#they have plastic plants in their foyers

[genderbinaryisforlosers]

looking at the suvi arc 3 art like it's a riddle i need to solve.

her hair's been reverted to its (un)natural white. her outfit's all black and patterned head to toe in stars. man in black? pilgrim under the stars?

cards on the table show the king of diamonds on top and the ace of diamonds poking out the bottom. diamonds patterned into the desk and carpet. king... of night? diamonds... stars?

the only flashes of red (childhood colour) (ame colour) being the cards, the crystal ball on the shelf, and... the vial of blood? dripping from her hand?

oh i've got it! @quiddie

suvi's making a blood pact with the man in black. the title of the campaign is changing to the warlock, the witch, and the wild one.

...joking

............. (i think)

#also it looks like there's a plant or something on the left hand shelf #which i'd write off as set dressing if it weren't for orima #and also general wizard aversion to real vegetation #unfortunately wizards are lawn apologists #they have plastic plants in their foyers #worlds beyond number #twtwatwo #suvirin kedberiket #the wizard the witch and the wild one #quiddie #styx speaks

[youaremyhome]

The Antimatter of You

Warnings: Dark!Rafe Cameron x Reader, 18+ NSFW, smut, HEAVY non-con/dub-con, drug use, possessive behavior, blackmail, manipulation, DARK. More to add. Read at your own risk!

Notes: 4.4k!! I did it!!! I promise now that it’s summer (and getting fired from my job) I’ll have more time to write/update. Hope it lives up to the hype lol let a girl know ok love ya ❤️

Taglist: @belcalis9503 @ACRAZYBIOTCH374 @fangirlwithlou @malfoytargaryen @RAFECAMERONSBADUSSY @takin-care-of-business @watersquirtpewpewboomm @magnificantmermaid @mk15x @abbybarnesstuff @lavenderhue @dirtytomatoedwrites

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! (And I’m sorry if I missed you, I love you)

The scent of flowers is nauseating but with a knock on your door, Rafe ignores it as best as he can.

It’s been several days since he’s seen you, the longest he’s gone without any physical contact. His texts were met with one worded replies or none at all. Having done a stellar job of avoiding him. Taking new routes to your lectures, roommates answering the door saying you weren’t home, skipping your Ethics class, the seat glaringly empty beside him.

Rafe knew to give you some space – if only for this once. The incident with you, him and Topper had shaken you greatly, no one had ever seen such an argument between the two of you. His best friend had given him a thorough tongue-lashing that morning after your exit. A reminder from Rafe about Topper’s general creepiness towards his sister had him shutting up instantly.  

Before, Rafe had believed you were slowly - but surely - getting used to him being a fixture in your life. He wasn’t stupid enough to think you were fully submitting, of course, but he knew you would be able to get there. With time.

He’s let you have your little tantrum of silence. It was a mistake to treat you so harshly, even if you had wasted a hundred dollars worth of good product.

You’re home alone today. He’s made sure of it. Camped outside your townhome for the past two hours. All your roommates had gone out for various things, filing out one by one. The only one left was the most annoying: Daniella.  

While Louise and Andi gave knowing smirks whenever the group was together, Daniella always had a strained smile. As if she struggled to let him anywhere near you.

To ensure her absence, he had recruited the help of Carson. Telling him to lure his girlfriend out so Rafe could talk to his.

He rasps on the door again, calling out your name.

“Open the door. I know you’re home.” When there’s no response, Rafe fist hits harder. “Open the damn door.”

He repeats your name multiple times as he jingles the doorknob. After a few more tries, he sighs and gives up. It didn’t have to go this way.

The click of the door is quiet, Rafe soundlessly closing it as he pockets his copy of the key. Slyly walking through the foyer, the back of your head appears when he comes into the open living room. The crinkle of plastic as his hands squeeze the stems makes your head almost fall off from how fast you look behind.

“What in the actual hell, Rafe?” Pushing off the couch, you cross your arms. A faint line creased between your eyebrows and Rafe can’t help but notice you aren’t wearing a bra. “How’d you get in here?”

“Spare.” Rafe simply says. “Y’know, just in case of an emergency.”

“Or to sneak in here like a fucking creep.”

“No…for when my girl is ignoring me.”

Rafe lifts the bouquet up, savoring how you take in the view of your favorite flowers in white and faint pink. Taking a step toward you, a minute flinch ticks at your shoulders. Rafe stops.

“Well, you can throw them in the garbage on your way out.” Your ponytail swishes when you twirl back to plant yourself on the couch. “Go away.”

“Aw c’mon baby,” Groaning, he rolls his head back. He rounds the couch, standing in front of the TV. Extending his arm out, he presents the flowers again. “How about you find a nice vase for these, and I’ll make it up to you.”

The stupid comment grants him exactly what he wants, your attention on him. Eyes like needlepoints hoping to puncture him.

“You can do so by leaving.” You turn the volume up, and you focus back on the TV.

It’s the dismissal that has Rafe’s ire prickling his skin, his patience splintering.  

“Alright, that’s enough. I gave you plenty a time to pout.”

Your lips puff with your incredulous. “Pout? Pout?” You swat at the bouquet. “I’m not pouting. I’m fucking pissed and tired of you.”

'Pissed off' he could deal with. The pouting is cute. Your tears are an intoxicating aphrodisiac. But to be tired of him?

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

Rafe squats down, supporting his forearms on his knees as he looks up at you through his lashes. Staring at the upwards angle of your face, he doesn’t have to wait long for your eyes to nervously meet his. Containing his anger has never been his forte. You simultaneously ignite his fire to a roaring inferno and wash it down until there’s only embers left. At the moment, he was between the two.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He blows out a breath. “I, I should’ve never gotten like that with you. Forgive me, angel?”

Leaning the flowers forward, the petals tap once against your bare knees. A deadlock between wills of opposing nature. Your facial expressions switch like the flipping of pages, the language of you becoming easier to understand the more time he spends with you.

“Apology unaccepted.”

Snatching the bouquet out of his grip, you stand and beeline for the kitchen. Rafe rights himself up, following you lazily. Playing his own game of shadow with each step and turn you make. Your slamming cabinets left and right until you find one beneath the sink, almost cracking the glass of a long vase with your force.

His gaze skims over the flimsy material of your sleep shorts, and the way your breasts slope beneath your tank top. Your hands busy themselves with arranging the stems and such, actively ignoring his presence. Hands in his pockets, Rafe takes measured strides until he’s a hairs length away from your back.

“…I never got my hello kiss.”

Your glare radiates so potently that Rafe doesn’t have to look to know it's there. Placing his hands on your hips, he walks the tips of his fingers inward and smirks when a quiver to your lower belly ripples across. Lips kiss at the tension in your shoulders, thumbs molding like dough into your sides.

“I’ve missed you…” His tongue peaks out, tasting the skin there. A hand travels down to play with the waistband of your shorts. “Missed this cunt, too.”

“Rafe – wait,” The hitching of your breath is so sweet he cups you in his wide hand in a fluid downslide. The pinching pain of your nails into his wrists has him stilling, lingering. Your neck stretches as you look back as your features pinch in. “I’m…I’m on my…y’know, period.”

He wants to believe you – truly he does – but lies spill from those pretty lips all the time so…

Frustrated whimpers break loose between your bitten lip while Rafe continues down, your head leaning on his shoulder in defeat. Swirling the tip of his middle finger closer to your hole, the touch of roped cotton has him pausing. A string.

Damn it.

Rafe sighs and trails up your slit to lightly stroke your clit once more before he’s slipping his hand out, keeping it low on your warm pelvis. It rises a rumbled chuckle from him, peering down at your weak glare. This close to your face, he can see all the small imperfections that add to the mosaic of your beauty. Gliding his other hand up, he passes a ghost of a touch to your chest before it lands with a curl around your throat. The addition of it pushes you fully into perfection.

Humming and eyes hooded, Rafe draws out a peck to your lips. The warm, soft contact is barely a kiss, just a need to feel you closer that has Rafe relaxing a fraction. “C’mon then.”

Leading you back to the couch, you resume your previous seat that looks more like a nest with a bundle of blankets, a heating pad, and candy there. Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline when he lays the warmed pad on your lower abdomen, wrapping a fuzzy throw around you then tucking you under his arm, situated to lean against him. Propping his feet on the ottoman, Rafe focuses on the TV which plays some sort of reality show.

Your suspicion rises like steam, muscles strained with preparation for flight. It isn’t until halfway through the show does Rafe feel your body incrementally slacken and by the third, you’ve fallen asleep.

So, if the show happens to stay on there’s no one around to judge.

Rafe likes it when you’re asleep. Can freely stare at you without an icy sneer or bitchy remark to ruin the moment. Just a doll nuzzled deep into the side of him resonating a humming of snores.

His peace is ruined by the vibrating of his phone. He checks the screen.

Ward

With care, Rafe eases up from the couch and repositions your head so it’s against a pillow then heads into the kitchen.

Ward hardly calls him. The proportion of Rafe’s outgoing calls to him weighs heavily unanswered. Taking a deep breath, he picks up.

“Hey, Dad. What’s up?” There’s an eager edge to his question and Rafe hates it.

“Rafe, checking in to see how you doin’?” Ward’s deep timbre carries easily through the speaker.

“Good. I’m good.” Rafe looks at the back of the couch, smiling. “Yeah, I’m actually at my girl –”

“Listen, bud,” His father starts. “You got any plans for spring break? Wantcha come down so you can help me start up this new project. It’s a big one.”

Rafe pumps his fist into the air silently, excitement coloring his voice. “No, yeah, totally! I can do that. I’m up for it.”

“You sure? This is legit business and I need you to have a clear head. That means no…partying when you’re here, ‘ight? No funny stuff while we do this. Can you handle that, Rafe?”

It isn’t the serious tone of his father’s gruff voice that has his excitement evaporating. It’s the impending disappointment there like Rafe has already fucked up. Ward giving him a chance and still expecting failure in the end. A flash of hurt burns through but Rafe shakes it off, tells himself that he deserves it considering his track record.

“You can count on me, sir. I swear.”

A pause. Rafe thinks Ward might give encouraging words. A squeeze of a hand for support, words he’s heard him tell Sarah.

Only it’s: “See you soon.” And that’s that.

The dual beep from the phone lets Rafe know Ward’s hung up, just as a ‘love you’ was balancing off his tongue. He must be busy today.

“Who was that?”

Your voice rises from the couch before your head pops up, hair all fluffy and ruffled. Eyes are a bit puffy from sleep as you blink them open. The late afternoon sun creates a soft yellow hue through the windows, catching onto strands of your hair, soaking into your skin. Rafe is momentarily blinded by the view that it takes him a second to respond.  

“My dad.” Carding his fingers through his hair, Rafe smiles as the thrill returns. “He wants me to assist with a new job. This is huge for me!”

Yawning, you stretch and get up from the couch. Rafe keeps his body angled to yours, head nodding along to his babbling as you fill a glass of water.

“If he could see that I’m ready – that I’m ready to get serious, I’ll finally be a part of the Cameron legacy. My legacy. It’s about time he’s bought me into the loop…sure I’ve been tagging along since I could remember but this time, he wants my input. I’ll be able to share my ideas and he’ll have to listen.” He sighs, winded. “It’s too bad I’ll be gone for spring break –”

“Really?”

You’re at the edge of the peninsula, hip leaning against the counter as you take another sip. Your eyes shift from his to elsewhere, fingers drumming an uneven beat. Adjacent to you and with his hands braced on the counter, Rafe slides closer. Spreading his fingers apart to reach out a pinky to stroke your own.

“Don’t miss me too much.”

Scoffing, you swipe your hand away. “As if.” Your face softens a little into curiosity. “What does your dad do again?”

Shock rocks at his heart and it's damn hard to keep it in. He can count on one hand the number of times you’ve shown genuine interest in conversation with him.

“He owns a development company. Operates daily with the construction of buildings and those type of things.”

“Oh.” Your eyes are open and inviting, the slightest tilt in his direction.

Rafe steams on ahead, wanting to keep your attention. “Yeah, he started it all on his own. Born on the other side of the island. Actually made something of himself… unlike those dirty pogues down there now.”

It’s automatic to sneer out the slur. He can’t help the disgust he feels just thinking about that side of town.  

One of your eyebrows raises. “Aren’t you, like, fourth generation to attend UNC?” Your chin juts out. “Wouldn’t that mean your family has had, like enough money to go for so long?”

Rafe could crack a tooth from the grinding of his teeth. You’re not the first to connect the dots but you certainly are one of the few to vocalize it.  

“Third.” Rafe sucks his teeth in. “The Camerons may have started out on the Cut, but they grew to be more middle class. Only the truly elite are on Figure Eight.”

It infuriates him to no end of that simple fact. That just before he was born Ward was making his way through the Cut and into Figure Eight, the right side of the island. Where he – they always belonged.

Your eyes roll with a tilt of your head. “So, not really a pogue, not really a kook. Just an ordinary man like the rest of the world. Y’know, stepping on that island is like being in a fucked up alternate universe.”

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“I am not!” The stomping of your foot says otherwise. “It’s the worst place I’ve ever been.”

“It’s the best place.”

It’s amusing to watch your cheeks puff in frustration. “Only because of the little notoriety your family has there.”

A slow smirk spreads out like elastic, leaning into you. “Well, of course, sweetheart.”

With anyone else, Rafe would be squashing them beneath his shoe like a bug for a comment like that. With you, however…he finds he wants to know all your thoughts regarding him, the good and the bad. Suck in all the information he can, leach off every emotion you hold for him. The anger, the disgust, the begrudging pleasure.

At the same time, Rafe doesn’t have to hide behind a polite smile or use his charm to peruse you. He’s his real self. The most based form of a soul he struggles to hold onto. Wants to lay the shreds of his soul at your feet like a sacrifice, irrevocably intertwined together.

A peculiar look morphs on your face. Like when you’re working through a difficult assignment. Unmoving, focused but this time on him, which is extremely rare. Usually, you shield yourself away in a layer of ice that solidifies you.

“What?”

“What?” You parrot back, lashes blinking rapidly to break your connected gazes.

“What are you thinking about?” He angles his head low to follow your eyes.

Rafe half expects the typical retort of: ‘You don’t need to know all my waking thoughts.’

“Just…Doesn’t everyone on the island think he was a true pouge?”

So, you have listened to his rants before.

“People remember and think what they want to. Ward doesn’t have to answer to any of them.” His eyes narrow. “Why?”

Your fingers begin to fiddle with themselves. Twisting fingers in knots, squeezing the tips in a random pattern.

Again, he asks. “Why’re you so interested?”

“What? Now you’re gonna be mad I’m talking to you?”

Sass is a defense mechanism you use often; one Rafe finds the most annoying but just as addictive to combat with. It continues in his silent stare.

“I guess… I’m just confused why you would want to work with him so badly?” Your tone goes from curious to condescending within a blink of an eye. “If my dad treated me like that, I’d want to be as far away from him as possible.”

The straightening of his spine is immediate. “You don’t know shit about my dad.”

“Just that he treats you like shit –”

“Shut up –”

“Bet he’d love to know his only son is a psychotic rapist!”

His eyes bulge. A moment of stillness that enraptures the both of you. The bickering was reeving him up to ravish you across the countertop. Now, his mind whirls from the total 180 you’ve pulled on him. Never has he heard you utter those condemning words before. Rafe didn’t think you’d succumb to that dark truth, let alone say it out loud.

A scoff hiccups deep from his chest. “What fucking proof you got of that, sweetheart?” Shifting closer, your face pinches in as Rafe leers, “Your wet cunt cumming each time I force it in?”

It’s a low blow you take with stride, a flinch before you're sneering. “What about that little coke problem of yours?”

There.

There it is.

The real reason you’ve gone down this path of conversation. Nosing your way into things pretty girls like you shouldn’t concern yourself with. Much less with the intention set in your shoulders.

“You trying to blackmail me?” The chuckle comes low, barely a sound of amusement. “Oh, honey,” Rafe mocks. “You didn’t know he already knows?”

The façade of your bravado crumbles, a half step taken back with weary eyes. He tsks and cocks his head back, disappointed. With a sudden swing of his arm, the back of his hand knocks your glass of water to the other side of the room. The shattering of glass and your shriek harmonize, creating the perfect symphony to his sudden charging to you, arms an unknown mix until he shoves you against the wall.

Both hands hold your throat. Nails pierce his skin and scratch along the length trying to find a better leverage. The squeezing doesn’t stop until your eyes are pleading and swimming in the dark waters of fear.

“I may be a fuck up but I’m still his son.” Jerkily releasing you, your head wobbles on your neck. Hands barricading you in, Rafe lowers his head until your noses touch. Your panting breaths feed his next ones in.

“Don’t threaten me if you can’t back. It. Up!” His final warning is yelled, vibrating against your lips as his palms smack beside your head with each pointed word.

Your tears have gone unnoticed until you curl to the side and his lips taste the salty moisture upon your skin. Normally, the sight of them would soften his anger and harden his cock, leading the situation to hot make-up sex.

It isn’t enough. Not today.

Not when his future is within his grasp, his for the taking. Not with the knowledge of you trying to get rid of him, the idea as pointless as it is terrifying. Going to desperate measures when you should be desperate for him.

With a practiced move, Rafe retches your hair between tightened knuckles and pulls until your neck is a long arch and facing him. He ignores the pain-filled yelp and weak hands patting his chest.

“You want me to force you? Is that it, baby, huh?” Rafe hisses.

He hauls you down until your knees fold beneath you. A sick delight like seasickness rolls down to his groin as he growls. Weak defiance lives in your eyes, frowning with his name on your tongue. It's a tug of war between Rafe’s hand and your struggle to rise, keeping your hair taunt. It’s the sight of him unzipping his fly that has you hitting his thighs with a renewed alarm.

