the request!

riddle, azul, jade, jamil, and malleus with an s/o who is into brat taming

*all characters are depicted in a university setting and are 18+

🔥 SPICY UNDER THE CUT! 🔥

Riddle Rosehearts

❤️ is the brat

❤️ riddle is definitely into it, but he won’t give you the satisfaction of knowing that right away. after all, he is kind of a textbook brat, right? it’s possible he could act disgusted with you at first, but it’s all a ploy to get you worked up

❤️ of course, he plays the role of the brat to perfection. this comes with its own issues, though. it doesn’t need to be every time, but he’ll definitely need his occasions to call the shots and be brutally untamable. a safeword may be needed to make sure nobody’s going to lose their head

Azul Ashengrotto

💜 is the brat

💜 will react very well and be upfront about it. he’s got a masochistic side to him, he’d love to get punished for being a little brat

💜 azul will 100% bring up contracts while playing up his brattiness. he is phenomenal at getting the reaction he’s looking for. considering that you both are into it, you’re in for a great time

Jade Leech

💜 is the tamer

💜 immediately after you tell jade you’re into brat taming, he’s already hatching a plan to turn you into a blubbering mess. he likes to work quickly

💜 he’s not much of an intense, in-your-face tamer. rather, his actions are subtle. a little on the sadistic side, but subtle. honestly, he’s eager to see how willing you are to tow the line with him before it’s clear you’re begging for destruction

Jamil Viper

🧡 is the tamer

🧡 on the outside? jamil’s really chill about it. “oh, you’re into that? sure, that’s fine.” on the inside, though? god, he wants to corrupt you. be naughty, give him something to punish

🧡 it’s a role he never gets to play, so he wants to soak in every second of it. besides, you’re so adorable when you’re teasing him. he knows what you’re after, and he lives to serve

Malleus Draconia

💚 is the tamer

💚 honestly, malleus doesn’t really get it at first. you’ll need to explain it to him, because this kind of thing is not something he’s really looked into on his own

💚 he’s not as into it as you are, but he’s happy to try anything you’d like. he doesn’t realize it, but he plays the role of the tamer extremely well--if you whisper “yeah, and what are you gonna do about it?” he pounds mercilessly. you can barely even breathe. but as soon as you two climax, he switches over to the role of a doting and loving husband. two sides of a gorgeous coin

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armyhome · 1 year

Text

Lost In Your Love Story | Yeonjun

⇢ summary: Hwa Suji is a very skilled makeup artist who works at her best friend's salon, serving major Korean entertainment companies and that includes the artists she is a fan of: Tomorrow x Together! One day when protecting one of the members, she ends up having a car accident that takes her to another universe! The universe of your favorite fanfic called "Winter Song" but the thing is, life is not a strawberry, her new universe got a target on her back, she's the villain and has no idea how survive this cannon.

⇢ pairing: Choi Yeonjun x Hwa Suji.

⇢ Chapter 1 : Life is not a strawberry.

⇢ Chapter 2 : Love is a Disease.

⇢ Chapter 3 : Made a little cookie...

⇢ Chapter 4 / 5 / 6

⇢ Chapter 7 : Why Don't You Stay?

⇢Chapter 8: Beyond this universe

⇢ Chapter 09 : I know I love you

⇢ Chapter 10: Lips on You

⇢ Chapter 11: Opening Sequence

⇢ Chapter 12: Sour

Chapter [13/16] : Waiting for a lifetime for you

POV Yeonjun

Five Months Later

Every single day becomes harder to be around Suji without telling her everything we are being thought while the body in this universe were unconscious, sometimes I ask myself if the part of Suji that lived with me in that universe was living inside her, but sleeping.

Trying to focus on practicing because my Moas suffer so much during all this time, my family talked all the time about how kind and supportive they were all this time, always trying to protect me, and even Suji when Yuri did all those terrible things.

"You're daydreaming again hyung" Kai tap my shoulder, "You know that you didn't need to push yourself right?" I sigh and wave my head positively.

