#Hone Decor tips

[haute-lifestyle-com]

Whether you're looking to impress your neighbors, increase the value of your home, or simply create a unique and inviting living space, you have a few choices in front of you in terms of curb appeal.

[kingkatsuki]

— bunnies

Don’t mind me, he makes me quite insane.

It’s no secret that Rayne loves bunnies— but most of all he loves the bunnies on your panties.

Pairing: Rayne Ames x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, flashing, cunnilingus, hinted public sex, panty theft. Relationship not specified so can be read as established or a hook up!

Word Count: 1.1k.

Rayne had always liked bunnies.

It’s no secret to anyone, least of all you. It’s why you’re so excited to show him the new piece of clothing you bought with him in mind, just for him—

“Hey, Rayne. Do you like these?” You flip your skirt just enough to show the man the flimsy cotton hidden beneath. He glances over his shoulder before eyes widen large as saucers when he hones in on the pattern that decorates the pink material— cute little white bunnies dotted all over.

Rayne swallows thickly as he turns his body to face you, instantly feeling his cock throb at the sight. Hypnotised for a moment before you stop the show, letting the hem of your skirt swish back into place against your thighs.

“Aren’t they cute?” You coo with a sly smirk on your face, “I bought them just for you!”

He’s wordless. Not even certain he’d know what to say anyway as his heart pounds against his rib cage. Instead, he takes a step closer as he invades your space. Surrounding you in the musky scent of him as he presses you back against a table, caging you in as you stare up at him with innocent eyes— knowing you’re anything but.

“Do you like them?” You tilt your head to the side and he ignores you again.

You’d expected them to rile him up, and they’d succeeded in their job judging by the bulge between his thighs. His cock strains against his trousers as he tries desperately to even out his breathing. You also expect him to chastise you for being so lewd in such a public place, showing off where anyone can see— but nothing could have prepared you for what Rayne did next.

Silently curling his palms beneath your thighs to sit you up on top of the creaky table, spreading your thighs apart as your skirt begins to bunch around your hips.

“They’re cute.” He hums, revealing the bunny panties to his diluted pupils as he drinks you in. Rough palms stroke against the curve of your thighs as he follows a path to your core, kneeling between you as he comes face to face with bunnies.

“W-what are you doing?” You hum, shocked by his forwardness as he admires the sight in front of him. You’d expected the tips of his ears to turn red and his cheeks burn before chastising you for teasing him, to tell you to quit messing around and keep your dignity. But instead he reaches out to touch you— Thumbs delicately stroke the stitching, passing over your outer labia as you sigh in bliss. Feeling your clit throb as he follows the path of fabric, goosebumps sprinkle your skin as thumbs tickle the apex of your thigh.

Rayne’s fingers stroke against the soft cotton so tenderly, tracing each bunny individually. Your breath hitches in your throat when his thumb grazes your clit through the fabric, rolling your hips as you plead silently for contact.

“Pretty.” He hums, following the heat of your slit as calloused pads feel your wetness beginning to seep through the material. Pushing it between your folds to soak it in your slick as you keen at his touch, desperate for more.

But Rayne never indulges your pathetic attempts to rush him, especially not when you’re wearing these. He appreciates that you’ve picked them especially for him, all his. His fingers prod at your entrance through the panties, feeling your walls flutter beneath them as they try to coax him inside. Your cunt throbs from neglect, desperate for some semblance of relief as you spread your thighs on instinct. Hoping the slight change in angle would be enough to get him to move his fingers beneath the soft cotton.

Your eyes nearly roll back into your skull when Rayne leans down to press a soft kiss to your mound, just above your throbbing clit as the most debauched whine leaves your lips— a noise that even catches you off guard when you can’t believe he has you like this with the slightest touches.

You can feel how wet your panties are now, the sopping fabric clings to your sex as Rayne travels lower, pressing another soft kiss to your puffy clit before wrapping his lips around it. Sucking the cotton into his mouth as he hungrily slurps at your cunt, holding your thighs apart to prevent you from clamping down around his skull.

“Rayne, please don’t tease me—” You mewl, hands fisting his hair as you try to push him harder against your slit.

His fingers still poke and prod at your entrance, calloused pads barely grazing your hole as you rock your hips against them. Pathetically fucking yourself on what little he offers you, golden eyes watching intently from his position between your thighs.

It’s deplorable that he has you like this— so close to coming undone having barely touched you. Your entire body feels like molten lava as he continues his ministrations, cotton soaked with spit and slick as you ride his face.

“Fuck, Rayne.” You cry out, practically wailing as your thighs hang over his shoulders, “I’m close.”

His thumbs press against your pelvis, increasing the pressure as the coil inside you is dangerously close to snapping. His tongue constant against your clit as he wills you to come undone, to drench the fabric with your release.

“Oh, fuck.” You whine, your tight hole clenches around nothing as you feel yourself succumb to euphoria, the pleasure consuming you whole.

“Cum for me.” His low voice vibrates against your clit, the sound has you meeting your release with a pathetic whine of his name. Toes curl inside your shoes and your hips jerk roughly as you feel the coil inside you snap and you let the waves of pleasure surge through you like a freight train. His strong hands hold your hips steady as he helps you ride out your release, the flat of his tongue presses against your clit as you heave a sigh of relief, “Good girl.”

It’s barely thirty seconds later when Rayne’s fingers curl into the elastic of the panties, tugging them down your thighs as he watches the way the fabric tacks to your skin, swallowed by your folds as he languidly pulls it away. Silvery wisps of your slick cling to the fabric as they break off against your skin, leaving evidence of your climax against the crotch as he pulls them over your feet— your shoes still perched on your feet as he dangles the cute bunny panties in front of you like he’s been awarded some sort of prize.

“Real cute.” He hums, his fingers stroke through your wet slick that dampens the crotch before he slips them into his pocket without another word.

If only you’d known this was how easy Rayne Ames was, you would’ve shown him your bunny panties a long time ago.

Rayne Ames has always liked bunnies.

But most of all he likes the bunnies on your his panties.

[slushycoookie]

Kinktober Day 24 ~ Lingerie

Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: You have a little surprise for Leon.

A/N: Sorry this one was late, wanted to make sure this was still to my standards. Hope you all enjoy!

Prev *✧･ﾟ: Next Kinktober '24 Masterlist

“You like what you see?”

Leon pauses by the bathroom door, honed in on your new outfit. A black babydoll set with a high slit that went up past your hips. It hugged your frame so perfectly. Even your breasts, pushed up a bit to accentuate.

He realizes he hasn't said anything in a few minutes.

“Yeah. Wow, you look…” Leon steps closer to you, looking down to admire the lingerie up close. “wow.”

“Thanks. I wanted to surprise you.”

You give him a spin and he notices the fabric hardly covers your ass. Leon could see the bottom of your cheeks if you bent over just a little.

“You almost look too good not to touch.”

He's even closer now and his breath fans your face. “Almost…”

Leon's fingers curl around one strap. His calloused fingers graze your skin when he pulls the strap down your shoulder. You watch his intense blue eyes with a hand on your hip, almost touching the exposed skin. Your lips part when Leon presses you against the wall, hand cradling your neck.

“Where’d you get it?”

You hold in a smirk, the tip of your nose grazing his. “Why? You gonna buy me some more?”

“Maybe…” He feels tiny bumps on your skin when his fingertip traces your shoulder blade. “This comes in other colors, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Your breath hitches at his lips on your neck.

“List the colors.”

Leon smiles against your skin at your huff.

“Red, blue, violet, mmh.” He’s slowly decorating your neck with his gentle kisses, twirling his index finger around your strap.

“Keep going…”

He travels to your collarbone, leaving a trail of his saliva.