“Rafe! Stop it –”

“Keep fightin’ and you’re only gonna make it worse f’yourself.” Rafe warns another yank just to hear you shriek.

Fisting the base of his cock, he pulls it out through the opening. He aims for your mouth, but you cringe making the tip smear on your chin. Rafe tuts, guiding your head right where he wants, and flexes his arm, sure to hold you in place.

“C’mon n’ open up,” he drawls. “Take your punishment.”

Stroking up to the tip, his thumb sweeps along the ridge and tilts his hips forward, hovering just above those plush lips. Tapping the red flesh on your closed mouth, Rafe splays his hand on your chin and squeezes on the delicate bones until your jaw unhinges with a wail to relieve the pain.

Like a serpent striking, he’s pushing in before you can react. Bumping against the roof of your mouth, the rigids of your hard palate make him jerk with sensitivity and envelop the next few inches. The hot, wet rush has sparks crackling up his spine. All that heat and anger spirals down to his cock, the need to claim brooding in his balls. Grunting your name with each gag you give, his thumb caresses the corner of your lip as he watches enthralled.

A part of him wants to take his time. Use gentle strokes to coax your mouth open, train you with patience to swallow his cock just right.

Instead with a mean smirk, Rafe plunges half his cock in. The clenching of your throat makes it hard to go in deeper, the constriction of your resistance inflames his pleasure. The underside of his dick feels the rippling of your tongue like a wave, chasing after it eagerly. Your high-pitched whines are muffled by the weight of him, gargles of air getting blocked as he teases the opening of your throat.

“Can’t believe I’ve gone this long without fucking that mouth of yours.”

Saliva accumulates, thick and slippery as his cock triggers your gag reflex, spit dribbling down your jaw. Your drool coats him to create a smooth glide, lower abdomen tensing, and stuffing further in. Such a pretty sight seeing you like this, gurgling and coughing between the space of your cheeks and his cock. Eyelashes clumped, a darkening hue on your cheeks, small fistfuls of his jeans. Your gagging clinches your throat, locking him in tight before it flutters open.

Rafe allows you to pull back far enough to catch a breath. Coughing out into shaky inhales, lips puffy from abuse and slicked with combined spit and precum. Standing above you like this gives him the most delicious view of your stretched neck. From the tip of your chin to the swell of your cleavage in an expanse of skin that should be carved into marble.

Words tangle as you stutter and gasp, Rafe hushing you with faux tenderness. “I’m going to fuck ya throat now…”

Weaving his fingers once more into your hair, Rafe pushes back into your avoiding mouth. Your fighting ignites a primal urge of take, take, take within him. A bloating want fills his void. Sticky and black as tar that he wants to pour onto you, anoint you with his devoted desecration.

There is little mercy with the pistoling of his hips, ass clenching in pointed thrusts. Mummering encouragements of that’s it, such a good girl and various pitches of your name, Rafe feeds you his length with a fevered urgency. The squelching of his dick opening your throat layers with his low moans, watching as each inch disappears until your lips are kissing his pelvis.

His hips jerk involuntarily as a tickling of pleasure jolts him, your wet bottom lip moving on the sensitive spot just below his base and above his heavy balls. It feels so good and you’re not even actively sucking on him. Just a soft wet home for him to press in farther, another place he has laid claim to.

Fringes of hair droop between his eyes, almost hunched over as he pulls his hips to ram back in. Wet spots glisten on your chest, staining your tank top. A relentless pace fueled by rage and an ache.

“Fuck – ah – I’m gonna cum.” Rafe says hoarsely and tilts his head back if only to starve off his orgasm by looking away. “My good lil’ slut…swallow my cum.”

Angling your head up, Rafe slides his cock down all the way to the root. Grip tightening on your head, he rocks side to side to wiggle in as much as he can. You're choking helplessly as he fucks so deep, it feels like he might reach your heart. One hand skates down to your neck and palms the bulge, holding it there to experience the swell of it. Minuscule thrusts nudge the back wall of your esophagus, his thumb rubs up and down where the head sits.

The scrunching of your eyes and difficult breaths boosts his ego but he needs to see you. Needs you to see him.

“Look at me.” His fingers press in painfully. Eyes flickering half open, the devastation set in your irises kindles his breaking point. “Ugh,” he grunts your name like gravel between his teeth.

Stilling in the depths of you, Rafe cums.  

Your muscles intuitively constrict and swallow, suctioning him with hot, white pleasure. The wet of your cheeks is like velvet as you drink his cum.

Seconds or minutes pass before he loosens his hold. Loud choking fits break between your breathing once you're free from his cock, covered in a layer of drool and residual cum. Rafe pets your hair, trying to smooth out the knots he’s made.

You’re still crying as he calms down from his high, face nuzzling into his hip to hide. God, he’s going to get hard again with you looking so pathetic.

“Did you learn your lesson, pretty angel?” Dragging rough fingers through your hair, he bunches a handful and barely pulls, your neck like a snapped cord as your head flops back. An index finger tenderly traces down your cheek to your swollen lips.

“Any more empty threats and I’ll rape your mouth until you pass out.”

#rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #pieces of the night #fanfics #fics #outer banks #dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #dark fic #rafe cameron x reader #tw #smut #outer banks smut #obx #potn

[incubabe]

Did I ever go over Riley's apartment? It's a nice, kind of small place on the third floor of a building in Washington Square West (a nice enough neighborhood, conveniently gay friendly, less conveniently mlm focused, but you can't have everything). It's where she and her mother lived for most of her adolescence, so when mom passed away, it made sense for her to take on the lease, keeping its grandfathered rate. It's a standard one-floor unit, characterized by dark colors, hardwood, a balcony, and a window-mounted air conditioning unit. Nice, but nothing incredibly expensive. The apartment door spits out into a cramped foyer with a closet to the right and chair to the left. It opens out into a reasonably spacious kitchen connecting out to a living room, with three doors leading out to her bedroom, spare bedroom / workshop, and bathroom. Art on the walls varies between remnants of her mother's design tastes and gifts from starving artist friends who didn't quite grasp that they'd already paid for Riley's generous dinners.

The place has been warded heavily, the lion's share of her magical use in general. It's an iteration on reinforcement magic -- physically carving magic into the baseboards of the house, creating a spiritual barrier that forcefully rejects the unwelcome. If you don't have the specific code phrase or enchanted key in hand when you enter the house, you'll be repelled out -- and given that her door faces a brick wall, this is generally unpleasant. (Yes, her landlord's key has been enchanted to avoid accidentally maiming her.) It's less intended to permanently maim so much as it is to stall, maybe injure, and give Riley the time to prepare for an intrusion.

Her bedroom's kept in reasonable cleanly order, given the regularity of inviting guests there. A firm bed always left three-fourths made, a small desk with plants, a dresser, a hamper...maybe a stuffed animal or two with nostalgic value. Her bedside drawer always has an unopened water bottle on top, a condom or two and a hairband within.

Riley's converted the spare bedroom into a workshop, her clean room for magical horseshit. (The rest of the place is strictly and purposefully normal-looking, with the workshop kept locked when guests are over). It's got a manufactured magic circle that she can activate from the inside with a lever built into the floor, engraving tools, a little workstation for making her 'anti-everything' water balloons. A two-tiered bookshelf, divided into definitely working tomes, and those that she's not sure of. The latter shelf is, naturally, more filled.

Even a grow light and a small plastic greenhouse that works to grow a few mildly magical plants -- ones that don't require the actual sun. The ones that do are leaning up against the glass of her balcony door, flanked by altogether less supernatural herbs. (The rosemary keeps trying to butt in on the sea holly, it's annoying.) The plants include henbane, yarrow, rue, aconite, nightshade, vervain, mugwort, absinthium, onion root... The poisonous ones, like henbane, are kept in their own mini-dividers in the greenhouse, as is something she's been told is moly but doesn't quite trust.

Finally, there's two plant buckets out on the balcony. One with completely mundane hot peppers, and the other with lady's mantle growing, shamed for its propensity to spread and choke out the other plants. Alright, fine, her balcony is primarily plants -- she doesn't feel comfortable staying out there for long. Sniper rifles.

And there's her roommates.

There's her familiar, Whiskey. Riley's not certain if this is the case for all familiars, or if it's a case of synchronicity, but as it turns out, she's not in a dissimilar food situation. If she's not helping someone make magic, she starves. Her former magician had died unexpectedly, leaving the familiar in a lousy spot. A bleeding heart, Riley couldn't let her go hungry, so they've been together (but not together (okay, they kiss a little)) for about a year. She's able to switch between feline and human forms at will, and has no particular preference for either, but usually lounges around as a cat unless she needs thumbs or a voice box. If Riley's any good at a spell, it's likely that she learned it from Whiskey.

She's also got a dog, that she met when a very bad would-be demon summoner beckoned it and then Riley. Riley reckons it must be somewhat Weird or else it wouldn't have the kind of true name fragments to be summoned, but she can't sus out the specifics. For all the world, it's just a somewhat fat, lazy pariah dog, that knows hand signals but not spoken ones. (Alright, it's fat because she spoils it.) It uses the litter box and has done so without being trained, so that's cool. It's maybe 4 or so? Didn't have a microchip or a collar. Riley calls it Spot.

#i dont know why i insisted on the dog being agender. i guess riley just never looked #(ooc.)

[ithseem]

The Three Dimensions Exchange Week

@voltagefandomproject here's chapter three in the series, and the longest so far

CW: Gore in text, cringe, and everyone just dying on the inside. Proceed with caution

previous chapter || next chapter

Chapter 3:

“Welcome to the House, everyone,” said Barbatos. “Please make yourselves comfortable.”

The smell of paint had almost faded from the walls. The Foyer was decorated with plants native to this region of the devildom, a shoe rack made of the finest hell-iron, a mahogany coatrack and a small crystal chandelier. Everyone looked in awe at the decor. The most impressed of the group are Ace and Jack. “You really went all-out on this, didn’t ya?” said Jack.

“Right? It’s beautiful!” Sherry chirped.

“I’m glad it’s to your liking,” said Barbatos. “Dinner will be hosted at the House of Lamentation at six o’clock, so until then take your time to settle into your new home.”

“Thank you very much,” said Aquia.

“Also, thanks for stepping in back there in the council room,” Ace whispered.

“Think nothing of it,” Barbatos whispered back with a smile.

And with that Barbatos gave them the building layout, bid them farewell and then left.

“‘Spose now would be a good time to figure out our rooms, yeah?” said Lance.

“Right. Looks like there are seven rooms on the first floor and seven on the second,” said Azul.

It didn’t take long for the guests to figure out which rooms they would stay in. Sherry and Y/N took the two rooms next to each other on the west wing of the second floor while The rest occupied the first floor. Once everyone put their belongings in their rooms, Sherry and Y/N went downstairs to meet up with the rest in the living room. Or, at least, tried to, since Y/N slipped and fell down the stairs, much to Sherry’s horror.

“Are you alright!?” She squeaked. 

“O-o-o-ouch”

Everyone rushed to the scene to see Y/N face down on the floor. Ace and Azul couldn’t help but let out a few snickers.

“You mustn’t be so mean,” Rio chided them. He turned to Y/N and helped her up. “Nothing hurt I hope?”

“N-n-n-n-n-n-n-not r-r-r-r-r-r-r-really.”

“I can get some ice,” Jack said.

“Oh, please do,” said Rio

Rio wasn’t going to take any chances. He scooped Y/N into his arms and took her to the sofa in the living room. Jack returned with a plastic bag of ice and handed it to Y/N. “T-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-thank you,” she said.

“Hey, uh, If you don’t mind me asking, Do you have a speech impediment or something?” Jack asked.

“W-w-w-w-w-w-what m-m-m-m-m-makes y-y-y-y-you s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-say t-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-that?”

Ace had to bite his lip to keep himself from cackling, and it seems Azul was thinking the same thing. Jack and Rio’s expressions at her statement made it all the harder for the two poor boys not to burst out laughing.

Sherry shot them dirty looks before asking Y/N, “So, Y/N, how did you come about here? What’s your story?”

“I’d like to know that as well. I had no prior knowledge of you coming here. What brought this on?” Malleus said.

“Oh. My. God. NO!” Ace cried.

“Please listen to Ace!” Azul sobbed. This was already too much, and she hadn’t even started talking. Ignoring their pleas, Y/N’s body began to shake like an earthquake hit her and her sapphire-ocean-baby-diamond blue orbs dilated

“What’s going on?” Lance said. His question was soon answered when Y/N began to speak

“My mother’s body got crushed under a four-tonne truck, and my father’s body was shredded into pieces.”

Sherry: “I- Dragon’s teeth! This is horrific”

Y/N: “And my siblings went missing after my cousin got impaled by an iron fence and when a giraffe slung my cat to the moon”

Aquia: “What in the Devildom?”

Y/N: “I soon got taken in by an abusive orphanage and they tried to sell me to Vil Schoenheit two weeks ago-”

Jack: “Pardon??”

Azul: “I guess that explains why Vil was so quiet in our last housewarden meeting…”

Y/N: “And then my rich ex-boyfriend who is part vampire, part human, part lizard, part Teletubby, and part demon and a mafia boss for a subdivision in the Devildom’s mafia who bullied me is looking for me so I ran and asked Lord Diavolo to grant me asylum here”

Lance: “... Is this person even real?”

Malleus: “Hold up. Your ex bullied you? How did you even get into a relationship in the first place?”

Ace: “It’s the bully and the nerd falling in love trope isn’t it? Too bad that hardly ever works out in real life. Case in point: ”

Ace gestured toward Y/N to make his point, to which Y/N lowered her gaze. “Uh- anyway, why did you seek asylum here?”

“Ace, she went through a traumatic experience!” Aquia chided. “She might not be comfortable with-”

“He’s looking for me because I’m three weeks pregnant with his baby,” Y/N interrupted.

Ace: “AND A WHAT-WHEN-WHO-A-FUCKING?! Wait a minute, what time is it?”

Azul: “It’s 3:27. We’ve only known her for less than two hours”

This was going to be a long night.

#court of darkness #voltage fandom ccc #obey me shall we date #obey me barbatos #ace trappola #azul ashengrotto #court of darkness x reader #sherry invidia #aquia avari #lance ira #malleus draconia #jack howl #y/n slander #twisted wonderland x reader #obey me x reader #rio voleri

[strawberrysurecake]

NEKO PARADISO (=^._.^=)∫ ♡♡

Chapter 1. Recipe of Disaster

▶ poco a poco - Chotto Soko Made

[CHAPTER INDEX] | [NEXT ➞]

Note: I said I'd post this a week later but I'm an impatient creature. You're getting Chapter 1 now whether you like it or not.

Comments and constructive criticism are highly appreciated! I love hearing thoughts and jokes about my works. Maybe you can guess what breed of cat each of the gang is based on? No looking at the author notes on AO3 because that's cheating.

“Giovanna, what do you wanna be when you grow up?”

Dark, long lashes fluttered upwards. The black-haired boy turned to you from his seat on the warm grass, lowering an empty plastic teacup from his lips. “I don’t know. What about you?”

You crouched to set your toy teapot on the small picnic blanket then puffed your chest in pride with a heroic pose to rival a superhero’s. “I'm gonna be a café mastar!” you exclaimed in your squeaky pitch. Luckily, the two of you were in the park and not your house. Your mother’s scoldings weren't pleasant to say the least.

Giovanna tilted his head. “Café ‘mastar’? You mean master? Like a master of cafés?”

“Mhm!” You stuffed your chubby face with a mouthful of chocolate cake before continuing. “I’m gonna run a café with the best cake and hot chocolate. It’ll have TV, a ball pit, video games and a slide!”

“Wow...” Your friend clasped your filthy hands, his seafoam green eyes twinkling into yours. “That sounds amazing! If anyone can do it, it’d be you! I'll be your first customer!”

“Noooo,” you whined, cake smudged on your pout. “You can’t be my customer, Giovanna! I want to run it with you!”

Giovanna chuckled softly, a little dazed by your demand of him. “Okay. When you open your café, I'll be there with you.”

“Promise?” Still pouty, you offered a pinky in front of him which he studied curiously. A soothing breeze brushed through his blunt locks as he formed a matching gesture to yours.

“Promise.”

Your tiny digits intertwined. A pinky promise between two children was sealed in sticky frosting.

You idly fiddled with your maid uniform behind a thoroughly cleaned counter, tugging the frilly hem down your thighs. Surrounded by the faint aroma of coffee, you almost lived up your weeby fantasy.

The café interior remained silent on a late weekday morning. Accompanying you were a variety of untouched, freshly baked goods in their display case and half a dozen empty tables. Sunlight lit up the foyer through the wide glass. Indoor plants in ceramic pots guarded the door and hung over the walls, painting the shop in splashes of natural green. You were pretty sure these plants were supposed to bloom flowers but, alas, you were no gardening expert.

Beyond the expansive café windows were locals walking by. Some gave your shop a passing yet curious glance though many ignored it entirely. Seldom would a customer or two walk in the café since the grand opening a few days prior. The items they ordered were barely enough for you to get by.

You sighed in defeat and slouched against the cool countertop with an added temptation to eat all of the baked treats yourself. No doubt would binging sweets ease a bit of the bitterness and salt on your mind.

Your eyes rested upon the dainty arrangement of blue irises wilting in their vase beside you. They were a parting gift from your friends before you moved back to your city of birth. You groaned.

Perhaps returning to your hometown to pursue your childhood dream was silly. Dreams don’t just come to fruition on hope alone. A pang of guilt settled in your stomach. You felt as though you were letting down the young boy you used to play with all those years ago. You hadn’t seen him ever since you and your mother moved away during elementary school.

On a whim, you gently pulled an iris from its delicate vase and began plucking its shrivelling petals one by one. “I’m a dumbass...  I’m not a dumbass...” you murmured. You repeated the self-deprecating chant until the last petal. “I’m a dumb—”

DLING!