"If I stay more time without doing anything this will drive me crazy.."And I don't know if I'm talking about music, performance, or Hwa Suji.

"Let's drink some water before we continue tho" Beomgyu give a bottle to every single member.

"Guys, I have something to tell you, because if somehow being exposed by the media, I wanna everyone aware…" Taehyun says, and then took a deep breath "I'm dating Jieun, for real." Our first reaction is hugging him, as idols, we are always afraid of somehow damaging the group's image, considering so many brands that we work to put on their contract restrictions about dating, even if HYBE doesn't have anything about that on our contract, is like a maze all this culture.

"We're here for you." We say together.

"And when Yeonjun hyung will confess that he is in love with Suji, to her I mean, because we here all know, is written all over his face…" Kai comments and my face burns "Oh hyung you're so honest about your feelings" Soobin looks at me.

"Is he right? Do you really love noona?" There's something wrong with his voice "You were just in love with Yuri weeks ago. Suji noona is different, she deserves to be loved with all love in this universe!" And that's how I know, he loves her, like in the other universe.

"She's the love of my life, here and in the others universes," I say finishing my water.

"Woooow" Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Kai say together.

"But she's recovering, so for while, I will give her space, to organize her life, her business, and read all my contracts again, because if it's okay for you guys, and if she agrees, I wanna be public with our relationship" Their silence makes me shiver "You can think about, I don't think will be soon, I really need to read all the deals again, I don't wanna damage anyone" So after a feel second they hug me.

"We are tomorrow by together, no other future is allowed here," Beomgyu says.

"Yes, we're just shocked about how sure you are about noona" Taehyun mess my hair "That's a good thing, Jieun says that Suji noona has her heart broken really badly in the past, so be careful"

Soobin tap my shoulder, without saying a thing, but at the same time, given me support, I know he will find someone for him, that will love him, as much me and Suji love with other, because he deserves to live that kind of love.

"Mister Yeonjun" The staff calls me entering the room "There's someone important saying that needs to talk to you… Is the writer of that manhwa, L.M. Andrade"

"The author is here?" I ask foolishly "Why?" My heart was beating so fast, maybe she could answer why Suji doesn't remember anything… "I will talk to her, give me five minutes"

I don't even take this much time, seconds later I was in front of the door in the room she was waiting, so many questions, going so fast in my mind, deep breath Choi Yeonjun, took a deep breath. Once I open the door, the smallest human being I ever see jumped from the chair, with long straight hair, brown skin, and big glasses.

"Hi Mister Yeonjun, I'm L.M. Andrade, writer of Winter Song! Is so great to meet you and see that you a perfectly okay…" She makes a huge bow and I follow her "I know that probably will sound odd, but, I need to ask since something, really weird happens a feel days ago, and I think maybe if this happens, maybe something happens to you and misses Hwa as well…" She took a deep breath "By any chance, did you feel weird when you woke up in the hospital?" I laugh, she does not even know the power she has.

"I lived, every word you write on that story Miss L.M" She gasp and became pale "I would ask you why I remember everything but Suji doesn't, but you didn't know how I'm right?"

"I know how now." She sighs "When you both woke up at the moment I drew the end I think was a coincidence, but feel days ago one draw not just woke up from a coma, he appears at my house, this happening because I use a special pen, it's one that my family keeps since always, one of my ancestors was a scribe during Goreyo dynasty, but this doesn't matter, I'm here to apologize with you and I will found a way to do the same thing with Miss Hwa even if she doesn't remember" She bows one more time.

"Suji noona is a huge fan of yours, you wanna apologize to her, just send a letter or take her to drink a coffee, but with me, don't worry, your story helps me more than hurts me" I can't hold the disappointment about not know how makes Suji remember.