“Black, pink…green…”

Leon pushes up your breasts in the material, admiring your succulent mounds. You sigh while he descends upon you. “You stopped.”

“I can’t think of any more colors.”

“Then guess.”

“Uh, white, purple-unh!”

Leon pulls aside your panties, two fingers rubbing along your folds. “You said purple already.”

“No, I didn’t-” He silenced you by pulling down the cups and suckling on your breast. Your hands finding their way into his silky hair. Leon latches on to your nipple, rolling his tongue around the bud until it erects. All while teasing your cunt. Not diving his fingers into your hole just yet.

You jump when he pulls the fabric down to let it slap against your sex. He grins, switching to your other breast.

“Oooh, stop teasing me.” You whimper when the fabric hits your pussy again. “Please…”

Leon hums, parting from your nipple. Your desperate face is something he wants to memorialize in his head.

“Okay, I’ll stop.”

A brief moment of panic hits your face before he inserts two digits inside you. Your mouth gapes, eyes wide when he starts pumping into you. Wetness from your cunt coating his fingers. Leon watches you from below, taking in what movements make you tick. You're so pretty like this.

Even when your babydoll is ruffled, practically hanging off of you with your breasts on display. He doesn't touch you further than this. Obsessed with the idea of getting you to climax by fingering you.

“Leon…” You coo, gripping his forearm.

“Think you got any more colors to list for me?” He chuckles when you shake your head. “Thought so.”

He picks you up with one arm, easily pulling down your panties. Just enough to cup your sex. The palm rubbing circles against your clit while he's still two fingers inside you. Your thigh around his waist struggling to stay up. All while you're crying under his hold.

Leon feels your thighs clench, your climax taking you by surprise. His chest rumbles at your cunt getting wetter. You shake, nails digging into his skin. His erection pokes you, but he doesn't pounce on you yet. Your afterglow always knocks the air out of his lungs.

“You know, black looks the best on you.”

Tags:

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@howlingco @cherrypieyourface @snails-doodles22

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[argisthebulwark]

"Would You Kill For Me?"

summary: asking your partner the most intimate question of all - would he kill for you? gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Cicero, Teldryn, Vilkas, Miraak, Brynjolf, Erandur, Farkas, Mercer warnings: obv allusions to violence, nothing explicit. alcohol.

"I already have."

Cicero giggles, slapping a gloved hand on your shoulder. "Of course I've killed for you! Silly Listener, asking your poor, beloved Cicero such a question." Rationally, you know any other person would be upset - but it's endearing. You know deep in your heart that Cicero would slice through anyone who even looks at you wrong without a second thought. "Would you kill for your Keeper?" He asks coyly, sliding closer. It's too difficult to resist his charm. You find yourself grinning, remembering the many threats of bodily harm you've inflicted upon any initiate who breathes a negative word about your beloved. "Any day, my love."

"Why? You offering to return the favor?" Teldryn smirks before taking a drink from his mug. The tip of his boot knocks into yours under the table, earning a nice flush in your cheeks. You've clearly had too much to drink but Teldryn looked so pretty in the low tavern lighting, the alcohol loosening your tongue enough to voice all those silly little questions you've had floating around. "You have?" You urge, leaning so far over the table you're practically laying on it. Teldryn grins, bowing toward you and his voice conspiratorially low when he speaks again. "Of course - why do you think all that chatter about you being an untrustworthy outlander stopped so quickly?" "I thought my good deeds were enough to earn their trust." You pout, thinking back on the sudden shift in opinion. "Oh yes, yes - that too, but a few well placed jabs never hurt."

"I'd die for you."

"Isn't that better? To die for you?" Vilkas laments, lips stained red from his third glass of wine. The question had hardly been in your mind before it slipped out - late nights toasting to the Companions often left you tipsy. "I'd rather you lived for me." You hiccup, leaning closer to him. Those dark eyes still track every little move you make despite the intoxication. "A happy, long live if I have any say in the matter." He lapses into silence but you know his mind is still chewing on that question. Swirling the wine in his glass Vilkas reclines into his seat, staring earnestly into the low burning fire. "Vilkas, it was just a silly question." Those eyes cut straight through you, blinking away whatever retort he'd come up with before simply placing a kiss to the back of your hand.

"I would die in your stead." Miraak's hands cup your face, each word soaked in adoration. "I've died in your arms once, my Dragon. I would gladly do it once more." You will never truly grow accustomed to this version of him - stripped of the malice he'd lived with for so long, he's become devoted to you. Too many pupils gaze lovingly into your eyes, the crooked bridge of his nose bumping yours. You've never known a love like his and doubt that many ever will - he's had lifetimes to yearn, to want something more and hone a vocabulary that often leaves you a flustered mess. "You're far too serious." He grins at those words, the ones you've said dozens of times. "I would tear the world to shreds for you, my love. I would tear myself to shreds."

"I cant."

Brynjolf's words carry a silent apology - of course you knew his answer but watching him squirm can be fun. "I'm sorry, love - I know it isn't the romantic answer but I don't think I could bring myself to do somethin' like that. Not after -" "Bryn." Grasping his face, your heart still skips a beat when those green eyes find yours. "I know that blade you wear is simply decorative, I would never ask you to draw it." "It is not merely decorative, it serves other purposes." "Such as?" "It's fairly useful for intimidation. And breaking windows." He huffs, pressing a kiss to your palm. He pauses for a moment, eyes falling closed and nose nuzzled into your hand. "Truth be told, I like to say that I wouldn't - hell, I tell myself I won't take a life every day, but after Mercer takin' you away from me, I'm not so sure."

"I swore against such actions, my love." Erandur murmurs, forehead pressed to yours. "Lady Mara may have forgiven my past transgressions but I took an oath to bring no further harm to her people." "Of course, dearest." You smile, a bit entertained by how easy it is to get him talking. Erandur's fingers play across yours, rings bumping into your knuckles. "Would you kill for me?" You're a bit shocked by his question, even further surprised by the little hint of hope buried in his words. "Without second thought." It's the easiest answer in the world. Of course you would kill for Erandur - you would fight through hordes of enemies to ensure his safety. "I can only pray that your Lady's forgiving attitude extends to me."

"Of course."

Brows raised, Farkas assesses you across the training yard. He sucks in a deep breath, wiping the sweat from his brow before heaving the giant practice sword over one shoulder. "Any day." He says easily, a quick kiss pressed to your brow. No matter how long you're together this sight still seems too good to be true - muscles glistening in the midday sun, his hair tied back and an easy smile on his face. "Why, you need someone killed?" "Not at the moment." "If one of those recruits gets too mouthy, you come find me." He grins before turning his attention back to a battered training dummy. You notice after that question that his sword strikes just a bit harder, hammering that point home.

"No." Mercer lies, kicking his feet atop the desk. You mirror his position - boots on the desk and arms crossed, though the scowl is hard to mimic. He's perfected it. "Yes you would." You counter, fighting back a laugh when he rolls his eyes. That little divot appears between his brows - it's cute. You'd tell him but fear being assigned some awful job across the continent. "Why bother asking?" He grumbles, shoving a stack of paperwork toward you. "If you insist on hanging around asking inane questions, least you could do is make yourself useful." "I'd kill for you." "Lovely." He mutters, though you note a bit of color rising in his cheeks when he turns to some parchment he'd pointedly ignored all evening. It's too easy to get under his skin.

[doomhands-jr]

The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 12

Pairing: Delinquent!Noah Sebastian X Pastor's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Nothing but fluff, baby.

Masterlist

Thanks to @flowerynerds for the banner!

Thanks to @throughwoodsanddirt for the beta!