You jolted up. The sudden chime of the front door ripped you out of your trance, scaring the crap out of your body so hard, you dropped your tortured flower.

You cleared your throat in an attempt to awkwardly recompose yourself. “Hello! Welcome to Milky Maid Paradise!” you called out. You scanned the room to find whoever entered only to find no one. How strange. Is some fucker messing with you?

You swiftly rounded the counter to further inspect the situation. Peering outside the window, you spotted no suspicious figures to pin the blame on. You scratched your head. Such a thing never happened before. Just as you were about to dawdle back to your signature sulking spot, a menacing voice caught your attention.

“Buongiorno, Signorina.”

Oh lord.

You span around to face an imposing, colossal man sat at the table closest to the dessert display. A spiky red hat rested upon his baby bald scalp and intricate patterns adorned his immaculate, luxurious outfit. Somehow his large frame must have fit through the door without you noticing. It was very impressive considering he needed five of your vintage chairs to sit comfortably on.

“Oh! Sorry, I didn't see you there!” you replied exasperatedly. “Buon... giorno?” You quickly swallowed your apprehension. “What can I get for you today, sir?”

No matter whom this plus-sized ninja clad in banana yellow was, it was important you treated him with warmth and respect as you would with any ordinary customer. With a steadied heart and stride, you approached the large man awaiting your hospitality.

“The last time I’ve eaten was ten past eleven this morning,” he began.

You glanced to the wall clock beside the wide kitchen doorway. 11:10AM was forty minutes ago.

A thick finger pointed towards the desserts behind their polished glass case. “As you can tell, I’m famished. I’ll have everything available in that display case, please.” He clasped his chubby hands and awaited your response.

You blinked.

...Was he serious? The low rumble of his gigantic tummy sounded serious. He eyed you expectantly with his unusual black sclera and glowing pupils hiding beneath his sharp, protruding nose. It caused your neck hairs to stand on end.

“O-of course! Right away, sir!” you over-enthusiastically stuttered. If he could afford luxury clothing tailored to his massive body, surely he could afford your entire menu, right?

With haste, you promptly plated every dessert he could see. From tarts to cakes to biscuits to scones, each added pastry caused your customer’s dark eyes to grow wider and wider like a starving lion’s observing its prey.

“There we go,” you huffed. With the dessert case empty and the man’s table covered in plates of pastries all barely fitting on the tabletop surface, you were rewarded with a pleased hum.

“Thank you, Signorina. They look delectable.” He licked his lips with malice.

A plain napkin from God-knows-where was tucked beneath his double chin. Raising his noodly arms, he began his feast. A whole black forest cake was inhaled into his system straight from the white ceramic. Scones were gobbled one after the other with fruit jams swallowed as an afterthought. You've never been so confused and scared.  His vicious appetite and table manners subverted his sophisticated, millionaire appearance.

In the midst of his wild indulgence, you thought it necessary to brew a cup of chai tea to help him down the sugary contents. Just as you served him the hot beverage in its dainty teacup, your customer’s table was cleared of any sign of cake and crumbs. He graciously accepted the free cup of tea and let out a hefty belch to punctuate the end of his quaint café experience.

“Pardon me,” he said, patting down his mouth with a dirtied napkin.

Fortunately, no one had entered during the entire bizarre affair. His monstrous appetite would have driven them away.

“Signorina, are you the only staff working at this café?” the giant asked after a short moment. “What I ate tasted like it was baked by the same pair of hands. Their flaws, textures and flavours were consistent. No other chef could replicate them. Am I right in my observation?”

His expression was unreadable. Where could he be going with this? You slowly nodded, which earned you an amused grunt.

“Why is that?”

You shrugged sheepishly, tightly wringing your wrists. “...Well, I can’t afford to hire anybody right now—not that I need anyone or anything.” Though assistance around the store would be helpful, you never saw a need to hire anyone with the abysmal business you’d been garnering until today—even if it meant your maid café would only have one maid. “I can run the café fine on my own,” you add.

The mountain of flesh clicked his tongue, seemingly to disapprove of your words. He leaned forward as far as his belly would allow him, casting you in shadow. His terrifying mouth uttered your name. Did you ever tell him that?

“You won't go far relying on only yourself; it’s foolish,” he continued. His emerald irises peered into your soul and you shivered. His speech and mannerisms outside of gorging cake were no different from one of those high-ranking mafiosi in those old-fashioned gangster movies, or more accurately, a demonic nightmare clown from a horror flick.

Reaching into his yellow coat, the man pulled out an oddly unwrinkled sealed envelope. It was held out to you but before you could obtain the envelope, he spoke up. “Do you like cats?”

What?

You furrowed a brow, trying to compute the out-of-the-blue question. Despite the sinister smug expression on his face, the question appeared fairly innocent. You lowered your guard, if only slightly.

“Yeah, I like cats. I even had a kitten when I was little.” You neglected to mention that your kitten went missing one week after adopting it from the pound. No one needed to know that right now.

His deep laughter reverberated across the room. You swore you could hear the silverware rattle. “Hohoho! Then I believe you’ll find this recipe very useful. Use this recipe and your café will thrive in the city.” The ominous smirk across his plump lips and the cold glint in his gaze made you a teeny bit suspicious that this recipe was actually for a bomb.

The envelope was then finally passed on to your smaller, much sweatier hands. “Alright then... Thank you for coming, Mr...?” You trailed off.

“Polpo,” he finished. You glanced at the envelope and back at Polpo.

“Thank you, Mr. Polpo.” You meekly smiled. Peculiarly enough, having a name to this absolute unit of a human being shed a bit of the mystery surrounding his creepy presence. It was a subtle comfort you were willing to take.

“You’re welcome,” he smirked, uttering your name once again. “Now, if you'll excuse me...”

You stepped back so he could stand but he made no effort to budge from his five chairs. You also wondered if he would make an effort to pay for devouring a day’s worth of desserts. Just as you were about to ask him if he prefers cash or card, the doorchime intervened.

DLING!

Your attention leapt to the door. Again, it fell shut on its own with no customers seeming to enter although unlike last time when Polpo mysteriously appeared in your café, he mysteriously vanished.

Tension spiked. You scampered out of the café, apron strings dancing behind, completely confused as to how a being so massive could exit a building so stealthily. You saw no spiky-hatted man in yellow rolling down the street nor waddling on it, so you re-entered the store, still in shock from your virtually paranormal experience.

“What the fuck just happened?” you asked yourself.

You leaned over a chair, envelope in hand, processing your recent memory. Some Humpty Dumpty-looking dude materialised in your maid café, ate everything and left. You were honestly a little pissed at the audacity. When you raised your head, a smidge of colour where Polpo dined caught your vision.

Beside the unholy hill of plates piled high upon the wooden table laid a fat stack of cash neatly nestled in a plain strap of paper. Trembling, you scrambled to inspect the money between your fingers. Carding through each note, you realised it was more than enough to compensate the emptiness of your dessert case.

He tipped well, though maybe a bit too well. If he was still here, you’d refuse his generosity out of guilt.

But he’s not here...

Giddiness and disbelief overwhelmed your heart. With this much to fill your wallet, rent this month would be stress-free. Plus, you could buy that cool anime figure you’ve had your eye on for two months now, splurge some cash for cute clothes to fill your wardrobe, or invest in a brand new computer that wouldn’t shit itself during a hot day. The hedonistic possibilities were endless but before could make any debilitating financial decisions, first you had Polpo’s secret recipe to success to try out.

You decided to close the café early for the day. After flipping the open/closed sign on the door and clearing Polpo’s crime scene of a table, you headed off to the café kitchen, sealed envelope in tow.

You squinted at the finely written instructions. While you were sure what the cursive letters spelt out were what you thought they were, the implied end product sounded disgusting.

Splayed out upon the kitchen bench were the necessary ingredients, along with dirtied bowls and utensils, and the recipe’s batter that now filled a 6 cup muffin tray. It was a simple batter reminiscent of cake if you removed any of the flavour and joy. If you read Polpo’s handwriting correctly, each of the six mini cakes required their own unique ingredient of flavour: sea salt, wine, orange zest, strawberry seeds, coffee beans, and flower petals.

For the first tin, you sprinkled a pinch of sea salt as the procedure instructed. Bada bing, bada boom.

Wine? You whined and reached into the industrial refrigerator. For ‘special occasions’, you stashed a bottle of red wine towards the back behind all the cartons of milk, eggs, berries, and the like. The recipe seemed special enough, so you splashed the second tin a responsible amount.

Orange zest was normal enough. You carefully grated an orange peel into the third tin and set the fruit down for an afternoon snack later.

Strawberry seeds were a bitch and a half to procure. You fumblingly tweezed a single ripe strawberry until all the seeds joined the batter of the fourth tin.

The fifth tin simply requested six coffee beans. You shrugged and flung them all into the designated cup.

Lastly was the sixth tin that nondescriptly asked for flower petals. Wracking your brain for any idea where you could obtain any, you remembered the irises dying on the front counter. Once you grabbed the healthiest blossom of the bunch, you zipped back into the kitchen in record speed and flicked a few of its petals into the depressing mixture.

With preparations finished, it was time to bake. You stretched your arms in anticipation and placed the muffin tray into your trusty pre-heated oven. Feeling satisfied with your handiwork, you sauntered back to where the recipe rested.

There, you twitched where you stood. The recipe frustratingly had no mention of a baking time written anywhere on the paper. You sighed and dropped the recipe to focus on the oven. With your experience in baking, you deducted that the cakes would be ready in 15 minutes minimum. You kept a small toothpick nearby for when it was time to check the doneness of the cakes.

As the batter tanned and rose in the enclosed heat, the kitchen became perfumed in a combination of citrus, roasted coffee beans and other underlying scents in the mix. You breathed it in, embracing the aroma in your lungs. If your baker instincts were right, the bland goodies would be ready soon. You quickly plucked the toothpick from the bench but as you turned towards the oven, the oven spontaneously exploded.

Smoke and steam violently gusted the oven door open. You shrieked at the thundering clash and lost your footing. Your eyes squeezed shut as a rainbow of colours blurred your vision. The floor was cold beneath your limp form and you hissed, feeling sore where your ass impacted the hard tiles. Fortunately, no butt bones broke.

You slowly got up, rubbing the pain away from your buns and smoothing out your skirt. The bowls and jars on the bench laid askew but the resulting mess was minimal. You cautiously turned the oven off before it could burn down the whole building. When you peeked into its interior, you froze. You expected to find burnt batter slapped everywhere onto its scorching hot walls but instead, an immaculately clean muffin tin sat empty exactly where you set it.

You don’t remember the recipe including hallucinogenic drugs as an ingredient.

You wanted to pause and process everything again but before you could, deep grumbles and groans sounded behind you. Very, very cautiously, you twisted towards the source of the voices, armed with a toothpick for protection.

“God, my head...”

“...What the fuck? Where the fuck are we?”

“A kitchen...? We’re not gonna become someone’s lunch, are we!?”

Three strangely dressed men occupied your kitchen floor. Behind them were three more strangely dressed men. You backed away from them with your tiny toothpick raised in defence as they stirred and arose.

The first man had tousled strawberry blond hair and a pair of cat ears atop his head. Wait, cat ears!? A matching tail with coarsely curled fur swished out of his green trousers littered with holes. He bore an irritated expression as he surveyed his surroundings.

Perplexed, you studied the second man who hid his hair with a distinctively patterned cap. Though you couldn’t glimpse his ears, a tiger-like tail stuck out of his striped leather pants having nowhere to hide with his cropped sweater exposing his rippling midriff. He looked just as confused as you as he stared back.

As expected, the third one also bore feline features. His dark ears folded over his orange headband and his tail frizzed out beneath a yellow, checkered skirt. Shaky slitted pupils settled on your form. 

“Who are you and where the fuck are we!?” a tall man with long, white hair from behind the three screamed. His purple lips contorted to bare pronounced fangs. Behind his dark coat was a fluffy white tail puffed up to threaten you.

“W-Who are you and how did you get into my kitchen!?” you counter-screamed.

“So we are in a kitchen...” the yellow skirted boy murmured. His dread could not be described.

“Calm down, everyone! I think I know what’s going on,” a smooth but firm voice called out.

The small sea of upset potential cat cosplayers parted and another potential cat cosplayer came forward. Large ears above his bob cut twitched realistically. Golden zippers glinted in the light and jingled with each step he took. He stopped in front of you, hand on his exposed chest. As crazy as his dotted suit was, he was easy on the eyes. With a flick of his spotted silver tail, you dragged your gaze from his well-toned body to his chiselled face to engage in respectful eye-contact.

“You've met Polpo, correct?”

His companions twitched their ears at the name. You couldn’t help but take note on how organically their ears and tails seemingly moved.

You nodded and wrung your apron absently. “Yes, if you mean that giant man who ate all the sweets here. What about him?”

The catboy quietly hummed and held his chin in thought. “Did he give you instructions to summon us?”

“Instructions?”

Polpo's recipe laid undisturbed on the bench where you last set it. Could he be referring to that?

The spotted catboy must have read your mind. He stepped towards the paper and skimmed its contents.

“I see... So you did,” he murmured, placing the recipe back down.

“Excuse me, but what does Polpo have to do with you all popping out of my oven?”

“Yeah, Buccellati. What does this all mean?” the curly furred catboy chimed in with a creased brow. It was nice to know you weren't the only one left in the dark.

He remained silent for a moment, focused on the lines between the floor tiles before speaking up. “It means that Polpo is no longer our master. By receiving the recipe and summoning us, this woman passed Polpo’s test.” Shifting to an authoritative stance, he demanded the attention of his peers. “Starting today, she is our new owner!”

“UH, WHAT!?” you shrieked. Was that what those weird questions from that giant were really about? About why you work alone? If you like cats? The fucking strawberry seeds?

That recipe was a test in disguise all along?

The others echoed your astonishment with audible reactions of their own. You backed further away from the crowd of cats until you thumped into a solid wall. All eyes were on you.

You weren't ready to be a crazy cat lady—let alone crazy catboy lady!

“Hey, are you sure she's supposed to be our owner? I mean, look! She's wearing a maid costume!” the striped one pointed out. “Maybe the owner is her employer? Or—” he dropped his volume to a whisper, “—sugar daddy?”

“I don't have an employer! OR sugar daddy!” you hastily corrected, hands and toothpick flailing in the air. “I run a maid café and this is what I wear!”

“Oh fuck this!” spat the white, fluffy catboy. “Our lives were perfectly fine in the mafia! Now Polpo wants us to live and work in some fetishist restaurant!? Of course that fat bastard would.”

You glared at him. “What do you mean ‘mafia’? What do you mean ‘living and working’ here? What do you mean ‘fetishi—’”

“We can explain our history and other details later but let’s introduce ourselves first,” the spotted catboy interrupted. As much as you needed answers to your never-ending well of questions, you reluctantly agreed that introductions were in order.

You sighed. “Alright. But you better also explain the whole catboy thing here, too.”

He diffidently flexed his ears. “Of course.” Gracefully, he placed a hand on his heart. “I’m Buccellati. This is—”

“Fugo. It's a pleasure to meet you,” greeted the curly catboy.

“I’m Mista,” said the stripy catboy, gesturing to himself with a gun. That didn’t look too safe. Hey, hold on! He has a gun!?

Fugo nudged the skirted catboy beside him. The boy flipped his switchblade away and pocketed it. “I’m Narancia,” he drawled.

“Abbacchio,” grunted the fluffy one.

Five out of six introduced themselves to you but if you recalled correctly, weren’t there six? You looked around then the last catboy strode forward.

“You may call me Giorno,” he said. Three golden rolls of hair framed his forehead. Behind them were feline ears as you came to expect. A lithe tail curled into a gold ring against his magenta suit.

‘Giorno’. It was funny. You had a cat named Giorno once.

“Nice to meet you all,” you replied. You only wished it was under better circumstances, like not after an explosion or surprise adoption. Meekly, you shared your name to the room which was admittedly a worse experience than introducing yourself to your new class when you changed schools.

“But you'll be our master, right? We should be calling you Master,” piped Narancia.

Fugo crossed his arms. “No, the correct word here would be ‘Mistress’.”

Narancia shrugged. “Same thing.”

Fugo hissed.

As the two began to bicker, Giorno's gentle voiced called your name as he quietly approached you. With his calming demeanour, it was no wonder he was so easy to miss before introductions. His seafoam green eyes shone brightly in the kitchen lights. Something familiar was beneath their vibrant hue and intensity. Where have you seen them before?

He held your clammy hands in his. The sharp toothpick you armed yourself with fell to the floor.

“I, Giorno, promise we'll help you become a café mastar.”

#jjba fanfic #jjba x reader #f!reader #female reader #giorno giovanna #bruno buccellati #bruno bucciarati #guido mista #leone abbacchio #jjba #jojo #jojo's bizarre adventure #narancia ghirga #neko paradiso #pannacotta fugo #x reader #catboys #hybrid au

[revunant]

[nothing there - dog shaped object. someone please come pick up their dog. it's so nasty.]

in the dark, something stands on three limbs, bent in a crouch beside an overturned trash can. too large to be a coyote, too small for a bear, its form is somewhat middling and compressed as the lack of clear light obscures it in longer shadows. as it shifts and moves around, there’s an occasional somewhat muffled snap followed by wet, sloshing splashes across the ground, not too dissimilar to an overturned jug of milk spilling across a table before it falls on a tiled floor. it rumbles, twitches, expelling air from a mouth in a sound partway between a growl and sigh.

one limb moves, rises briefly before slamming down on the bin loudly, pushing away as it rips a larger mass of trash out. though it shreds bits of plastic and rot apart with ease, whatever it eats simply falls right through it - another bite, snap, and splash follows suit as shadowed masses fall from what could be assumed to be its abdomen. it is not shy nor is it any bit quiet, goal-focused as it practically destroys the trash bin and everything within it.

it is very good at making a mess, that much is obvious. perhaps it needs to be chased away with a broom- or someone needs to call animal control.