"Oh, right, great idea! I just need to solve something, but I'll call her for a coffee, she seems so wonderful" She looks at me "I know she will remember, you guys have the kind of love everyone wishes for…Well, I'm leaving, thanks for receiving me"

She leaves the room, almost running, and she forgets a newspaper on the table, the headline is "The famous writer, one important peace on Hallyu movement, Seo Changbin disappears from the hospital" and my mouth dropped, "After the accident that takes way his wife life, the writer Seo Changbin that has passed the last eleven months unconscious, simply disappears from the hospital, there's no recording of him leaving or being taken from his room, police still investigate the case…"

Holy shit, that pen needs to be locked up, because if ends up in the wrong hands, we all will be done.

#txt fanfic #yeonjun imagines #txt #choi yeonjun #yeonjun fanfic #yeonjun fic #yeonjun #choi soobin #soobin #choi beomgyu #kang taehyun #hueningkai

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court-jobi · 1 year

Text

Quit Flirting? Not a Chance.

Pairing: Captain Rex x Sawyer (Human!Slicer OC)

Words: 1,761

Ratings: Teen/Up Audience

Warnings: none

A/N: After a pinning ceremony and a brief speech about the proposed bill for Clones Rights, Rex and Sawyer steal a little moment before getting back to their worlds. Sawyer shows her less-than-subtle appreciation of her favorite Captain, much to the amusement of the General and Commander who are watching... This was the first scene I ever envisioned with my OC, Sawyer Lyubava-- so it's because of this scence that #Rexbava lives!

Enjoy a taste of what's to come in Rex: Heart of a Soldier, coming soon to an A03 near you...

Summary: Rex doesn't do this sort of thing often, but when he is called to give testimony about his life in the Grand Army of the Republic with the hope of more rights to be secured for him and his brothers after the war, he'd do just about anything to make that happen. The gesture alone is enough to get him to don the civilian outfits and deal with the formalities. It's a refreshing change of pace from the battlefront, after all. The 501st's contracted slicer may be pulled in ten different directions between senators offices and communications centers providing cyber support for the Republic... but she'd never miss a chance to see her Captain in dress whites.

Read on AO3

Rex knew he was in for an earful of her flirtatious banter. But today, he didn't really mind.

Returning from Mokk IX was a mess of a job. And the return hadn’t been typical either; detouring to another brief rescue operation at the edge of Filordis’ trade border took up an additional week’s stay in hyperspace before the Company’s scheduled rendezvous to Coruscant, nevermind the presentation he had been preparing for on arrival. Everything had been topsy-turvy on the warfront and when the 501st and the 212th came back planetside, their reentry routine was disrupted, too. Today was a pinning and speech day per the request of the Pantoran Senator, Riyo Chuchi.

Aware that the ceremony would act more for motive than recognition wasn’t lost on Rex. The accounts he and Cody both gave as representatives of their units before this senatorial committee were important for the support bill currently being drafted in the legislature floors of the Galactic Senate. Cody and Rex’s testimonies served as a prime look into the daily life of the war effort, and into the mens’ existence as Clones as well. While they fought the fight, Chuchi was making certain these men were provided for fiscally and contractually after the war.

On the whole, the assembly went well, and with enthusiastic reception. The gathering was vocally appreciative of the soldier’s time, and many were moved to sign off on Chuchi’s draft in their private conversations afterwards– according to the senator’s aide who saw them off to their exit point. She noted to thank the council’s referral source for her time and words of recommendation, and gave a personal thanks to Cody and Rex for their service.

Dismissed from her presence, Cody gave Rex a knowing look and made a small comment about said referral source that brought thi function to their attention in the first place. More to the point, he asked if she happened to have blue hair and a navy dress on today. Rex confirmed, Sure does, Cody.

Though, he chose to ignore when Cody continued to mumble about how 'she couldn’t keep her eyes off him the whole time'; Shuddup, Cody.