___________

The New England winters tended to hone its inhabitants like an axe against a grindstone, sloughing off the weaker bits until you were left with only the hardest, sharpest edges of the soul. 

The anticipated nor’easter was due to hit sometime in the next few days. Local newscasters said it was likely to be severe. Currently, it was the calm before the storm. The weather was still, like all the substance had been sucked out of the air so the storm could dump it out again once it hit. 

On the ground, gray-stained slush clung to sidewalks and frozen lawns, still leftover from last week’s snowfall. The bitter December air stung at your nostrils and turned the tip of your nose red, and Noah Davis’s hot breath drifted out of his open mouth in billowing clouds as he looked down at you from where he stood in his door frame. 

It was early morning—three days after you’d spoken with Nick. The western edge of town had all but cleared out, having been comprised mostly of students, who had all gone home for the month-long winter break. 

Noah sniffed, blinking down at you and you cleared your throat. 

“I, um…I have your stuff.” 

You held out the clothes he’d let you borrow, freshly washed and folded, stacked neatly in a pile on top of your mittens. 

Noah stepped to the side and gestured for you to enter, which you did, apprehensively. Something about being in his space felt off-limits to you, yet he welcomed you in without hesitation. 

Briefly, you surveyed the space before you. A worn sofa and two overstuffed armchairs surrounded a stained coffee table littered with empty beer cans, paper plates, and ashtrays with the spent butts of cigarettes and, you suspected, joints. 

The mess was contained to the coffee table, however. The rest of the living room was fairly clean. A large-screen TV sat atop a dark glass stand. An array of gaming consoles and controllers decorated the shelves below it. It was off, and you could see a shadow of your reflection in the black glass of the screen. 

Noah cleared his throat and you spun around to look at him. He regarded you with intention, surveying you up and down, but his face didn’t betray whatever information he gathered from the act.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked. 

“I’m good,” you said, and immediately regretted it because it wasn’t until after you spoke that you realized how dry your throat had become. “Water, actually.” 

He let out a breath somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle, moving to the open-concept kitchen space to fetch a glass out of the cupboard. “Have a seat,” he called over to you without looking. 

You took a seat on the brown tweed couch, shrugging off your coat and removing your mittens, and bundled them into a neat pile on your lap. 

The acrid smell of stale cigarettes stung the inside of your nose and you discreetly nudged the ash tray across the coffee table. 

Noah appeared at the other side of the table, a glass of water clasped in his outstretched arm and you took it gratefully, working hard not to look at him too much. 

Though this wasn’t the first time you’d seen him since your one and only sexual experience, it was still a shock to your system. Noah stood in front of you, looking regrettably Jesus-like with his long hair cascading down his shoulders. His clothes were unassuming—gray hoodie and black jeans, but they fit him effortlessly well. 

He took his seat on the armchair to your left, legs about six inches too long to fit comfortably between the chair and the end of the coffee table. He rubbed his shins, friction offering more warmth than the sputtering vents and the furnace that whined in protest. Even your ancient dorm with its concrete brick walls could stay warmer than the drafty rental Noah and the band called home. 

You noticed a distinct absence of sound or movement in the house. 

“Just you today?” you asked. 

“Folio and Ruffilo went home for the holidays,” he said, settling back into his chair and sipping from a mug of black coffee. 

You didn’t need to ask why he wasn’t doing the same—with all the baggage he carried from his family, you’d be surprised if they even exchanged Christmas cards. 

You bounced your knee, knowing there was a conversation to be had, but not wanting to approach it. 

“I’m surprised you’re still in town,” he remarked. 

This time you chanced a look at him. The coffee mug obscured part of his face, but his eyes still held the same intensity they always had. 

“My parents are on a missions trip in Africa,” you said. 

He quirked his head to the side, forehead wrinkling in confusion, and something about the crease between his eyebrows had you looking away again, too overstimulated by your own attraction to him. This was going to be harder than you thought. 

“What’s a mission trip?” he asked. 

“Missions trip,” you corrected. “It’s where groups of people go and build schools and stuff in small towns that don’t have enough resources.” You said this into your glass of water, thankful for something you could anchor your focus on. 

“That’s pretty sick, actually.” 

“Yeah,” you said, taking a sip to quell the tightness in your throat. “Yeah, I mean, it’s all sort of religiously-motivated though. The real reason is to spread Christianity.” 

You almost felt his face twist with displeasure. Glancing over at him confirmed it. He didn’t say anything though. He didn’t need to. You understood what that look was about and you felt the same. 

A few awkward moments passed while you tried to think of anything you could say that wasn’t the one thing you came here to say. 

“How were your finals?” Noah asked, coming to your rescue. 

“Good,” you answered too quickly in a rush of air. You cleared your throat and forced your next words to come out at a more conversational pace. “They were good. I think I passed all of them.” 

If Noah noticed anything off about your energy, he didn’t let on. Instead, he smiled. “I’m not surprised.” 

You gave him a questioning look. 

“You’re really smart,” he explained, setting his coffee on the table in front of him, sans coaster, “and you seem like the type of person to study hard.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair while he said it, resting his chin on the palm of his other hand. 

You smiled back because he’d clocked you. “Does that make me boring?” you asked, finally relaxing into the usual back-and-forth of your conversations with Noah. 

His smile grew wider, and you were stuck by just how sharp the corners of his mouth were. “I don’t think it does. I mean, if that was all there was to you, it might, but you have more layers than that.” 

“Like an ogre,” you said. 

His face fell and he blinked, waiting for you to explain. 

“From Shrek.” 

“Get out.” 

Your composure cracked, and through the fissure erupted a fit of giggles, surface tension finally breaking into something warm and homey. Noah snickered and at last, the shields were down—both of you disarmed and ready for what lay ahead. 

It took several moments for the energy in the room to settle where it needed to be. When it finally did, you regarded Noah with your full attention for the first time since arriving. 

He looked tired. The light bags that usually hung around just under his eyes had deepened into something sadder. Patchy stubble dotted his chin and upper lip, and his hair looked stringy and unwashed. 

“So,” he began, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair. 

“So,” you parroted. 

In the span of a few seconds, the air around you folded in on itself and grew twice as thick—dense with unspoken sentiments and the possibilities for what could come out of this conversation. 

He fixed you with a serious look, assessing your demeanor before speaking again. You’d been on the other end of that look before, but every time it happened, it struck you just how large and intimidating Noah’s presence was. 

“Should we talk about it?” he asked. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, leaning back in your seat. When you opened them again, you were staring at the ceiling. “No….” 

You heard Noah huff a laugh through his nostrils. That was good. At least he was amused by your discomfort. Without lowering your head, you shifted your eyes over in his direction. He smiled at you, and it took the edge off. 

“I promise I won’t make this any harder than it has to be.” You appreciated the gentle tone he took—a nurse soothing his patient before administering a shot. 

You said nothing, but no longer protested. He took it as his cue to go on. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

You exhaled deep. “I know,” you replied, unable to look anywhere but your hands. His apology didn’t make you feel any better about what happened. It was more for him. 

“I know you know,” he said. “But I want to explain why.” 

It was already too much. You squeezed your eyes shut and blinked them back open. You hated everything about this situation. “Why you ghosted?” 

“Why I’m sorry,” he said. 

You looked at him with trepidation. He had your attention, but you were still wary and unsure if you wanted to hear what he was about to say. You almost hated yourself for being stupid enough to give him the chance to apologize. 

If he got it wrong it would feel like reopening a wound. 

He took a deep breath. Somewhere behind his eyes, an unnamed heaviness settled in and you had to look away. The last thing you wanted to do was empathize with the man who hurt you.  

“I’m not the best communicator,” he began slowly. 

“Ya’ think?” You couldn’t stop the sarcasm from slipping out. His face went from soft and patient to something more frustrated.  

