#'more to the moment as she masters more arts' bars

[schemmentigfs]

Hello! can we get a mel x reader fic where the reader makes mel jealous but instead of getting the reaction she wants (extremely hot sex) she actually makes melissa cry (and then soft smut at the end 😔) mel receiving ofc 🧎🏽‍♀️

Breaking Point.

Summary: One trivia night at Ruby’s with the gang sets the stage for your plan to stir Melissa Schemmenti’s jealousy. However, instead of the anticipated reaction, her insecurities surface. Feeling humiliated, she breaks down in tears and you realize that you fucked up.

WC: 5k.

tags: @lifeismomentsyoucannotunderstand @lisaannwaltersbra @italianaidiota @kukikatt @dopenightmaretyphoon @schmentisgf @pitstopsapphic @jeridandridge @aliensuperst4rr (@writerspirit) thanks for helping me out with this one. 💛

Warnings: Jealousy, Violence, Apologize Sex, a small reference to Mommy Kink, and a single slap.

Melissa Ann Catarina Schemmenti had always been a woman of fierce temperament, her spirit sharp as the cut of her heels against South Philly pavement, her loyalty as unwavering as the stoop she was raised on. Passion ran through her like good espresso: dark, strong, impossible to ignore. And her jealousy, her jealousy was no quiet, passing shadow.

It’s a know fact that jealousy could manifest in completely different ways in other people, depending on their personality, their history, and even how they handle their emotions. While in her, jealousy was like a sharp blade, discreet and dangerous, in others it could reveal itself in very distinct forms: Some people dealt with it in a more explosive way. The type of jealousy that came loaded with sharp words, said in the heat of the moment, often followed by regretful apologies once the dust settled. It was the jealousy of those who couldn’t contain the storm inside of them, who let it spill over in public arguments, bursts of possessiveness, and thoughtless accusations.

Others, however, were masters in the art of silence. This type of jealousy manifested itself in looks full of resentment, in short and cold responses, in a sudden absence that punished without the need for words. It was a jealousy that wove itself into the routine, creating an almost imperceptible but suffocating distance, leaving the other person wondering where exactly they had gone wrong.

There were also those who turned jealousy into self-punishment. Instead of confronting, they turned inward, questioning their own worth, diminishing themselves in comparison to others. This type of jealousy didn’t translate into anger but into insecurity, into silent doubts, into looks that were diverted and smiles that wilted when noticing their loved one’s attention turned elsewhere.

And, of course, there were those who, even feeling jealous, wore it like a mask of indifference. They smiled, made jokes, pretended not to care – but their eyes said otherwise. A slight tremor at the corner of the mouth, a somewhat forced laugh, a quick subject change to hide the flicker of discomfort.

But when it came to the mean redhead with a bangin’ body, it was different. Her jealousy didn’t explode nor hide. It existed in every detail, subtle and precise, a constant reminder that, in her world, you were something precious. Something worth protecting. Something that, if anyone dared to touch, would find, even unknowingly, the silent beast behind the smile.

You realized this early on in your relationship, now eight years strong, and if you were truly honest with yourself, you’d have to admit: you loved her anyway. It wasn’t childish jealousy, the kind that overflows with insecurity or neediness. No. Hers was something more refined, sharp like the edge of a razor blade, burning beneath the surface like a lit cigarette in the fingers of someone who had tried to quit the habit but still relished the scent of the smoke. It was a fire that sparked in the most mundane moments – a dense shadow in her green eyes when a stranger leaned in too close to talk to you at the bar, an almost imperceptible tightening of muscles when the supermarket cashier called you “sweetie” with a smile that lingered a second too long, a dangerous stillness when Ava Coleman blinked exaggeratedly at you in the Abbott Elementary hallways, calling you “boo” just to watch your girlfriend boil over.

And you remembered that day perfectly.

Monday mornings were already hellish enough. The fluorescent lights in the hallways buzzed faintly overhead, blending with the usual start of the week chaos—teachers swapping exhausted stories about their weekends, students shouting and running like they had never learned what walking was, lockers slamming shut with enough force to shake the walls. You were still nursing your rapidly cooling coffee, trying to shake off the sluggishness of the morning, when it happened.

So fast, your brain lagged behind, struggling to process.

One moment, Ms. Schemmenti was standing next to you, her usual morning scowl in place, one hand lazily wrapped around her untouched coffee. Ava was in front of you, chatting—no, flirting—because that was just the irresponsible principal’s favorite way to start the week.

“You’re looking particularly fine today,” she had mused, dragging out the words like she was testing them. Then, glancing at your girlfriend with a devilish smirk, she added. “If you ever need a break from Vito Corleone over here, you know where to find me, babyboo.”

Big mistake.

The second grade teacher’s coffee hit the floor with a wet splat. And then, before anyone could react, she lunged. Like, fully launched herself at her own boss. It was almost cartoonish how fast it happened. One second, Melissa was beside you. The next, she had both arms locked around Ava’s neck, her entire body weight slamming into the taller woman like some kind of feral redheaded linebacker.

The sassy principal screamed. “Hell no! Schemmenti, what the heck?!”

“Say it. Say it again if you want me to break your neck!”

The entire crew froze almost immediately. Janine let out a horrified gasp. Gregory’s eyebrows nearly hit his hairline. Jacob turned a shade of white you weren’t sure was healthy. Mr. Johnson, completely unbothered, took a slow sip of his coffee. Barb, standing just a few feet away, had barely turned the corner when her hand flew to her chest. “Sweet Baby Jesus and the grown-up too!”

Meanwhile, Ava flailed like a cartoon character, grabbing desperately at Melissa’s firm wrists. “ARE YOU ACTUALLY TRYING TO STRANGLE ME?” she screeched.

The redheaded woman’s face was flushed with rage, her green eyes dark with murderous intent. She tightened her grip slightly, voice coming out low and deadly. “Call her ‘boo’ again, Coleman. I dare you.”

You should step in. You should do something. But for a solid five seconds, all you could do was stare feeling a mix of shock, panic, and, God help you, just a tiny bit of admiration.

“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SOMEBODY GET THIS DEMON OFF ME!” Ava howled, kicking her tall legs in a completely ineffective attempt to break free.

Jacob finally snapped out of his horror-stricken daze, stumbling forward and grabbing his mother figure around the waist. “You can’t just STRANGLE the principal of the school! She’s our boss!” he wheezed, struggling to pull her back.

Melissa resisted for a moment, like she was genuinely considering finishing the job. But then, with a deep exhale, she let go. Ava stumbled backward, coughing violently, hands flying to her throat as she stared at her coworker like she had just been attacked by a rabid raccoon.

“You need THERAPY, bitch!” the tall woman gasped.

Your girlfriend rolled her shoulders back, straightening her jacket as she took a slow, steady breath. Then, in a voice dangerously calm, she tilted her head and said:

“No. But you will if you keep looking at my girl like that.”

Silence.

The only sound was the distant buzzing of the lights and the faint creak of a classroom door opening somewhere down the hall.

Barbara, still clutching her chest, exhaled heavily. “Lord…”

You, finally remembering how to breathe, swallowed hard and glanced at Jacob, who looked seconds away from a full-body shutdown.

“Oh my God…” you muttered, still half-convinced you had hallucinated the whole thing.

Ava held up her hands in surrender. “I will NEVER call her ‘boo’ again. I swear.”

Melissa, now composed, smirked. “Good.” With that, she grabbed your hand and walked off like absolutely nothing had happened.

And you? You savored every moment. It was a silent game between the two of you, a dance choreographed by the veiled possessiveness that the green-eyed woman refused to verbalize, but that burned in the way her fingers marked your hip, in the way her Philadelphian accent grew rougher when someone got too close.

She would never admit it, never. After all, Melissa Schemmenti was a woman made of steel and concrete, forged in a traditional Catholic Italian family where weakness wasn’t allowed. But you knew that when it came to you, that steel would burn. It would turn into something fierce, something wild. It was a beast protecting its territory from a predator, growling softly, ready for a fight.

It was visible in the stiffening of her shoulders, in the way her pupils dilated, in the way her fingers wrapped around your waist with a possessive strength, pulling you close, as if saying without words: my woman. And when her full lips brushed your ear, her voice low and warm like aged whiskey, she murmured, loaded with a delicious threat.

“You’re trying to make me lose my mind, babydoll? You know what happens when you disrespect Mommy.”

And later, that same night, your girlfriend would kiss you with an uncontrollable hunger, her hands holding your face, her body pressed against yours until there was no space left between you except for your labored breaths and the muffled sound of your sighs and moans. Until your legs gave out. Until you begged for mercy.

So when the karaoke night along with the Q&A arrived at Ruby’s and the group was already drunk enough to dance without caring about the rhythm, you decided to have a little fun.

It wasn’t like Melissa wasn’t already completely focused on you. She always was. Even there, in the bar immersed in amber lights, saturated with the smell of alcohol and grease, she stayed glued to you— her arm resting lazily on your back, her fingers tracing slow, hypnotic circles on your shoulder. But you wanted more. Something hotter. Something rougher.

So, you leaned in, your lips brushing the soft skin of her earlobe. “You better not let us lose, Schemmenti. I want to go home with a winner.”

Your girlfriend smiled, that confident smile that always made your stomach flip.

“Oh, please, babe. I have a lifetime of useless facts up here,” she tapped her temple and winked at you. “We’re going to win.”

The night went on with jokes, teases, and generous sips of drinks. The questions ranged from absurdly difficult topics to answers so easy that Jacob nearly had a nervous breakdown trying to explain how people got them wrong. Ava, surprisingly, was excellent at the game and carried the team round after round, delivering insults with the precision of a surgeon. O’shon was impressed by his girlfriend’s performance but kept shy. Sea Barbara was having the time of her life while Janine and Gregory desperately chased her though the whole bar.

In the third round, Melissa was at the bar with Jacob, both engaged in a heated discussion about Roman emperors. Her former roommate insisted that Nero was the worst, but the second-grade teacher, with her passionate tone and expressive hands, delivered a fiery monologue about how Caligula was, without a doubt, the worst creature to ever walk the Earth.

“Nero was the worst, hands down,” the social studies teacher argued, his hands flailing for emphasis. “He burned down Rome, Mel! He literally played the lyre while watching the city go up in flames.”

Your girlfriend scoffed, leaning forward, her eyes ablaze with passion. “Oh, come on, dude! Nero was bad, but Caligula? That man was an unhinged lunatic. He made his horse a senator.”

Jacob raised an eyebrow. “Okay, but—”

“Don’t interrupt me! I’m just getting started,” she warned, pointing a finger at him. “This man executed people on a whim. Held orgies so disturbing that even the Romans thought it was too much. And let’s not forget the time he declared war on the damn ocean.”

Her work son blinked. “War on the ocean?”

“Yes! The man ordered his soldiers to attack the sea and then collect seashells as spoils of war!” She threw her hands up in exasperation. “What kind of lunatic does that?”

Jacob snorted, shaking his head. “I still think Nero was worse.”

Melissa huffed, grabbed a peanut from the bowl on the table, and chucked it at him. “You’re an idiot, Hill.”

“You’re just stubborn.”

Narrowing her olive eyes, the redhead lifted her hand and flipped him off. “Fuck you.”

He gasped in mock offense before bursting into laughter. Without warning, the older woman grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him into a tight, crushing hug.

“Love you, even though you are a fuckin’ dumbass,” she muttered against his shoulder.

Jacob chuckled, hugging her back. “Love you too, ‘Elissa. But Nero was still worse.”

Melissa pulled back just enough to glare at him before smacking the back of his head after hearing the nickname.

“OUCH! What was that for? I feel like a teenager who was grounded by his mother.”

“You’re lucky I’m drunk, or this argument would last until tomorrow.”

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Mr. Johnson, with his relaxed posture and sly smile, was trying to bribe the host.

“Listen here, kid. If I give you twenty, do you think you can bump up our score?” he gestured to his team.

The poor college student, clearly tired of the night, rolled his eyes. “Sir, this is trivia, not blackjack. Please respect the rules.”

After the final trivia question, Jacob was practically glowing, his enthusiasm spilling over like a tipped glass, nearly knocking over his drink every time he got an answer right. Beside him, Gregory and Janine were lost in their usual slow-burn headass dynamic, whispering heatedly, orbiting each other like stars destined to collide.

The last round ended, and music poured through the speakers—loud, rhythmic, impossible to ignore. Ava clapped her hands with a flourish, tugging her smiling boyfriend by the jacket. “Alright, losers, time to shake ass.”

Your girlfriend let out a snort full of irony. “Oh, no. Not happening. I won’t dance tonight, A.”

Barbara raised an amused brow, her smile full of quiet mischief. She wasn’t surprised with her best friend’s familiar stubbornness. “Come on, girlfriend, don’t be a party popper. Even Gregory's going.”

The first grade teacher, already halfway to the dance floor thanks to Janine’s persistent tugging, spun around like a man trying to escape fate. “I never said I was going.” But his girlfriend pulled him in anyway, laughing as he stumbled after her.

Jacob squealed with glee, singing out loud.“You say you wanna win it. I wanna see you sweat, put your whole kitty in it.”

And suddenly, the table was empty. Just you and Melissa remained, you turned to her, lips pouted in exaggerated pleading.“C’mon, baby. Dance with me.”

She shook her head slowly, firmly. “You know I don’t do that.”

“Fine,” you sighed. Then, with a sly smile curling at the corners of your mouth. “I’ll just find someone else to dance with.”

Her redbrow lifted, sharp as a challenge. “Yeah?”

That’s how you ended up leaning on the bar, body tilted with practiced ease, casting flirtatious glances at the very attractive bartender. She looked about your age, maybe younger. Short hair, styled with flair, and one arm inked from shoulder to wrist in a tapestry of tattoos.

You twirled a strand of hair around your finger and gave her a knowing smile.

“So, what’s your best drink?”

The bartender smiled back, slowly looking you up and down. “For you? Something really sweet, I think.”

You laughed—really laughed—and rested your hand on the bar, giving her a wink.

But something changed. The air thickened, charged with tension. You felt her before you saw her. That presence. Familiar. Possessive. Magnetic.

Melissa Schemmenti’s hand landed on your hip, firm, warm, grounding.

“We’re leaving,” her tone was low, a growl made of gravel and storm. “Screw this stupid night.”

Your stomach flipped in anticipation. Yes. That was the reaction you’d wanted. She would get pissed off and fuck you later. You turned, fully expecting the heat in her green eyes—the fire that told you you’d pay for this later.

But what you saw wasn’t fire. It was ruin.

Melissa looked shattered. You didn’t get the words out. She yanked you away from the bar, out into the night, where cold air bit at your skin.

And then, she erupted.

“What the fuck was that?!” your girlfriend shouted under the weight of emotion. Her face flushed, streaked with silent tears.

“Baby, I just...”

Smack. The slap was light. Reflexive. Born of frustration more than anger. But your eyes widened anyway.

Melissa never hit you. Not even during sex.

She recoiled immediately, hand flying to her mouth, as if to muffle the sound that still echoed between you. “I’m not some fuckin’ animal for you to play with.”

“Lis?”

She looked away, trembling.

“You don’t want me anymore, do you?"

And then you understood. She wasn’t angry. She was scared. You reached for the older woman, but she pulled back like your touch would shatter her.

“Jesus… I’m fifty. What am I even doing with you? I should’ve known… I should’ve known.”

Your eyes stung with unshed tears.

“Mel, what are you talking about?”

She swallowed hard, a sob catching in her throat.“Joe used to do that to me, you know?”

You gulped.

Melissa never talked about her ex-husband.

“He’d flirt with other women right in front of me. Just to remind me he could. And when I got upset, he’d make me feel crazy. Like I was pathetic for thinking I could ever keep him.”

Nausea rose in your throat, bitter and sharp.

Her lips trembled with memories too heavy to hold. “I thought you loved me.”

Those words broke you. “I do. I love you so much.”

She didn’t answer back, instead she closed her eyes and asked. “Can we just go home?”

The ride home was silent. Melissa sat curled against the door, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, staring out the window like she wanted to be anywhere but here. By the time you pulled into the driveway and killed the engine, she was already out of the car, heading straight inside without a word.

You followed, feeling your stomach twist as you stepped into the house.

She was in the kitchen, standing by the counter, her back to you. Her arms were still wrapped around herself, fingers gripping at her sleeves, like she was trying to hold herself together.

You took a slow, cautious step forward and sighed heavily. “Honey.”

Your girlfriend didn’t look at you. Just let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Do what?”

Finally, she turned, and the look on her face shattered you. “This. Us.”

A sharp, horrible fear lodged in your throat.

“Lissa, please.”

“I love you.” The words were rushed, raw. “I love you so much it scares the shit outta me. And I—” She swallowed hard. “I can’t go through that bullshit again. I won’t.”

The second grade teacher was trembling now, holding herself so tightly it looked like she might break apart.

And you couldn’t let her think like this—not for another second.

You surged forward, wrapping your arms around her, pressing her tight against your chest. She resisted for half a second before melting into you, her whole body sagging.

“You won’t,” you whispered into her hair. “I swear to god, you won’t.”