And speak of the devil, here she was… Sawyer approached both men once they left the stage backdrop, just as the shuttles of guests were leaving for the Senate Complex. Senator Chuchi took Sawyer’s advice to get the officer’s testimonies after all, who was beyond glad to lend her services and schedule to make it happen. Her attentions were meant for them both to turn, but the saucy edge to her call -and those eyes– those were for Rex.

" Be still, my beating heart, gents ."

After the bantha-shit crazy week he had coming back to base, he earned this.

Cody smirked and nudged Rex’s arm in a tease when Sawyer got close enough,

"Get a good look while you can, ma'am,” Cody broke character under her attention, “The armor's going back on the second we get back to base."

Rex shot his vod a half embarrassed look that begged to detach from him, but caught her appreciative stare at the change in uniform: dress whites fitting an officer in the Republic Army.

These were typically devoted to Marshall Commanders for any one Legion, but in this Captain’s case, he was asked to don the colors to represent the 501st in official capacities alongside General Skywalker. His experience spoke for itself more than his assigned rank on flimsi did. Significance aside, the effect was palpable in looks as well- given the attention he garnered from all passersby at the event. Senators who’d only ever seen him under blue and white plating needed prompting from a common acquaintance to recognize him as ‘the’ Captain Rex General Skywalker spoke so often of.

Sawyer of course didn’t need such a prompt for any of the men, having seen them under their helmets for days at a time… but this sight was a treat for her.

"Sir yes sir..." The spec's request turned to Obi Wan's second-in-command this time, at least having the decency to not sound like a begging dog, "May I borrow the good Captain for a minute, Commander?"

"All yours, Miss Lyubava."

Cody readily took his leave, leaving her in the mid-afternoon breeze of Coruscant's senatorial district with the Captain all to herself.

The gold in Rex's eyes were particularly noticeable in this light.

" Helloooo , lady killer," she mumbled, now out of Cody's earshot.

Shameless. Rex tamed her back, "Miss Bava."

She smiled, loving the way her name carried off his lips- even if it was with a warning that she better mind herself.

"Now this is a different look," Sawyer’s eyes roamed over the crisp shoulders and pleats, increasingly enamored with the pins. "These are all yours?"

"I'm afraid so,” Rex kept at near attention under her gaze, but followed her with his eyes. “It's been an eventful year of missions already. This time last cycle, there were only two."

“Sure has.” Sawyer sighed. “Y'know, it’s only been about four months since I came on, and there’s been, what- three full -what you’d call- campaign ‘initiatives’?”

“Fifteen battlefronts, all victories for the Republic defense. Dunno how they decide which ones get a medal- but they say a little recognition is good for Company morale.”

Sawyer set to study each one; Rex could sense her excitement straight away. Goosed at the amount of regalia, he could only imagine the weight it must signify to an average civilian. The number had grown to seven, including today’s gift. Obviously, the reason he’d have earned so many accolades for war achievements was sad in its own way, but Sawyer still wanted to acknowledge them for the special tokens they were. After all, clones had very few things they could call their own.

“Wow.. Where do you keep all these? I’ve never seen them!”

“Eh, I leave ‘em in with the uniform until I need it.”

“Man, you should have these babies out somewhere– they’re beautiful.”

Rex reminisced on the history behind the ones he’d received, “I’m usually the one doling them out. I don’t think to look at mine that much.”

"How's it feel?" Sawyer asked.

Rex smirked out of habit, "Just another day in the Republic, ma'am."

Ever the humble soldier. Sawyer rolled her eyes at his crisp answer, and nodded to the grandstage to prove a point.

"I meant looking like a whole damn meal up there."

Rex exhaled an embarrassed laugh, with a bit of a shake of his own,

"Well, the– General says this whole getup is more... appropriate for these kinds of events."

Sawyer bit her tongue; nevermind, it did little to keep her from running her mouth.

"He got that right. You do look incredible ."

Rex stopped breathing when she stepped up short of him, looked down, and brushed her index into the grooves of one of the ribboned medals, but he didn't have any urge to remove her for fear she'd never do it again. Even if he didn’t usually give them much thought, this careful attention was special, indeed.