Jean spends far too long darkening the doorway, weighing up his options, and asking himself which is the lesser evil: animal control, or the thing feasting in the alley? The apartment he’s currently haunting is new to him — as is the city it’s in. Not many landlords are willing to rent without a background check, a guarantor, and a minimum term, let alone to a guy with no legal income, and no documentation that indicates he even exists. He doubts anything going on in this building is above-board.

So, he thinks, maybe the trash monster out back is normal. Maybe it’s here every night. Maybe it’s one of the tenants.

The thought doesn’t stop him from wincing with every throatful of meal that slaps wetly against the ground, cartons and old meat and rotten plant matter. It’s been hot; surely the can’s contents should be inedible to anything with tastebuds. (The pause between this observation and the realisation that the beast doesn’t seem to have a stomach, why would it have tastebuds, is longer than Jean would like to admit.)

After what probably amounts to several entrees worth of trash, he ducks back into the foyer — it’s not much of a foyer, more like the gutted-out remains of what used to be another ground-floor apartment. The rear might have once been a laundry room, vacant holes in the wall that might once have held waste water hoses, bare bulb just about screwed in, greasy tiles on the floor. There’s a Swiffer against the wall; that’s all Jean cares about. He takes it in both hands, takes a breath, and steps outside.

“Oi!” It’s about now that he remembers he’s got a Colt strapped against his ribs, and his weapon of choice is a mop. Choking back his embarrassment (and hoping the misjudgement doesn't get him killed), he takes a few assertive strides forward, brandishing the Swiffer like a quarterstaff. “Go on, get the fuck out of here.”

#terrible! i love it! #┆ic. #┆answered. #VERSE┆undefined. #aeinsof

[flowerslut]

forget six sentence sundays. we're doing Full Snippet Sundays now 😌

“I’ve got to fill the tank before I get anywhere,” Eleazar laughs. The phone that he speaks to sits in the caddy on the dashboard of his truck. It jostles noisily when he drives over a bumpy patch of road and the cheap plastic of the caddy rattles louder than the voice of the speaker on the other end. “When I get to—”

Nothing.

Siobhan rolls her eyes as she ties back her long, messy hair. Maggie glares at the side of her head, arms folded across her oversized shirt. Siobhan turns back toward the reflective surface of the shop window to survey her appearance. “Tonight’s rain is the least of my damn worries! I can not—”

Nothing.

Bella’s elderly mother coughs and wheezes into the side of her sleeve. The sound as she clears her throat is as concerning as it is grotesque. Her other hand waves to someone unseen across the room. “Turn the music up! This dust is going to send me to—”

Nothing.

“He will stop if you say,” Kebi whispers, leaning forward until her chin comes to rest on a black-clad shoulder, “nothing I do can—”

Nothing.

Stefan, to Vladimir, “It wasn’t until the glass broke through that they scattered like—”

Nothing.

Tanya sighs. “Oh, you’re a real piece of work, you know th—”

Nothing.

Zafrina. “Let me try it myself, there might—”

Nothing.

He struggles even though his arms are restrained and he can't see through the canvas to assess where he is. Every time he tries, in vain, to plant his feet against the ground the men who drag him forward kick at his knees. They're bent at odd angles; judging by the noises he makes, the injuries must be impossibly painful. It doesn't stop him from trying to use a broken, disjointed leg to try and get a good shot in.

The bag over his head doesn't appear necessary. Peter absolutely knows which direction he's being dragged in; the fading light is still warm against his left side. He doesn't listen to their demands that he 'stop squirming' or to 'quit it'. “Fuck you,” he speaks instead. He swiftly receives another blow to the back of the head for it.

Three newborn vampires. Dirt is smeared across of each of their foreheads; the mud is thick and crumbling with dehydration and age. 

Then, nothing.

Alice did not see Charlotte.

Could not find her.

The next voices she focused on spoke just feet away.

“It’s okay, it’s okay—”

“Call Esme, tell her to go straight to the hospital. Tell her—”

“Hey. Hey, c’mon. Sit down. There we go, now let’s—”

“I only smell one unfamiliar scent. Whoever—”

“Alice?”

Alice looked up at the sound of her name. Edward strode right up to her and placed a hand against her shoulder. “What did you see?” His eyes were imploring. Pleading for her to go back. To play what she’d already checked.

Alice couldn’t focus enough for that. When Edward snapped his fingers in front of her face she startled. She hadn’t noticed him get that close. The only thing she’d noticed is that the yelling had stopped. Finally, she looked around. Bella had whisked Renesmee off somewhere out of sight but Alice could still hear the sobbing coming from upstairs.

“Alice,” Edward shook her shoulders. “Focus.”

Peter is alive, she spared that thought. She threw it toward Edward firmly and willed him to share that information with the rest of their family. Where was everyone? It took until then to realize that Edward was leaning toward her, eye level and close. She was still facing the foyer, standing at the edge of the den and turned toward the front door.

Everyone else must have already passed her by.

Peter is alive, she repeated and then thrust the full vision at Edward. With that, another come came to her, unbidden.

His knees are pressed firmly into the dirt. His legs appear to be whole again but his left hand is missing, ripped off at the wrist. The flesh around the wound is jagged and purple, slowly weeping venom and beginning to rot.

His elbows are wrenched back and a larger man is propped up on one knee behind him. The dirt is still smeared thick across this stranger's face, with patches beginning to fall away to reveal bare skin underneath it. He holds Peter in place. Peter, who still wears the brown hood. Peter who moves so slow and with such subtlety that his captors don't appear to catch on to what he's doing; he clenches and unclenches his right hand, he shifts his weight from knee to knee.

He's waiting for his opportunity.

Another newborn, dark brows furrowed with frustration above their bright eyes, tinkers with a radio across from where they’ve placed Peter.

“Hurry,” the third man speaks quietly. “Rufina will be here with the input.”

Then, again: Nothing.

I can’t see her, Alice couldn’t say it, but suddenly it was the only thing she could think about. The only detail she could focus on. I can’t see Charlotte. 

Alice couldn’t say any more, because she knew what that meant.

#dun dun dun #roots #jalice #technically #figuring out how to write alice's visions Correctly has taken me. so many years of fic writing to be content with

[longlistshort]

Brookhart Jonquil, “Groundless”, 2023, Mirrors, steel, acrylic paint, enamel paint

Brookhart Jonquil, “E)A)R)T)H)”, 2012, Mirrors, EPS, MDF, plaster, paint

Brookhart Jonquil, “Multiplication Portal”, 2022, Plexiglass, water, powdercoated steel, plant cuttings, marine polymer sheet, pump system

For The Nature of Art at the Museum of Fine Arts St. Petersburg, work from the exhibition is spread throughout different sections of the museum. In the Great Hall and Sculpture Garden are installations by Brookhart Jonquil.

From the museum about these works-

In this group of installations, Brookhart Jonquil creates art that engages physics, architecture, and ecology to explore the immaterial, shifting aspects of the natural world. His work reflects influences ranging from Minimalism to theories of utopia and perfection; it offers viewers new ways of seeing and a nuanced understanding of our place in the world. The works exhibited here and in the Sculpture Garden encompass over a decade of his career, illustrating how nature has always influenced his artistic practice.

Groundless is Jonquil’s most recent work, inspired by painting en plein air, the Impressionist practice of working outdoors. However, the artist has complicated this by incorporating mirrored surfaces that deny full control of his compositions. Jonquil notes, “Each stroke of paint multiplies unpredictably as I place it, while shifting colors and cloud-forms evade fixity.”

The floor-based sculpture E)A)R)T)H) uses five pieces of mirror glass to dissect an earthly sphere. Unlike Groundless, these mirrors reflect the Great Hall, foyer, and surrounding galleries, suggesting a macro-and micro-viewing of our planet. To further a sense of dislocation, Jonquil has inverted the colors typically associated with land and water: bodies of water are depicted in white, while land is blue.

Multiplication Portal-on view in the Sculpture Garden- is a participatory sculpture highlighting the care and responsibility involved in cultivating plants. Reminiscent of both a kaleidoscope and a beehive, it was inspired by chaos theory-also known as the butterfly effect, which is the idea that one tiny gesture can have colossal consequences within dynamic systems. Brookhart created Multiplication to fight environmental disillusionment. Can one individual impact the impending climate disaster? What is the point of separating paper and plastic? Does turning off the lights make a difference? Multiplication Portal serves as a reminder that our seemingly small actions have the potential for significant consequences.

In an upstairs gallery is the video installation, Blood, Sea by Janaina Tschäpe (seen below). The dreamy video takes you underwater to explore transformation through sea maiden myths.

Information on the installation from the museum-

Reminiscent of Voltaire's Micromégas, Janaina Tschäpe's fantastical scenes dissolve boundaries, seamlessly intertwining in an ever-flowing continuum of evolution and transformation in a grand opera that delves into themes of change, gender, and the construction of myth and history. The universe created by Tschäpe beckons one into a parallel world of ambiguous scale-indeterminate in both time and space. The spring-fed grotto provides the scenographic impetus for this grand production, a captivating fusion of a theme park nestled within a state park and bearing the distinction as one of Florida's oldest roadside attractions. The sea maiden mythologies that inform Blood, Sea link endless stories from across time and space, as many cultures have some version of a water goddess. Millennia of previously unknown deep-sea creatures caught in fishermen's nets spawned the mythic narratives that gave rise to these goddess/creature tales. From the Mami Wata spirits of West Africa to the water sprites of Irish lore, the trope of the sea maiden appears around the world and across time. Tschäpe's primary connection is her namesake, the Orixa lemanja of Candomblé. This powerful water spirit is the Brazilian version of the many syncretic gestures born of the Yoruban Afro-Atlantic diaspora. But lemanja is merely one character in the global pantheon of the water goddess.

The split-tail mermaid motifs that adorn the exterior walls of centuries-old homes in the landlocked Swiss Alps are a testament to the enduring allure of the fish woman's imagery. The split-tail represents the hybrid presence of both home and away, the perpetual dual identity of the émigré, and a curious cipher of Tschäpe's experience living between the culturally antipodean points of Germany and Brazil. This existence places her between logic and magic, between Protestant rationalism and the mystical worldview of Candomblé, between the grey angst of northern Romanticism and the sensual elegance of the southern hemisphere. This ever-changing identity is evidenced clearly in Blood, Sea, where the video's perspective perpetually shifts. At certain moments, the viewer finds themselves aboard a ship, assuming the role of a scientist discovering a previously unknown life form. In other instances, we have the privilege of swirling amidst the creatures, becoming one with them.

This exhibition closes on 4/14/24.

#Brookhart Jonquil #Art #Janaina Tschäpe #Museum of Fine Arts St. Petersburg #The Nature of Art #Art Installation #Art Shows #Earth #Environmental Art #Film #Florida Art Shows #Installation Art #Mermaid #Mixed Media Art #Myth #Painting #Sculpture #Sea Maiden #St. Pete Art Shows #Underwater Photography #Underwater Video #Video #Voltaire

[cheekkristensen43]

Home Decor Online : Buy Home Decoration Gadgets

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#painting frame #ikea sofa bed #display shelf #kitchen rack #jean bed #earthy pink #artificial fruits for decoration #broom and dustpan #outdoor table and chair with umbrella #display shelve #super single mattress #portable desk for laptop #carousel music box #koleksi sofa bed #armrest cover sofa #beige bed frame #swivel office chair #sofa 3 seater #4 step ladder #3 bin storage organizer #4 steps ladder #patio table and chair with umbrella #earth tone blush #portable desk table #wire basket with liner #desk shelf unit #carousel horse music box #horse music box carousel #rice washer strainer #high table and chair set

[smvdu]

JKPCC and SMVDU Celeberate World Environment Day

The World Environment Day was celebrated at Shri Mata Vaishno Devi University SMVDU Katra in collaboration with Jammu and Kashmir Pollution Control Committee (JKPCC). World Environment Day is celebrated by United Nations every year for encouraging awareness and action for the protection of our environment. On the occasion Vice-Chancellor, SMVDU, Prof. R.K Sinha along with Sat Paul Pakhru IFS, Regional Director JKPCC, Sh. Nagendra Singh Jamwal, Registrar SMVDU (JKAS), Sh. Neeraj Gupta, Finance Officer JKAS and Dr. Ratna Chandra, Head, School of Biotechnology, SMVDU planted saplings in the scenic and beautiful campus of Shri Mata Vaishno Devi University. The participants undertook a pledge to preserve and protect the environment. A collage competition on theme “Mission Life” was held in the foyer of Auditorium where students showcased their art work depicting the deploring condition of our environment from various human activities. The work of students was thought provoking and appreciated by one and all. The event started with lighting of lamp by the dignitaries at Matrika Auditorium of SMVDU and Playing of Pre-video by students of Biotechnology regarding the Theme “Mission life” set by Govt. of India. In his keynote address Prof. R.K Sinha Padamshree awardee and also known as Dolphin man of India for his pioneering work on Gangetic dolphin emphasized that every individual should have an awareness of environmental issues, and how he can save the planet Earth from global warming. He quoted specifically his work where he worked on Ganga Rejuvenation Plan and how his study on environment degradation helped in policy framing at centre. Further, he stated that we should move toward sustainable consumption and development. He emphasized that all should raise awareness, support action, and protect environment “Plastic debris are entering the aquatic environment via direct dumping and there is need to check entry of micro-plastics into the environment” he said. Sat Paul Pakhru IFS laid emphasis on varied roles for society and community for preservation of environment from pollution and degradation. “ Pollution Control Committee of UT of Jammu and Kashmir is monitoring the pollution levels and installation of pollution mitigating infrastructure in industries, institutions, hospitals and Urban local bodies” he said.  

  Dr. Ratna Chandra, Head School of Biotechnology in her opening remarks laid stress on relationship between a cleaner environment and health of people. A cultural troupe led by Vijay Kumar and Party from JKAACL enthralled the audience with their folk songs and dance items on the theme of environment protection.Dr. Parvez and Dr. Rakesh from School of Biotechnology were convenors and co-convenors and Dr. Sharda Poutkuchi was organising secretary of the event respectively. Bader Hussain, and Angrez Singh Divisional officers JKPCC Udhampur and Reasi, Bharat Choudhary inspector were also present in the event. The event ended with a skit by students on “Mission Life”. About 500 students, staff and faculty along with Deans and Heads of Schools and Sections Heads of various departments also attended the event.  Dr. Sharda presented the vote of thanks.  Shree Anna i.e millets like Jowar, Bajra, Buckwheat were served to guests at the University Guest house to commemorate the International Year of Millets. The event emphasized that Millets are an healthy alternative to current food choices and are environment friendly.

[mckenzie07worm]

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#window and door replacement contractor in Denver

[immersed-in-mischief]

To Have & To Hold (Loki x OFC) Chapter 38

Series Masterlist

Chapter 38

When Loki returned downstairs, the rest of the team was gathering in the foyer to leave for their mission. When he tried to sneak passed them to avoid their looks of judgement, Thor grabbed his shoulder.

“It really is good to see you, Brother. I shall return this evening and we will catch up.”

He nodded and let his brother hug him before he continued to make his way to the kitchen. Since his previous cup of coffee had gone cold, he slipped in behind Natasha and poured a fresh one. Just as he returned to his post in the corner, Rogers appeared from the living room.

“I’ll see you tonight, Doll. Don’t miss me too much today.”

When the Captain leaned in and captured Natasha’s lips, Loki choked on his sip of coffee. They both turned to give him a look before Rogers left and headed to the door. Natasha smirked at the floor, and he couldn’t help but notice the flush on her cheeks. As he passed her to head to the living room, he leaned over her shoulder.

“Oh, we are so adding that to the list of things we are discussing today…”

He grinned as he heard her laugh behind him. The second he stepped down into the living room, Madison immediately ran up to him.

“Daddy! Time to pwaaaay! Wook! Is Asgad!”

Loki chuckled and shook his head before sitting himself down in front of it. His daughter’s “Asgard” consisted of a large open-backed playhouse that looked like a castle. The structure took up an entire corner of the living room and was slightly taller than the little girl with the towers on each side just out of her reach. The play set had smaller accompanying structures with it as well. There was a set of stalls for horses, as well as a carriage to attach the toy horses to.

What caught his eye was an area of small plastic plants and bushes that had various bright colored dots painted on to them, a few cardboard cut outs of trees and a small round bowl that had been filled with an inch of water. It appeared as if it had been specifically arranged by Madison herself and it seemed strangely familiar.

“Little Love, what is this over here?”

Madison’s eyes lit up and she ran over to it and laid down on her stomach beside it and adjusted the placement of a few of the objects.

“My gawden, Daddy!”

He now saw it through her eyes, and it came to life for him. The trees he would sit under and read while growing up that he would later lean against to watch his daughter play in the meadow. The bright colored painted dots were all of the various flowers planted by his mother that she would walk through with her granddaughter during their afternoon visits. The bowl of water off in the corner now made sense. It was the fishpond that often got Madison in trouble. Of course, her favorite place to cause mischief would be included in her own personal garden.

“…Incredible…”

He said it more to himself but was surprised when he heard a voice over his shoulder.

“It’s amazing what her little mind remembers of her time there, isn’t it?”

Jessica stood behind him next to the couch with a basket of clean laundry on her hip. Loki watched her face as she gave their daughter a slight grin. Her eyes darted back over towards the structure that represented the palace itself and Loki watched as her smile faded. There was a distance in her eyes as if she wasn’t staring at the playset but was off in her own thoughts. The playset their daughter called “Asgard” seemed to trigger memories of her own and based on the sadness that washed over her face, they weren’t happy ones either. Unable to handle the pain in his heart, he turned back around to face Madison’s garden.