Melissa let out a ragged breath, her arms still locked around herself even as she pressed her face against your shoulder.

“I was stupid,” you murmured, stroking her back, voice thick with guilt. “I thought I was just messing around, but I hurt you, and I hate myself for it.” You cupped the back of her head, tilting her face up just enough to meet her eyes. “You’re my everything, Mel. No one else. Just you.”

Her plump lips trembled.

“I love you,” you sobbed. “I love you so much.”

Something in her cracked then, her breath shuddering as she let go of herself and finally grabbed onto you.

And then she was kissing you.

Desperate, messy, all shaky hands and tear-stained cheeks. She kissed you like she needed proof that you were still here, that you weren’t going anywhere. You kissed her back just as fiercely, one hand on her cheek, the other gripping her waist, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world—because Melissa Schemmenti was.

The redhead let out a shaky tiny noise against your lips, and you pulled back just enough to whisper, “Let me make it up to you.”

She swallowed, her forehead resting against yours, her breath still uneven. “H-How?”

You ran your hands slowly down her sides, soft and reverent, looking her straight in the eyes. “By showing you exactly how much I want you.”

A flicker of something passed through her eyes—uncertainty, vulnerability—but then her grip on your shirt tightened, and she nodded.

“Okay.”

And you kissed her again, slow and deep, determined to make her feel everything she had doubted tonight.

After a few more promises and kisses, Melissa led you upstairs, her grip on your hand tight, like she was afraid you’d disappear if she let go.

As you guided her toward your shared bedroom, your fingers tracing gentle patterns on her milky skin. Every step she took was hesitant, but you could see the hunger and need flickering behind her green eyes, along with the insecurity she’d shown you earlier.

When you reached the bed, your girlfriend hesitated, her fingers twitching at the hem of her shirt. Her cheeks were already flushed, a obvious combination of arousal and nervousness. You knew this side of her. The part that fought against vulnerability, the part that still struggled to believe she could be adored so thoroughly after decades of being humiliated by her ex-husband.

“C’mere,” you coaxed.

She breathed through her nose, then finally pulled the fabric over her head, dropping it to the floor as she laid down on the bed. Your breath caught as you took her in—her full, round breasts rising and falling with every uneven breath, her pink nipples already hardened in anticipation. She was beautiful. She was yours

But as soon as the cool air hit her hourglass figure, her arms reflexively crossed over her chest, shielding herself. “Y-you don’t have to do this,” she stuttered.

You stepped closer, gently brushing her arms aside. “None of that. Let me love you,” you reply, meeting her eyes, making sure she saw nothing but adoration in your gaze. You started slow, pressing kisses to her shoulders, trailing down the slope of her collarbone. The tension in her muscles eased little by little as you continued, your lips moving lower until they reached the soft swell of her breast.

Melissa let out a shaky breath, her fingers gripping the white sheets behind her.

The moment your mouth closed around one of her sensitive nipples, she gasped, her back arching instinctively. You sucked lightly at first, teasing, circling your tongue around the stiff peak. The way her breath hitched sent a rush of heat through you, and you did it again, this time flicking your tongue against the sensitive bud before wrapping your lips around it completely.

“Jesus H. Christ,” she groaned. Her fingers found their way into your hair, tangling there as if grounding herself.

You hummed against her skin, feeling the way she shivered in response. Your other hand moved to her neglected breast, cupping its warmth, your thumb brushing over her nipple in slow, deliberate strokes. Melissa’s hips shifted restlessly, and you could feel the heat radiating from her, the growing need that she was barely keeping at bay.

Her swollen lip was caught between her teeth as she tried to suppress the noises spilling from her throat, but it was useless. When you sucked harder, she let out a choked moan, her grip on you tightening.

“Fuck,” the older woman whispered, the curse slipping from her lips like a prayer. “Just like that…”

“Yeah? Does my pretty girl like this?” you asked before switching to her other breast, making sure to give it the same attention, sucking and licking until your girlfriend was writhing beneath you. She cursed again, raspier now, more desperate.

“God, honey,” Melissa groaned, her green eyes fluttering open just enough to look at you. The sight of you—your mouth on her, your hands worshiping every inch of her—made her chest rise and fall even quicker. “You are so good.”

She placed her hand over yours where it cupped her breast, silently urging you to squeeze harder, to give her more. You obeyed, kneading the soft flesh in your palm, rolling her nipple between your fingers while your tongue worked the other. Melissa threw her head back, her breath catching in her throat as pleasure coursed through her.

“Shit,” she panted, her thighs clenching together. “You’re gonna—” her words broke off into another moan as you sucked particularly hard.

You could feel her body trembling, could hear the way her voice wavered between curses and needy gasps. She was unraveling under you, and you weren’t about to stop now.

As you continued, your free hand trailed down her stomach, inching closer to where you knew she needed you most. Melissa’s breath hitched again, her entire body tensing in anticipation. She was already wet—you could tell just by the way she squirmed, by the way her hips kept shifting toward you.

You released her nipple with a soft, teasing kiss, then glanced up at her, meeting her darkened gaze. Her lips were swollen from how hard she’d been biting them, her pupils blown wide with desire.

“You’re so beautiful,” you murmured, your fingers slipping lower.

The green eyed woman shuddered at your words, her hands gripping your shoulders now. “You’re fuckin’ unreal,” she breathed, as your mouth traveled lower, brushing over her soft belly. “I need you.”

You didn’t make her wait.

Melissa reclines further on a now rumpled white duvet, her skin aglow under the gentle caress of a bedside lamp. Her gaze meet yours as if silently inviting you to explore every inch of her. Though her sultry allure is undeniable, there’s an obvious shyness in the way she quivers, a subtle reminder that beneath the polished exterior, she is as human and tender as anyone could be.

You step forward, drawn inexorably to her magnetic presence. As you kneel between her spread legs, you become acutely aware of every detail—the way her heart flutters in the quiet moments before passion takes over, the delicate rise and fall of her chest, the soft hum of her breath that mingles with the ambient sound of a distant rain. It is in this space, at the precipice between fantasy and reality, that you begin to trace your own exploration of her body.

Your eyes travel slowly over her form, and you can’t help but admire the intricate interplay of contrasts. Her red pubic hair, neatly trimmed and soft to the touch, frames her most intimate parts with an unexpected elegance. With a sense of reverence and delight, you gently guide your nose along the tender patch, inhaling the uniquely intoxicating scent of her skin mixed with the subtle hints of shampoo and the lingering aroma of passion. The sensation is both curious and deeply erotic, a melding of senses that intensifies your connection.

Melissa moans, a tentative sound that gradually builds into a crescendo of pleasure. Though her voice trembles with shyness, every note carries a resonance of desire, hinting at an inner fire that is waiting to be fully ignited. Encouraged by her reaction, you lean in further, your warm breath mingling with her soft, arched exhale. Your hand caresses her thigh, slowly working its way upward, tracing patterns along her smooth meat flesh as if mapping out a treasure. The contact sends ripples of delight through her.

“That’s it, baby,” she pants. “Give it to me. Just fucking eat me out.”

Obeying, you lower your head, your tongue seeking out the very heart of her pussy. The moment your tongue makes contact, the bedroom seems to fill with the heady scent of her arousal. You begin with gentle flicks, tasting her essence, savoring the salt and the sweet tang that is uniquely hers.

Melissa parts her lips. “Yes… yes, please.”

As you work, your nose remains in contact with that enticing patch of trimmed red hair—a tactile reminder of the natural beauty that frames her most intimate self. The juxtaposition of the soft fuzz against your skin, the lingering warmth of your breath on her flesh, creates a symphony of sensations that both of you share. Her hands grip the sheets in silent encouragement, her body arching ever so slightly as if to offer you more, to signal that she is ready to surrender to this shared passion.

Your girlfriend’s whimpering grows louder, a combination of pleasure and the bittersweet vulnerability of someone who has long guarded her deepest desires. In the gentle rhythm of your attentions, you hear the subtle cadence of her voice, a melody that rises and falls with every wave of sensation. Even in her shyness, there is an undeniable strength; every gasp and every sigh is a testament to the courage it takes to expose oneself so completely.

You notice how her eyes close tighter, her lashes brushing her flushed cheeks as if trying to capture every sensation. The contrast between her shyness and the bold passion of her moans creates an alluring paradox, one that only deepens your resolve to explore every hidden corner of her.

The warmth of your body pressed against hers, the intertwining of your breaths, all contribute to a growing intimacy that transcends the physical act. It’s as if every touch, every caress, is a silent conversation—a dialogue that speaks of trust, longing, and the exquisite pleasure of being seen and understood in your most vulnerable state. And in that quiet exchange, you find a beauty that is both raw and transformative.

Your flat tongue dances along her contours, tight walls, varying its pace and pressure in an attempt to coax every moan and every shudder from her. The taste of her juice is intoxicating—a heady blend that speaks of secrets, dreams, and the deeply personal nature of desire. Every now and then, you pause, allowing the anticipation to build, savoring the silence that hangs heavy with unspoken apologies. In those pauses, you can almost hear the language of her hourglass shape, the subtle signals that tell you exactly how far to push, where to slow down, and when to simply be.

Her moans soon evolve into words, breathless confessions of pleasure that escape her mouth between shudders.

“Oh…” she gasps, a single syllable laden with meaning, a delicate sound that sends fresh waves of warmth surging through you. It is in these moment that you realize the power of your actions—not just in the physical pleasure you are bestowing, but in the way you are helping her to embrace every facet of her own self.

As the older woman gets closer and closer, you become increasingly attuned to the subtle shifts in her rhythm. Her breathing deepens, her body trembles with each passing second, and you know that the boundary between anticipation and fulfillment is drawing ever closer.

“Mmm,” you groan. “My good girl tastes so sweet.”

Her breath stutters, heat blooming low in her stomach all over again.

The feeling is that you are both artists and muses, engaged in a performance that is as much about emotion as it is about physical sensation. The interplay of your hands, your tongues, and your hearts creates a tableau of raw, unfiltered desire—one that is both fleeting and timeless.

Minutes stretch into what feels like an eternity of ecstasy. Melissa’s whines become a constant, a beautiful chorus that underscores the symphony unfolding between you. The sound of her raspy breathing, sometimes tentative, sometimes urgent, is a living reminder of the beauty found in vulnerability—a vulnerability that, in this sacred space, has been met with nothing but tenderness and reverence.

Your own senses are alight with the acting of giving, each detail etched into your memory. The texture of her beneath you, the taste of her mingling with the aroma of her natural essence, and the sound of her enjoying everything form a tapestry of sensations that you will carry with you long after the night has ended.

She cums with a final, shuddering gasp, a sweet symphony of release that echoes softly through the neighborhood. In that exquisite instant, the tension that had been building for so long gives way to a profound sense of relief and connection. It is as if every whispered sigh and every gentle moan had been leading to this singular, transcendent moment.

Her fingers, still trembling from the aftershocks, reach for you with a tenderness that makes your breath catch. The redheaded pulls you up gently, guiding you until you’re resting against her, your bare and clothed chests warm beneath the quiet hush of the bedroom. Her orbs meet yours—stormy green softened with something that looks like awe, or maybe love—and then her lips are on yours.

It isn’t hurried. It isn’t wild. It’s a kiss full of gratitude, affection, apology. Her thumb brushes your cheek as she pulls back just enough to whisper. “I’m sorry, baby. For reacting like that.”

You can only nod, your heart too full for words. Whatever had weighed on you both before this—whatever doubts or distance—feels far away now, melted in the heat of her touch and the certainty in her voice.

She smiles then, that rare, open smile that makes her look years younger, freer. And before you can even respond, her arms wrap around you, pulling you close until you're buried in her embrace, safe and steady. The kind of hug that says home.

[paucubarsisimp]

could you write for Pablo gavi? You said you wanted more fluff requests, so I’m thinking maybe something like reader goes for a girls night out, Pablo comes and picks her up, and then while she’s all drunk and giggly they’re laying in bed and keeps asking silly questions or talking about the randomest things, but Pablo just cuddles her close with a stupid smile and nothing but love in his eyes?

tispy

pairing: pablo gavi x reader

summary: basically the request 😭

warnings: none

tagged: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @nngkay, lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!

the night had been full of laughs, dancing, and way too many cocktails with your girls. you had spent hours on the dance floor, your heels clicking to the beat and your laughter mixing with the music. everything felt light and fun, but now it was that time of the night—the time when all the fun started to blur together in a warm, fuzzy haze.

you weren’t exactly planning on ending up like this, tipsy and giggly, stumbling out of the club with your friends, but that’s exactly what happened. you were buzzing with excitement, and then, suddenly, there he was. pablo, your sweet, slightly goofy boyfriend, standing by the door of the bar like he’d come to rescue you from your very own personal chaos.

he smiled, his brown eyes twinkling as he looked at you. you noticed the soft, playful glint in his eyes, and you couldn’t help but giggle at how adorable he was.

“ready to go home, preciosa?” he asked, leaning down to kiss your cheek. his lips lingered there for a moment, and you felt a warmth spread across your face, a mix of his affection and the alcohol.

“i don’t know…” you slurred, slightly swaying on your feet. “i’m still feeling like i need… i dunno… a taco. like, a lot of tacos. what do you think?”

pablo laughed, shaking his head. “we can’t eat tacos now, bebé. you’re drunk. come on, let’s get you home.”

you put up a dramatic fight as he led you out to the car. “but… but i’m really good at picking tacos, pablo. like, i’ve mastered the art of taco eating,” you said, looking at him with big, earnest eyes, which only made him laugh harder.

“i’m sure you have, but right now, you need sleep, not tacos,” he teased, putting his arm around your waist to guide you. “we’ll get tacos another day. okay?”

you whined but gave in, letting him help you into the car. once you were both in the backseat, your head lolling against his shoulder, you couldn’t help but giggle again. everything seemed a little bit more fun when you were tipsy, and for some reason, all you could think about were the most random, out-there questions.

you barely made it into pablo’s apartment before you were plopping down on his bed, your tipsy brain racing with thoughts that made no sense whatsoever. pablo came in after you, shaking his head in amusement as you flopped on the pillow, still giggling.

“mi amor, you’re a mess,” he said affectionately, sitting beside you on the bed, his hand resting on your waist.

“i am not a mess,” you replied with a snicker, trying to hold yourself together, but failing miserably. “i’m just… a fun mess.”

pablo rolled his eyes, a smile still tugging at his lips. “uh-huh, sure.”

“hey, pablo…” you said, turning your head to look at him, your eyes suddenly wide with deep curiosity. “do you think… like, when socks disappear in the laundry, are they secretly having their own little sock party somewhere?”

he blinked at you, blinking a few times as if processing the question. “what? a sock party?”

“yeah, like, you know—where do they go? why does one sock always go missing? are they, like, having a rave or something?” you giggled again, your head spinning just a little bit.

pablo stared at you for a moment before shaking his head with a small laugh. “you’re ridiculous, preciosa. i don’t think socks have their own party. but maybe they do. maybe there’s a whole sock world we don’t know about.”

you grinned, loving how he was humoring you. “yeah, and maybe that’s why we always find one sock alone under the couch. like, the sock that survived the party.”

“you’ve got a wild imagination,” pablo said, kissing the top of your head as he tucked you closer to him. “but i’ll go along with it. maybe socks are just more social than we think.”

you snickered, feeling cozy in his arms. “they’re just too cool for us.”

a few minutes passed, and you were still feeling playful, still wondering about the silliest things. “pablo…”

“yeah?” he asked, smiling as he stroked your hair gently.

“do you think… like, when people see an elevator button, they secretly think it might be the one that takes them to another dimension?” you asked, your voice a little more serious now, like you were actually pondering a deep question. “like… what if it’s a secret portal, but we’re all too scared to push it because it’s just… so unknown?”

pablo blinked, processing your words again. he let out a small laugh, squeezing you a little tighter. “i think you’ve had one too many drinks, but i’ll entertain this one… maybe the elevator button is the key to another world. what if it takes us to a land full of unicorns?”

“YES! that’s what i’m saying! like, what if there’s a whole society of people who just… get it? and they’ve been waiting for us to push that button for years,” you said, your eyes wide with excitement as if you were actually uncovering some great truth.

“i’m glad i’m here to discover this world with you,” pablo said, his smile never fading. “maybe tomorrow we’ll go look for the button.”

you snorted in laughter, thinking about how absurd that sounded. “yes! we’ll make history. we’ll be the first to discover the unicorn kingdom.”

he chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i’ll let you lead the way, but only if you promise not to drag me through another sock rave along the way.”

“deal,” you giggled, laying your head back on his chest.

your mind was still buzzing with random questions and thoughts, and as pablo wrapped his arms around you, you let yourself float in that happy, fuzzy space where everything felt like it made sense—even though it didn’t.

“hey,” you asked after a moment, your voice full of curiosity, “do you think bubbles in a soda ever get confused? like, are they all just… bouncing around, wondering where to go?”

pablo’s chest shook with laughter. “i think the bubbles are just… doing their job, bebé. they’re probably not thinking about anything at all. they just want to get out of the soda.”

you frowned, a little disappointed with his answer. “so you’re telling me that bubbles don’t dream of being… free? flying through the air, not stuck inside a can?”

he laughed again, squeezing you. “okay, okay, maybe they dream of that. maybe all bubbles want to escape.”

you nodded thoughtfully, as if that was the most profound thing you’d ever heard. “yeah, i bet they do. poor bubbles. trapped in a cage.”