“Sorry,” you muttered. 

He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat before he resumed. “Things like honesty and vulnerability? They were weaknesses in my book for a long time. I could go into detail about why, but that’s not really important.

“What’s important now is that you know that I’m trying. I understand that I fucked up. I hate that I did it. I wish I wasn’t that person, but it’s a shortcoming that I’m learning to deal with.” 

“I also hate that you fucked up,” you said, matter-of-factly. You didn’t say it to hurt him, but it was true, and it was important to you that you no longer filtered your thoughts to protect his feelings. 

Noah, being Noah, saw the humor in your statement and huffed. “Your honesty is refreshing. If not a little cold,” he said. A half-smile painted his face and God, if you didn’t want to slap it off him so that you’d no longer have to look at it. 

Letting his face fall neutral again, he continued. “You’re not the first important person that I’ve hurt because of this,” he said. “But hurting you did force me to pay attention to how that feels, and I don’t like it. I’m tired of being an asshole, and I think, moving forward, I want to be more honest. Not just with you, but with myself. I think I’ve been fooling myself for a long time about what’s important to me, and I’m starting to realize those things don’t make me happy.” 

You resisted the urge to ask him what things he was talking about. You wanted to break out of the habit of giving him more attention than he’d earned. That had always been a problem for you with men, and you suspected it was what got you into this mess in the first place. 

You could see on his face that he almost expected you to ask him more, and when you didn’t, he faltered for a moment. “Good,” you said with a nod. 

He deflated, but ultimately melted into a smile. “Thanks,” he said. You could tell he meant it, and holy bricks, did that have you softening more for him against your will. 

A warmth blossomed between the two of you, slowly at first, but it grew with each passing moment. You could feel it in your bones, and despite your best intentions, you caught yourself smiling. 

You didn’t want Noah to have this pull over you. You couldn’t tell if you were relieved that he’d done a good job with his apology, or resentful because it would have been so much easier to write him off had he failed. 

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” you asked, ready to be done with the conversation for the time being and beyond grateful it hadn’t stemmed into more intimate territory—you didn’t think you could handle that. 

“How are you?” he asked. “I feel like so much has happened since we last talked.” 

“Ha!” you said. “You could say that again.” 

Noah leaned back in his chair, shifting his weight to make himself more comfortable. “Tell me about it. Do you want to get some food? I’d love to catch up.” 

“Maybe another time,” you said, with only the slightest twinge of regret. It was for the best. “I’ve got laundry to do.” 

It was a lie. You had nothing to do, but as much as you wanted to spend more time with him, your intuition was telling you to go, and you’d promised yourself you’d start listening more. Something inside of you wasn’t ready to be alone with him for much longer. 

“I understand,” he said, voice dipping in enthusiasm, but clearly respectful of your boundaries. “What about tomorrow?” 

You didn’t have an excuse ready—the knee-jerk denial didn’t kick in at the idea. Perhaps that was a sign? 

“I…I can’t commit for sure, but I’ll think about it.” 

He seemed satisfied with your answer, offering a smile that was a little too sincere for you to handle and you had to get out of the room before you lost all sense of self. 

“Okay. See you around,” you said quickly, shuffling to grab your backpack and swing it around onto your shoulder while nearly tripping over the coffee table on your way to the door. 

Noah didn’t chase you—you knew he was going to give you whatever space you needed in order to be ready for him. 

And that might have been what scared you most. 

------------

The tip of Noah’s nose almost touched the mirror with how close he was leaning over the bathroom sink. He’d been dealing with a very stubborn ingrown hair in a painful spot right under his nostrils. It was angry and red, but it hadn’t quite come to a head yet. 

Perfect. Just what he needed. 

He leaned back to get a better macro view of himself. The spot was definitely visible, but he was more than likely fixating on the small flaw. He couldn’t help it though—he was nervous. 

Letting his gaze drift over the rest of his face, he noticed he’d missed a spot while shaving. Fetching his razor from the shelf in his bathroom cabinet, he ran it under water and brought it to his face, moving it slowly around his jaw. 

Fuck! 

He nicked the skin. 

At first there was nothing, but then red began to seep out from the tiny cut and Noah had to grab a tissue and dab at the small drop of blood that had gathered around the wound. 

Steadying himself with a deep breath, he grasped at the porcelain sink with both hands before facing the mirror once again. 

This was stupid. He was stupid. You were just someone he liked. There was no reason for him to be so on edge. This wasn’t even a real date, you were just meeting up for coffee. 

Exhaling slowly through his nostrils, he brought the razor to his face once again, this time successfully removing the hair he missed. He finished up with moisturizer, giving one last menacing look at the angry red zit above his upper lip and recognized that it was a lost cause. There was nothing he could do about it now. 

He reached for the bottle of spiced oil he usually wore and then thought better of it. This was a special occasion. He had a small sample bottle of designer cologne tucked away in the back of his sock drawer. Normally he wasn’t the type to reach for expensive brand names, but he was nineteen at the time and he liked the way it smelled, so he shoplifted it from an outlet mall that wasn’t smart enough to keep their shit in locked displays.  

Noah smiled bitterly at the memory. He’d done a lot of stupid shit in his youth. He supposed he was still in his youth, because hardly four months had passed since his last petty crime—the one that had led him to meet you. 

He understood why he did it all. But lately the desire to act out wasn’t there, and he didn’t know why. 

Perhaps these days, there was a greater incentive to earn his joy. He no longer needed to steal it. 

Dabbing a small amount of the cologne on his pulse points, he stuffed it back in the drawer and shut it away. He could reflect on his shifting morality later. Right now, he needed to figure out what he was going to wear. 

________

Noah exhaled into his palms, warm breath serving to heat up the red, frozen extremities. It was a short walk to your dorm, but the air was bitingly cold and the snow was already ankle-deep. The storm was due to hit sometime within the next 24 hours, but he still had some time before the sidewalks grew too treacherous to walk. He wore the nicest outerwear he owned—a black pea coat and pair of black leather boots, but they were no match for the harsh December cold. 

He raised his hand and rapped three times on your dorm. 

He heard momentary shuffling on the other side before you opened the door in a flurry. The first thing he noticed was the light dusting of pink across your cheeks and the way your chest heaved with labored breathing. Try as he did to keep his eyes focused on your face, he let them drop for only a moment to take in the sight of you in your plain white top and faded denim jeans. 

You looked clean, comfortable, and unassuming, and for some unknown reason, it did things to Noah. 

“Hi,” you breathed and all at once, the moisture in Noah’s mouth evaporated, leaving a dry, scaly desert in its place. One hundred percent of his brain power was devoted to taking in the sight of you until it was satisfied that it had catalogued every inch of your presence. 

“Hi,” he said once his speech returned. His voice came out softer than intended. 

“You ready?” you asked, grabbing your coat from the back of the door. He tried to peek inside your dorm room—wanted badly to glean any additional knowledge of who you were when you weren’t with him, but you didn’t afford him the chance, stepping out and shutting the door behind you in one swift motion. 

“Yeah,” he replied, and then he didn’t say anything else because he’d apparently never had a single conversation in his life and had no idea how to begin one. 

You and Noah walked in silence, boots leaving two pairs of footprints in the snow. You wrapped your arms around you as you walked, and Noah noticed you wore mittens instead of gloves. He liked it. He liked that you wore mittens instead of gloves and it stuck out to him because he couldn’t remember ever liking any article of clothing worn by a woman that wasn’t about what wasn’t covered.

You observed the surroundings while Noah observed you, every once in a while commenting on a specific tree or building you liked, pointing to it with a mittened hand and Noah briefly wondered if there was a limit to how much time he could observe you being yourself before he got bored. He hoped he’d never reach it.  