“It truly is…”

Their daughter seemed to only have fond memories of Asgard as if she was completely unaware of the pain and conflict going on around her every day. Loki at least had the chance to make lasting memories with their daughter in some of her favorite places there. He should have given his wife the same opportunity. In her eyes, Asgard wasn’t beautiful and magical. It was a prison disguised as paradise. It was the place where her heart, her marriage, and her spirit had all been broken.

Natasha’s entrance into the room with the twins on either hip brought them both back out of their thoughts.

“ Hey Mama, you still got a couple of hours before the boys get hungry again. Why don’t you go upstairs and relax?”

Jessica looked back and forth between Natasha and Loki and seemed hesitant.

“Are you sure? I could just fold clothes down here.”

He watched as Natasha playfully kicked her behind since her arms were both full of babies before she winked at him.

“We’ve got things handled down here. Don’t we, Daddy?”

She shot him a look and nodded her head towards his wife. He quickly caught on and agreed.

“Yes! Of course! You deserve some time to yourself, Love. Let me take over for a little while. Plus, it will give me a chance to get to know the twins and I don’t think Madison is letting me out of her sight anytime soon.”

Even though she seemed unsure to step away from their children, she nodded and disappeared upstairs with the laundry basket still on her hip. Loki couldn’t help but watch her as she headed up the stairs. She looked like a completely different woman. He knew it was still Jessica, but she felt like a stranger to him now. This version of her always looked exhausted. This version rarely smiled. Most importantly though, this version of the woman he loved had no trace of the fire in her eyes that had first drawn him to her in the first place. Loki couldn’t help but feel responsible. In his heart, he knew that his actions had caused her to turn into a shell of her former self.

Natasha handed one of the babies off to him before setting up a play mat with toys for them on the floor beside where he sat. His son looked at him with a confused look before looking back up at her as she walked behind them. When she set his other son down to play, the one in his arms lunged towards the mat. Loki set him down next to his brother as she sat across from each other, and each picked up a toy. He looked back and forth between the babies for several moments before he sighed and rubbed his forehead.

“I’m a horrible father, Natasha.”

Loki felt her sit down in the floor beside him and rub his shoulder.

“You’re not a horrible father, Loki. You’re just out of practice.”

He shook his head without looking away from his sons.

“I am! Even right now, I honestly can’t tell you which is Caleb, and which is Caden. Norns, Madison didn’t even know who I was at breakfast! My own children don’t know me, and I certainly don’t know them anymore. Hurting Jessica the way I did is bad enough, but they are completely innocent. They didn’t deserve any of this, Nat.”

She was quiet for a moment before she grabbed his hand.

“I’m not going to lie. You really messed up this time, Mischief. There’s no way to go back in time and change it though. It is what it is. You are here now though, and you have the chance to make things right again. Obviously, Jess is going to need some time to adjust to you being back before any progress can be made with her. You were gone a really long time, then you just showed up last night without any warning and caught her off guard. However, things are a little simpler with your kids. It took Maddie a second, but she warmed back up to you pretty fast, didn’t she? As far as the boys go, you just have to learn who each of them is and their own little personalities. That is something we can all help you with.”

Loki smiled at her before looking back to the babies.

“Thank you. For everything, Natasha. It’s nice to know that I do still have someone in my corner who doesn’t hate my existence. You didn’t have to come to Asgard, but you did. You saved me and you helped me save Jessica and our babies. You have been there for my family when I should have been but wasn’t. Our children are truly blessed to have you as their aunt.”

Natasha leaned in and gave him a hug without saying a word.

“So… telling the boys apart. That is pretty simple when you know how each of them think. I hate to tell you, but Jess was pretty much spot on with their personalities, so get used to it. Cal takes after his mother most of the time until you make him mad. Cad on the other hand is so much like you that it’s scary!”

Loki rolled his eyes.

“You keep saying this, but how is he so much like me and why do I feel like it’s this inside joke between you two?”

She laughed and shrugged her shoulders.

“When you get to know you as well as we know you, Loki, you will understand. Fair warning though, it’s like looking in a mirror so prepare yourself… ah ok, here we go, now watch this.”

He turned his focus back around to the babies. His son on the left was quietly biting down on a teething ring and the one on the right had stopped playing with the toy in his hand as he stared at his brother. Out of nowhere, he reached out to try to take the toy his brother had. As if he expected it, he stopped chewing to move the toy to the side just out of his brother’s reach before bringing it to his mouth again. Loki watched as the baby to his right made a low growling noise and narrowed his eyes before once again reaching out for the toy. Just like before, his brother moved in unison and move it out of reach. It was enough to cause him to lunge at his brother and finally snatch the teether from him. The look he gave his brother before snatching the toy right back from him sent a chill through him.

“Oh Norns… I have received that particular look many times. I assume that would mean that Caleb would currently be on the left and Caden on the right?”

She smiled and nodded.

“Exactly. Scary isn’t it?”

Before he turned back to them, Caden let out another growl before knocking Caleb over to get to the teether. Just as Caleb started crying, Madison chimed in.

“Cad NO! Pway nice!”

Loki reached to pick up Caleb to sooth him. He got the teether back from Caden and gave it back to his brother before putting the other matching one in Caden’s hand. The glare that his son gave him looked sinister.

“Ok, there’s no way I do that! I do not make that face!”

Madison found this particularly funny and giggled before narrowing her eyes at him and staring him down. It made his heart skip a beat. The look before their tickle fights. When he didn’t strike, she rolled her eyes and continued to play. He watched the girl in silence for a moment.

“Gods… these are my children. Alright fine, I can possibly see the resemblance now.”

This caused a deep laugh from the woman beside him. While she recovered, Loki set the now happy Caleb back onto the play mat. Caden had already lost interest in the teether and moved on to something else, growing bored with his brother.

“Told you… Caden stares daggers at everyone when he doesn’t get his way and is sometimes frightening when truly upset. He is usually quiet until he makes his presence well know. He will always continue until he gets his way. Caleb on the other hand is laid back and easy going. He is usually calm and happy unless you get on his bad side, then get ready for a fight. He also takes Caden’s outbursts with stride unless he sees the needs to put his brother in his place. Madison is a dangerous combination of you two. She is the peacekeeper, as you can tell, and protects Cal from Cad but when she goes in search of mischief…. God help us!”

Now that he had watched their personalities play out, it truly was simple to tell the boys apart when you truly looked at them.

“So… care to explain why you named my daughter Madison Grace?”

Natasha chuckled as the little girl stopped playing and glared at them with a warning.

“Daddy…”

He laughed and put up his hands in defense at her wrath.

“I know Little Love, that’s not your name.”

She watched them out of the corner of her eye for a little while as she went back to hooking her horses up to the carriage.

“Because she acts like that. Little Miss has a habit of tuning her mother out when she doesn’t want to listen. Madison Lokisdottir is kind of a mouthful when you’re frustrated so I jokingly gave her the middle name one day and it infuriated her enough to respond. It works though.”

Now understanding, he smiled and nodded.

“Good to know. We will have to work on the not listening now that Daddy is home, Little One.”

She didn’t seem happy about it, but he caught a quiet “yes sir” under his daughter’s breath.

“And Barnie?”

“Now that is a funny one. Her B sounds tended to come out as F sounds in the beginning, so Buck or Bucky came out as….well, you know. As entertaining as it was, Jess thought it was best that we came up with something else, so Barnes turned into Barnie as some point.”

He tried to hide the blush on his cheeks at the thought of his baby girl yelling such a word through the house.

“Oh… I see. That was probably for the best… You and Rogers, huh? It seems that I really did miss a lot.”

Now Natasha was the one blushing.

“Yeah… that kind of happened. Jess noticed a few side glances between us before she left for Asgard. I didn’t mention it while I was there, but it was kind of hard to hide once she came home. You and Jess aren’t the only ones with obnoxious nicknames from Stark now.”

Loki flashed his mischievous smirk.

“Oh do tell… it can’t be any worse than calling us Prince Charming and Cinderella and constantly making fairy tale references.”

With a sigh, she closed her eyes. He would hear them sooner or later anyways.

“… America’s Sweetheart and From Russia With Love. It’s a James Bond movie so he thinks it’s funny because of the whole spy-assassin thing.”

“Ouch… that’s rough. Charming isn’t so bad now.”

Loki laughed as she playfully hit him in the arm.

“Hey Natasha? Can I ask you something?”

“Always. What’s up?”

Unsure of how to word it or if he wanted to know the truth, he watched his daughter move her dolls around the room in “Asgard.”

“Why did everyone react strangely this morning when Madison said that Jessica wasn’t working?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her face change as she looked down.

“Exactly. Just like that. What am I not being told?”

She sighed and leaned her head back against the couch behind them.

“I’m sure it would have come out at some point, but Jessica resigned from S.H.I.E.L.D. She turned in her badge and weapon to Fury when her maternity leave was over.”

Loki’s head whipped over to her.

“Pardon?”

Nat gave him a sad look before nodding and continuing.

“Oh, it gets better… When she ran out of leave time and you showed no sign of coming back, she quit her job to take care of the kids and started living off the savings account, but it didn’t last very long. Tony found out about it one day and put a stop to it. The fight they got into was a rough one, but she caved and gave into him. Her and the kids are actually staying here at the compound on Stark’s dime as his guests. Without a source of income, he is financially supporting her and the kids, and she is embarrassed and doesn’t like to talk about it. He ended up buying a mini van to haul the kids around and added her to one of his credit cards to cover anything she needs. Fury still refuses to believe that she’s actually done being an agent and occasionally sends her small research assignments he needs help with. The pay she receives from the contract position goes into rebuilding the savings account. Once she has enough set aside, she’s planning on using it to get her own place in the city for her and the kids and leaving all of this behind to start a new life away from S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers. The entire situation is a sore subject for the entire team, Lohk, so most of us don’t talk about it. When Thor found out about her plans to leave, he confronted her about it and they ended up not speaking for a week. I caught the very end of the argument that night and had to step in. They were both saying some harsh things to each other and Thor didn’t even realize he was causing a flash flood in the area. Even though they apologized to each other, I don’t think things have been the same between them. ”

They sat in silence as Loki watched his children. He just thought he felt like a horrible father before. Loki had been living the life of a king while his wife and children were forced to rely on the team to survive. No wonder Jessica couldn’t stand to look at him. He had abandoned his family in every way possible and after building a career she had been so proud of, she was forced to give it all up along with any financial independence she once had.

“No wonder the team looked at me this morning like I was trash. I’ve cost her the job she loves twice now, and still continue to cause conflict in the team. Stark’s hatred of me and the name calling is somewhat fitting now. Supporting the woman who is pretty much his daughter and her children even though she is married to a prince. Thor must think I’m an absolute disappointment for a brother. If Frigga ever found out…”

He wiped the tears from his cheeks as he watched their three little miracles. Loki felt little hands on his leg and looked down to find Caleb pulling up onto his leg as he started to get fussy.

“Hello, Little One. What’s the matter?”

As he picked him up, Caden let out a loud whine.

“Apparently it’s feeding time. That is Cad’s two-minute warning before the screaming starts.”

When she went to stand, he stopped her.

“I’ve got them. You stay here with Madison. I can take the twins up to Jessica.”

Loki scooped up both babies on his hips and started to make his way up the stairs to his wife.

TH&TH:

@howdidurhammergrowchris @thedistractedagglomeration @hayden429 @ihavebeenfallingfor30min @ravenclawmarvel

@lady--lynn

@lokissidepeice

@queenofshinigamis

@emcsquared314

@lokis-little-love

@ladymischief11

@trickster-maiden

All posts:

@youlightmeupfinn @salempoe @lokiprompts @dryyoursaltyoceantears @tgaylorxoxo @queenofallhobos @deanaddicted2 @vampire7595 @lokiswildheartcantbebroken

@pakalanalei

@joyful-enchantress @asgardianprincess1050 @donttouchmylaevateinn @dangertoozmanykids101 @morganmofresh @mad4marvelloki @huntress-artemiss @sititran

@mochie85 @themorningsunshine @mm2305

@sophiaedits @christineblood @meyocoko

@naturalavenger

@sleutherclaw

@muchadowriting

@fangirl1399

@howdidurhammergrowchris

@last-saturday-night

@apine7

@kiliskywalker666

#loki fanfic #loki fandom #loki fluff #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston angst #loki laufeyson #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #loki angst

[comphersjost]

i am CRAVING enemies to lovers content abt the player of your choosing <3

combining this with this request i got: angst! angst! angst! I would love some josh Anderson angst

send me thoughts and blurb requests here!

neither of you knew how it escalated so quickly. it only started as you snapping for josh to move after he purposely blocked your way. now it had turned into an all out yelling match. 

while your arguments rarely got this intense, when they did it was just the two of you trading insults about how insufferable the other is back and forth. until josh couldn’t stop running his fucking mouth and -

“god you’re so fucking annoying, no wonder your relationship didn’t last.”

the gasp you let out is involuntary, your eyes widening and mouth falling open at the jab. his words tear into you, smashing all the walls you’d been building and bringing back all the insecurities you’d manage to push out of your recently mended heart.

regret washes over josh’s face instantly, but it’s too late - the damage is done. it doesn’t mean he doesn’t try though, taking a step towards you with an arm outstretch. you take a step back.

“i didn’t mean it like that.”

you laugh hollowly, crossing your arms over your chest as if that would protect your heart from further damage.

“i’m sure you didn’t,” you retort, though there’s no hiding the tremble in your voice and the quiver of your bottom lip. you shake your head almost disbelievingly, looking anywhere but josh. “if never fucking see you again it’ll be too soon.”

self-loathing and regret fill josh as you walk out of the kitchen and grab your things, leaving tyler’s apartment with a slam of the door. he says nothing when tyler chews him out, taking every harsh word and insult, knowing he deserved it.

-

there are flowers at your door the next day, a colorful bouquet of daisies, tulips, and sunflowers. there’s a note attached, elegant font scrawling across the middle.

i’m sorry -j.a.

you scoff, taking the card and taking a photo of it before throwing the flowers in the trash and taking a photo of that too. you send both pictures to tyler.

you: attachment: 2 images you: imagine being this delusional.

ty toffoli: 😬😬😬

ty toffoli: at least he’s trying?

you roll your eyes at his last text and only respond with a dislike reaction, before closing the trash lid and walking away.

-

the flowers don’t stop coming, and this time, they’re joined by other things. it was never overwhelming, or every single day, but once or twice a week there would be flowers on your doorstep, or coffee doordashed to your apartment. once, there was a basket of snacks and self care waiting for you when you got home from work.

as josh proves that he’s determined to earn your forgiveness, you start to keep the flowers he sends, finding yourself smiling softly at the light they add to your home. you eat the chocolate, and you drink the coffee he sends. the basket quickly finds its use when your period hits like a truck.

you don’t reach out though, you said you never wanted to see him again, and so far that was true. just because you were enjoying the lengths he was willing to go to doesn’t mean that his words didn’t cut deep. no amount of flowers or chocolate or coffee will undo the weeks of work you had to do to push back those very insecurities josh had plucked out.

the flower’s that had been on your counter for the past couple of weeks had just begun to wilt when there’s a knock on your door. despite yourself, you can help but hope that it’s a fresh bouquet to replace the dying flowers in your kitchen.

you expect a delivery person, maybe even flowers or coffee left at your doorstep. what you don’t expect when you swing the door open, is josh. he’s in habs sweats and a hoodie, one hand stuffed in his pocket and the other clutching a bouquet of pink lillies.

“um-” josh clears his throat, “hi, i figured i’d deliver them myself this time. can i...come in?”

you gape at him, wide eyed, for a long moment. josh shifts uncomfortably under your scrutiny, grip tightening on the bouquet and making the plastic wrapping crinkle under his palm. the noise snaps you out of your daze, nodding weakly and stepping aside to let him in.

it isn’t the first time jost has been in your apartment, but it’s the first time that you’d let him in. it was the first time you wanted to.

josh stands awkwardly in the foyer as you shut the door and lock it, watching as you slip past him before trailing behind you to the kitchen. a small smile plays on his lips when he sees the previous bouquet still in a vase on the kitchen island, even as you silently take the one from his hands and place it on the counter. neither of you speak as you careful take the flowers from the vase and throw them in the trash, before dumping the water and rinsing it out.

it’s only after you filled the vase up once again and placed the lillies, know free from the plastic, in along with the plant food that he finally speaks.

“i’m sorry,” he says quietly, though in the silence of your kitchen he may as well have been screaming. “for everything. for arguing with you and insulting you and making your life difficult. and...” he pauses for a moment, a guilt ridden expression over taking his face before he continues, “i’m the most sorry for what i said to you at tyler’s. it was wrong, and it wasn’t and i’m sorry.”

you stand in silence for a moment, eyes locked with josh’s across the island.

“you hurt me,” you admit finally, “you tore into the insecurities that my breakup gave me and ruined any progress i had made in moving on.”

“i know,” josh whispers remorsefully, “i wish i could take it all back.”

“you can’t.”

“i know.”

you sigh. “where do we go from here, josh? what do you want me to do?”

he looks away from you, seemingly almost...shy now.

“i was thinking...” he starts bashfully, “maybe if you could - if it’s possible for you to forgive me, maybe things could be different now? maybe we could be friends instead of...whatever that was.”

as he speaks, josh slowly makes his way around the island until he’s standing in front of you, his eyes finding yours once more as he looks down at you.

“i...” you trail off when he slips his hand into yours. you look down at his hand before looking back to his eyes. there’s an emotion in them that you can’t pinpoint, and also a pleading for you to say yes. you smile softly and squeeze his hand.

“yeah,” you murmur, “yeah, i think things could be different.”