“they’ll get their freedom one day,” he said with a grin, brushing your hair back. “they’ll fly away and live their best bubble lives.”

you smiled sleepily, drifting closer to him, your eyelids heavy as you felt the warmth of his body against yours. “pablo… you’re my favorite person to be silly with.”

he pulled you in even closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “you’re my favorite person, period. silly or not. i love you just the way you are.”

you smiled sleepily, your heart full of affection for him. “you’re perfect. even if you don’t believe in the sock parties or the bubble dreams.”

he chuckled softly, his voice warm and steady. “i believe in you, preciosa. that’s all that matters.”

you sighed contentedly, the world around you slowly fading into a peaceful calm as you snuggled even closer, wrapping yourself in the safety of his arms. and for the rest of the night, you both stayed there, lost in the warmth of each other’s presence—silly questions and all.

don’t forget to leave a request!

[msilwrites]

Papa Bear Material - (Captain Price Fic) - Matchmaking Chapter 1 (Shorter Version)  Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 (Last Chapter)

A/N: I hope you guys can be patient with me as I set up the scene and context for the story! I know you might be eager for Papa Bear John, so if you can't wait, feel free to scroll all the way down or check out the short version. But if you’d like to enjoy the full background and get all the details leading up to the moment, stick around here for the original version. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy! Warning: Mention of child abuse in the story. Summary: Y/N is a reserved former constable and master sniper in the London police force, now working full-time as an artisan. She reconnects with old colleagues at a grill house for a catch-up, where her former junior, Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick, tries to play matchmaker. Gaz’s attempt to set her up with the retired SAS and Papa Bear material, Captain John Price, is met with resistance as Y/N is caught off guard by the unexpected attention.

Y/N stepped into the familiar warmth of the grill house, the smoky aroma of sizzling meat mingling with the distinct hum of rugby commentary from the TV above the bar. The place had that well-worn, comfortable charm—like an old friend. She spotted her old colleagues almost immediately, seated around a table, beers in hand, laughter spilling into the air.

“Oi! Look who’s gracing us with her posh, artsy presence!” came the teasing voice of one of the officers. “You still wearing them fancy shoes, Y/N?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, a half-smile playing on her lips as she made her way over. "Oh, please. I’d have to sell a few more prototypes just to afford these," she said, giving her Gucci Princeton Leather slip-ons a quick glance. "You know, designing and crafting, prototypes for others, specially demanding architects and students—it's harder than catching a criminal on a Sunday shift."

The group laughed, and one of them raised their glass. “Come on, that’s not true. Bet you’re all over the art scene now, living the dream!”

“Sure,” she said, narrowing her eyes as she slid into her seat, “if by ‘living the dream’ you mean sometimes starving in a studio, getting rejected by every gallery in town, and designing things no one’s ever heard of, yeah, it’s just like the movies.”

They all burst out laughing again. One of the lads signaled to the waiter, who was making his rounds. "Oi, get her a proper drink," he said with a grin, "she looks like she needs it."

A tap of beer was quickly placed in front of her, and she gave her colleagues a mock glare, but couldn't help but smile. "You lot are too kind. Just wait ‘til you see my next masterpiece—a painting of you lot after too many pints."

As the laughter faded, they began catching up, each group diving into stories and teasing. "Any funny incidents lately?" one of the officers asked, a grin spreading across his face.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "Oh, plenty. You lot wouldn't believe half of them, but I'm still waiting for the call-up for my big art show... not holding my breath, though."

The conversation shifted, and soon enough, someone asked, “When’s your next reservist shift, then? You’re still doing that, right?”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, taking a moment before answering. "Ah, next month. Got my refresher course first, so I'll see you lot after that." She picked up her glass, the cool beer sliding down her throat as she sighed contentedly.

It had been a long day—too long. But, she was glad to be here, catching up with these old faces, the familiar rhythm of their banter and laughter settling into her. The worries of her day faded, replaced with the warmth of good company and the taste of a well-earned pint.

The table buzzed with laughter and the clink of silverware as everyone dug into their meal. Y/N, content with a bite of lamb chop, was about to take another when Kyle’s voice broke through.

“So, Y/N,” he said with a mischievous grin, leaning forward, “how long’s it been since you’ve been single?”

Y/N paused, looking at him like he’d just asked if she wanted to run a marathon. She narrowed her eyes, the chop still in her hand. “You’re not about to start playing matchmaker, are you, Gaz?”

Kyle shrugged nonchalantly, completely unbothered. “Well, you know... I might have a perfect guy in mind. Could introduce you next time.”

The table erupted into teasing shouts, and a few of the women at the table nudged her playfully. “Ooh, a ‘perfect guy,’ eh?” one of them said with a sly smile. “Sounds like someone’s trying to get you out there, Y/N!”

“Yeah, yeah,” another girl chimed in, grinning. “You can’t stay single forever, love. You need to live a little!”

Y/N laughed, raising her glass of beer to her lips. “I’ve been living plenty, thank you very much,” she said, taking a sip. “I’ve been single since I was 22. Too much going on in my life. Can barely keep up with myself, let alone anyone else.”

One of the guys leaned in, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Come on, Y/N. You can’t just keep dodging the love life thing forever. You’ve gotta try at least once. Who knows? Maybe this ‘perfect guy’ will be just what you need.”

“Or,” another woman piped up, waggling her eyebrows, “he’ll just be an excuse for a nice date night and some free food. Win-win.”

Y/N put a hand on her chest, feigning shock. “Oh, I see how it is. You lot just want me to get free dinner at someone else’s expense!”

Kyle laughed, raising his beer. “Well, if you don’t like him, I’ll pay for the meal myself. But I’m tellin’ ya, he’s worth a shot.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her tone dry. “Tell you what—if I get to choose the place, I’ll consider it. But no more ‘perfect guy’ nonsense, alright?”

Her colleagues cheered, raising their own glasses. “To Y/N’s perfect guy!” someone shouted, and the table erupted into more laughter.

Y/N just rolled her eyes, taking another bite of her lamb chop. “Alright, alright. You lot are relentless.”

As the teasing continued, Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly curious. “Alright then, who’s this ‘perfect guy’ Gaz has in mind? One of your mates?”

Kyle leaned back, clearly proud of his matchmaking skills. “Yeah, mate. His name’s Price. Former SAS, top bloke—don’t let the gruff exterior fool you. He’s solid. Got a good head on his shoulders.”

The table went silent for a moment. Some of the guys and girls exchanged glances, clearly impressed by the mention of SAS.

“Ooh, SAS, huh?” one of the women said, grinning. “That’s like, the real deal, right? Tough, mysterious, probably has a six-pack or maybe even eight! Hidden under all that tactical gear.”

“Oh yeah, totally,” another guy added, practically waggling his eyebrows. “Rugged, muscular, probably a bit brooding. Can already see the whole ‘I’ve been through the worst’ vibe.”

“Sounds like someone’s got a lot of mystery about him,” one of the other women teased, nudging Y/N with her elbow. “Could be just the thing you need, Y/N. A real adventure.”

Kyle, clearly delighted by the reactions, went on, “Yeah, you’ll like him. He’s been through the ringer, mate. The kind of bloke you don’t wanna mess with. Tough as nails.”

The group went on, each person adding their own humorous speculation about Price’s rugged, mysterious persona—tough military training, intense eyes, dangerous aura. The teasing was infectious, and everyone was in on it now, laughing and playfully suggesting how wild or sexy Price must be.

But Y/N’s expression had already shifted. Her hand, still holding the lamb chop, froze mid-air, and she stared into the distance, her eyes darkening as she took in what Kyle had said. The laughter around her faded into the background, her own thoughts taking over.

One of the guys, noticing the shift, raised an eyebrow. “You okay, Y/N?” he asked, clearly sensing the change in her mood.

Y/N blinked, breaking out of her thoughts. She took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Yeah, fine,” she said quietly, but her tone was noticeably subdued.

Kyle, still excited, didn’t notice. “I’m telling you, mate, he’s a proper top guy. You’ll get along fine with him, I’m sure of it.”

But Y/N’s eyes had taken on a more somber look. “Yeah, maybe,” she muttered, her voice much softer than before. “Look, I’m not saying all military guys are the same, but…” She paused, her hand tightening around her beer glass. “My father was ex-military. Bit of a bastard, to be honest. Mentally and verbally abusive. So, I’ve... never really been into that kind of thing, if I’m honest.”

The teasing stopped abruptly. The table grew quieter as her words sank in. Kyle, finally sensing the shift, looked at her with a soft expression. “I didn’t mean to bring up anything heavy, Y/N. Just thought I was being helpful…”

Y/N gave a small, weary smile, waving it off. “It’s alright, Gaz. You didn’t know.”

One of the women, noticing her mood, reached out and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Hey, you don’t have to meet him, Y/N. No pressure.”

Y/N nodded, the smile returning just a little, though it was faint. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’m sure he’s a great guy. Just not sure I’m ready for... anything like that right now.”

The table grew quieter as the conversation shifted away from matchmaking and towards other, lighter topics. Laughter bubbled up again, but Y/N’s mind wandered back, the memories creeping in despite the cheerful chatter around her.

Her father… It didn’t take much to bring his image to the forefront of her mind. The memories of him were sharp and unpleasant, lingering like an unshakable shadow. He’d been in the military for years before moving into MI5 when she was a child. After he retired, though, he never really left the mindset behind.

She could still hear his voice in her head, cutting through the air, as if he was right there. The constant little digs—his sharp tone when he'd see her, trying to maintain that military discipline, as if he could control every aspect of her life. Every time he looked at her, it felt like he was seeing an enemy, like she was still just a soldier under his command.

He’d belittle her. Criticize everything, from her clothes to how she held herself, as though she were an extension of his authority. It wasn’t just the verbal abuse, though. There were moments where the anger would spill over. He’d hit her, sometimes, not out of frustration but out of a need to keep her “in line.” If she argued or disagreed with him, there were times he’d drag her out of the house, leave her stranded in the middle of nowhere just to teach her a “lesson,” and then come back hours later, violently pulling her into the car as though nothing had happened.

Y/N shook her head, pushing the dark thoughts back. She’d spent so long trying to bury them, trying to focus on anything else that didn’t make her feel like a child again, helpless under his control.

It wasn’t until that one night when she was 19—kicked out of the house, no place to go, just a bag and nothing but cold streets—that she decided enough was enough. She didn’t have the luxury of time or an easy choice. She’d had nowhere to go but a friend’s couch for a few nights, and that’s when she made the decision: she would join the police force. She needed the money, the stability, and more than anything, the chance to break free from the past.

The police program offered her a way out, an escape, a way to stand on her own two feet and start building something for herself. At the time, it also came with education, which was a huge draw. She could pay for her tuition while working, get the training she needed to eventually leave all that behind. She’d never intended to stay long in the force, but it turned out to be the best decision she could have made, even though it came with its own set of challenges.

Her eyes flickered back to the table, the laughter still ringing around her, but now muffled, distant. She had come a long way since those dark days, but sometimes—like now—the weight of it all crept back in.

It was easy for her to laugh along with the others, easy to let the jokes flow. But sometimes, when the noise died down, she could still feel the sting of her past, just beneath the surface.

Her thoughts snapped back to the present as someone nudged her elbow. “Oi, you alright, Y/N? You went all quiet there,” one of her friends said, concern lacing their voice.

Y/N blinked, shaking herself free of the memories. She smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah,” she replied, taking another swig of her beer. “Just a long day, that’s all. Don’t mind me.”

They didn’t press further, thankfully, but she could feel their eyes on her for a moment before the conversation shifted again.

The laughter from the table faded as everyone began to gather their things, slipping out one by one into the cool night air. Y/N lingered for a moment, the clink of glasses and murmurs of her friends still echoing in her ears, but it felt distant now—like a tune she was no longer part of. As she stepped outside, the damp pavement underfoot caught the glow of the streetlights, each step sharp and purposeful. She let out a long breath, the chill of the evening sinking into her skin. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d needed this—quiet, space to herself, far away from the constant chatter and noise that seemed to follow her every move.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, snapping her from her thoughts. She glanced down at the screen. An unknown number. Normally, she wouldn’t even bother answering, but something told her to check it.

She unlocked the screen and swiped open the message.

"Hi, Y/N. John Price here. Gaz gave me your number. We should grab a drink sometime. Maybe chat about a few things. Cheers."

Y/N stopped dead in her tracks, eyes narrowing. Her thumb hovered over the screen as her mind scrambled for a reaction. John Price. The John Price? The former SAS legend, now retired, and apparently still involved in some highly classified business? What the hell was Gaz thinking?

"What the fuck, Gaz!!!" Y/N hissed under her breath, staring at the message with disbelief. Her gaze snapped up and scanned the street. She could see her friends walking ahead, far down the street now, their backs turned. Gaz, that bloody menace, had passed her number along without a second thought.

She stormed a few paces ahead, but her steps were more frustrated now. Her mind raced as she considered her options. She didn’t want any part of whatever ‘chat’ Price had in mind. She wasn’t a fool—she knew how these things worked. She could already picture the smug look on Gaz’s face when he thought he was doing her a favour, setting her up with some ‘good guy’ from his circle of military buddies. But military men… well, she had enough of that in her life already.

Y/N scrolled through her contacts, her fingers moving like clockwork. She was about to fire off a quick response to tell Price to kindly go to hell when she caught sight of her reflection in a shop window. Her face looked tired, the exhaustion from the day finally catching up to her. She could feel the cold seeping through her coat, and for a moment, it was like the weight of everything—the years of trying to make it on her own, the trauma, the nightmares—settled right back on her shoulders.

She quickly closed her phone and shoved it back into her pocket. A drink with John Price? Yeah, that was definitely not going to happen. But Gaz? He was going to hear about this. She didn’t care if he was busy with some top-secret ops or whatnot—this was a step too far.

"Next round’s on you, Gaz," she muttered to herself as she walked toward the corner, feeling the familiar mix of annoyance and amusement begin to churn in her stomach. ----------

Y/N's eyes fluttered open to the soft light of the morning, spilling through the gap in her curtains. The events of last night—Gaz's matchmaking attempt and the unexpected message from John Price—already felt like distant memories, lost in the haze of sleep. She groaned and stretched, her arms reaching out before she swung them over the side of the bed and planted her feet onto the cool wooden floor.

She was hungry. More than that, she was starving.

With a deep sigh, she pushed herself to her feet, feeling the weight of yesterday’s long hours still in her bones. Her body moved on autopilot as she made her way to the kitchen. The smell of fresh coffee hit her senses before she even flicked on the kettle. The day ahead was full—pottery to finish, pieces to deliver, and the usual grind of meeting deadlines for design projects. But the pottery was the steady foundation. It brought in consistent income each month, even if it required hours of backbreaking work.

The market was always a good outlet for her—hands-on, personal, where customers could appreciate the craftsmanship and effort she poured into each item. She enjoyed the physicality of it, the quiet satisfaction of shaping clay into something functional and beautiful. She had a reputation for it, too—well-known in the area for her distinctive, handmade pottery, with a smooth, glossy finish that always caught the light just right.

After a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon, she shuffled into her workshop. There was something grounding about the familiar rhythm of her craft. The kiln had cooled overnight, and her latest batch of pottery—plates, mugs, vases, and a few statement pieces—was ready for inspection. Y/N carefully removed the items, one by one, from the kiln. The glaze had set perfectly, giving each piece a rich, lustrous shine. She ran her fingers over the smooth surfaces, admiring the precision of her work. Her hands were still stained with the evidence of yesterday’s labor, but it didn’t bother her. It was part of the process.

As she carefully packed the finished pieces into protective wrapping for transport, she nodded in approval. She may have put the hours in, but the result was always worth it. The market would love these.

Later, Y/N stood in front of the mirror in her bedroom, examining her reflection with a critical eye. She’d always believed that people treated you better when you looked your best—when you seemed approachable and friendly. And since she was about to step into the public eye again, it was important to put a little effort in. She applied her makeup with precision, the soft strokes highlighting her features, then slipped on a small pair of gold-plated silver earrings that added a touch of chic to her look.

She was wearing a loose white linen shirt with long sleeves, its cuffs casually rolled up. The shirt was light and breathable, perfect for a day of carrying boxes and setting up her stall. Over it, she tied her craftsman apron—dark, worn from years of use, but still functional, with enough pockets to hold all the tools she needed.

Her wide-legged chinos reached just to her ankles, the fit comfortable and practical, paired with her slip-on loafers—a soft, leather pair she’d had for years. It was casual yet still put-together, an outfit that made her feel at ease while still ready for whatever the day might throw at her.

She practiced her smile in the mirror—a grin that wasn’t too forced or strained, but warm and inviting. Some days, it felt like a performance. But she’d learned long ago that a good smile could sell a piece of pottery. And that was what she needed today: to sell, to engage, to make her art speak for her.