“What’s up with you today?” you asked as the two of you rounded the corner that led to the coffee shop. “You’re quiet.” 

“Sorry,” he said casually. “Would you like me to talk more?” 

It wasn’t sarcastic, but a genuine question, asked in the way a server would if they found out their customer didn’t enjoy the meal. Did you want him to bring something more appetizing to the table? 

“No,” you said, looking down at your boots. “I just…want to know what’s on your mind.” 

The only thing on his mind was how physically aware of you he was. To ease the tension that had been pulling on his bones, he took a step closer to you. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch you in some way—grab your hand or throw his arm around you or something—but he refrained.  “Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “Just vibing.” 

You rolled your eyes, sighing as the two of you reached the entrance to the coffee shop and you pulled on the large brass door handle, gesturing for him to enter first. “Well, I take back what I said earlier then,” you said. “I do want you to talk more. I’m doing all the heavy lifting.” 

Noah smiled, tickled by how unapologetically honest you were. He liked this version of you. Not that he didn’t like every version of you he’s had the privilege of knowing, but something was different. You were less eager to please him. Almost like you wielded the sharper parts of your personality as a weapon, testing to see if its sting would scare him away. 

It wouldn’t. 

“What do you want to do after you graduate?” he asked as the two of you made your way to the counter. 

“Just jumping right in, then? No warmup?” you asked. Noah shrugged. “Grande cinnamon vanilla latte, please.” you said to the barista. 

“Medium black coffee,” said Noah. 

Noah was reminded of the first time the two of you went to this café together. You were wearing the same rubber boots and Noah was doing his best to flirt with you. He smiled to himself and pulled out his card to pay. You let him without protesting. Good. You knew you deserved it. 

“I’m not sure anymore, to be honest,” you said as the two of you slid over to the pickup window. “I used to think I would work at the church my dad owned. Be office personnel or something.” 

“That doesn’t seem like you,” Noah observed. 

You shrugged. “It was the obvious choice at the time. My parents both believe I belong in the ministry in some regard.” 

“Would you be a pastor one day?” Noah asked.

You let out a loud, bitter laugh. “I don’t think our church would ever be ready for female leadership. It’s so old-school.”

Noah frowned. He didn’t like hearing that. In his opinion, you’d make a much better pastor than any other religious person he’s met. You actually practiced what you preached. 

“So what do you think you’ll do instead?” he asked, trying to shift the subject away from religion. He got the feeling that those wounds were still fresh for you. 

You shrugged. “To be honest, I haven’t put much thought into it. I know I should, but so much has changed in the last few weeks—I’m still kind of wrapping my head around it.” 

“I get it,” he said, reaching to pick up the drink orders that had arrived. You led the way over to a small two-person table in corner of the otherwise empty café. Noah followed dutifully, trying his best to express with every single movement how completely present he was here with you. He was sure you didn’t notice, but that wasn’t the point. For him, it was about the intention. 

“You do?” you asked, sitting down. Noah sat across from you and indulged in a moment of unapologetic eye contact. 

“Mhmm,” he nodded. “I mean, not that I’m experiencing it or anything, but I know that when it comes to big decisions like that, I need a clear head. If there’s too much stuff going on in my life at one time, I don’t have the headspace to think about it.” 

Some of the tension in your shoulders slackened—not by much, but he was so hyper-aware of you by that point that he couldn’t miss it. He wanted to think it was because of him. 

Rather than responding, you sipped at your latte, closing your eyes and savoring it. He took another indulgent moment—this time, to observe how your face responded to the small moment of pleasure. It was almost sexual, he noticed, the way you tucked your lips between your teeth and smiled. He appreciated that this moment was clearly for you, but that you allowed him to witness it. 

His mind drifted, picturing himself drawing that same response from you with his touch. A hot coil tugged just behind his navel. Saliva pooled on his tongue and his thumb twitched with the urge to reach out and tug your bottom lip away from where it sat tucked under your teeth—until he caught himself. Lusting after you felt forbidden in a way he hadn’t allowed lust to feel since middle school. 

Noah sipped at his coffee, eyes trained on you until you were finished squeezing all the serotonin out of the taste. It was bitter, but in a good way—like he needed a palate cleanser to shock his system after the sickening sweetness of the last few moments. 

“What about you?” you asked eventually. “Are you planning to stay at your job?” 

“No,” he said. “The job is there to pay the bills while I try to find something else.” 

It had become apparent that he’d have to find something else sooner rather than later. As much as the piece work gave him time to think, all of the repetitive motion was taking its toll on his body. He came home at the end of every shift with back pain on his left side and he’d been having to spend more and more time in the gym evening it out. 

“What would something else be?” you asked, eyes trained on him and his neck grew warm under the intense observation. 

“I want my music to take off, if possible,” he said. “I’ve been working on a lot of new stuff. Actually, I’d love to show you sometime if you want.” 

“What kind of stuff?” you asked before taking another slow sip. 

“Different from what I usually write. More experimental. I like it, but I haven’t shown the band, so I’m not sure what they’ll think.” 

You nodded slowly, mulling something over in your head and Noah waited patiently while you found your words. 

“I think…,” you began. “I think I’d be okay with hearing it. If you wanted to share, that is.” 

Noah blinked a few times. “I mean, yeah. I’d love to share it with you, but why the hesitation?” 

You smiled bashfully, full lips still wrapped around the edge of your cup. “It’s hard to explain. And it sounds mean.” 

“Please humor me,” said Noah in earnest. He liked when you were mean. You deserved to be mean. He had a sneaking suspicion that you’d only ever been overly nice in the past and the more you dropped the façade and stopped worrying about being polite, the more he enjoyed your company. 

You licked your lips, staring down into your mug and smiled to yourself again. “I’m trying to be careful with how much attention I’m giving to men these days.” 

“Oh.” The word escaped in a breath from Noah’s parted lips. His eyebrows lifted up towards his hairline and he had to take a minute to digest this bit of information. 

Something that felt a lot like jealousy flared up in his stomach and he had to examine it. He didn’t like it, whatever it was. It felt hot, slimy, and thick, and it sat just below his ribs. 

“Other men too?” He couldn’t help but ask for clarification. Perhaps he was showing his cards by bringing it up, but he didn’t care. 

The way the corner of your mouth lifted in response to his question let him know that you caught on to the implications of his question. “If there were other men, yes.” 

“So there are no other men,” he stated, feeling a flicker of hope rise up in his chest. 

“They’ve all gone home for Christmas break.” The teasing smile never left your lips as you said it. 

Fine. You could play your cards close to the chest if you wanted. He was fine with that. Whatever. 

He liked it though. Underneath the frustration, he liked this version of you: empowered, a little bitchy, tongue like a whip, lashing him in penance for his sins. The sick, masochistic side of him wanted more. Needed more. [4] 

He took a deep breath to help him refocus. “So why the newfound caution? Not that I’m against it, it’s probably a good idea. But why?” 

You raised an eyebrow, wordlessly asking if he really wanted to get into it, and he did, so he held your gaze until you decided to grace him with the truth. 

“I think I’ve given men a lot of unearned attention. It’s come back to bite me many times over. I’m trying to learn my lesson this time.” 

Noah nodded. He knew he was one of the reasons. He was prepared to hear that. But then… 

“What other times have you done that?” 

You tilted your chin down, narrowing your eyes in skepticism. “You mean aside from you?” you asked. 

He couldn’t help but smile, appreciating how resistant he was growing to the sting of your candor. You weren’t afraid to let him know just how much he’d messed up. 

He nodded. 