#blurb night #josh anderson #montreal canadiens #columbus blue jackets #i’m still tagging cbj cause it’s weird that he’s not there so #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #answered #ask #sunriseskog #maddie <3 #my writing #*concepts #angst #josh anderson imagine #habs

[your-highnessmarvel]

METICULOUS - PART THREE

A/N: OKAY SO AFTER THIS CHAPTER, IT GETS VERY SERIOUSLY DUB!CON, so if that’s not your thing, this story is about to get very triggering!

Chapter Warnings: soft!dark!bucky, mentions of stalking, language, mentions of violence

Gifs are not mine!

SERIES MASTERLIST | MASTERLIST

PART THREE

Bucky hates lying. He hates sitting in her car and pretending that the surveillance equipment is not for her. He hates it when he laughs and pretends to be a good man, a man with humane intentions, and promises to check up on Claudia when they leave the refuge. He hates lying to her, but when Elora brings them back and her perfume invades the cabin of the car, Bucky can’t help but continue his lies.

At her door, he’s already holding a small motion sensor in his palm, pretending to be a gallant young man and walking her home, even if they live in the same building. He hates it. He can’t help it. When she wishes him a good day and tells him that she’s happy he came along today, Bucky smiles and nods and tells her it was his pleasure. Then when the door closes, he sticks the tiny motion sensor at the bottom of her door frame and leaves.

He checks his phone, makes sure the device is connected to the sensor, and pockets it. Next time someone comes in or out of that apartment, he’ll be notified.

Bucky doesn’t want to be the bad guy; he doesn’t want to do this, not really, but the need deep inside, to know everything about this girl, to take care of her, is invading his entire being.

When she leaves her apartment the next morning, probably for work – Bucky will find out – he sneaks upstairs and easily breaks into her condo. He’s impressed by what he finds. Colors spring at him, and it’s a stark contrast to the dull grey and white of his place. Pink refrigerator. Forest green walls. Yellow accessories. The foyer and the living room are cozy. He finds a sock under the dark blue couch. He scrolls through her Netflix and finds she’s been binging The Office.

In the kitchen, he finds last night’s meal in the fridge in a plastic Tupperware. Spaghetti. He rummages through her cabinets. She’s into fine, delicate cutlery. He sticks a microphone, the size of his fingernail, under a cabinet beside the oven.

He walks slowly down the hallway, careful not to leave a trace. His feet are silent on the carpet. When he enters her room, he’s assaulted by the smell of her. It invades him. It reaches into every nook and cranny of his mind and fogs him.

His left hand, the metal one, the one he hates and he loves, balls into a fist.

Her bed, a queen size with a dark grey thick duvet, is perfectly made up. Her slippers are neatly by the foot of the bed. There’s a pajama shirt loosely thrown on the side of her vanity chair. She’s got bottles of skin care lingering on her vanity. A few hair ties. And Meatball.

The tiny little kitten raises its head from where he is lying down, rolled into a little ball on Elora’s vanity, the sun from the window drenching him in warmth. Bucky smiles at the kitten and proceeds to her wardrobe. He puts his hand on the knob and stops.

He is not a man who goes through women’s things. He doesn’t want to want it, but he does. He wants to see the clothes he’s never seen her in. Her underwear. Her bras. The things she wears to bed. The things she keeps for naughty, nighttime endeavors.

Bucky’s metal hand forms a fist again. He doesn’t want her to have nighttime endeavors. He doesn’t want her to have someone lying down next to her in that bed and touching her. He wants that person to be him, only him.

Bucky forgets the wardrobe. Another time, he tells himself. Breaking into Elora’s apartment was a treat. The only thing he had planned for this visit was to plant the microphones and the motion sensors. So he sticks a microphone under her vanity and pats Meatball on the head, careful not to disrupt any of the million serums on the desk.

After making sure nothing is out of place, Bucky heads out and carefully locks back the door with his pins. He feels satisfied as he walks down the hall, checking his phone to see if the microphones and sensor are connected, and just as he’s about to pass by the elevator, it dings and opens.

“Bucky!”

He looks up, startled, and immediately registers the stutter in his chest when he spots Elora, standing in straight blue jeans and a big brown sweater. She lights up like a Christmas tree when she sees him, her mouth splitting in a toothy grin. She’s holding a purse and waves at him with her free hand. As she steps out, Bucky notices a man stepping out with her. A man who stands a little too close to her.

“Elora,” Bucky says, smiling tightly.

Then she frowns, cocking her head. “What are you doing on my floor?” she asks.

Bucky laughs, tucking his phone back in his pocket as the elevator dings shut. The man Elora is with just stands there, staring at Bucky.

“I came by to tell you I got a call from the refuge today,” Bucky answers eloquently. “Claudia is doing fine. They plan on putting her up for adopting next week.”

Elora’s mouth falls open in both shock and happiness, and she turns to look up at the man beside her, and Bucky feels the anger rise in him like a tidal wave. Oh, how he wishes he was the man Elora would look at like that.

“That’s the guy I was telling you about,” she tells the man. “Bucky, this is Casper, my… friend.”

The hesitation before the word friend let’s Bucky understand that this Casper guy is maybe, just maybe, a little bit more than a friend. Or a potential boyfriend.

Casper puts his hand out to shake, a tight, unruly smile on his lips. Bucky shakes his hand, but he’d rather be choking that idiot to death.

“That’s such good news,” Elora says as the two men finish shaking hands. “We should celebrate!”

Bucky nods. He can’t help but measure the distance between him and her, between her and Casper. He smells her perfume, and he wants to reach forward and touch her skin.

“Maybe another time,” Casper says, and Bucky can’t help but notice how he answered for her.

“Maybe we should let her decide,” he answers, and it’s harsh. It’s blunt. It’s a punch to Casper’s face.

The man jerks backward as if clocked. “Excuse me?” he asks, tone low, menacing.

Bucky wants to snort. Elora’s face drops into a concerned frown. “Okay,” she says, elongating the word. “Maybe we should… maybe we should reconnect, soon, Bucky, okay?”

Bucky wants to tell her to kick Casper out, not him. He wants to take her purse and push Casper out of the way and walk her to her door. He wants to stuff a knife between Casper’s ribs until he’s taken his last breath in her presence.

“Sure,” Bucky says instead, giving Casper a tight, grueling smile. Then he nods at Elora. “You know my floor. Have yourselves a good night.”

He steps aside and down the hall. He hears their receding steps. His phone beeps, and sure enough, a notification of movement in Elora’s door was registered. When Bucky turns around, he sees the door close shut, and he can’t help but think, I’m going to get rid of him.

#bucky barnes #bucky #buckyxoc #buckyxofc #bucky barnesxoc #bucky barnesxofc #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #soft!dark!bucky #soft!dark!bucky barnes #dark!bucky #dark!bucky barnes #oneshot #imagine #angst #dark!buckyxoc #dark!bucky x oc #dark!buckyxofc #dark!bucky x ofc

[lockefanfic]

Business Trip: Pt 41 - Ties

“Look what I’ve found,” Chaeyoung says as you open the door to your hotel room to find her leaning against the door frame, a bottle of amber liquor in her small hands.

You smirk at her before moving aside to let the young woman saunter into your room, your eyes admiring the lovely curve of her backside as she makes her way inside. She tosses a small plastic package onto the bed - even from the hotel room foyer you could tell they were probably zip ties.

“Is that whisky? There should be glasses on top of the mini bar-”

“We won’t need any,” she interrupts, before tearing the label from the bottle’s cap, casually tossing the label over her shoulder, and twisting off the cap. She takes a small swig right from its lips, her small features scrunching adorably as the bittersweet liquid enters her mouth.

“Fuck that’s smooth,” she says, giving the bottle an appraising look as she does so. When she looks back up at you, she raises her free hand, curling her fingertip into a ‘come hither’ motion.

Officer Miyawaki Sakura wasn’t a very good translator, if the exasperated look of frustration on Chou Tzuyu’s face was any indication.

“Tzuyu looks like she’s about to tear her head off,” Chaeyoung observes as you both observe the conversation being held in the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department’s impound lot. 

“At least she’s trying her best,” you respond. Officer Miyawaki’s enthusiasm wasn’t lacking, even if her translation skills were. You found yourself wishing you’d just brought Sana along like you’d originally planned - Sana’s original position at JYP was as a translator, after all - but Tzuyu had already contacted Officer Miyawaki in advance and made arrangements for the meeting before you could suggest bringing a translator of your own.

“She’s a hot piece, at least. How long until you’re hitting that, boss?”

You bristle a little at Chaeyoung’s words, although considering your history with each of the girls on your team you suppose she couldn’t be blamed.

“You have a thing for Japanese girls, huh?” you counter, hoping to change the subject.

Chaeyoung shrugs. “I suppose. They’re hot as fuck. I wouldn’t mind taking that one for a ride.” 

You give Chaeyoung a smirk that she ignores, her hungry eyes locked on Sakura’s desperate attempts to translate the impound lot supervisor’s words into English for Tzuyu. The liaison officer ended up relying mainly on hand gestures and body movements when she failed to come up with the right English. You couldn’t fault Chaeyoung for staring - Sakura’s large, expressive eyes and her cute features made her easy on the eyes, a bit like an anime character come to life.

“Speaking of rides, at least she scored us this one,” you say, motioning with your head towards the shiny red Ferrari a few feet away.

“Fuck yeah,” Chaeyoung agrees, the expensive sports car finally enough to take her attention away from the increasingly intense conversation taking place at the other end of the lot. She strides over to the six figure car, reaching out and grazing its sleek lines with her fingertips. “You’ve gotta let me take this for a spin sometime, boss.”

“It’s not ours, Chaeyoung. It’s strictly for the party. I can’t have you running up speed tickets or scratching it up. I’m pretty sure it belongs to some Yakuza type. There’s probably a body in the trunk.”

“C’mon, you can’t get a ride like this and not red line it every now and then. That’s what they’re built for.”

“That’s not what this one is built for. This one is built for making me look like a gangster at that cocktail party.”

The Korean girl lets out a snort of frustration, until a look of realization dawns on her cute, small features. When she begins to saunter over to where you are standing, exaggerating every sway of her hips as a sly smile appears on her lips, you knew where she was going.

“Is there some way I can… convince you, boss?”

You sigh out loud, only half hoping to dissuade her from her line of thinking.

“No, you’re not gonna use sex to get a joyride in a Ferrari out of me. If you’ll recall the last time you seduced me you left me alone, zip tied to a van in a goddamn parking lot. I owe you for that.”

Chaeyoung smirks, a devilish hook at the corners of her mouth as she recalls that evening’s events.

“Don’t say you didn’t like it.”

“Not being able to cum after you had your way with me? Yeah, that was great.”

“Okay, okay, maybe that was a little unnecessary. But, I mean, before that, the sex was good. Slapping you around definitely got me off. You were right on the edge there, weren’t you?”

“Meh,” you reply, lying. “It was alright. Maybe some of it was pretty hot, but I’ve had better.”

Chaeyoung seemed at least partially offended by your response, if the look of shock on her face was anything to go by. The look is quickly replaced by one of annoyance.

“Who the hell are you fucking that’s better than me? Momo? I get it, she’s got the bod… but I bet it’s that Sana chick on your team, isn’t it? Girl looks dangerous, I bet she’s a fucking beast in the sack. Nevermind, I know who it is. Is it Mina? I guess I have a confession to make about her. Y’see boss, she’s-”

“Chaeyoung, the bottom line is you’re not taking the Ferrari. I’ll drive it back to the hotel, and then take it to the cocktail party. We’ll return it to Tokyo PD afterwards. That’s it.”

Chaeyoung pouts. The way that she stuck out her lower lip made her look adorable despite the fact that she was clearly upset at having lost her chance at a joyride in a luxury car. She gives you a dirty look, then looks back at the Ferrari, and then back at you, as though formulating her next course of action. Being refused an opportunity with the sports car and your negative appraisal of her sexual prowess had clearly offended her more than you had expected.

“Gah, fine. We’ll make a deal,” she says after a moment of contemplation.

“I’m listening.”

“You let me take the Ferrari out for a little spin tomorrow. In return, until the cocktail party, I’ll let you take your revenge for the way I treated you last time. You did say you wanted payback, didn’t you?”

“Chaeyoung, I’ve already told you - I’m not gonna take sex as payment for something.”

“Who said anything about it being payment? This is a mutually beneficial transaction. I’m not gonna lie, I haven’t had anything non-electronic between my legs since that time in the van. I’m horny as fuck and I need a dick in me. I get to cruise around Tokyo for a bit in a Ferrari, and you get your own little fucktoy in your hotel room for a couple of days. We both win. Sounds like a great fucking deal.”

You had to admit the prospect of extracting a measure of revenge from Chaeyoung appealed to you, as did the opportunity to blow off some steam before the cocktail party, when you’d need to be 100% on point.

“Alright, fine. Deal. But no leaving me zip tied to the bed while you go reenacting Tokyo Drift in a borrowed car.”

“Agreed!” Chaeyoung says, a sly smile on her lips.

“Bring the zip ties.”

“Oh, I will. You already know this, but it won’t be soft. You better be ready, you pussy.”

“So should you.”

---

“Look what I’ve found,” Chaeyoung says as you open the door to your hotel room to find her leaning against the door frame, a bottle of amber liquor in her small hands.

You smirk at her before moving aside to let the young woman saunter into your room, your eyes admiring the lovely curve of her backside as she makes her way inside. She tosses a small plastic package onto the bed - even from the hotel room foyer you could tell they were probably zip ties.

“Is that whisky? There should be glasses on top of the mini bar-”

“We won’t need any,” she interrupts, before tearing the label from the bottle’s cap, casually tossing the label over her shoulder, and twisting off the cap. She takes a small swig right from its lips, her small features scrunching adorably as the bittersweet liquid enters her mouth.

“Fuck that’s smooth,” she says, giving the bottle an appraising look as she does so. When she looks back up at you, she raises her free hand, curling her fingertip into a ‘come hither’ motion.

You take slow steps towards the girl, enjoying the look of arousal slowly beginning to appear on her face, right along with the blush on her cheeks as the alcohol takes swift effect on her body. When you reach her she wraps her right arm around your neck as you wrap yours around her torso, diving quickly into her neck to plant kisses on her soft skin.

You’d have been lying if you’d said you weren’t looking forward to having her show up at your door. From the moment you’d come to your little agreement involving the Ferrari you’d been looking forward to having your way with her tight little body. She was so different - both physically and in terms of her personality - from the other girls on your team. She didn’t give a damn about the relationships or drama in your life, being uninvested in any of what was going on around her beyond what she needed to do to get paid. 

Her laissez faire attitude towards everything and everyone around her made her so alluring, so attractive. Ever since the first time you had her in that van you knew you had to have more. She was, like the expensive-looking glass bottle of liquor in her hands - intoxicating.

With her left hand, still clutching the bottle of whisky, she takes another shot. With her right hand, she pulls you from her neck by the hairs on the back of your head and crushes your lips with hers - before she spits the whisky into your mouth.

You savor the taste of the bitter amber liquid in your mouth before swallowing it and relishing the slow burn of it as it flows down your throat, even if some of it  missed your mouth and dripped from your chin. It tasted like sin. It tasted like lust. The devilish look on Chaeyoung’s face as she licks the spilt liquor from your chin and throat drives you insane.

She gives you a torrid, passionate kiss full of need. With a hand on your chest, she pushes you onto the bed so you are sitting on its edge.

Her deep brown eyes lock with yours as she hands you the bottle before grasping the edge of her long-sleeved sweater and peeling it off, revealing her naked torso. The collection of tattoos she sported last time you saw her undressed had grown into an almost full sleeve on her right arm, colorful and vibrant in the warm hotel room light. Her cute, youthful features stood in perfect contrast to her tattoos, fashion sense, and the way she carried herself- a juxtaposition that made her so attractive and unlike any other girl you knew.

She is lean and wiry with muscle, small and tight. You’re immediately reminded of your impression of her the first time you saw her topless - a lean feline predator, muscles always tensed and ready to pounce, always on the hunt, always hungry for her next meal.

You take another shot of the whisky. The slow burn of it on your tongue and down your throat is surpassed only by the sheer heat emanating from the topless young woman in front of you.

Chaeyoung straddles you on the bed, kissing you deeply, her tongue playing aggressively on your lips before searching your mouth for its counterpart. As you explore each others’ mouths she reaches for the bottle and takes another swig - and you take the opportunity to plant needy kisses on her upper chest, your hands creeping up her tight sides until you are cupping and squeezing her small, cute little breasts.

You want to devour her small mounds with your lips and tongue - but you possess enough self-control to look up at her before you do so, finding her eyes half-lidded with liquor and lust as she wipes her mouth with the back of a hand. 

She brings the bottle to her mouth once more, but before it reaches her lips she lets it tip, spilling golden liquid over her chest and breasts.

You have only a second to admire the sight before you reach out and catch the rapidly falling liquid, your tongue pressed tightly to her skin to lap up as much of the bitter liquor as you could. 

Her skin glistens with the whisky on it. It looks like spilt gold on pale vanilla. She smells like smokiness and lust. She tastes like cinnamon and sex.

Your tongue, saturated with whisky, finds and captures her left nipple. You close your lips around it, suckling deeply from her chest, enjoying the taste of her body and the liquor that made it spicy and bitter. Chaeyoung gasps and moans as you have your way with her chest, fondling her small mounds, suckling both of her taut nipples - roughly, hungrily, like a starved animal devouring a long-awaited meal.

She is lost in the pleasure you are bringing to her body. So lost she doesn’t notice your right hand reaching for the package of zip ties she so casually discarded onto the bed, thinking she would be the one to use them on you.

How wrong she would be. 

You bring the package behind her, using your other hand to pick a zip tie from it before dropping it to the floor. Reaching for the bottle of whisky, you take it from her hand and place it onto the nightstand. It would be a shame to spill such fine liquor, after all.