With a deep breath, she adjusted her apron, straightened her shoulders, and gave the mirror one final smile before grabbing the first box of finished work.

She had a day of selling ahead. And though sometimes the world felt heavy, she was ready to face it head-on. Her pottery, her designs—they were the bright spots in her life, the reasons she’d fought so hard to keep going, to stay grounded.

With another steadying breath, she stepped out into the cool morning air, the day ahead waiting for her.

-----------

Once Y/N had finished unpacking and arranging her wares at her stall, she took a moment to step back and admire the display. The pieces were neatly arranged—vases catching the light, mugs stacked just right, and her signature pottery glistening with its smooth, glossy finish. She felt a small sense of pride bubble up, but it was quickly tempered by the hustle of the market around her. There was no time to linger; there were customers to engage, products to sell, and a whole day ahead.

Grabbing her phone, she tapped into the group chat with her friends, which, of course, included Gaz. A small smile tugged at her lips as she typed out a quick message:

“Hey guys, I’m set up at the market today—stall 30 if you’re in the area and fancy dropping by. Would be good to catch up if you have the time! 😎”

She added a few relevant emojis, then hit send, tucking her phone back into her apron pocket with a sigh. If they could make it, great. If not, no big deal. It would be nice to see a familiar face, but she’d already grown accustomed to the solitude of her work.

As she glanced up from her phone, she was met with the hustle and bustle of market-goers milling around her stall. Some stopped to admire the pottery, others just passed by, lost in their own little world. Either way, it was all part of the game. She adjusted a few pieces that had shifted during the unpacking and waited for her first customer of the day. -------------

Y/N was arranging the last of her pieces when a tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped up to her stall. She glanced up, quickly taking in his dark blue shirt, trim hair, and the kind of build that made him look like he could carry a truck on his back if he wanted to. The guy looked like Papa Bear material—muscular, solid, and with a presence that seemed to fill the space around him.

He stood still for a moment, his eyes scanning over the pottery on display, then back at her. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly attractive he was. He had the kind of look that made heads turn, even if he didn’t seem to be trying. She could feel a little flutter of nerves creeping in, but she pushed it away, focusing on the pieces in front of her.

"Hi there," she said, forcing a smile as she adjusted a mug on the table.

"Hey," the man replied, his voice deep and steady. "You’ve got some brilliant work here."

Y/N nodded, her hands still busy with arranging. "Thanks. I’ve been at it for years, trying to get the perfect finish."

There was a pause as he looked at her again, this time with a more direct gaze. “You’ve definitely nailed it. Everything looks... well, perfect.”

Y/N felt a little warmth in her cheeks. What’s with this guy? she thought, still unsure of why she was feeling so off-kilter. He didn’t strike her as the type who would be interested in pottery, let alone strike up a conversation about it.

Then, with a small smile, he stepped forward and said, “I’m John, by the way. Gaz sent me.”

Y/N blinked, her heart skipping a beat at the mention of Gaz’s name. Gaz? The first thought that shot through her head was, No, no, not this again. Her stomach turned as she realized that Gaz hadn't given up on matchmaking her with this Papa Bear of a man. Gaz!! You matchmaking bastard, why'd you do this to me!!

She tried to shake off the feeling. "Gaz, huh? Of course. I should’ve known."

John’s smile softened. “Yeah, he said I should come over and introduce myself. Said you’re someone I should meet.”

Y/N gave him a wry grin, glancing at the ground for a moment. "That sounds like something Gaz would say." She forced a casual tone, but inside, she was already second-guessing everything.

There was a brief, knowing pause between them before John continued, his voice a bit quieter but warm. "I’ve seen the pictures Gaz sent me... you’ve definitely exceeded that. And you look even better in person."

Her heart pounded, and she could feel her pulse picking up, but she didn’t want to let him see how much his words affected her. Gaz... you absolute idiot.

John continued, stepping a bit closer. "I don’t usually do this, but I’d love to take you out sometime. Dinner, drinks... whatever you fancy."

Y/N felt a flush creeping up her neck. This was it, wasn't it? Gaz and his matchmaking nonsense had really gone this far... She looked up at him, her expression softer now, but still holding a hint of surprise. This guy wasn’t just tall and fit; he was exactly the kind of person Gaz would go on about.

“Look, I am a little busy right now... uhhmmm,” she said, but there was a small, teasing smile playing at her lips.

John smiled, his eyes twinkling with something playful. “Take your time. I’m patient.”

Y/N sighed inwardly. Gaz hadn't given up on this... She couldn’t help but feel the pressure of it all, even as she admired John's presence. Big guy, military background, and that soft, paternal charm. She’d met her fair share of tough guys, but there was something different about John Price. The way he carried himself—genuine, steady, and disarmingly kind—was impossible to ignore. A/N: I do hope you enjoyed that one! I’ll be writing another chapter when inspiration strikes, or feel free to drop any suggestions you might have! On to the NEXT CHAPTER ----->

[heavens-crown]

And The Were Neighbors PT.3

A/N: There is a brief description of prior domestic violence, it is not graphic details but is talked about

Warnings: Angst, mention of DV, minor wound care

Master list

prev / next

“It’s a date.”

When the door to his apartment shut behind him Robby had to lean against it for support. He couldn’t remember the last time he had spent time with a woman like that, especially one who just seemed to get him. Groaning, he scrubbed his hands over his face. He needed to get it together, he was acting like a horny teenager. Spending half the night trying to fight off an erection had not been in his horoscope for the day he was sure. 

“Get it together,” He muttered to himself. Stalking into the kitchen he grabbed a protein bar and sat heavily on his couch. Apparently peace was too much for him to ask for because the moment he sat down his mind assaulted him with image after image of Delilah. Before his mind could continue to perverse everything his new found friend did his phone began ringing. Grateful for the distraction he grabbed it from the coffee table and answered it. 

“Where the fuck do we get the physical patient sheets?” It was Jack, Robby’s coworker and begrudged best friend. 

“Well hello to you too. I’m doing great thanks for asking.” Robby chuckled hearing Jack’s annoyed huff. “Check in the filing cabinet near my desk. They should be in there if not I got no idea.” 

“All the computers decided now was the best time to just shut down and not work and shit is just crazy here,” Robby could hear him shuffling through papers while he grumbled under his breath. “Found them, thanks brother.” With that Jack hung up. 

Robby shook his head in amusement, he was used to Jack being rather prickly so the attitude didn’t bother him much. Now that it was silent again in his apartment Robby’s mind began to wander again and this time he didn’t stop it. Christ he was a dirty old man, he had no business wondering how soft her skin was. Or how she’d look spread out underneath him while he worked his way down her body. As his mind continued to wander a thought struck him, making him grab his phone. She had mentioned her art blog where she advertised her work, she had even given him the name of it in passing since it was apparently a joke of some kind. 

It didn’t take him long to find it, and when he did he felt a flush work its way up his neck. The profile picture was her alright and when he began scrolling through the posts he damn near threw his phone. The first post that popped up was an art piece she recently finished, tentacles held a woman who looked eerily like Delilah in the air. The woman's legs were spread open and even though it was blurred he could tell the tentacles were in between her thighs, while another one was shoved down her throat. Fucking christ, Robby thought as he continued to scroll through the posts. She hadn’t been kidding when she had warned him about how graphic they could get. One post in particular caught his attention. In the description was a link to a secondary blog that was apparently for all her explicit work. Before he could stop himself he had clicked the link. 

A full hour had gone by the time Robby had finally found the willpower to put his phone down. Apparently the second blog was more of her personal art along with random things she wanted to post at will. When it wasn’t monsters and women it was one particular character drawn in various scenarios. His first look through the blog he had failed to notice the captions and tags on each post but when he went back through his breath had hitched.

-I just want to be someone's toy. Is that too much to ask for?

That caption had been with another drawing of the character she seemed to favor bent over a couch. A fist was bunched in her hair pulling her head back while the other hand gripped her hip holding her in place. Robby’s gut had twisted when he’d seen the caption and he had to stop himself from picturing him and Delilah in that pose. He groaned when he felt his dick throb and laid his head back against the couch. He was a grown man and he should have better self control. A minute passed with no signs of his hard on going away before he groaned and shoved his hand down his pants. Hopefully Delilah never found out that her neighbor was jerking himself off to thoughts of her. 

Delilah busied herself with finishing up a makeshift breakfast while trying to ignore just how horny she was. After Robby had left she had tried to sleep and when she failed at that she had tried to masturbate since that usually helped her sleep. Spoiler: it hadn’t worked. Even using her favorite vibrator hadn’t done jack besides make her over stimulated. So she wasn’t in the best of moods but at least she had cinnamon rolls and fruit to look forward to. Her phone dinged, pulling her attention away from the fruit she was chopping. Before she knew it she had sliced her finger instead of the cantaloupe.

“Fuck!” She yelped. Dropping the knife she grabbed a tea towel and wrapped it around her finger. Tears welled in her eyes as the wound throbbed. Her morning was looking like a real shit show, a few tears rolled down her face as she attempted to survey the damage done to her finger. Before she could there was a knock at the door. With a sniffle and attempt at wiping her Delilah made her way to the door, opening it to Robby standing there. He was all smiles until he saw the tears and her clutching the towel to her hand. 

“Jesus are you ok? What happened?” Robby pushed himself into her apartment gently cradling her hand. He peeled back the tea towel as she explained what had happened. Delilah sniffled as more tears gathered in her eyes. She knew she was crying from more than just the cut, everything was threatening to overwhelm her. 

“I’m sorry for crying so much,” She muttered as he continued to survey the damage. Frowning at her he pressed the towel back to her hand. 

“Why are you apologizing? You’re hurt it’s natural to cry when you get hurt,” He brushed some of her hair out of her face. “Sit on the couch, I'm going to grab my first aid kit. Thankfully you don’t need stitches.” Before she could argue with him he was herding her to the couch and only left once she had sat down. When he returned he sat on her coffee table directly in front of her. His legs bracketed hers as he grabbed supplies out of it. Once he had what he needed pulled on a pair of gloves before gently pulling her hands towards him.

“I’m gonna clean around the cut just to get some of this blood off. Once that's done I'm gonna put these butterfly bandages on it ok?” When she nodded her consent he started cleaning off her hand. “I’m going to use this mild antiseptic solution, it’s gonna sting a bit.” When it did begin stinging Delilah winced.

“Shit you weren’t kidding,” more tears gathered as she tried to not flinch away from him.

“I know I'm sorry just hold still a moment longer,” Robby said as he finished up cleaning the wound. When she took in a shaky breath he gave her a warm smile. “That’s it good girl, take in nice deep breaths for me.” Delilah prayed to whatever higher being there was that he didn’t notice her squeeze her thighs together at his ‘good girl’ comment. Jesus she was a wreck, she shouldn’t be lusting after her neighbor while he bandaged her up. 

“I’m sorry again for crying,” She said softly. “I think it was just sort of a straw that broke the camel's back. Things haven’t  been great up to me moving here.” Robby finished applying the bandages to her finger. He didn’t let go of her hand as he studied her face. 

“If you want to talk about it you can. I’m a really good listener," he offered. His thumb was rubbing soothing circles on the back of her hand while his other hand gently cupped her wrist on her non injured hand. She hesitated for the briefest moment, but seeing the sincerity in his eyes and the way he didn’t push her to share anything made her crack. 

“I have this ex, we met when I was 19 and he was 29. My parents had just died and I was an emotional wreck. He made me feel important and showered me with gifts, it's why when he suddenly criticized anything I did or got in my face during an argument I didn't immediately see what was happening,” Delilah paused, taking a shaky breath. “When I was 21 he started hitting me. It just escalated from there until two years ago he threatened to kill me if I left him. My friend Cherry managed to convince me that he’d kill me even if I stayed so I packed a bag with anything important and I left.” 

“Delilah,” Robby started. 

“You don’t have to say I'm sorry or anything, I know people tend to feel a little uncomfortable at first when I talk about this stuff.” Another deep breath and she felt less shaken. “After I left I bounced around alot, never staying anywhere for long. It was only a year ago that I reactivated my blogs so I could go back to art commissions. Then about 3 months ago my grandma called saying that she was going into a nursing home here in Pittsburgh and she wanted me to be close by. So i decided fuck it, and moved here.” 

They sat in silence for a moment, Robby seemed lost for words and Delilah was just staring down at her hands still held in his. The timer on the oven dinged startling both of them. Laughing a bit Delilah pulled her hands out of his grip and went to stand. 

“That’s the cinnamon rolls, let me go get them before they burn,” she went to stand but Robby stopped her.

“I’ll get them you sit and rest,” He said. “Doctors orders.” Winking at her he got up and made his way into the kitchen. Delilah turned so she could watch him in the Kitchen. He moved around easily, pulling the tray of cinnamon rolls out of the oven and placing them on the stove to cool. He also put the bloodied knife and cutting board in the sink and washed them off. 

“I got the icing ready for the cinnamon rolls. So in a few minutes I can come in there and we can ice them up,” Delilah said, enjoying watching him move about. Robby shot her a mark glare, his fits on his hips. 

“What part of the doctor's orders do you not understand?” He scolded playfully. Making his way back to the couch he dropped down next to her and sighed as if she were a troublesome child. “Am I going to have to tie you to this couch to get you to sit still?” 

Oh my god, Delilah thought. Logically she knew he didn't mean it that way, but her brain still kicked into overdrive at the images that statement produced. He was smirking at her, as if thinking she wouldn’t clap back. Before she could stop herself she found herself talking. 

“My safewords ‘banana’ if you really want to play that game.”

Seeing the satisfied smirk on Delilah’s face damn near made his control snap. It took Robby a moment to get his thoughts together since he honestly hadn’t meant to threaten to tie her down, nor was he expecting her to say that. 

“Cat got your tongue?” She teases. Sitting back with a triumphant look on her face Robby makes a split decision. 

“Keep it up little girl, and i’ll put you over my knee,” it’s not a threat but a promise. He watches as her pupils dilate just slightly and a flush works its way up her face. It’s at that moment Robby has a lightbulb realization. She’s just as attracted to him, and fuck if that doesn’t make some of his self control start to fray. He’s leaning toward her about to say something completely inappropriate when all of a sudden his phone is blaring. Frowning he pulls it out of his pocket and he feels his stomach drop when he sees the message flashing across the screen. 

[MCI Alert: Pittsburgh PA - Train derailment]

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Sinking My Claws Into You ~Dark!Claire Debella xFem Younger!Wealthy!Reader

Summary— A darker fic, set after Claire gets back from Miles’ private island, and she now has to deal with the reality of basically going bankrupt. Luckily, Claire has got her hooks in you, a young, wealthy enthusiast from New York…

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: dark fic, lightly implied smut, age gap (all legal), teasing, taunting, manipulation, alcohol consumption, unrequited feelings, little bit of gold digging behavior, praise, flustering, wealth, yucky men, flirting, little bit of sugar mommy behavior, etc.

Enjoy (;

Ever since Claire had backed away from her friendship with Miles, she had hit nothing but impossible obstacles one after another. Without Miles’ endorsement and backing for her campaign for the U.S. Senate, the middle aged woman was facing a fate worse than death. She would have happily rode on the back of Miles’ wealth all the way, but she couldn’t ignore the events that had come to pass. However, her decision now left the woman desperate.

Miles was an eccentric prick whom Claire had met more than 20 years ago. Back then, he had charmed her. And being the young, naive woman that she was, Claire had fallen for his persuasive nature. Not to mention how easy it was considering he was loaded. But Miles never wanted anything more than a friendship from Claire, and Claire eventually was forced to accept this by the amount of pretty models and talented girls that he always had in rotation and the overtly harsh rejection he gave her, which the snob was always happy to remind her of. Over the years, the only reason Claire put up with Miles was for the money. Miles had endorsed her when she ran for mayor, and then now for governor as well.

Miles was always there to dole out a check for whatever the woman needed. And Claire took full advantage of that. The price she paid over the years was well worth the bank she raked in. Miles would compare her to others and batter Claire all the time, she was his favorite plaything. But she always took it with a stoic face, telling herself that it would be worth it, that the amount of money she was getting leveled out the fact that he was a knee-faced jerk.

But then she and Claire had had a falling out. Claire had gone behind her back and stabbed a mutual friend in the back. And if there was one thing that Claire could not stand, it was betrayal. In the heat of the moment, Claire let emotions get the best of her and she broke it off. God she kicked herself for being friends with Miles for as long as she had been… It had been over 2 decades of unhealthy friendship, but in her eyes, the money had made it all worth it. But now, without Miles’ money… She was through. Finished. Done.

That was until she met you.

Claire had met you at an art benefit, one of those fancy events where the rich and wealthy got together, socialized, and gave away millions of dollars like it was nothing. Claire had been there campaigning for more funding and endorsements. She had already talked with three or twelve basic, filthy rich white guys, the kind that flashed toothy smiles while heavily and shamelessly flirting with her. She would indulge these men as little as possible, before moving past them. Those guys weren’t the type she was looking for. They weren't a Miles or a Y/N Astor… Claire rolled her eyes and shrugged off her disgust at the idea of what those rich guys wanted from her.