Your eyes flicked up to the ceiling while you thought. You sucked on your teeth while your gaze drifted across the room, picturing invisible figures from your past and the moments they’ve wronged you. 

“My dad, for one.” 

He was hoping you’d say that one. 

“How?” Noah scooted forward in his chair, elbows resting on the table between the two of you. Part of him was eager to know how his fuckup had fared in comparison to other men in your life.

“Even just listening to him preach every single Sunday. Sometimes the sermons would be worthwhile, but a lot of them were just him spouting his opinions on how people should behave. I don’t like that he has the platform he has. He doesn’t deserve it.” 

Your face had morphed into a scowl as you talked. Noah could see the resentment you held for your father and he wished there was something he could do—some word of comfort he could offer, but he knew it wasn’t his place, considering. 

“Isaac, too,” you said, and Noah rejoiced internally. He’d been hoping you’d say that even more.

“What did he do?” Noah asked, training his face and voice to appear calm and unbiased. 

“Oh my god,” you said, setting your cup down in front of you and clasping your hands together with a newfound focus. “I forgot you don’t even know!” 

“Know what?” 

“Isaac donated the proceeds of the showcase to a pro-life organization.” 

Noah had to force himself to swallow the sip of coffee he’d just taken. “What?!” 

You launched into the story, telling him all about how you’d been lured into participating because he’d said he wanted to donate the proceeds to charity, and how he’d been respectful the entire time, despite knowing how you felt about the subject. How he didn’t tell you about it beforehand because he knew you’d protest, so he went and did it behind your back, and how you didn’t find out until right before you were supposed to go on stage and sing. 

“Which I rocked, by the way, and you totally should have been there to see it,” you said, crossing your arm and fixing him with a scowl. 

“Something came up. I’ll have to make it up to you somehow,” he said. He didn’t have the heart to tell you he’d gone, but was too much of a coward to go inside the sanctuary. 

“Yeah, I know. That Something apparently lives in my dorm and had a lot to say.” 

Noah’s eyebrows pulled together. “What?” 

Apparently he’d struck a nerve. Within the span of a second, you were back to being closed off from him, arms folded across your chest and chin jutting out while you stared out the window. He probably deserved that. 

“I forget her name. Madison or whatever,” you said. 

Internally, his body hissed at him. He forgot he’d been trying to use Madison as a distraction. He hated that he’d done it, but at the time it felt necessary. He wasn’t sure how he could explain that to you, though. 

“So yeah,” you said. “I’m done with men for a while,” you said, still staring out the window and bouncing the leg that was crossed over the other. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry,” he said. “I should have been there. It was…not my best hour.” 

He could tell you wanted more of an explanation, but weren’t about to beg for one. He’d tell you what really happened eventually…just not yet. 

 “What can I do to earn your favor?” he asked. 

“Be worth my time.” You said it without missing a beat and Noah had to hold back a snort. He was not expecting such a no-holds-barred answer from you and it hit him like a bucket of…not exactly ice water, but something warmer. Kinder. You were giving him the information he needed, unafraid of whether or not it would hurt his feelings. God, there was something about that he couldn’t get enough of. 

“Noted,” he said. “Still, I can’t believe Isaac did that.” 

“Yeah, well…,” you trailed off, mouth still pulled down into a frown. A few beats passed where neither of you said anything, and in the silence, Noah realized what he had to do.

He drained the rest of his coffee, then stood up and collected his things. 

“I should get you home then,” he said. 

Your face morphed into one of surprise. “What?” Noah wished he could take a photo of how you looked right then. Lips parted in bewilderment. Eyebrows pulled together in confusion. It was cute. 

“Your time is precious,” he said. “I don’t want to take up more than I’m worth.” 

“That’s not…are you serious?” you asked, turning to face him. He was already setting his empty mug in the dirty dish bin at the end of the counter. He turned back to face you and nodded to the door, gesturing for you to follow. 

You dumped the remainder of your latte into your mouth and stood, shoving your arms into your coat and hurrying to catch up. “What’s the rush?” you asked. 

“Trying to respect your time,” he said, smiling to himself as you struggled to match his pace. 

“Noah,” you said firmly, grabbing his arm and turning him around to face you. You didn’t say anything else but studied him with your jaw set firm. 

He stared back, face calm, but unyielding. The wind picked up, blowing a few strands of hair across your face. The skin at the back of his neck stood on end in the cold. His nose began to run, and he sniffed it back. 

“Why are you doing this?” you asked. In the back of his mind, he registered your hand still wrapped around his arm. 

“I just got back into your good graces,” he admitted. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”  “Overstay? Noah, we’ve only been hanging out for an hour.” 

“I know,” he said, resisting the urge to pull you in closer. “It was an hour I wasn’t sure I’d get.  I’m grateful for that.” 

“Okay,” you said, looking off to the side when the eye contact grew too intense. “So, what’s the problem?” 

Noah searched for the right words, trying to describe what until now had only been a vague emotion that hadn’t quite surfaced. 

“The problem is that I will always want more than I’ve earned,” he said, softly, like he was only just now admitting this to himself. “An hour is already more than I deserve. Any more, and I’d get spoiled. But I would love the opportunity to earn your company again soon.” 

You processed what he said for a few beats and then rolled your eyes, lips stretching into a begrudging smile and if Noah had the ability to freeze time, he’d use it right then and there to study every inch of your face. 

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” you said, sighing and hooking your arm through his. You allowed him to walk you back to your dorm. 

“Maybe,” he said, enjoying the pressure of your elbow against his. “Hopefully a harmless one.” 

“Is this love bombing?” you asked, short legs still struggling to keep up with his long ones. “Are you love bombing me?” 

“I hope not,” he said. “That would be really fucked up if that were the case.” 

“It would make you a terrible person,” you agreed. “You better not be love bombing me.” 

“I’ll watch out for that,” he said, smiling to himself. “What counts as love bombing in your book?” 

You grinned, as if this was a special interest of yours and you’d been waiting for someone to ask you that exact question. 

“Showering me with compliments, for one,” you began. 

“Noted. You look terrible today.” 

“Ha!” you said, nearly skipping with energy and warmth bloomed in Noah’s body at the thought he’d made you happy. 

“To be honest, I don’t exactly know,” you said. “I think people who love bomb have this skill about them–where they can pay close attention to a person, pick up on what they want or need, and then give it to them. But it doesn’t come from a good place, and they can’t sustain that energy. They do it until they get what they want, and then they leave.” 

Noah’s stomach twisted, the warmth that had previously inhabited it sucked away in a vacuum, leaving only tightness. 

He’d done that before. Many times. Fuck. 

As the two of you walked back to your dorm, Noah’s conscious weighed heavy on him. You continued talking about red flags, but Noah’s ability to actively listen was compromised with the weight of his guilt. 

He had a habit of justifying his past actions to himself–if women were naive enough to fall for simple flattery, they deserved it, he told himself. 

His stomach rocked again and he felt like he was going to be sick. 

He couldn’t change his past. He was well-aware he’d done things he wasn’t proud of, but he could change how he was going to act moving forward. 

This time, he was determined to get it right. 

“I guess this is where I leave you,” he said, unhooking his arm from yours. 

You stared at the door longingly, and Noah hoped that meant that you weren’t ready to leave. 

“You want to do this again sometime?” you asked, turning to him. 

Noah nodded, swallowing the sinking feeling in his chest for now. He could process everything when he got back to his apartment. “This or whatever else. Whatever works best for you.” 

“It can’t all be about me, you know,” you said. Your hand rested on the door knob, keys dangling uselessly from your fingers. 

“I know,” he said.  

Your face grew serious as you studied Noah, looking like you were still trying to figure out if he was for real. 

“Why are you doing all this?” you asked. 