"If anything I say can make Senator Chuchi's case stronger for the retirement bill, I suppose all this must be worth it.”

Sawyer stepped close to Rex’s side, a hand running over one of the lower patches on the coat's arm.

"I hope so too. Still, you deserve every bit of praise today. You really do."

Rex smiled. All teasing aside, she looked proud of him when he caught sight of her in the assembly.

“Well I can’t take all the credit. Cody spoke too, and the council office gave us prepared questions so we didn’t go in blind. We have you to thank for making that happen, by the way.”

Sawyer looked up to him again and brushed it off,

“I’m just glad the timing worked out,” Sawyer crossed her arms and took in the sight of the sun briefly before returning her sunshades to their place on her head to push her hair back, “Your voices are what they need to decide your future, more than anyone else’s. I told you before, the Republic couldn’t be in better hands, with you. You’re one of a kind.”

One of a kind … clones are anything but. Rex had to chuckle at her idioms.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever fully understand you, Miss Bava. But that means a lot, coming from you.”

Her encouragement stems from a sweet place, always has. The civ always struck that balance between spice and sweetness. Rex could never forget that- or the honest smile that creeps on her face when it’s just the two of them like this.

"Alright men, let's head on back! Obi-Wan will be waiting for us on base," Anakin rejoined the small group from the landing pad and gestured with his shoulder for Rex to follow. "About time you earned that drink, buddy."

"Yes, sir." Rex chimed back, bright and ready as ever. He appreciated Anakin’s priority of shore time for his men, glad the bit of reprieve wasn’t ending with the dispersal of the assembly.

Ahsoka caught a glimpse of the captain and the slicer both with a little smirk after Anakin strode off. It seemed the padawan’s master noticed her lag behind, and spotted Sawyer still hanging back finishing up with Rex.

" And quit flirting with my Captain, Lyubava !!"

Sawyer chortled at Skywalker's second call. Instead, she upped the ante– a hand slid up Rex’s arm and wilfully splayed a hand across his chest, below the regalia.

" Your Captain?" Sawyer cooed.

"M-maam!"

Rex’s stuttering was adorable. Quit flirting? Now why would she do that?

Sawyer just giggled lowly while she and Rex just watched their General start off back to the shuttle, exasperated once again.

“ Tch-- his Captain , he’s gotten too used to having you around, Rex. Must feel good to be in high command, I suppose.” Sawyer fussed at Anakin for the remark. She sighed out, brushing along Rex’s chest affectionately, “He is right though. You’re overdue for a nice outing. So, you boys enjoy yourselves. I’ll get prepped with Organa’s office, and I’ll see you later at the Guard’s Division, right?”

When she released him and started backing away in that high-heeled, sauntering step, Rex gave her a tight lipped nod of approval and an easy salute.

“I’ll be there, ma’am.”

And when his arm lowered, he added before heading off,

“It was-- nice looking out and seeing you out there.”

Sawyer gave her easy smile to him again, twirling about to say, “Wouldn’t have missed it.”

#R:HOAS #masterlist #my oc #captain rex my beloved #captain rex x oc #captain rex #star wars fanfiction #clone wars fanfiction #rexbava #my work

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piratesfromspace · 3 years

Text

Finance Management (Deckard Shaw/Reader)

Deckard Shaw (Fast & Furious) x Reader

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

Female reader

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

Read on Ao3

MASTERLIST

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mister Shaw…” you stammer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything you want, dear.”

-----

“Mmph, fu-ck... Deckard, don’t stop”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re close, princess, aren’t you?”

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

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

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

----

“Good morning darling."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#deckard shaw #deckard shaw x reader #female reader #fast and furious #hobbs and shaw #deckard shaw fanfiction #hobbs and shaw fanfiction #deckard shaw / reader #jason statham #jason statham imagine #smut #hobbs and shaw smut #deckard shaw reader insert #fast and furious fanfiction

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