After a particularly gagging interaction with a young bachelor (at least half her age and nonetheless just as gross as the rest of them who only wanted her body and willing to give nothing in return), Claire had looked around the room, champagne glass in hand, when her gaze had landed on you at the bar. She immediately noticed how the woman carried herself with youthful elegance, and that she was the type of lady who could make anything look good. She could also tell that the woman had money, she was not the type of lady that flattered and flirted with filthy rich men to get into their pockets. She wasn’t a part of the common folk. No, this woman was in the one percent. Her clothing and accessories were not loud, but Claire could read the nicheness of the fashion and knew that she was wearing thousands of dollars: her Manolo pumps, the Cartier watch, the small Dolce purse, etc. This was the type of girl she needed, and she knew this woman could replace Miles and his money. Claire finished her glass, gave it to a server, took a deep breath, put on a smile, and then sauntered over to the stunning lady.

“I would buy you a drink, ‘hun, but it is an open bar…” Claire hummed, glancing over to the wealthy woman with a sly smirk.

You blushed just a smidge, and Claire immediately took that as her first win of the night. This girl was young. Not young enough to not be able to handle commitment, but definitely young enough to fall for Claire’s charm and to agree to hand over her money without a second thought. Again, the perfect mark. While Claire waited for you to make your move, she ordered herself a red wine from the open bar.

“You’re too kind…” you lightly retorted, swirling the expensive amber liquid in your glass.

“And who do I have the pleasure of giving my kindness to today…?” Claire cooed widening her smirk as she now turned her body from the bar to face you.

You slowly swiveled towards the older woman. Claire allowed her eyes to wander and take in the younger woman in front of her. You took a swig of her whiskey, before humming lightly.

“I’m Y/N.”

Claire nodded in satisfaction, taking the glass of red from the bartender when it was ready for her. Her eyes shimmered with predatory intent. She could tell this woman was book smart. But she was confident that she could outplay you in this game.

“I’m Claire Debella. My colleagues call me Debella, you can call me Claire…” the older woman hummed, with a teasing tone.

You sucked in a breath, your face flushing some more, before you nodded lightly.

“Where are you from, Y/N?” Claire cooed, playing with the younger woman’s name in her mouth.

“New York. I went to Harvard, have family in Connecticut” You breathed out, lightly fidgeting with your fingers and your glass while struggling to maintain eye contact.

“Smart girl…” the older brunette cooed, sending a sly wink your way.

Another blush rippled through the wealthy woman’s face. Claire could tell this girl was shy. That was also good, it spoke to her privacy and naivety.

“What about you…?” You softly asked.

“Connecticut.” Peggy promptly responded, before taking control of the conversation once more,

“Are you here alone, Y/N?”

Claire could tell that her words were having an effect on the young, wealthy woman. You nearly choked on her drink at her last words, as well as flushed, fidgeting, struggling to hold eye contact… But not in an uncomfortable way, in a flustered way. In a way where you looked adorable while you were trying to cover her ruby red cheeks in embarrassment. And that was exactly what Claire was going for.

“I am…” you breathed out.

“Really?” Claire cooed, quirking her brow dramatically accompanied by a sip of red, “A stunning girl like you…? I’m surprised that a cute guy or girl hasn’t snatched you up yet…”

Now your face was beet red, and she was desperately trying to swallow all of her liquid courage, overwhelmed from all the praise that the older woman was showering her with. Now the your glass was empty.

“Why don’t we ditch this open bar and go somewhere that has some nice, expensive whiskey for you? Hmmmmm, ‘hun?” Claire purred, leaning in close to the woman’s personal space.

You gulped and nodded mindlessly.

“I’d like that…” you breathed out nervously.

“Good girl…” Claire hummed out in delight.