Noah didn’t have an answer at the ready for you, so he simply shrugged. “Feel like it.” 

You continued to regard him. He couldn’t help when his eyes dropped to your lips—full and flushed with pink from the cold. He had a feeling he was letting his cards show, but he didn’t have much incentive to keep them hidden from you anyway. 

He brought his eyes back up to meet yours and caught the second your eyes flicked back up from his own lips. When you realized you were caught, you averted your gaze to your shoes. Noah did the same. 

“I, uh. I should get going,” he said, reaching to rub at a spot on the back of his neck. 

“Yeah,” you said, side-stepping away to break some of the tension that had been building for the last thirty seconds. You fiddled with your keys, finding the right one and using it to unlock your door, but made no move to enter. 

This was the hardest part. He didn’t want to leave. From what he could pick up, you didn’t want him to. But it was important that he did. He knew it. He wasn’t going to fuck this up by being impatient again. 

Just when he was about to say his final goodbye, you beat him to it. 

“See ya,” you said. And then in one swift motion, you grabbed the lapel of his coat, pulled him down, stood up on your toes and gave him a peck on the cheek. 

Before he even registered what had happened, you’d unlocked your door and disappeared behind it. 

It took all of Noah’s willpower not to follow you.  _______ All rights reserved to @doomhands-jr, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

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[pparadiselost]

Hello, if im not bothering you can you write about oliver aiku? I love him sm

good cop, bad cop.

oliver aiku x fem reader oliver has a thing for play pretend. warning(s): nsfw, corrupt cop x criminal dynamic, roleplay, blowjob, sexual transaction minors do not interact.

“officer, i know i’ve been a baaaaaad girl,” your words roll off of your tongue in buttery waves, your voice hiking up a faux pitch. “but do you really have to punish me? i didn’t even misbehave that much…”

once in a blue moon, you have to admit that your dear boyfriend could come up with not-so-bad ideas. his brain only ever works when either sex or soccer are involved, but you’d be damned if his ideas weren’t good. they might be a bit basic, but you’d also be lying if you said that dressing up and doing a little lewd roleplay didn’t get you excited too.

the slutty prisoner costume he got for you is a bit tight against your body, but the stretchy material clings to your skin and makes it so that you can’t hide any of your curves from oliver’s wandering eyes. you couldn’t even get the zipper on the chest to go over your breasts fully, so you gave up, letting your tits almost tumble out of the whorish costume. it wasn’t like they’d stay covered up that long anyway, and you decided it was better to spare yourself the trouble of struggling to get it up all the way. a pair of plastic handcuffs clink against one of your wrists, hanging limply from your arm.

“shit… y’know how things are.” your boyfriend shrugs. his own costume is a cheap imitation of a police officer. it’s also a bit too small for his tall and built body, but just like you, he hasn’t bothered buttoning his shirt up all the way. his broad chest peeks through the undone front, and a sloppily done tie swings from his collar. a sloppy smile decorates his lips, and he tips up his hat a bit to get a better glimpse at you. “the law is the law, girlie. it wouldn’t be fair for me to let you off without punishment just ‘cuz you’re pretty.”

you pout, and you saunter a bit closer to oliver. you stick your lips out, making sure his eyes catch over the plump flesh of your mouth. you flutter your eyelashes coyly at him. “you think i’m pretty, officer? c’mon… surely there has to be something i can do to get out of trouble. i’d do anything, sir. anything.”

a twinge of warm pride flickers inside your chest. you think you’re doing a pretty good job at playing the role of the minx-like prisoner, willing to seduce your way out of trouble. oliver leans back in his seat, enough to make the front legs lift off the ground for a few moments. he pretends to mull it over, and he rubs at his eyes with one of his big hands. he’s also good at playing the role of the sleazy cop, pretending as if he’s split between choosing his vices or his honor, and you watch him with bated breath.

“anything, you say? can i hold you to that?” he laughs bitterly. he sits forward, letting the chair fall back onto the ground with a loud ‘thump.’ you swallow thickly.  the two of you both know how this roleplay is going to end, but you still want to appreciate the finer details in it. 

his mismatched eyes are honed onto your face. he had been mentally undressing you with his gaze for a long time now, the boyish glee in his eyes telling you that he was eating up your appearance. but now, that gleam in his eyes feels darker, more wanton, almost as if he’s placing the ball back into your court. 

the choice is for you to make.

you rub your thighs together exaggeratedly, and you lick your lips. you nod, bobbing your head up and down eagerly. your tits bounce alongside with your movement. “yes, officer! i mean it. i would do anything.”

your mouth waters in anticipation as oliver clicks his tongue, and the sloppy grin that appears on his lips only means one thing. he spreads his legs slightly, and with one hand, he starts to undo the belt buckle around his waist. with a few metallic clinks, it slides out of his hand and off of his body, landing on the ground without much fanfare. he gestures in between his legs, patting the inside of thighs.

“you know what to do. on your knees, sweetheart,” he purrs. you walk closer to him, sauntering over and making sure he gets a good look at your standing form. you sink down to your knees, and you sensually slide your hands up oliver’s thighs. a low groan bubbles up from the back of his throat, catching on his teeth as he lets out a deep exhale.

he has a perfect view of your tits from where he leans back, and he happily ogles at your chest. your hands ghost over his clothed crotch, humming to yourself when your fingers rub provocatively against the visible bulge. leave it to him to get this horny in an instant, and your cunt clenches weakly at the thought of his heavy, hung cock. oliver groans quietly when you continue to rub him through his police officer costume, but he doesn’t rush you. 

“shit, pretty girl… are you teasin’ me right now? you’ve got some nerve,” he chuckles. you smile up at him innocently, and you move your face closer to his tent. you place your cheek against his covered cock, and you coyly rub your face all over his dick. oliver throws his head back and lets out a moan, his breathing turning shallow as he dissolves into a fit of airy laughter.

but you know better than to let the control get to your head. after all, you’re nobody but a desperate inmate who needs a way out, and the best way to do that is to seduce the hedonistic officer in front of you and be on your merry way. you grip the zippers of his pants and carefully coax it down, making sure to take your time so that you could drive the man in front of you even crazier with desire.

his cock strains heavily against his boxers, practically begging to be freed and pleasured. your eyes widen with glee when you see how hot and big it is just for you. your core twists with arousal knowing that you can get him acting up in this way, and you continue to stroke him through his underwear.

“are you this hard already, officer?” you giggle, feeling his dick twitch through the thin fabric of his boxers. a small damp stain marks where his tip is, and you slip your fingertips under the waistline of his underwear. you don’t take his cock out just yet, and you trace a heart pattern into the skin of his waist, feeling his muscles and abs contract underneath your hands. “do you want me that badly, sir? my, i’m kind of flattered…”

“hah… i wouldn’t take it as a compliment just yet, sugar,” he breathes. his chest rises and falls, and he lifts his hand to tap his pointer finger against your cheek. “you haven’t even gotten started yet.”

“oh, i will, sir. i’m only taking my time. i’m not gonna be sloppy, especially if you’re doing me a favor.” your voice is sugary sweet, pitched into a girlish sing-songy tone that you know he loves. “nothing but the best for you, right?”

he gives a snort, and he nods in faux defeat. “‘m not one to argue with a pretty girl. work your magic then.”

you eagerly yank down the front of his boxers, and you guide his fully erect cock out into plain view. oliver hisses through his gritted teeth, sucking in a sharp inhale as the cool air hits his throbbing, hot length. you waste no time, and you purse your lips as you watch his dick twitch and spring to full length, the sheer girth and size making your stomach flip inside and out. gosh, oliver really did look like he was a sculpture of a greek god come to life.

you spit into your palms, lubricating your skin. you grip the base of his cock with both hands, and you lean in, blowing a gust of cold air against the sensitive tip. oliver gasps, his hips unconsciously bucking against your palm. 