Chaeyoung is in a daze, the liquor and your work on her breasts putting her into a lust and alcohol induced stupor.

A light “Whaa--?” is all she can muster as you gather her wrists behind her back, slip the zip tie over them, and close the plastic tie shut.

“It’s my turn tonight, Chaeyoung,” you hiss as you look into her eyes. There is a look of surprise there - but when she licks her lips and realizes what you’ve done, the look of surprise turns into a look of challenge.

“Then let’s see what you can do to me, you pussy.”

You half stand from bed, forcing her off your lap - although you grasp her naked back to ensure she didn’t go falling off it. You pull your boxers off your body, kicking them off with your feet, your t-shirt soon joining them on the floor. Naked now, you sit back down on the bed before you reach up and grasp the back of Chaeyoung’s head, forcing her down roughly onto her knees between your legs, your stiff shaft inches from her face.

You consider ordering her to suck your dick - vocalizing your demand. But in her eyes is a glint of defiance tinged with lust. She opens her mouth as if to say something defiant - and you take the opportunity to force your shaft into between her open lips.

The young woman gags initially as her mouth is invaded by hard flesh, and you feel a momentary tinge of regret with your roughness - but it soon disappears when Chaeyoung closes her lips around your shaft and you feel the wet warmth of her mouth for the first time.

You’d had more than your fair share of oral sex, especially in the past few months. Some were sublimely skilled, some passionate and caring - but few had the raw enthusiasm of Chaeyoung, who wasted no time with a slow ramping up of pleasure or technique. Almost as soon as you were in her mouth she was bobbing her head up and down between your legs, her tongue pressed tightly around your underside or swirling in random patterns around your head. 

Those full lips of hers created such a delicious friction around your shaft that you had to let your head fall back and sigh with pleasure involuntarily - something you rarely did when receiving oral, because you were usually focused on enjoying the sight of the woman between your legs working her magic. Not so with Chaeyoung. Not so with her straightforward, no-bullshit approach to pleasure and the acquisition thereof.

After a while you begin to thrust your hips up into her mouth as best you could given your sitting position, even resting your left hand onto the bed to give yourself more leverage. But soon even that is not enough - you need more, need to fully take this woman’s mouth, claim it as your own.

You rise from the bed until you are standing above her, Chaeyoung taking care not to let your cock slip out from her mouth for even a moment. You grasp the back of her head with your left hand and the bottle of whisky from the nightstand with the other. As you partake in another shot of liquor you begin fucking her mouth.

The audacity of it - fucking the helpless but wanton young woman’s mouth while you took shots of a fine, expensive whisky straight from the bottle - only heightened the delicious pleasure worming its way through every fibre of your being.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to approach orgasm. Not when the feel of the young woman’s helpless mouth around your cock is so delicious, so utterly sublime - made even more so by the sight of her, hands bound by her wrists behind her back, eyes occasionally looking up at you with equal parts lust and need and a little lingering defiance, as though she wanted to show you she was capable of taking everything you had to throw at her.

Oftentimes when it came to oral sex it was just a prelude, and you or your partner or both would stop before orgasm, saving your energy for the main event. Not so tonight, and not so with Chaeyoung. You knew you had time to spare. And you knew this was just the beginning. For now, there was a lesson to be taught.

With a few last thrusts into her wet, hot mouth you bury your cock as deeply between her lips as it will go, her cute little nose bottomed out against your crotch as you finally let your orgasm overtake you and you send thick, hot semen directly down her throat.

You watch, half-drunk with both lust and liquor, as the look of resistance remains in Chaeyoung’s eyes even as she struggles, partially in vain, to swallow your seed fast enough. When begins to gag, you finally relent and remove your cock from her mouth - she coughs and spits out only enough cum to ensure she can breathe freely again before looking back up at you, a spill of semen dripping from her lips. She opens her mouth to show you a tongue thick with cum before closing it and working her throat, swallowing every drop she could.

“You like the taste of that, Chaeyoung?” you ask, the words leaving your mouth sharply.

“Meh,” she replies, eyes bold. “It was alright. I’ve had better.”

You let a smile appear on your lips. You are still clutching the hair at the back of her head, and you press her face against your still-half hard cock, still slick with your cum and her spit.

“Of course you have… you-”

“Do it. Fucking do it, you pussy. Call me what you want to call me.” Her tongue darts out to lick slick juices from your shaft, even as you smear the slick flesh against her face. “Or are you too much of a gentleman to call a woman a dirty word? Too used to fucking proper little princesses with feelings and shit? Do it. Call me what you want.”

“You fucking slut.”

There is a new glint in Chaeyoung’s eyes as you call her that name, as though it triggered something inside her that had been dormant for too long. A new hunger. She gives your cock a long lick from base to tip.

“Show me how you fuck a slut.”

You weren’t quite sure what came over you - perhaps the newfound liberty of knowing you could call Chaeyoung whatever you wanted triggered the same thing inside you as it did inside the needy, wanton young woman on her knees before you. Whatever it was, you surprised yourself with how quickly you pulled her from her knees - by her hair - and pushed her onto the side of the bed, face down, her bound arms unable to break her fall.

Her round, tight little ass in the air was too delicious to resist for much longer. You take another shot of the whisky - and by now you were a little more than half drunk - and slam it down on the nightstand before grasping the hem of Chaeyoung’s black sweatpants and ripping them from her body, finally leaving her naked and revealing the full, cute cheeks of her butt - and the glistening flesh between them.

You reach down and touch the drenched lips of her pussy, finding her dripping with need.

“Look at you, all wet and hot over a little blowjob. Swallowing my cum really got you off, didn’t it? Such a fucking slut,” you hiss, your fingertips playing lazily with her slick flesh, teasing her opening but not penetrating, watching her squirm and writhe on the bed in a vain attempt to force you to do more to her wanton body.

“Is that what makes your other girls cum? Just a finger in their pussy?”

You slide a finger inside her to the first knuckle, and when she quivers and twitches deliciously, you push deeper until you are two knuckles deep. Soon you add a second finger into her heat, enjoying the feel of her plentiful juices already gathering in your palm as you finger fuck her with slow strokes of your digits.

“You like that, don’t you? Look at you. Drenched already from a little finger fucking.”

“I want something bigger in there. Shut the fuck up and stick your cock in me already.” 

A devilish smile finds its way unto your lips as you grasp the young woman’s hips and bring your own to meet hers, your quickly hardening cock resting between the cheeks of her ass. You give her a few shallow strokes, enjoying the feel of her firm flesh on either side of your shaft as she squirms and writhes atop the bed - impatient, needy.

You reach down, placing the tip of your new rock hard cock against her slick lips, swirling the sensitive head around the entrance to her body, enjoying the feel of her heat and the slick wetness of her juices. 

“Beg for it, Chaeyoung.”

“Fuck you,” she hisses.

“I think you’re the one that’s about to be fucked.”

“Oh yeah? Then fucking do it, you pussy.”

Her constant resistance to you annoys you - angers you, even. Naked, bent over the side of the bed, arms bound behind her back, already helpless to your will; but still defiant, calling you names, challenging your every move.

You give her taut ass a firm slap, eliciting a sharp, unexpected yelp from the girl. You bend over her, grasping the back of her head once more, pulling at her hair and lifting it from the bed. As you bend over you allow your cock to press a little deeper between the wet lips of her pussy. Her flesh quivers. Her body trembles.

“Fucking beg for it, you slut.”

Chaeyoung breathes sharply from her nose, teeth still gritted, struggling to hold on to the remainder of her defiance, knowing that she was so close to getting what she desired and what her body needed.

“F-fuck you, you p-pussy.”

You pull back on her head. She yelps in unexpected but delicious pain. You penetrate her a little more, the entire head of your cock now buried into her entrance, her slick lips wrapped around it as though not wanting to let it go.

“What was that?”

A few moments pass. Moments of delicious silence. Her body quivers, betraying the needs of her body. 

“F-fuck me!”

“What was that?”

“Fuck me already! I want it. Give it to me. Fuck me like the little slut that I am. Fuck me over and over and make me your little fucktoy. Your little slut!”

A dam broken, a trigger pulled. 

You push her head back down onto the bed. You grasp her hips, plant your feet, and drive yourself into her hot, tight little pussy.

No build up, no slow and steady increase in pace or depth. From the very beginning you are fucking Son Chaeyoung with hard, stiff strokes, nailing her tight, taut little body into the bed with each entry and exit of your cock into her dripping hot pussy.

The hotel room is filled with the sounds of hot flesh slapping against hot flesh; your soft grunts of effort; and Chaeyoung’s wordless cries of pleasure, both airy sighs and some deeper moans - all combining to fill the air with an unfiltered soundtrack of sex and lust.

“F-fuck! Fuck me!” Chaeyoung gasps, finally managing to form her moans and gasps into coherent words, even if they were stifled by the fact that half her face was buried in the bed. You slap her ass in response until the cheeks grow red. Your hips move faster, pistoning in and out of her body. Her pussy responds with each penetration - growing tighter, wetter, hotter.

The pleasure in your loins and the liquor in your blood have made you drunk, yes, but added to those already potent poisons is the sense of accomplishment - of finally having broken Son Chaeyoung, of having finally achieved some measure of revenge for the way she left you unfulfilled during your last meeting. Watching her helpless body on the bed, unable to do anything but take your pistoning cock in and out of her needy pussy, intoxicated you more than the liquor ever could.

You smack her ass with an open palm, her tight little butt now red and sore, each slap eliciting a short yelp or soft gasp from the bound young woman. You relished the control and power you had over her, bending over to grasp her slim shoulders and using them as leverage to drive yourself deeper and harder into the soft wet hole between her legs. It is harsh, hard, callous, the way you are fucking her - but her loud grunts and moans indicated that she had no qualms with the way she was being treated. Quite the opposite, in fact - she loved it. Loved being fucked hard, loved being used like a mere toy.

You do your best to savor every moment, every thrust of your cock into her body. You relish the sight of her bound hands, her fingers curled just as her toes surely were, seeking some sort of outlet for the pleasure erupting from between her legs to invade every inch of her taut little body. The sounds of her moans and gasps spilling unbidden and unhindered from lips equally drunk as yours. Above all was the feel of her body - of her slim hips and tight ass beneath your clenching palms, and the silken wet sheath of her pussy as you fuck her with hard, stiff strokes.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck - I- I’m gonna fucking cum! Your slut’s gonna cum on your cock!” she gasps.

You were nearing your own breaking point. Quicker than you thought, but the tight little orgasming pussy wrapped around your cock was pushing you right to the edge. You grit your teeth as you struggle to hold on amidst the hurricane of pleasure overtaking your senses.

It takes the greatest of your efforts to hold on as she orgasms, her pussy tightening and pulsating in random patterns around your cock, the whole of her body turning into a quivering mess atop the bed, mouth frozen open in a wordless gasp, hands behind her back clutching at nothing. 

You fuck her through the entirety of her orgasm, teeth gritted, hands gripping her tiny waist and slim hips so hard you knew you’d be leaving bruises there the next day. But you didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was fucking the young, tight little slut on your cock.

It takes Chaeyoung almost a minute to recover from her orgasm. The whole time you’d been drilling her into the bed. When she is finally able to, she turns her head as best she can to look at you, mouth agape, saliva dripping messily from the corner of her mouth. The very picture of a young woman lost in the throes of lust and sex. 

“Fucking cum in me,” she says, the words a desperate hiss, “fucking fill your slut with your cum!”

Another trigger. Another sudden blaze of lust and alcohol fueled anger. You reach down and grasp the back of her head, fingertips pulling hard at the hair on her scalp until she is almost standing upright in front of you. You bury your cock inside her, eliciting a yelp from her throat, before bringing your mouth next to her ear as you fill her small hole with stiff meat.

“I don’t cum inside sluts.”

Before she can react you push her down onto the bed again and resume fucking her helpless body. 

Your orgasm comes soon after. It takes every ounce of self-control in your body to pull your aching cock from the grasping lips of her pussy. Grasping your cock with your right hand, you pump it quickly, and soon your orgasm overtakes you as you cum and spurt thick, hot ropes of cum onto Chaeyoung’s raised ass and lower back, painting her pale skin with white semen.

Your world collapses as you cum, your senses refusing to work all at once as the liquor, physical exertion, and the sheer pleasure of your orgasm all combine to overload your brain. For a few moments you feel as though a heavy mist has descended over you.

Pleasure. For a few delicious moments, with your senses dulled and unable to process anything else, it was all that existed. You relish it, breathe in its sweet warmth as it worms its way throughout your body.

When you are able to open your eyes again, the sight of Chaeyoung, face down on the bed, raised ass painted with streaks of thick hot semen, is the first thing to greet your weary eyes.

“I fucking… wanted you... to cum inside me,” she manages to say, her face half buried in bedsheets and messy blonde hair.

You bend over her wet, sweaty body to bring your mouth to her ear.

“I will, soon enough. But I didn’t get what I wanted in the van, so this time you won’t, either.”

You give her ass a spank, delighting in the sight of your cum as it flowed down her still-upraised cheeks to stain the pristine white bed sheets; you looked forward to adding more filth to it in the day or so to come before the cocktail party. You slowly make your way to the washroom to clean yourself up, taking one last moment to relish in the sight of Chaeyoung’s spent, well-fucked body still sprawled on the bed, still face down, breathing heavily in an attempt to recover from the way you had used her. She makes no effort to move, much less remove the zip ties binding her arms behind her back.

You pick up the discarded package of zip ties from the floor and place it on the night stand. They’d be needed soon enough.

“For now, we’re even,” you tell her.

---

It didn’t take long for you to follow up on your promise to cum inside Chaeyoung - following a quick rest you were both right back at it, and soon, on her back with her legs on your shoulders and her wrists zip tied to the corners of the bed, you finally came inside her, filling her small, tight little body with a generous load of thick semen for the first of what was probably going to be many times.

It was still warm and dripping from her needy pussy when she pushed you into the washroom, ostensibly to clean up, but in reality because she had suddenly decided she wanted sex in the shower. Soon she was pressed against the shower wall, wrists zip tied above her to the shower head, her cute little tits pressed against the steamy, wet tile as you fucked her from behind and filled her already dripping pussy with a second load of cum. 

The girl was almost as insatiable as Nayeon - it took only the greatest of self-discipline (and the fact that your cock was now sore with exertion) to pull her hungry mouth from your cock long enough to get dressed. Even as you tossed on sweatpants and a hoodie, she tried to lick your combined juices from your sore shaft, zip ties in one hand, almost begging you to tie her up again. 

The sex and the liquor had made you both hungry, and you volunteered to go to the convenience store across the street to grab a cheap (but still delicious, as most convenience store food was in Asia) dinner. Within a few minutes you are on your way back to the hotel with a few full bags of food, liquor and sports drinks - you had a feeling you’d need a healthy amount of supplies to keep you going for the next day and a half if Chaeyoung’s appetite for sex over the past few hours was any indication.

It was by sheer coincidence that you happen to catch a glimpse of two women in the midst of a conversation inside the small coffee shop that was in the entrance hall of the hotel. While the glass to the coffee shop is tinted, you see enough to reveal to you that it is Nayeon and Sana.

You watch as they finish their conversation - Sana, appearing ever bright and friendly, offers Nayeon a warm hug which the older girl hesitantly accepts. Sana follows it up with a cheerful smile and wave goodbye before she leaves the coffee shop using a side exit - an odd choice, given that the main exit through the hotel’s entrance was closer.

You catch a glimpse of her as she leaves, noticing that the bright, friendly aura she’d had a moment prior had been replaced with a look of quiet determination.

Likewise, in the coffee shop, Nayeon’s friendly and polite exterior had similarly left her face, being replaced now with a worried look, as though she were suddenly deep in thought. It was enough to cause you to approach her.

“Hey,” you say in greeting, “I just saw Sana leave. Everything okay?”

“Just fine,” she says, her eyes giving you a head to toe scan before straying to the full bags of food and drink in your hands. “I see you’re stocking up for a day full of fun before our operation in a couple of days. Which girl is it?” she asks, a poorly-hidden streak of disdain in her voice.

It surprised you somewhat that she was able to deduce what you were up to with a mere glance at your appearance and what you were carrying. But Nayeon had always been a sharp one - observant and quick to pick up on the details - and you supposed that was what made her such a good detective.

“Doesn’t matter. Can I ask what that conversation was about? You looked pretty worried just now.”

“Don’t you have some needy young lady upstairs somewhere that you need to attend to?”

“It can wait. And this is my team, even if you’re running this particular operation. I should know what’s going on.”

Nayeon relents with a sigh, beckoning you to take the seat across from her, which you take.

“Sana wanted to meet up with me to discuss the operation - on the downlow, of course, so if it comes up, this conversation never happened. Anyway, she was wondering which of the three Japanese team members you’d be taking on-site with you to the cocktail party.”

“I was wondering that myself. Each of them seemed pretty eager to be the one that goes on-site.”

“Yeah, and I’ve been putting a lot of thought into it as well. It’s a pretty big decision. Mina was my second pick and she would have been great, what with that entire high-class princess aura she’s got going on, but JYP pulled her into a video conference call scheduled at the same time - something about a legal matter in your European offices. Whatever the reason, she’s unavailable.”

“She was the second pick? Who was your first?”

“Momo. She’s got good on-site decision making and preparation. You know she’d do her homework and be ready to act on it the day of the op. Not to mention she’s hot as fuck and she’d probably turn some heads at the party, so she could use that to her advantage to wrestle some leads from loose tongues.”

“Agreed. Sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”

“I did. Until that conversation just now with Sana.”

You feel the beginnings of concern arising in the corners of your brain. Sana had been hard-working and supportive since the resolution of the entire Choa and Jeongyeon kidnapping episode, working steadily and doing her part whenever she was called upon. And while you and the rest of the team had long since forgiven her for the betrayal she’d pulled in Taiwan involving the theft of Seolhyun’s data, you’d never forgotten what she was capable of. 