She placed her glass along with the younger woman’s on the bar, signaling to the bartender that the two of you were done. She then linked her arm with yours with ease and guided you, the clueless, naive, wealthy, young woman out of the expensive, testosterone filled event, getting in the back of your Maserati and heading into a future filled with good fortune for the one and only Claire Debella.

~~~

Claire Debella Masterlist ~Coming Soon (;

[chosaraki]

Drinks..

—————————————————————————

Jinrang x R.femele. ( bartender )

—————————————————————————

It was a hot night in Busan, and the sound of the city seemed more muffled than usual. Jinrang leaned against the door frame of a discreet bar, hidden in a side alley, reserved only for guests. A private event would take place there, with influential city leaders gathered. But he wasn't there for business - he was there for her.

His wife, dressed in an elegant and minimalist black suit, was behind the counter. The hair stuck in a low bun showed her delicate neck. His movements were precise, almost choreographed, while he prepared the bench with citrus fruits, mint leaves, bottles of drinks and shiny instruments.

Jinrang had never seen that side of her so... technical.

"You look like a laboratory chemistry," he commented, with a slight funny tone, approaching the bar.

She gave him a look from the corner of her eye, but with a slight smile on her lips. "Mixology is a science. And also an art."

He sat on the bench in front of her, watching as she cut lemons with a silent accuracy, separated the peels from peels with elegance and prepared a handmade syrup.

"You've always been good with knives," he murmured with a corner smile.

"Cuts, measures, silence... are things that I master." She answered calmly, while adding ice to a crystal glass with the care of someone who is shaping a memory.

With the bar starting to fill up with guests, Jinrang remained there, motionless, like a sentry. He watched as his wife transformed into another version of herself - professional, precise, and yet charmingly calm.

She didn't do acrobatics with the bottles, nor did she smile to impress. His charm was in his composure. While the other mixologists drew attention with flair tricks, she conquered with sobriety and perfection in flavors. Each customer who tasted one of her drinks reacted in the same way: silence, surprise, and a small nod of approval.

"Do you want to taste it?" - she asked Jinrang, pushing a glass towards her.

He took the glass with one of his big and rustic hands, but didn't drink it right away. "Made by you... it will be hard to forget."

She just looked at him, her calm eyes reflecting the soft lights of the environment. I didn't need to say anything. He already knew: that was his way of taking care too - offering balance, even in flavors.

When the event ended, and the bar was empty, Jinrang stayed to help her clean up. Neither of them said much. They just moved together in the comfortable silence of those who understand each other even in gestures.

At the end, while she was washing the last glass, he approached from behind, putting his arms around her waist.

"You're full of surprises," he murmured, leaning his chin on her shoulder.

She just closed her eyes for a moment, relaxing against him.

"And you always stay around to discover all of them."

—————————————————————————

Jinrang accompanies his wife to an event in an exclusive bar, where she, an expert in mixology, prepares drinks with impressive precision and calm. She doesn't use flashy tricks, but conquers everyone by perfection and balance in flavors. Jinrang admiredly observes this professional and serene side of her, feeling even more connected. After the event, they stay together cleaning the bar in comfortable silence, strengthening the intimacy of the couple.

—————————————————————————

[athenaistired]

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐂❞

— 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐭.𝟑 //

ᴘʟᴏᴛ: ᴅᴏɴɴᴀ ʜᴀᴅ ʟᴏꜱᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ, ʜᴇʀ ꜰᴜᴛᴜʀᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴡ ꜱʜᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ʀᴇᴀᴅʏ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ɢᴏ ᴏꜰꜰ ʜᴇʀ ᴋɪɴᴅɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴɪᴛʏ.

art credit & word count: 2634

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ (ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀɪɴꜱ ꜱᴘᴏɪʟᴇʀꜱ): ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴇꜱ, ʜᴏꜱᴘɪᴛᴀʟɪᴢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ɴᴏɴ-ᴄᴏɴꜱᴇɴꜱᴜᴀʟ ᴀʙᴏʀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ ᴘʟᴏᴛᴛɪɴɢ, ᴅᴇᴘʀᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ, ɢʀɪᴇꜰ, ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ʙᴜʟʟʏɪɴɢ

— 𝑴𝒀 𝑳𝑼𝑺𝑻𝑭𝑼𝑳 𝑯𝑼𝑺𝑩𝑨𝑵𝑫 !3!

Donna woke up to the sunlight forcing its way through her eyelids. She was in an unfamiliar bed, with Diluc gone from her side, and with a strange string attached to her arm. Her memory was still hazy; the only thing that she could recall was that she was speaking to you about Diluc, but somehow she ended up here.

“You’re awake.” An unfamiliar man in a black suit was sitting in front of her bed on a chair, he seemed to be reading a book in another language with a drawing of a human’s head on the cover, “I’m Sebastian, personal doctor working for Master Y/N in case of emergencies. Just call me by my name. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. Just a bit sore all over..” Donna mumbled back, to which the man nodded, “And.. My stomach kind of hurts..”

“That’s expected.” He reached for the paper laying by her nightstand, “You’ve been here for 32 hours, in and out of consciousness. Your medical record is missing information about your allergies, but considering that you and Master Y/N were having tea together, I’d say that you had quite an aggressive reaction towards some type of fruit which was used to make the blend.”

The moment he explained what had occurred hours prior — memories came rushing back in Donna’s mind, and she instantly felt more awake than ever.

“So.. It wasn’t poison?” She asked with hesitance, and the man almost dropped the mug which he was holding in his other hand.

“What kind of person do you think Master Y/N is to poison someone in a broad daylight, in their own home, with this many people around? Of course this was an accident.” The doctor scoffed and got up, “Anyways, leave whenever you feel like it. You seem more than fine to me.” He quickly detached the IV drip out of her hand, and bandaged up her elbow, “Try not to put any unnecessary strain on this arm.”

“A-Alright..”

Donna had actually never seen one of the proper doctors before in her life. Her family were strong believers in Herbology and Barbados’ will, so she wasn’t exactly sure why the doctor had concluded she was allergic to some fruit. Her whole life she tended to the gardens, sold massive varieties of flowers, and even once was a waitress at the bar with all kinds of drinks. Something didn’t seem to perfectly match what Sebastian had described, but maybe she just had to ask you what the two of you had that day to get to the bottom of this situation.

“Donna! Are you alright?!”

Suddenly, the doors bursted open with Diluc rushing inside. He looked even worse than last time she saw him. He was beginning to smell, his hair was forming mats and shining with grease, and his eyes were puffed and red; huge eye-bags forming above his cheeks.

“H-honey.. What has happened to you?” The woman gasped in shock at the appearance of her lover. He seemed to be taken with surprise by her reaction, and took a few steps back to stare at himself in the mirror.

The man froze.

Slowly, he reached to cup his own face as if he couldn’t recognize it.

“That dammed Y/N..” He mumbled to himself, “I am actually falling apart..” He whispered, while crouching down to take a seat on the ground. Now, Donna was more than worried. She got up from her bed and hugged her lover in a tight embrace, “Did they do something to you?” He pulled away to look deep into the woman’s eyes, “Did they hurt you?”

“I..” The brunette wasn’t sure what to say. Was she poised? Was this intentional? Accidental? Were you naturally hostile or angered by the circumstances? She had no clue. “I don’t know. Sebastian told me that I had an intense allergic reaction to something and that Y/N called in the medics to save me.”

“Oh.” Diluc blinked in surprise, “T-that’s confusing me even more now..”

“I know..” The woman sighed, “I know.”

-

You sat at the edge of your bed, as Marie kneeled before you with your right hand in her skillful palms. Your feet were soaking in a warm tub with rose petals floating above the water’s surface, and the maid gently trimmed your cuticles and the length of your nails to perfection. The two of you sat in silence throughout the whole procedure, as you stared at the flickering flame of a candle on your nightstand.

“What do you think, Marie? What are they going to do next?” You asked her a question, and she didn’t even bat an eye before answering to you.

“They are going to try to murder you, my Master.”

You didn’t expect such conclusion. Truly, your death seemed to be an only out for Diluc’s desperate cry for freedom. The moment he’d sign a contract provided by you — his life would be over. Staying in the same mansion with you would also ensure his and Donna’s suffering until their last breaths. But in order for him to be back in control of his future — he would need to erase you. You let out a bitter laugh, however, Marie’s expression remained as stoic as always.

“What do you think I should do?” You questioned further. You watched her grab a warm cloth, and rub your palms in gentle motion, as if trying to cleanse you of your sins.

“I am a mere servant, my Master.” She reminded you.

For a second, you saw red. Without a thought you slapped her hands away from yours’ and grabbed at her chin — forcing her to look you in the eyes. She didn’t tremble, she didn’t fight, she just froze. Your anger vanished, and slowly you melted into a fake smile. Your thumb hovered over her bottom lip, and you brought her closer to yourself, until you both could feel each others’ breaths.

“You’re my servant, Marie. I don’t keep fools around me, do I?” You then let go off her, making her lose her balance for a second, but she quickly gathered herself and bowed her head in submission, “Now, speak.” She rose her gaze, and you encouraged her once again with a raised brow.

“I believe for there to be two options.” Marie began her speech, and took your feet out the tub to place them on her thighs and wipe them dry, “You get rid of Master Diluc and send Mistress Donna back to Mondstat. Nobody would believe her that it was you who hurt Master Diluc, but even if they would, a single mention of his crimes across the world and that it was all done in self-defense would guarantee your innocence.”

She was finally done taking care of you, and proceeded to reach for freshly the ironed socks by her side.

“And second?”

“You get rid of Mistress Donna, and make Master Diluc fall into the deepest depths of despair, so that he won’t have anyone else to turn to for comfort — but you.” Marie buckled up your shoes, and stood up, instantly straightening her back, “The choice lies in whether you prefer to execute quick revenge and forget, or, to keep a hold of your revenge until your last breath.”

You laughed at her words.

“Do you believe for revenge to be a waste of time?”

“Many people who consider themselves above others would say that, but I solely believe that your decision is absolute, my Master. I believe a yearn for revenge made you into a person who you are today, and Master..” Marie locked her hands together by her chest, “You are an entity beyond my comprehension.”

“You flatter me, Marie.”

Looking at her, you saw emotions which Diluc had never expressed towards you. Yes, he loved you. But young love comes and goes. Meanwhile every single one of your servants in this house, were undoubtedly loyal to you. There was no hesitation that every single maid, butler, cook, and even the recently hired doctor would die for you. Kill for you. Live for you.

Diluc was never any of those things.

“I think I made my decision.”

You’ve made that decision long time ago, and there was no reason to back out on it now. Even if Diluc would put you in the casket, you would crawl out with a knife in your hand to continue to haunt him. You weren’t sure where this obsession was coming from. Perhaps it was boredom. Maybe, you were just that evil and prideful. Or even..

It was just fun.

-

Donna decided to finally leave Master Y/N house and go for a walk. They have been living in the mansion for a month now, and each day was worse than the previous one. She tried to make it work. She followed all lessons which you signed her up for, she learned the etiquette, she put herself on a diet, did her hair to the best of her ability, but one thing for sure — each day was more miserable than the other.

The moment that the sun would rise, she would feel the dread wash over her. Even when you weren’t at the mansion your spirit and your presence were felt everywhere. Your mere gaze was driving her insane, even giving her nightmares. She had a dream, where you were smirking at her with a maniacal glare in your eyes whilst holding a blade to her throat. Then, there were visions of you poisoning her, assassinating her, or hanging her off the ceiling.

Donna’s thoughts were getting darker and darker. From a light and careless girl, she has become something else entirely.

Perhaps, being with Diluc was the biggest mistake of her life.

As she finally stepped through the gates of Mondstat — the whispers began. Nobody in this city knew what you were truly like. How terrifying, how cruel, how manipulative. They all saw you from the best angle, meanwhile, Donna was seen from her worst.

“Homewrecker..”

“Slut!”

“Whore!”

“To get together with a married man, no shame at all!”

“How can she even bear to come back here..”

Even though they were mere whispers, their voices seemed to be louder than her own thoughts. She had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep herself away from shedding tears. Her life had become so terrible. Although she was outside, it felt like the curtains were still drawn. She couldn’t see the sunlight as bright as it used to be. A part of her was still locked away in that mansion — forever caged.

She felt her heart rase, her breathing picking up — she was panicking. There were so many people, and they all hated her. Yes, she did a bad thing, but did she really deserve all of this? Were her good deeds before this now completely forgotten? Where did all of her friends go when she needed them the most?

She had no one.

She was so alone.

“Is Sister Barbara around?” Donna asked as she had finally reached the church. Her feet felt sore, and the base of her spine was aching.

“One second.” One of the nuns had ran off to get her. As Donna waited she took a seat and looked around the church. Perhaps, she should beg, no, plead Barbados for His guidance. For His help. For His involvement.

“She’s here.”

“Donna! I haven’t seen you in a while.” If there were someone who hadn’t changed their attitude towards her — it was all the nuns, especially Sister Barbara. Maybe she was just very good at hiding her real thoughts, but Donna preferred to indulge herself in a more positive light.

“Hi, Sister Barbara.” The brunette murmured shyly, “I sent you a letter a week ago..” She reminded the other, and at first Barbara seemed confused, until she remembered.

“Ah, yes, yes!” The young girl continuously nodded her head, “Let’s head to a more private room.” She gestured for Donna to follow her out the church, and into the next building.

Barbara wasn’t the only doctor in Mondstat, in fact, she wasn’t even an actual licensed professional how Sebastian was. However, people with healing hydro abilities were granted permission to accept patients and examine them if required. Donna didn’t trust Sebastian, so, she sent a letter ahead explaining her symptoms to the blonde girl and arranged time and date of their meeting.

Barbara made the woman lay down on the examination table, as she checked what worried her most. She applied pressure on different parts of her body, especially her stomach. Then, a frown covered her face and she spread out her palms across Donna’s stomach — hydro particles suddenly formed in the air and circled around each one of her fingers — until they had vanished. It seemed that the blonde had come to her conclusion, but was hesitating to speak.

“Donna..”

“What? What is it?” The brunette was already imaging the worst. Was she dying? She must be dying! “What’s wrong with me?” The longer she wasn’t hearing an answer, the more panicked she got.

“You’ve had a miscarriage.”

What.

“I.. I was pregnant?” Donna stared, and Barbara nodded, “What do you mean I had a miscarriage?” She breathed out a pained laugh, “I didn’t bleed or anything.. I..” And then — it hit her. She understood what happened. You didn’t poison her that day. Your intent wasn’t her assassination, but rather.. “N-no way..”

She was drowning.

Her lungs were getting filled with the sea of sorrow.

“NOOOOOooooOOoOOOooOOooo!” A howling, blood-curdling cry was heard echoing through the halls of the hospital. Her tears were running down her cheeks like a river, and Barbara’s comforting embrace felt like the last hold on her humanity.

That day Donna hadn’t just lost her past, but she also lost her future.

-

Donna came back home only a week later. She might have not even known her child, but the grief was weighting down at her heart. She always wanted to be a mother, and from a young age she was told to be infertile. She never said anything to Diluc about it, because the topic was never brought up. But now, she was finding out that her miracle baby was forcefully taken out of her. She felt violated, torn, and broken. Every part of her soul had shattered like glass with pieces scattered so far apart that they’ll never be fixed back together.

“Donna.. Finally.”

Diluc was hugging her, but she couldn’t even feel it. Her body just froze, meanwhile, her gaze and mind were elsewhere. She couldn’t stop thinking about her lost child. Was it a girl, a boy, or twins? Were they going to have her brown her or their father’s crimson locks? What about their eyes, their height, their smiles? Were they going to grow up to be strong and powerful, or would they prefer a more standard and quiet life? Why did this happen to her? Why wasn’t she given a chance?

If only you had asked her to decide between her child and Diluc, she would have chosen her child in a heartbeat.

“Where have you been?” The man whispered into her ear, and she felt his tears falling onto her shoulder and soaking through her shirt. She hadn’t cried since that day. She hadn’t even said a word. Her whole world was stuck in that one moment, unable to move on, “What happened to you, my beautiful?” Diluc was playing with the locks of her hair, just how he used to.

He hadn’t changed, but she was now a different person. She was in grief. He was in despair.

“Can we kill them?”

Diluc instantly pulled away, and stared at Donna’s empty eyes. He blinked once, twice, but still couldn’t believe his ears.

“K-kill who?”

“Master Y/N. I want to take their life.“

FINAL CHAPTER !

[jackwolfes]

@febuwhump day 8/alt: bleeding out/emergency surgery Nina & Kaz & Jesper | Six of Crows | TW: blood, wounds, vomitting febuwhump masterlist

Nina Zenik has blood on her hands. 

It is thick, sticky with the stench of iron and a young man’s pulse (although it's heavier than his pulse, which is light as a feather and faint. Too faint.) 

There's a lifeless look on Jesper's face that Nina doesn't like. He'd been laughing through the pain until she knocked him out — that had been easy. She is good, almost too good, at stealing the breath from men’s lungs. 

Less talented is she at saving their stupid lives, but she's on her knees in a dusty old safehouse with Jesper's blood soaking into the knee of her trousers anyway. 

A figure throws itself through the door and barricades it shut in short order. 

Something clatters. Nina looks up and meets Kaz’s eye. He has lurched backwards against the door. There is a deathly pallor on his already ghastly face, and a dangerous look slides across it. It feels like looking at a tiger with meat in its mouth: men like Kaz should never be scared. 

Nina is too aware that Jesper's blood is up her wrists and smudged on her face, that he's lying like some bony fucking corpse beneath her, but the rapid fire bullet strike of Kaz's racing pulse rattles inside Nina’s head. It is a perfect storm that distracts her from the dirty work of knitting Jesper's lungs back together at exactly the wrong moment. 

“Fuck!” 

Nina loses her tentative grip on the stringy sinew inside Jesper's body, feels it slip. Blood gushes free inside his body and surges out of all the wrong places. 

“Oh, Saints, come on—”

Kaz’s voice is a knife; brittle and unwelcome. “What have you done?” 

“I’m not a healer,” Nina replies snappishly. “I need you to help me.”

She digs her hands hard into the bloody wreck of Jesper’s abdomen. The thready knots of muscle beneath his clammy skin are complicated tapestries, and although Nina is an artful master there are limits — infuriating, agonising limits — to what she can achieve. 

“Put your hands here and press down or else he'll bleed out before I can stitch him up,” she insists. “Help me or he dies.” 

The tiger is ravenous, and the boy is too afraid for his own good. 

“No.” 

Impatience erupts in Nina's chest. “I can feel him dying, Kaz! Get over yourself for two seconds, please!”

There is anger and bitter hatred in Kaz’s black eyes when he takes stock of their situation and sees the outcomes for what they are. No locks to pick, no clever ways to outwit fate: just Jesper, very near to dying. 

Kaz Brekker has too much blood on his hands and in a moment, he will have even more.

He drops to his knees with an ungentle thunk, possibly past feeling his own pain. Nina feels it for him, carved into her bones as if taunting her with what guilt will feel like when she doesn't manage to keep this boy alive. 

A con-man’s bait and switch, their hands swap places like a bar of soap and a rich man’s wallet. Blood dribbles between the gaps in Kaz's fingers, pulse slower than it should be but still too much. 

Nina swears, dirty Ravkan then Kerch and a little bit of Fjerdan just for good measure. She bends her fingers and tenses up so hard they start to cramp, pulling blindly at organ tissue and musculature until she starts to feel more than the desperate beat of her own heart intertwined with the poorly hidden panic of Kaz’s. 

Skin is an easier thing to stitch. Nina knits the gaping gash on Jesper's stomach closed with shaking fingers as sweat drips down over her eyebrows. 

With the last of her energy, she collapses backwards. Her palm smears a bloody handprint on the floor behind her. 

Kaz barely turns around before he vomits. It's graceless, disgusting, but Nina does him the courtesy of not pointing that out. 

There is little more than hatred in Kaz's eyes when he looks up at her, but it's hard for that to feel genuine when his sweaty hair is plastered to his face and the shining tears in his eyes are still visible. He rubs the back of hand against his mouth, smearing blood on his chin. 

Kaz isn't a tiger, not really. He's a rascally cub. Scared, deadly, vulnerable, but not monstrous. Not good, either. Just terribly committed to staying alive. 

“Jesper is going to be so mad when he wakes up and finds out you barfed on his trousers,” Nina says. 

“Then he's an ungrateful bastard,” Kaz replies. 

Neither of them laugh, but they do both smile.

[princess-of-the-corner]

Just had an extremely 'me' idea where post current canon, Chloe's basically cut off by Audrey barring what she's legally obliged to provide & well aware the moment she graduates its too the streets.

As Audrey's basically made it impossible for her access any resources or education out of spite, Chloe gets creative and leans on her Savate skills, not for mugging or bodyguard work but by putting out a:

"Fight a Super villain/Hero" social media challenge.

It starts off small, but quickly takes off, and Chloe herself actually becomes quite popular. As a lot of showy guys turn up either saying "I'll take it easy on her" or "Gonna put tat mouthy girl in her place" and both groups end up being either goaded into going all out and losing or just get their assess handed to them and go home crying.

Actual masters, even when/if they beat Chloe usually come away with "You may be a bit mercenary but you're clearly skilled." Which adds legitimacy. & leads to stuff like part time work a an assistant instructor or martial arts tutor.

Note:

It takes awhile for Paris to catch on because Chloe was blocked from appearing on Paris social media. Ironically not out of spite but because people being obsessively weird and abusive about a 14 year old who doesn't even live there and the tourism board said it made them look bad.

Had a few ideas on how it could go but my current favorite is like, Felix turns up to shut things down out of annoyance (He lives in London and has to see this shit first hand) Or cos Kagami fought Chloe & lost (Chloe's had a LOT more experience than either by this point and Kagami's a fencer not a martial artist)

Regardless, cos of Chloe's mounting experience its actually not much of a fight, and that's enough of a blow to his pride to go back later, specifically when Chloe's doing some kind of big event. But this time he's transformed, but in such a way that it looks like he's just wearing a judo uniform.

He initially humiliates her easily, but Chloe manages to put together that A, she didn't recognize him till he introduced himself and B, he is way too fast and strong. She 'seemingly' loses her temper and rushes in, but pivots in the last moment and nabs the Miraculous from its hiding spot (There aren't many and it kind of sticks out.

Cue Felix de-transforming and things only getting worse when she quizzes Doodoo on how he came by the miraculous, what he did with it (Red Moon) and if Ladybug knew.

Sure the cameras can't pick up the Kwami but the audience sure can.

Suffice to say, this would either be what keys Paris and the heroes in, or they had tuned in due to the scale of event & or Felix's presence.

Whatever the case, big drama.

"I'd say I'd hold onto the Kwami until the proper authorities get here, but it seems one can't even trust those these days. Tragic, lol."

Or

"Oh well, good to know the only thing keeping me from heroism was the ladder being up by Ladybug behind a glass ceiling."

Literally no clue where it'd go from there or if this would even be the ideal way to expand on such a premise, I initially toyed with Chloe at the Olympics and or having a Dojo, ETC. (Her school is literally just Savate with some gymnastics and ballet woven in for flourish and balance but no one calls her on it.)

But yeah, wanted to share XD

GET HIS ASS

[lilsoftext]

•~* BETWEEN THE FLASHES *~• part 3

part 2

-chris sturniolo x female reader

-summery: ?

——————————————————————————

for months, chris and sof had mastered the art of hiding. their relationship was a delicate secret, something they cherished and protected from the eyes of the internet, but it wasn’t without its struggles.

at every party or event, they had a routine. sof would walk in first, mingling with friends, laughing at jokes, blending in seamlessly. then, fifteen minutes later, chris would follow—always separate, never too close. they’d exchange the briefest of glances from across the room, a silent connection only they understood. it was painful, sometimes. the way they had to pretend like they weren’t everything to each other.

dates were no easier. sneaking around, always choosing quiet places where no one would recognize them. no fancy restaurants, no downtown bars. instead, they found peace in late-night drives to nowhere, deserted parks where they could sit under the stars, or small coffee shops on the outskirts of town, the ones no one ever visited.

"wish we didn’t have to do this," sof whispered one night as they sat by the beach, waves crashing softly in the background. her fingers traced absent patterns in the sand.

"i know," chris replied, his arm wrapped tightly around her, pulling her closer as if holding her could erase the world outside. "but soon…"

their phones were another challenge entirely. no photos, no videos, nothing that could tie them to each other. even when chris wanted to post a goofy picture of sof laughing at something he said or when sof caught him in one of those rare moments of pure, unguarded joy, they knew better. sharing those moments meant risking exposure, and they weren’t ready for that. not yet.

on streams, it was even more of a dance. chris would be playing a game with his brothers, the usual banter going on, and suddenly, sof’s name would light up his phone screen. he’d glance down quickly, texting back in record time, before anyone could notice. but matt and nick noticed. they always noticed.

"dude, you’ve got that ‘i’m texting sof’ smile on," matt would tease, barely hiding a smirk.

chris would shrug it off, but he knew it was true. that glow, that warmth, he couldn’t help it. sof did that to him. but he had to be careful, make sure not to linger on his phone too long, make sure the camera didn’t catch the way his face lit up when her message came through.

nick, always the editor, would groan. "seriously, stop smiling at your phone. i can’t cut that out every time."

chris would laugh, but the truth was, every time sof texted, he couldn’t help but smile. it was instinct, the way his heart raced just a little faster with each message.

then, there were the small, intimate ways they stayed connected even when apart. sof wearing chris’s hoodie, its sleeves hanging past her hands, smelling faintly of him. chris wearing a bracelet she gave him, something simple but meaningful, a secret only they shared. and sometimes, on stream or in a video, they’d wear matching outfits—a subtle nod to each other, but one the fans never picked up on.

and then… it was over. the hiding, the secrecy—it was all about to end.

they sat in the living room, the four of them—chris, sof, matt, and nick—huddled around a laptop. the video was ready. their moment of truth. it was a simple clip: chris and sof laughing, kissing, no longer hiding. a soft, intimate reveal of what had been there all along.

sof’s hands trembled as she sat beside chris. "what if this was a mistake?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper, eyes filled with worry.

chris turned to her, his eyes soft, his hand gently squeezing hers. "we’re ready," he said, his voice low and calming. "i’m right here with you."

matt chimed in, always the voice of reassurance. "people are gonna love this, sof. you guys deserve to be happy, out in the open."

nick nodded from the computer, finger hovering over the ‘post’ button. "it’s time."

sof took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. the past months of hiding, the sneaking around, the lies—it all came down to this moment. "okay," she said softly, looking up at chris. "let’s do it."

nick clicked the button. the video went live.

as the video went live, there was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch on forever. sof’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath caught somewhere between anticipation and fear. she sat next to chris on the couch, her hands gripping his tightly. she didn’t even realize how hard she was holding onto him until he gently squeezed back, reminding her he was there.

“it’s okay,” chris whispered, leaning in closer, his voice soft in her ear. “we’re doing this together.”

sof looked up at him, her eyes wide and full of vulnerability. “what if it’s too much? what if they—” she paused, her voice shaky. “what if they don’t understand?”

chris smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle, familiar. “then they don’t have to. all that matters is us. i don’t care what anyone says, as long as you’re with me.”

she nodded, but her nerves were still there, bubbling just under the surface. “i’ve been so scared of this moment, chris. i feel like i’ve been holding my breath for months.”

he pulled her closer, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, his thumb lightly tracing circles on her skin. “i know. me too. but it’s over now. we don’t have to hide anymore.” he kissed her forehead softly, lingering there for a moment, grounding her. “you’re mine, and i’m yours. and now… everyone knows.”

sof let out a shaky breath, leaning into his chest, her fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie—his favorite one that she’d ‘borrowed’ so many times. “it feels unreal,” she murmured. “like we’ve been living in this bubble and now… it’s just out there for everyone to see.”

“hey,” chris lifted her chin gently, his eyes locking with hers, filled with nothing but warmth. “it’s real. you and me? we’ve been real since day one. and now, we can finally stop pretending we’re just friends when we’re out. i don’t have to sit on the other side of the room anymore just so people won’t suspect anything.” he laughed softly, remembering all the times they had to do just that.

sof smiled, a small laugh escaping her too. “and no more sneaking around on dates or making sure we’re not caught in the same place on our instagram stories.”

“exactly,” chris said, his tone playful, but there was something deeper in his voice. he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks. “we’ve been through so much just to keep this ours. but now… it’s time to let the world see how much you mean to me.”

sof’s heart melted at his words, her eyes filling with emotion. “you really mean that?”

“more than anything,” chris whispered, his forehead resting against hers now. “i love you, sof. so much. and i’m done hiding it. i want everyone to know that you’re the one who makes me happier every single day.”

she couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, but they weren’t from fear or nerves—they were from relief, from love. “i love you too,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her fingers clutching the front of his hoodie as if she couldn’t bear to let him go. “you have no idea how much.”

chris smiled, that soft, adoring smile he reserved only for her. “i think i have a pretty good idea,” he teased gently, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. it was sweet and lingering, filled with everything they’d kept hidden for so long.

when they pulled back, sof rested her head against his shoulder, curling up into him like she always did when they were alone, the rest of the world fading away. “i can’t believe it’s over,” she whispered, her voice small but full of relief. “no more secrets.”

chris held her close, his fingers playing with the ends of her hair, his voice soft and full of love. “no more secrets,” he repeated. “just us, finally.”

they stayed like that for a while, just holding each other, wrapped up in the comfort of being together without having to hide anymore. the world outside could say whatever it wanted—good, bad, indifferent. none of it mattered.

what mattered was this—chris and sof, together, no more sneaking around, no more hiding. just them, out in the open, free to love each other the way they always had but now with the whole world watching.

and in that moment, sof felt lighter than she had in months. because for the first time in a long time, they didn’t have to pretend.

——————————————————————————

i hope you enjoyed it. if you have requests leave them down below.

lilsoftext <3

[tsarisfanfiction]

Budding Curiosity

Fandom: Trials of Apollo Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Persephone, Apollo, Demeter, Meg News from the Overground didn't often reach the Underground, and this winter had been sparser than usual. @toapril-official TOApril day 11 - Spring Rains. This ended up more like a Persephone character study than anything else, but she was fun to write so I'm taking that anyway!

Not much news came from Olympus to the Underworld.  Her husband’s domain was not as closed off as it could have been; since Kronos’ attempt at reviving and destroying them two years ago it could almost be considered open, Hades basking in the smugness of his brother’s reluctant gratitude even though he still stung from the betrayal of thievery accusations.  More open didn’t mean it was entirely open, or even mostly, however.

Her mother had not visited in some time, an unusual occurrence given how frequently she usually breezed into Hades’ domain to argue with her brother and dote upon her daughter as though Persephone was still the young, naïve goddess that had been kidnapped in the first place.

Demeter had never really accepted that Persephone had a good existence, in the Underworld.  She w and as its Queen, its denizens obeyed her above all bar Hades himself, and she had mastered the art of working around her husband when it suited her.  Her mother treating her like a child who needed her hand held was frustrating.

It also made it poignant when Demeter did not appear.  Poignant, and rather irritating, because as much as Persephone resented her mother’s treatment of her, Demeter also came bearing news of the Overworld, arming Persephone with knowledge of what she would face when her half of the year in the Underworld finished and she rose to dance with the surface flowers instead.

Hermes’ trips to the Underworld had also lessened.  He still did his role, guided those souls that needed it towards Charon so they could start their final journey, but he didn’t come all the way to the palace for a gossip, and so another of Persephone’s usual contacts with the Overworld had faded away, leaving her largely in the dark about the machinations of Olympus and more specifically her father.

That wasn’t to say she knew nothing, of course.  Apollo’s disgrace and disappearance had occurred at the height of summer, when she had been free to roam Olympus’ gardens and her gossip came from nymphs and fellow goddesses.  Rumours had trickled down towards them of a mortal god, and Hades had not been impressed to find out about Apollo’s punishment from rumours rather than Zeus.  Apollo’s absence at the winter solstice had been notable enough for her husband to comment on it upon his return, alongside Zeus’ refusal to even acknowledge it, let alone expand upon it and explain where the other god was.

Rumours and whispers were far less than Persephone wanted to return to the Overworld armed with, but the day came with nothing more concrete, and her farewell to Hades was overshadowed with the knowledge that she knew nothing of substance.

Returning to the Overworld was always a shift.  For half of the year, Persephone was the Queen of the Underworld, proud and confident and dressed in regal finery befitting the wife of the god of riches.  For the other half she was Demeter’s prized daughter, swathed in flowers that bloomed and withered and died in a cycle of life and death.  Beneath it all, her essence was still the same, was still Persephone, but the shift was as stark for her as some gods found shifting between aspects, Demeter one moment and Ceres the next.  Persephone had been dealing with such a shift before the Romans had even existed.

It was also a change in environment, from the comfortable but stable Underworld, unaffected by things like weather and the sun to the yawning abyss above them that mirrored Chaos down below, stretching for eternity and consuming anything that got too close.  The Overworld had no such restrictions and could be whatever it wished, the blustery winds of spring often welcoming her as Apollo waved from his chariot, blindingly bright as he sailed past overhead.

There was no Apollo in the chariot, this time.  The sun still moved, but it was not Apollo’s chariot, not this time.  Persephone didn’t know what it meant that in the absence of Apollo their sun was not theirs – she spent too much of her time shut down below to learn much of the deities from other pantheons, more familiar with the other gods associated with death than with life – but some things were not to be pondered.

She was not Queen here.  She had no responsibility and not power over how the domain worked, and she was content to leave that to her father.

Hermes had greeted her as she ascended, catching her before she reached her mother, and finally, finally filled her in on the core details, at least, if not the nuances.

“Apollo is mortal,” he’d said.  “There is a no interference rule.”

Two sentences he could’ve found the time to come to her palace in the Underworld to impart rather than waiting until she reappeared into the sunshine that wasn’t Apollo’s, but there was nothing to be done about the fact he hadn’t.

Demeter had arrested her attention after that, fussing over her like she was still a young goddess and not part-time Queen of one of the three greatest domains, and Persephone could do nothing with her new knowledge until her mother was satisfied.

It was a rainy day when she finally made her escape, the sun that wasn’t Apollo obscured by thick, dark clouds that birthed fat drops of water which cascaded down to gather on flower petals, shaking leaves with their impact.

She wasn’t going to interfere, but she had to know, had to see for her own eyes what had befallen Apollo.  Half a year in the Underworld was not going to deprive her of the same knowledge her fellow brethren had.

He looked pathetic, a handsome god reduced to an utterly ordinary mortal, no sparks of gold to be seen, but she found her attention skipping over him almost immediately, drawn instead to the smaller mortal beside him, the one guarded by seven dryads she felt.

Perhaps that was why her mother hadn’t come to visit her so much; she had another daughter wrapped up in the business of a god.

Demeter always was possessive when that happened, and Persephone had to admit to some curiosity herself.  No interference – she was not a fool, would not do anything to enrage Zeus, not when she was in his domain, a subject to the king rather than the queen to whom subjects bowed – but observation.  The girl was only a demigod, would never achieve heights like Persephone, but it had been a long time since Persephone had last kept an eye on a mortal sibling.

This seemed as good a time as any to watch one.

[makxmaa]

Definitely, the discussion between Issho and Akane in this latest chapter is my favorite interaction between two characters in the entire manga. And as if I were an expert (which I’m not lmao), I want to analyze why I think it’s a masterpiece.

The interaction begins the moment Akane sits in front of the door—a door that separates her from the man who ruined her father’s artistic career— In Akane`s eyes, Issho could be a "demon". She closes her eyes, tries to calm herself, she says she's going in, and steps into the room.

There`s Issho, standing tall and intimidating, giving her a look over his shoulder. She stays sitting the whole time, unable to get up and face him.

Akane starts speaking and apologizes for yelling at him. Issho quickly cuts her off.

But here´s where I want to clarify something: Issho doesn´t stop her just because he knows why Akane came, but because he knows those apologies aren´t sincere. Akane doesn´t actually care about yelling at him. She only apologized out of protocol—after all, she´s just an apprentice and has no right to speak to a master that way.

This part is amazing. You might think Issho just doesnt want to teach Akane the story and that’s it. But that’s not it at all. Right here, he´s testing her, provoking her. He´s desperate for someone to do what he couldn´´t—make sure Shiguma´s art doesn`t die, someone who can tell the story he never could.

First, he traps Akane in a "cage" — Forget about Shiguma`s art.— Then, from behind the bars of that "cage," he insults her teacher. And finally, he goes straight for her: You thought so highly of yourself

( In the official Spanish translation, Issho´s line feels more hurtful—it says: You think you’re so special, don’t you?)

Akane just keeps quiet, holding herself back. She has to act right, it´s all part of the protocol. Then Issho, still behind the "bars of the cage," finishes with, — This is my school, and you just follow my orders

Issho is ready to leave, there´s nothing else to talk about. Maybe he was wrong, maybe Akane wasn´t the Rakugoka he´d been looking for. She´s just like her dad weak.

What he doesn`t know is that Akane isn´t her father. She accepts that weakness, but she also accepts the Rakugoka hes been looking for—the strong one, the one who doesn`t hesitate— She`s the fusion of both.

She``s not only listening to her new master insult her "father" (Shiguma), but now he’s attacking her too.

If that`s the game Issho wants to play, then let`s go. Akane hits him where it hurts, mentioning his past, the one he can’t escape. (So who’s really the one trapped in a cage?)

Issho turns around and looks at Akane. For a moment, Akane regrets what she did, but then she remembers —she has a purpose, and she gave her word to get it done— There’s no turning back.

Akane starts getting up slowly. She tells Issho that she`ll master Shiguma`s art and finish the story. The "cage" is gone now. Issho gives her his approval, letting her show what she can do. Now they’re standing face to face.

[lady-severus-snape]

Sub head cannon post #9 from headcannon #19

Severus being a big old teddy bear. The moment you earn his trust, friendship, and love, there is no one more loyal and protective than him. To the point that you can't even carry a single grocery bag.

🌠y/n was excited to attend yule ball at Hogwarts. Grandma Minnie had invited you to attend since she hasn't seen you after your mom moved to the U.S.

🌠Showing up a few days early to surprise her.

Y/N: surprise!

Minerva: my word! Y/n! When did you get here?

Y/n: just flew in. There was room for an earlier time so I took it.

Minerva introduces y/n to everyone on staff bar Severus.

Y/n: who is that grandma?

Minerva: that is Severus Snape, potions master and Dark arts master. He is......a character.

Y/n: grouchy. He is cute though.

🌠Y/n going out of their way greeting Severus at every turn.

Y/n: Good morning Severus, breakfast is off the chain today! Them waffles are scrumpdiddlyumcious.

Y/n: hi Severus! I got us coffee, it's too people-y out today.

Y/n: have a good night Severus. Don't party too hard.

🌠Severus was annoyed as hell. Y/n was an irritating little chit. Did they not understand that he didn't want to interact with them?! Everytime he turned around y/n was right there. Being all happy, cheerful, kind, and... and....and....nice. They made really good coffee.

🌠Severus begrudgingly looking foward to seeing and talking to Y/N. They never pried into his life, or demand anything.......it was refreshing to say the least. They had a broad level of knowledge as well, from the latest potions guild article to some obscure arithmacy formula that was the 'bomb diggety' for maintaining room temperatures. Anything they were not knowledgeable on, they would sit and listen to him drawl on about it.

🌠y/n could be seen walking along side Severus in the corridors whenever possible (when they weren't spending time with grandma). The students tripped over themselves as Y/N wheezed laughed at whatever Professor Snape said.

🌠Severus smirked and felt the wall around his heart melt as Y/N was crying, laughing at the dry witty statement he made. The staff at hogwarts looking out the windows to see if the sky was falling. The first time Severus used one of Y/N slang lingo, the students thought he was possessed. Hearing y/n picking his lingo made for rumors that they 'switched' bodies.

🌠y/n sneezed several times, their arms became full of potion vials. Green for allergies, lavender for boosting the immune system (winters in Scotland are rough), fever reducer, pepper up (you looked at little pale to him), sinus decongestant, mild pain potion (he noticed you were stiff)

🌠Severus and Y/N being attached at the hip whenever he wasn't teaching class. Y/N would go hang out with him in the lab. Even if they didn't talk, severus brewed and y/n doing whatever they brought with them. Yesterday was a muggle book about the effects of maladaptive daydreaming and Autism. Severus had dibs on reading it after y/n was done.

🌠next came touches. The two always softly bumped each other with a shoulder shove. That moved to lingering touches, and lead the biggest event of all.....a hug. A truly sincere, heart warming, serotonin boosting hug.

🌠Severus and y/n became best friends, closer than even Lily was to Severus before the fallout. He talked about the major events that formed his life and the soft ones he adored. Y/N sat patiently listened, not an ounce of judgement in their eyes. When Severus showed them the faded Dark Mark, y/n caressed it and placed a small kiss on it.

Y/n: I'm happy you survived and I get to have you in my life. We can't change the past and I wish you never had to go through what you did, but if it meant that's why you're here talking to me. Im happy.

🌠Severus unable to hold it anymore crushed y/N to him and cried. Heart wrenching soul cleansing crying. Y/N hugged him back just as hard as if they were each other's life line. And they were.

🌠they were each other's date to Yule. Dancing to almost every song even after the ball ended. They got so drunk in his quarters that Severus woke wearing a bunny suit and y/n was dressed as moose. With a hangover from hell.

🌠when y/n had to return to the U.S. severus literally went through withdrawal. Rude, irritable, snarky, snappish, sadness, patience size of a mustard seed, restlessness, you name it. Gryffindor was in the negative, hufflepuff lost 3/4 of all their house points, Ravenclaw was almost in the negative, slytherin lost HALF of their collective points.

🌠Minerva firecalling her grandchild to PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE visit the grounds before Severus demolished the castle! Y/N acquiring the new rage 'wizarding wireless' and showing Severus how to use it. They called, texted, and/or face timed everyday.

🌠y/n answered Severus's phone call in a teary, sniffling mess. Severus without warning shows up at Y/N living room. Y/N bawling their eyes out to him because they are going through a manic low and that bitch Becky from work said 'you're so fucking weird, and that's why no one liked them'

🌠Needless to say Y/N had to crawl on top of Severus like a spider monkey just to keep him from leaving to go murder Becky. The next shift Becky said not one word and scurried around you. Weird.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@wandering-avian I hope I did justice to your idea. 💚💚 enjoy.

[professorlizzard]

A True Halloween Game

In this post, I shall regale you about one of the oldest games I am still passionate about: Ghost Master. If you know me, you probably know about my enthusiasm for this game. But in case you don't, let me take you on a magical journey.

Ghost Master's title screen greets you with a haunted mansion, a spooky ghost, and few pumpkins, both grinning and non grinning. After spooky laugh, organ music begins to play, signalling that something spooky this way comes.