“Go on,” you say, equal parts afraid and curious of what Sana had to say to Nayeon.

“She wants to be the one to go on-site with you. Mina’s unavailable so she’s out of the running, but Sana brought up some questions about Momo - like her questionable fluency in Japanese, and how that could blow your cover. She also mentioned how she’s more focused and determined, whereas Momo tends to get frazzled and blank out sometimes mid-op when she’s faced with unexpected events; you saw how dazed she was immediately after the shooting in Seoul.”

You think back to the events in Red Velvet’s apartment, and it was true - the gunshots had dazed everyone, but Momo especially. She was in a dazed stupor that you had to physically shake her out of.

“And this is just me speaking,” Nayeon continues, “but I think Sana looks a little more approachable. She can be hot and cute, depending on the circumstances. That might open up more opportunities to approach men with different tastes.”

You take a moment to digest Nayeon’s words, and how they confirmed your suspicions - that Sana was undermining Momo again behind the older girl’s back. The drama she’d stirred up in Hawaii regarding her feelings for you hadn’t long left your mind, and you wondered how much it played into her desire to ensure that she, not Momo, would be the one to spend some intimate, private time with you during the operation.

“And what do you think, Nayeon?” you ask, curious to see if Sana’s charms had worked on the detective.

“Firstly I see right through that little ‘I’m the cutest most friendliest girl in the whole world’ schtick she’s got going on. I know she’s smarter than she lets on… but she brings up good points. I was pretty set on Momo, but after that conversation, I’m not so sure.”

Nayeon looks towards the coffee shop exit Sana used to leave the hotel, her brow furrowed in deep thought.

“I’m going to be honest,” she continues, “I think either of them would be a good pick. What about you? Who would you rather bring with you?”

You take a moment to consider the situation. It was clear Sana had ulterior motives behind her desire to go on the operation, even if she did bring up good points regarding how useful she could be in comparison to Momo. You’d been putting it off for awhile, but perhaps it was time to set the record straight with Sana regarding her feelings for you and how they were affecting the team. If you set her straight before the operation and asked her to put aside her feelings for you for now, the operation itself would be a good way to test her dedication to her promise.

The fact that Sana had gone out of her way to approach Nayeon and argue her case for selection also raised your suspicions - the fact that she did so secretly, without going through you, only raised them further. She’d been hard-working and diligent in her duties, but until now she’d only been assigned or selected for those duties by you or someone else on the team. She’d never volunteered for an operation. Surely her desire to undermine your relationship with Momo played some part in her actions, but you were curious if she had any further motives to be on-site beyond that.

There was only one way to be sure. You stand and gather the bags at your feet before giving Nayeon your decision.

“Tell Sana she’s the one going on the op.”

---

Author’s Note: And that’s (probably) the last chapter for the year! There will be a separate thank-you post to wrap up the year as it’s been a big one for me and my work. 

Until then I hope everyone’s safe and enjoying the holidays. Best wishes to you and all your loved ones :)

#kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #twice #twice chaeyoung #son chaeyoung #male reader #pov smut #smut

[sabraeal]

And Spring Became the Summer

[Read on AO3]

The very last of my follower fics for the 700 Followers gifts! This one was the bonus for making it to 750 before December, and I’m so glad I’ve FINALLY gotten this done...so I can do it all over again this year 🤣

The last term paper Mitsuhide writes for his undergraduate career he slips into a glossy plastic portfolio-- double-spaced and double-sided, graphs printed in full color-- and turns in personally.

It’s a wide-eyed TA that takes it, seated behind a desk that’s far too big for her. Or well, she’s not wide-eyed at first; instead she’s bent over her work, only glancing up absently to make sure she has it in hand. But a second one turns absence to alarm, eyes fixing to where he grips the plastic, and suddenly he’s all-too aware how easily how just one of his hands could swallow both of hers.

So is she; her eyes pulse wide, and then she’s tracing the line of his arm up and up doggedly, like as long as she just keeps going, she might hit the end of him. When she finally does, he offers her a sheepish smile, shoulders hunched lessen the blow.

She shrinks back, a mousey brown head peeking above an oversized university sweatshirt. So much for that.

“You could have emailed this,” she squeaks, plucking the plastic sleeve from his grip. “I mean, not that you can’t hand it in. It’s just, er...”

“No one does,” another adds, rolling across the floor with a level of curiosity that he’s pretty sure an in-person paper doesn’t warrant. When she measures him with her gaze, she enjoys every inch. “Pretty old fashioned, if you ask me.”

He recognizes both of them; their names had been on the syllabus at the beginning of the semester. He’d found them both on the department website, Amanda wearing the same Clarines sweatshirt she had on today, and Holly’s clearly from some beach vacation, cropped from the shoulders up.

(“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a stalker,” Obi says, hanging upside down from the armchair.

“I’m-- I’m not!” Mitsuhide sputters, heat creeping up his neck. One day, Obi would slip up and say these things in front of someone who mattered, someone with a much more rigid sense of humor than Professor Gazelt, or didn’t know to take every word of his with an ocean of salt like Dean Haruka, and then it would be him that got seated in front of a disciplinary committee. The last thing he needed to do before even finishing law school applications was explain his brother’s poor taste in jokes on the record. “It’s just...”

“That you’re compelled to look at cute girls on the university website?” he offers, so casual. “I could think of hotter majors, if you wanted. Psych seems like it’s the sort of place real tens might hand out, right? Maybe, uh, Education? Kindergarten teachers always are cute--”

“It’s polite,” Mitsuhide grits out, shoulders hunched up by his ears. “You should know everyone on staff in your department, just the way you should know everyone you work with. It’s the proper way to network.”

Obi watches him with wide eyes, like he’s some kind of zoo animal or-- or one of those really bad cooks on TV, the kind who tries to pan fry a chicken whole. “God, you don’t actually do that, do you?”

“It’s the secret to good business.” At least, that’s what his parents always told him.

“You must be...” Obi savors the moment, looking positively euphoric as he says, “Really fucking creepy at the department Christmas party.”)

“No one did,” says the first-- Amanda, graduate summa cum laude from Columbia-- tone aimed to shush. “I’m, uh, happy to take that, though.”

He gives her his most gracious smile. “Thank you.”

“No,” Holly-- Penn State, no honors-- mutters, casting him a speculative glance from the corner of her eyes. Hers go up and up too, but seem to come to a much more amicable conclusion. “Thank you.”

“Stop.” Amanda’s hands flex on the thin plastic; she has soft hands, a callus only on the knuckle of her middle finger, where a pen might rest. Like Shirayuki, only without the thousand nicks and cuts that dot her fingers, battle wounds from wrangling recalcitrant plants.

Her chin pulls up, set in a determined line as she says, “Congratulations on graduating.”

“Ah...” It’s a kind thought, and meant well, but knowing he’s about to spend the next three years earning the degree that counts softens the blow. “Thank you. I hope you have a nice, um, summer?”

“Definitely will be nicer not to grade papers,” Holly offers, immune to Amanda’s shushing. “Do you have pl--?”

“We should get back to grading,” Amanda says, just to the left of too loud. “Have a nice summer.”

Never repeat yourself, Mama always told him, it weakens your position.

You can never be too polite. That’s what Papa would say, when he thanked the cashier for a third time.

Mitsuhide winces; he’s always hated this, being stuck between his parents. It’s clearly time to leave. “Right. Bon été, Amanda.”

“Was that French,” he hears hissed the moment he’s stepped out the door; the same moment another voice says, “Did I tell him my name?”

He should have just emailed it. Mitsuhide can make any number of excuses about the joys of collating and color printing, about face-time and networking, but at the end of the day, he has to call a spade a spade: this has all been an excuse. A thin one too, to keep him out of the house. To put off what he knows need doing.

Mitsuhide steps into the cool air of the foyer, shivering as it catches the sweat that beaded at his hairline on the walk. His courage peaks as he stands there, right next to the shoe mat, grand stair stretching up before him, still in his oxfords--

And immediately effervesces when he catches sight of smooth, bare legs on the coffee table, fuzzy slippers worth more than his phone perched up on the mahogany. This is it, the moment of truth, fight or flight, and he-- he doesn’t know which way to run.

So he doesn’t. He’s drawn there with inexorable motion, a magnet to a lodestone, the hard soles of his shoes clacking against the wood the only thing keeping him grounded. It takes only a few steps before long, tanned legs lead up to sleep shorts; not the clingy kind that curve and cup, but the ones that hang like boxers around the tops of her thighs, rucking up as she moves. After that it’s a hoodie, worn loose and baggy, like it’s supposed to fit someone twice her size, its hood drawn tight against her face. Nothing...sexy, not the way Obi might say, with far too much eyebrows involved. But still, his mouth runs dry, tongue heavy behind his teeth.

How on earth is he going to do this?

“Kiki.” He speaks before he thinks, sinking down on the table. It creaks beneath him, ominous. “I owe you a date.”

“Oh shit.” Obi flops over on the recliner, wide gold eyes peeking over the arm. “Check out the balls on this kid.”

This is a terrible idea. He should have known not to do this in a-- a common room, one where other brothers might be hiding.

“Sorry,” he creaks, levering himself up. “I didn’t realize-- you’re clearly busy--”

“No.” Kiki’s lays her feet right on his thighs, pushing him down with a thump. “You were saying something important.”

He darts a glance to the shadow squirming obnoxiously on soft leather. “But Obi--”

“Obi,” she informs him, as imperious as any C-suite member, “can leave.”

Obi doesn’t so much bark out a laugh as honks it. “Not unless I got time to make popcorn.”

Her head doesn’t move an inch from where she’s got it, chin tilted up to meet his own gaze. Her eyes though, those slide pointedly away, fixed at their corners, radiating malice. Kiki is slow to speak, deliberate when she does, but her eyes-- well, there’s a wealth of words in every look, and right now they’re reading Obi the riot act.

It would have worked better if Obi wasn’t already so used hearing it.

“Ignore him,” Kiki decides, attention snapping back to him. “He’s furniture.”

“Oh, Ms Kiki,” Obi drawls, barreling towards a mistake, “you could sit on me any--”

“You were saying?” she says, every word iron. Obi takes the hint, for once.

“I, uh...well, you paid for a date,” Mitsuhide manages lamely, darting a worried look to where Obi lounges on the chair. “I mean, you paid a lot for a date. And I understand that you may have just wanted to donate to the frat, but if you wanted to--”

“I told you,” Kiki says, dry, toes flexing firmly on his knee. “I expect you to make it worth my while.”

“Ah, y-yeah.” Her saying that while looking at him like she did-- well, his brain had that queued up every time he blinks his eyes. Sometimes it changed venues, and there were some, uh, costume changes at times, but if he shut his eyes right now it’d spool up with perfect fidelity. “I thought it might, um, d-distract you if we tried before finals, but since you’ve finished-- we’ve finished--”

“As of twenty minutes ago,” Obi adds, so helpful.

“--I thought it might be a fun way to relax.” He’s honestly never felt less relaxed in his life just sitting here, contemplating it. Half of it he can chalk up to Obi, curled over the recliner like a gremlin, waiting to wreak his version of chaos the second he can weasel his fingers in, but the other--

Well, it’s hard to ask someone on a date when you know they’ve already got someone in mind for the position. Even if it’s just-- this. As friends.

His heart’s in his throat. At least, that’s what he thinks until Kiki’s mouth curves; then he knows it’s never been in his possession at all, but always utterly hers. “Sounds like fun.”

Tension rushes out of him on a sigh. “Ah, great. I though we might, er, go to Boston? You know,” he hurries to spit out, before any words can fall from her parted lips, “since there’s not much out here we haven’t seen.”

She hesitates. Of course she does. Boston’s practically her hometown, and he’s sitting here, thinking it’ll impress her. Like she hasn’t seen everything that’s worth seeing there twice over and in private. That she hasn’t just told him no outright is a testament to how well Mr Seiran’s raise her, and--

“Let’s make a day of it.”

Mitsuhide startles, nearly tipping off the table’s edge before he glances up, right into her row of perfectly straight teeth. Her mom’s smile, she always told him, but he’s only ever seen it on her. “I-- yes. That’s..good.”

Her lips curl, hiding her teeth. “Let me handle the accommodations.”

“Ah, no.” His head sweeps through big, nervous back-and-forths. “I couldn’t possibly ask you to--”

“You’re not,” Kiki informs him. “I’m telling you. I’ll handle accommodations. You’re seeing to the rest of the weekend, correct?”

“Y-yes.” He tries to fold his arms across his lap, but with her feet right on his thighs, it ends up with his hands covering her ankles. He expects her to move them, but instead her legs still, tendons relaxing under his palms. “That’s the plan, but, really--”

“It’s the least I can do.” She shifts her macbook off the couch’s arm, fingers already flying across the keyboard. “One night?”

“I...” He should decline. He should tell her that if she can drop a whole K on a date with him, he can shell out for one night at a hotel with a higher rating than a Holiday Inn.

But this is Kiki Seiran, heir to Seiran International. She’s not just used to five stars but the penthouse suite. He could book four star cheap on Hotwire, but imagining her in one of those suites, the sheets starched and thread count insufficient--

“Yeah,” he grunts, “one night’s fine.”

“Perfect.” Her teeth snap around the word. “Leave it to me.”

“So,” Obi starts before Mitsuhide’s even hit the last step. “We have a bet going on.”

He grimaces, shifting the duffel over his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know.”

‘Pretty sure’ turns to ‘certain’ once he catches Obi’s grin. “It’s about whether you’ll get your dick wet.”

“Sorry, not interested.” He heaves the bag beside the front door, brushing off his shorts. “Isn’t it too early for you to be up? I thought you didn’t know about the hours before ten.”

“I had motivation,” Obi assures him, slinking up beside him with a grin a mile wide. “You know, Shiira says that you won’t on the grounds that you’re a gentleman.”

More like the lady isn’t interested. “I already said I wasn’t--”

“Kai says you will,” he continues blithely, “and you’ll come back on time. Shuuka agrees, except that he thinks you’ll miss check out with all the boning down and won’t make it back until evening.”

“Isn’t this breaking the bylaws?” Mitsuhide grunts, slipping on his sneakers. “Don’t we have something about betting...?”

“For money,” Obi agrees. “Zen still wouldn’t put a bet down though.”

That’s assuring at least. “Of course n--”

“Shiira already took his.” Obi shakes his head. “And we wouldn’t allow him to say the same thing except that he thinks it’s because you’re and idiot.”

Well, that’s a little rich, coming from Zen. Mitsuhide was loath to remind anyone that besides Obi, he is the most experienced, but-- some people should be taking that into account. Even if nothing is going to happen.

“Don’t worry, Big Guy.” Obi claps him on the shoulder, smile somehow drifting towards kindly. “I gave you until Monday.”

“Obi--”

“And Kiki will walk in with a limp.”

“Obi, you know that’s not...” His breath hisses between his teeth. “That’s not what me and Kiki are like.”

“You keep thinking that, Big Guy, but--” he leans in, cupping a hand around his mouth-- “my original bet was gonna be Tuesday. Too bad Kiki had already taken it.”

Mitsuhide stares at him, slack-jawed. “W-what did you just--?”

“I should have known, you’re already here.”

His head jerks up, right to the top of the grand stair, the beginning of a quick glance-- but it’s no use. There’s no possible way he could make his eyes focus anywhere but on Kiki, not when she’s wearing-- when she’s--

“Ooh.” Obi’s mouth curls, matching Kiki’s knowing smirk. “Is that a skirt?”

It is. And not-- not her field hockey kit, mid-thigh with shorts beneath, but and actual skirt, one that floats just above her knees, gauzy and floral. A single flash of leg tells him there’s nothing else beneath. Ah, well, besides the obvious. Mitsuhide swallows hard, mouth dry.

She raises a brow, hand trailing sinuously down the banister beside her. “It is a date, isn’t it?”

Her heels clack when she takes the last step into the foyer, clack because it’s the cork of her wedges that hits the floor first, because-- nom de Dieu-- she’s wearing shoes that tilt her a few inches close to him. Close enough that he could just bend at the neck and--

“Ah,” he coughs, fingers clenching in his shirt. “You might be a little overdressed. At least for this first part.”

Both her brows raise now. “Am I?”

“God,” Obi mutters at his shoulder, head buried in his hands. “You could at least say she looks nice.”

Well, when he’s right, he’s right.

“You look, ah, great though,” Mitsuhide hurries to add. “Beautiful.”

Kiki, to his surprise, beams. “Well, I brought a few outfits. I’ll change at the hotel.”

“Ah, sure.” He scoops up his duffel, holding out a hand for her bag as she passes. “You’re ready to go?”

Her mouth quirks at a corner. “As I’ll ever be.”

He hums, uncertain, suddenly left-footed with her so close. They should leave, but that involves a number a movements he’s suddenly stymied by.

Thankfully, Obi opens the door, practically shoving him onto the porch. “All right kids, be safe now.”

“Obi...”

“Don’t worry,” Kiki drawls, sashaying over the threshold. “I packed plenty of condoms.”

The door cuts off Obi’s laugh, but Mitsuhide can’t escape the pounding of his heart.

“You know,” he sighs, trailing after her, “you’re only encouraging him when you say things like that.”

“Oh that’s too bad,” she hums, floating past. “I was trying to encourage you.”

#mitsukiki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #The Wide Florida Bay #my fic #ans #THESE ARE FINALLY FINISHED #and this little side jaunt is barely started 🤣 #i wanted to do the whole date...then convinced myself half... #and now i just have the lead up #but lbr #it's better this way #since we get more chaos agent Obi #which only makes Obi's sensitive feelings about his OWN date funnier #buddy you bought and paid for the shit you're getting #and NOW you don't want it? no wonder Kiki gives you crap