But before we truly start our magical journey, I have to point out the "Complete Edition" sign under the title. Well, you see, this 20 year old game from 2023 has an active modding community. Through forbidden alchemy, they have learned how to create new models that look like something straight from 2000s, allowing them to bring back ghosts that were cut during the concept art phase. They have also fixed several game breaking bugs and performance issues! If, after reading my post, you take the risk and play this game, I highly recommend to do so by also installing this mod. The next update is right around the corner! Mind you, it might NOT be compatible with any and all previous save games. This mod is compatible with both Steam and GoG versions, on both platforms they are being sold for pennies.

Anyways, lets continue with the actual presentation, shall we?

After a beautifully cheesy cutscene, you are placed before the improperly clipped map of the small town of Gravenville, a small New England town. The various available missions appear like pop up book contents, complete with eerily creaking cardboard noises.

The big, spooky mansion is actually not a level, but your home base!

Here, you can peruse your collection of ghosts, and teach them new powers as needed. Say hello to some of your new friends!

This is Clatterclaws, one of the cheapest ghosts, with only a small selection of low level powers. Of course, she is actually one the best ghosts in the game.

And there is Hunchcork, one of the ghosts created from scratch! His original model was lost, so he was resurrected based on some concert art! Look at those polygons, he looks perfectly the same style as Clatterclaws.

You can see several more ghosts on this one, including a poltergeist in the background, made from pure particle effects. Speaking of effects: the ghosts have an effect where they slowly fade in and out with a green tint. This is achieved by having an invisible green light source rotate around them all the time. Its a weird solution, but it is interesting.

Starting our first actual mission brings us to our first training assignment as a Ghost Master. What *is* a Ghost Master? Well, it is a kind of undead civil servant, working for the Haunting Committee, performing assignments to scare mortals for various reasons. Maybe some have badmouthed the dead! Maybe there is an hidden murder in the house that you must avenge! But in this case, you have to spook this Sorority House, just to prove you can.

This is a simple mission, mainly featuring pajama and bathrobe clad university students. Just like a slasher movie I guess. Initially, a fragile moment of unearthly calm is held. No mortal will get scared, nor will they calm down. The music of this initial phase is a peaceful astral choir. But the moment you start using powers, it will become a procedurally generated arrangement of horror chords on all kinds of instruments.

Looking into the house, you can see that it is pretty sims like. Mortals are walking about, performing a routine, mostly visiting a set number of rooms in order. Until disrupted that is. If you scare a mortal too much in the bathroom on the upper floor, they might decide to instead visit the one on the lower floor!

A mortal has several stats. Terror meter in red, Madness in orange, and Belief in blue, a long with the white willpower bar on the terror and madness meters.

If Terror goes above this willpower, the mortal will flee! This is usually your goal, but some levels will penalize you for this: you will need them to be around for dark machinations. If Madness exceeds willpower, the mortal will go insane. This is honestly not a mechanic I like. It harshes the spooky halloween vibe of the game in my opinion, on top of it being too hard to do anyways. I tend to not use it, but, I have to mention its existence.

Belief will make a mortal get more scared from terror attacks, as mortal exposed to indoor rain will be less likely to rationalize pizza boxes flying around the room.

Lastly, Fears are personal fears of the mortal, making certain fear types hit them for more terror. In turn, they gain resistance to some other fear types. People afraid of fire will not be scared by flooding, for example. If you use powers to uncover these fears, you will gain a higher end mission score, and some powers have extra effects, fork example, ghosts with Spooky Whispering abilities will be able to know what to whisper about.

To summon a ghost in the world, you have to provide a Fetter for them, along with some plasm. For example, Cogjammer, a gremlin spirit of an organ grinder's grinded monkey, requires electricity to manifest on the mortal plane. You can see the TV and Radio has helpfully lit up!

Here he is... monkey... You see he used up 5 plasm out of 100. Well, used up is not the correct word. He is borrowing it. Well, lets assign more plasm to him!

Here you can see him use the power of SPARKS to terrify some of the girls, as indicated by the colour coded rings. You can see, that as folks get scared, my total plasm goes up! This is the game's main feedback loop: equip ghosts with plasm to scare people, to gain plasm to equip ghosts with... Now, as people calm down, your total plasm decreases. If you ever somehow, become overdrawn in the plasm bank, you have few seconds to fix it. Fail, and you will be banished from the mortal realms!

The power menu is pretty simple. You select the maximum power you want to allow them to use. The ghost will use them an order of their choice, based on the ghost's personality, affected by a ghost's training level. A less trained ghost will start using the powers from top to bottom order, as soon as they are off cooldown. A smarter ghost will wait until there is someone they can actually hit with their powers, and perhaps, they will hit multiple people with AoE powers first.

Some powers have more effects than just scaring people! For example, Cogjammer can destroy machinery. This comes in handy, as this poor witch ghost named Weatherwitch has been trapped in a vacuum cleaner.

Ghosts you free on missions will join your team! This will not only virtually increase their roster on the current missions, but will increase your total roster too! Nice!

Some ghosts like Boo use any inside room as a fetter. These ghosts tend to be weaker than more specialized ghosts, but they do have ways to manipulate mortals. For example, Rattle Chains wakes up sleeping people, and will attract a selection of folks from all over the building.

These are the main mechanics, but there are a ton of more options, like Orders, which allows you to tell a ghost to only attack one specific power, or only use abilities when people are present.

You can also look through the POV of mortals and ghosts, to see what they see! For example, the sleeping people see this sheep.

Once enough people ran away, the music kicks into high gear, signalling your imminent victory!

Running into the night...

At the end you will be scored based on how spooky you were, and your total time. This is turned into gold plasm, provided you have played the level for the first time, or you have beaten a previous record of yours. Here you can see that I have done a better job in an earlier playthrough....

Quite a lot of the levels are "Scare Everyone Away" based. For example, Weird Scéance is about being given an opportunity to scare away a bunch of arrogant frat boys (implied to be medical students who steal organs from their university for fun) due to three nerds trying to summon ghosts to bring revenge on them.

They know what you did, Obi Wan' Shinobi...

Other levels include the Calamytiville Horror, where a family bought a giant house, with many rooms! They do not know but it also has many skeletons. Your job here is to solve puzzles and reveal them, and maybe, free their previous owners too.

And there is also a level based on Evil Dead, where a bunch of university students try to take over the world by summoning a demon. The demon will eat their soul at the end of the level, which is really not in tone with the rest of the game, but the official strategy guide claims this is okay, completely evil humans are fair game (everyone else can only be scared, and nothing more. And somehow, being driven mad is also okay???)

Later levels will have opposition trying to thwart your plans. For example, the GHOST BREAKERS will set up astral wards that will prevent your haunters from directly being placed inside. Of course, there are sneaky ways to infiltrate... if you can avoid their ghost banishing guns! You might also meet mediums, witches, and even a priest.

All in all, I love this game, but this would not be a proper Review Journey had I not told you about some of the negatives.

The puzzles can be really ornery and annoying in some cases. And sometimes, depending on the team, unsolvable! When you figure out the solution, you might have to restart the level to bring a ghost that can actually finish it. Most puzzles have alternate ways to solve them, but still, this is very annoying.

Performance, even with the new complete edition mod can be an issue. The game does not support multithreading, meaning if you have several smaller cores in your CPU, the game might run WORSE than 20 years ago. If you have a high end graphics card, and a low end integrated card, your computer might decided "The low end will be enough :)", and you will have to override this manually.

The game is rather dated in some gameplay desing aspects, mainly when you have to wait to get mortals do a specific event. There is also content that I am iffy about. Some examples of these few things: There is a native chief ghost, probably as a reference on the trope of an "house built on an ancient native burial ground". He was killed by settlers and later they built a shed on his grave. There is also a japanese earth elemental, the spirit of bonsai trees, and I don't really like his extremely accented speech. A level features insane asylum inmates, trapped in an evil asylum slash occult lab, whose descriptions I really don't like.

The game is also a shadow it could have been, mainly due to the meddling of the publisher, and some disastrous issues during development. Money ran out quickly as entire engines had to be remade, so about two thirds of the planned game was cut and gone. This meant, several plot lines don't have a proper resolution. What happened to the mafia men that only appear for one level in the final game? We will never know (until the Completed Edition team finishes importing new levels that is).

The game also ends in a sour note. As the studio was closing down, they quickly put together a final mission to bring closure, where you reprise a rather ornery puzzle to save all the ghosts in the town, after which, every single ghost ascends into the Light. Even the soul eating evil demon?

Anyways, warts and all. This is a truly unique game. I have not seen any other game where your task is to place down a squad of autonomous agents, with a list of commands, and let them do as you command. There is no other game where you are a middle manager of chaos. This is the sole game, where you are a civil engineer bureaucrat, who while surveying a realm with a clipboard does not say "We need another lamppost here to light up the area.", instead you say "Hmm. This area would be perfect for more spiders."

If you made it this far, I hope you have become fascinated enough to try out the game!

Thanks for reading! Happy Halloween, and to all a good fight!

[holylulusworld]

Dumbass stalker (1) - Every step you take

Summary: You’re the worst stalker ever.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Plussized!Reader

Warnings: stalking, obsession, possessive/delusional reader, mentions of violence/sex

A/N: Please consider this reader is obsessed with SB. Her behavior is concerning.

Dumbass stalker masterlist

DS - Prologue

It’s art.

Some might call it stalking. You call it mastering an art.

Since the day Vought announced that Soldier Boy is still alive, you are only living for him. Your world revolves around him.

Most of the fangirls scream and annoy their dream man. You mastered the art of following your man. He never sees you or gets annoyed with you.

While the others earn eye rolls and harsh words – you are allowed to admire Soldier Boy from afar.  Of course, you are allowed to watch him. He’s your man after all.

Your man only needs a little more time to realize that you are the woman for him, not the bimbos he bangs to release some tension.

One day and that’s for sure, he will see you, and his eyes will shine, and his heart will beat only for you.

First things first. You sneak around the corner to get a better look at him. He smirks at some fangirls and makes a crude joke.

While the girls scrunch up their noses, you chuckle. They just don’t get his humor. But you do.

Being locked away for so long, trapped by his enemies changed your man. If only he’d be free of Vought so you can take care of him.

“Soon, my love,” you whisper, and take another picture. “You look so good today. If only we could be alone.” You sigh deeply. “What a pity this is another stupid fan event.”

Snapping a few more pictures you smile. Soldier Boy poses only for you. He flashes a smile for the camera, and throws his head back, laughing loudly.

“Soldier Boy here,” one of the girls calls for him. “Do you have a girlfriend?” She asks. You square your jaw at her question. “What do you like in a girl?”

The spell is broken when he turns away to walk back inside the tower. “Stupid bitches,” you grumble. “You had to ruin it for all of us.”

Another day, another chance. You found him easily among the commoners. Soldier Boy leans against a bar counter. His true identity is hidden by a baseball cap and sunglasses. He tries to pretend to be one of the normal people.

Only you know the truth. Soldier Boy is extraordinary. A perfect specimen. Your one and only.

“Another one,” he barks at the bartender. “Fill me up tonight. I only want to forget.”

Your heart clenches in your chest. He looks so tired, and sad. If only you could take him in your arms and make everything better.

It’s not the time. Not yet.

You need more time to prepare for his arrival at your home. Your home is almost perfect for the two of you. Soldier Boy will feel welcome and comfortable the moment he steps inside your home.

“Hey, I was first,” a man barks at Soldier Boy. “Get in line. I’m the next man she serves. After I had my fill, you can have sloppy seconds.”

You scrunch up your nose at the man’s implication. Most of the men you have met in your life are crude, rude, or perverts. Or, if you get really lucky – everything at once.

While you watch your man from afar, hiding in the shadows, a fight starts. Soldier Boy throws the man across the room. You step out of the shadows to snap a few pictures before you flee the crowded bar.

The end is already written. The hero will take the pretty bartender he saved from a creep home and fuck her brains out.

You’ll return home and dream about being in his arms like most nights. One day, he will take you home, you’re sure about it…

Part 2

[sunnebeam]

good for a weekend.

DRABBLE.

pairing: jung hoseok x reader

warnings: smut (minors do not interact), oral (m receiving), unprotected sex (yall know the drill, let's be protected irl), sex against a window, blank space au, chaebol!reader (she has issues), businessman!hoseok, profanity

masterlist + disclaimers.

note: took me a long time to choose the title for this one bc i just realized i already used a blank space lyric for jimin's drabble lol. but anyways here it is! idk the accurate word count but i think this is longer than all my other drabbles so far. enjoy <3 don't forget to share ur thoughts and give feedback ^^

When you were younger, you didn’t really understand why no one wanted to be friends with you.

Apart from your butler Yeonjun (who's paid to put up with your shit but is still genuine in his companionship nonetheless), a paintbrush and a canvas were the only real confidants you had for your pent up frustrations as a child.

Now that you're older, your isolation becomes more self-induced.

"Is it true that she's back together with Kim Taehyung again?”

“No, I heard that her family arranged for her and Park Jimin to marry next year...”

“But wasn't she spotted looking cozy with Jeon Jungkook at a bar last week?”

"No, no, I could've sworn she was hooking up with Min Yoongi—"

"Damn, she's going through men way too fast, don't you think?"

“Honestly, I think she's just a spoiled, rich playgirl."

You sigh, sitting on your chair in the art room of your very own mansion — a gift from your father after he missed out on your eighteenth birthday — while Yeonjun watches you paint your heart out.

“I haven’t seen Kim Seokjin around lately…” he muses as he steps closer to look at your work. By the looks of it, you must be feeling some pretty angry emotions.

“Silly Yeonjun,” you giggle too loudly, hand gripping your brush rather forcefully as you stare at your palette. “Seokjin and I broke up ages ago. Actually, I haven’t seen him since the haircut incident.”

Ah, the haircut incident…

Yeonjun shivers, remembering that outburst all too well. The memory of you hysterically chopping off your hair in a fit of jealousy while Kim Seokjin helplessly tried to get you to stop. That marked the end of your six-month relationship, leaving you with uneven chunks of hair and the man with a questionable restraining order.

Not your best moment, that much you can admit.

“Anyways,” you snicker, shaking your head to clear the onslaught of memories, “let’s not talk about him anymore, ‘kay?”

You stand up, leaving your painting half-finished, and walk over to the big floor-to-ceiling window.

Your mansion is the biggest in the area, filled with numerous rooms and spaces that far surpassed the amount you need for basic living. Your art room – easily the biggest room, even topping your master bedroom – houses a beautiful glass window that overlooks the property.

“Besides,” you say, clapping your hands, “we have more important things to worry about.” You turn to him and squeal, jumping up and down. “My art exhibit is in a couple of months! Can you believe it, Yeonjun?"

Your excitement has you skipping around the room in glee. You’ve been planning your own exhibit for months and now that it's drawing nearer, you feel more excited than nervous. You hope with all your heart that this exhibit could finally paint you in a proper light, letting you shine as 'the young, twenty-something art extraordinaire' instead of the 'resident fuckgirl who's only good for a weekend.'

“I know, sweetie.” Yeonjun smiles, feeling genuinely happy for you. But before he can further share in your excitement, the doorbell rings.

The noise makes you glance at your watch and smirk. Right on time.

Together, you and Yeonjun walk down the massive staircase to greet your guest, and Jung Hoseok hears you before he even catches sight of you — the clicking of your heels resonating loudly across the living room. He turns his head to the sound and smiles handsomely at the both of you.

For a few moments, none of you say a word but the electricity between you and your guest is hard to ignore.

"Shall I leave you to your business?" Yeonjun breaks the silence, directing the question at you. After all, at this point, he already knows the drill whenever you have your guests over.

You nod, never taking your eyes off Hoseok's and your butler immediately excuses himself.

Once it's just the two of you left, Hoseok holds out a hand to you. “Jung Hoseok. Pleasure to meet you."

You tell him your name, placing your hand in his and immediately, he brings it up to gently brush his lips against your knuckles. “Pleasure's all mine, Hoseok."

“Just Hobi is fine, gorgeous."

He winks at you and smiles. And just like all the other times, you feel yourself falling. Spiralling. Obsessing.

“Hobi…” you repeat, “shall we go over the terms of your company's sponsorship for my art exhibit?”

“Of course,” he responds. "Shall we discuss it in your office?"

"Oh no," you feign disappointment.

"What is it?"

“I'm terribly sorry, Hobi,” you utter, “but my office is under renovations at the moment—"

(It isn't.)

"—and I’m afraid it's not convenient for business discussions for the time being.”

“Is that so?” Hoseok muses, his eyes on your lips as you purse them contemplatively. “Should we take our discussion somewhere else, then?” He offers, not wanting to cut his visit short.

He stares right into your pretty eyes and he swears you've performed some sort of magic right then and there because he finds himself right under your spell.

“Good idea." You smile, your hand sliding up to rest on the crook of his elbow as you lead him up your stairs. “I know the perfect place.”

And that's how he found himself in your bedroom, sitting on the edge of your immaculate bed with your head bobbing up and down between his legs.

"Shit," he curses when you take him deeper in your mouth. "Yeah, that's it, gorgeous."

You look up at him with wide eyes, making sure to maintain eye contact when you swallow around him. He bites his lip at the feeling, his thumb reaching out to wipe the stray tears running down your cheek.

You look so pretty. So fucking gorgeous.

Hoseok wonders how the hell he managed to get an invitation to your bed. Sure, he's quite attractive but you're in a whole other league of your own. You're way up there on a pedestal, you and the other chaebols in your wealthy family's circle. Whereas, he's just a mere businessman trying to negotiate a sponsorship proposal.

But, fuck, he's not complaining.

You whine when he pulls you up and onto his lap, your lips releasing his dick with a pop. Feeling needy, you suckle at the soft skin of his neck while he desperately removes your clothes and then his.

"Hobi," you whimper into his neck and the sound goes straight to his already hard cock. "Need you. Please."

"Shit," he groans when you rub your leaking core against his thigh. "Hold on to me."

You comply, wrapping your arms and legs around him, and he stands up to walk the both of you towards your bedroom's clear, glass window. Just like the one in your art room, this one spans wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling, and overlooks the front of the mansion.

He sets you down on your feet and turns you around so that you're looking out. Your pussy dribbles even more arousal at the sight of your enormous front gates from the distance, the thought of being seen turning you on.

"Hobi," you whine when you feel his throbbing cock prodding at your entrance, and push your ass out in response.

"Don't hold back, gorgeous," he tells you when you let out a muffled moan. "I want the whole mansion to hear you."

He enters you swiftly, making you groan loudly and press your palms against the window. He pulls back, making you whine desperately and shift your weight on your feet. He slams back inside roughly, making you scream incoherently and fuck yourself back on him.

"That's it," Hoseok groans, "fuck me back."

And you do.

He thrusts into you in rough but deep thrusts. You fuck back into him, arching your back, causing your tits to press against the glass. The added stimulation to your nipples makes you play with your clit, making figure eight motions and heightening your pleasure.

"Shit, gorgeous. You're creaming."

He sees a creamy ring of white on the base of his cock and curses, the sight pushing him closer to his climax. You only whine in response, clenching around him uncontrollably.

"Hobi, I'm gonna—"

"Cum with me, gorgeous," he coaxes you. "Now."

You obey, cumming around him while he finishes inside you. You're breathing heavily, relishing in the warmth of his release and he just chuckles affectionately at your fucked out face.

He pulls out of you and when you lead him back to your bed, he suddenly feels exhausted. His eyes can barely stay open and the last thing he remembers before sleep takes over him is your voice telling him three little words.

When Hoseok wakes up, he sees you all dressed, propped up on the headboard and glaring at him.

"What's wrong, gorgeous?" he asks groggily.

"Who's Sooah?" you ask him immediately, your voice clipped.

"What?"

You show him the unlocked phone in your hand. His phone.

"What the fuck? You went through my phone?"

"She was texting you nonstop. Who is she?"

"She's a colleague, not that I need to explain myself to you. And she's the venue coordinator for your art exhibit!"

"I don't beleve you!"

"How the fuck did you even know my password?"

"Are you cheating on me?" you demand, tears falling down your face.

"Cheating on you?" he repeats your question incredulously. "We literally just met!"

But you aren't listening to him. No, you're spiralling, clutching your hair and looking at him desperately. "Did I do something wrong? Is she prettier than me? Is she—"

"You're insane," he cuts you off, frightened at your sudden behavior. As quickly as he possibly can, he puts on his clothes and scrambles towards your bedroom door. "Fuck this shit, I'm leaving."

To his surprise, you don't follow him, though he can hear your heartbroken wails all the way to the front door. When he gets to his car, his eyes widen and his jaw drops.

"WHAT THE FUCK? YOU WRECKED MY CAR?!" he yells, the question directed at you but his exasperated eyes are trained on his wrecked vehicle.

The punctured tiles, cracked windshield, and dented exterior would cost him a fortune. But he decides that's a problem for another day. Right now, he just has to get out of here.

"Crazy bitch," he mutters when he finally exits your property gates on foot.

Back in your room, you cry your heart out while Yeonjun caresses your hair comfortingly.

Your butler knows the drill by now. You just need one day to cry all your tears, another day to forget about it, and around three more days to move on.

Which is why, a few days later, Yeonjun opens the door to a charming, dimpled face. He leads the man to the living room where you're waiting and leaves you two to your business.

"What's your name?" you ask your guest.

"Kim Namjoon," he replies, taking your hand and kissing it. "Pleasure to meet you, gorgeous."

A heartbeat. Then another.

And then you smile.

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