“...fuck! fucking hell—you’re really testing me, girlie,” he mutters, the seedy grin on his mouth only widening. “man, i know you’re trying to get yourself out of a mess, but you’re really going to get in trouble for acting like that.”

“i know, sir. but i can’t help it. it’s just soooo much fun!” you giggle. you start stroking him with a steady but slow pace, making sure you cop a good feel of his mouth-watering size. you let one hand slide all the way to the top of his dick. you rub your palms down on his cockhead, and oliver stiffens under your touch, another guttural groan spilling from his lips. you continue jerking him off, letting your fingers rub all over his sensitive underside and over any prominent veins, and you don’t let your eyes wander from his face for even an instant.

you want to relish the little power you hold over him. you love seeing his expressions change, fully relinquishing himself to the feeling of your smaller hands wrapped around his big cock, enjoying the perverted feeling of playing such a corrupt role and taking advantage of his position to have his way with a girl as precious as you.

“do you like how i feel, sir?” you goad him slightly, picking up the pace. you’re pumping your hands up and down at a fairly moderate pace, and you squeeze him whenever your hands hit the base of his cock. you do your best to mimic the way your own cunt would feel when it’d be wrapped around him, trying to bring him closer and closer to his climax. his balls clench up when he feels your soft hands milking him. he feels so awfully selfish, but that kind of desperate guilt makes your handjob feel so much better.

 “yeah… feels great. but-,” his chest heaves, but before you can get too comfortable, he sits up slightly. he grabs the top of your head with just one hand, and he guides your face towards his heady cock. your eyes widen when he positions you to be perfectly eye level with his drooling slit, your hands frozen around his thick inches.

his tongue darts out from his mouth, and he drags it over his lips. he nudges you closer towards his cock, just until his tip presses up against your mouth, threatening to break past your lips. “-i feel like we can do a bit better than that.”

it doesn’t take a genius for you to figure out what exactly oliver wants. you part your lips and let your tongue out, and you lick tentatively at his tip. lavishing his cockhead with small, kitten licks, you gaze up at him with your eyes blown wide open. his grip on your hair tightens, but he doesn’t force you to take more of his cock in your mouth. you regain a bit of your courage, and you follow the heat that throbs in between your hips. 

“yeah, that’s it… use that naughty mouth of yours,” oliver urges you. you start pumping his cock again, and you take more of him into your mouth, letting the broad part of your tongue envelop his tip. you lick at his slit, pressing your tongue against it and moaning quietly when you can feel the taste of his pre-cum spread across your tastebuds. it’s salty and noxious against your mouth, yet it makes your head spin with desire. he’s just so manly, and feeling his cock pushing and straining against your mouth does something to your body. 

you close your lips around his width, and moving your hands in tandem, you start to suck on the top part of his cock. you swirl your tongue around his length, making sure to generously coat his sensitive organ with your spit. you want your mouth to be everything oliver likes: warm, tight, and wet, just like your tight pussy. oliver keeps moaning, and his noises urge you to keep going. you want him to feel good. he’ll definitely make it worth your while if you do.

“shit, fuck- fuuuuuck- yeah, right there, pretty-,” he groans. you whimper when he tugs at your hair. the sting makes your eyes tremble, but you hold your ground and take more of him in your mouth. you swear you’ve only put about half of his cock into your cheeks, and yet you can feel him easily hitting the back of your throat. you pump the rest of him with your hands, working in rhythm to stimulate the feeling of thrusting into you. 

he laughs again, his voice hoarse. you shift your hips, suddenly aware of how empty your cunt feels. you want his thick rod ramming into your walls. you want his cock to fuck your brains out.

“y’know, if the whole ‘sleep your way out of prison’ thing doesn’t work, i really wouldn’t mind having a thing like you around- god knows i could use blowjobs like these more often…” he tries to shove your face down a bit further, and you clench your eyes shut as your hands shift, inviting more of his dick into your tight mouth. 

you’re being so sweet and obedient to him. your breathing is constricting, and you have no choice but to fully focus on regulating your airflow through your nose. you hollow out your cheeks. he’s starting to invade your throat, and it takes everything in you not to gag on his cock. you want to treat him well, to make him proud, to show him that you can take it.

he whistles softly, guiding your face with your hair to set up the rhythm that he likes. “there we go. there’s my pretty girl. keep up with me, yeah?”

your mouth feels fucking heavenly around him. you’re clearly struggling, torn between picking your own comfort or pleasuring him, and it makes oliver go wild. his stomach swirls and pounds with arousal, and he keeps clenching his abs, fully savoring the lewd feeling of your tongue and mouth drooling around him. he could get this scene tattooed on him somewhere, to show you off on his body forever. your throat won’t stop constricting around his girth, and every time you shakily swallow, it’s like you’re sucking him in even further.

his hips wantonly thrust against your shaking hands and mouth, and you choke around him. strings of drool escape the corner of your mouth, your jaw locking place as you struggle to accommodate entirely to his obscene size. lewd squelching fill your ears as oliver fucks your mouth, and in your own confused stupor, you still manage to do your best for him. you sloppily slide your tongue all over his cock, sucking and drinking up everything he’s willing to give you like it’s a sugary aphrodisiac. 

all of your senses are forcibly overwhelmed by him, and you love it. what little resistance your hands can put up against him yanking you down towards his crotch and him thrusting into you does nothing to spare you. he grits his teeth, grunting more like an animal than a human, as he fucks your mouth. his pace picks up quickly, and he’s beginning to manhandle you.

“hah- take it all into your mouth, pretty. don’t be fucking shy- i know what you’re capable of. show this bad cop here how desperate you are, wont’cha? yeah—lemme break in that throat of yours, teach you how to suck cock properly-,” his eyes glimmer with a kind of feral possessiveness that makes you shiver with heat, “that way you can actually learn how to pleasure a man. that brings me to two favors for you, doesn’t it?”

you let go of his cock, pushing against his hips as he bucks wildly into your mouth. hot tears cling to your eyelashes, threatening to spill over your waterline. you must look so, so crazy right now, with your hair all disheveled and your face crumpling to the sexual whims of your boyfriend. the affection that brews in his eyes is tinged with something poisonous and addictive, and it makes you salivate even more than you already are. 

his cockhead continues pounding into the back of your throat, making all of your senses recoil and grimace. but you want him to keep going, to force the shape of your esophagus into that of his cock, to exist for nothing but him. it’s a bit simple and a bit foolish, but stupidity be damned, it was hot.

his balls keep pressing up against your chin, and his pubes tickle your nose. he’s gripping onto your hair for dear life, maneuvering you more like you were a sex toy than a girlfriend, and the wild and sloppy pace has you seeing stars. his cock won’t quit twitching and burying itself as deep as it can into your mouth. 

“fuck- fuck…! jesus fucking christ, fucking god-,” his grip on you is blindinly painful, but you like it. the pain grounds you as he abuses your throat. “gonna fucking cum, princess- you’re gonna swallow it all, you hear? yeah, guzzle down all of my cum, swallow it like you can’t live without it.”

so he’s close. you brace yourself, his full balls smacking against your mouth and chin, stained with drool and precum and all the other nasty things he’s doing to you. you’ve lost your ability to think properly a long time ago, your thoughts clouded over with just oliver. your cunt beats with pleasure at the idea of drinking down his cum, the cum that should have been filling up your empty pussy instead. but this isn’t too bad; it’s still all yours for the taking. you can work with that. 

“yeah- swallow it all, you bad, bad girl-!” 

his cock convulses deep against the confines of your gullet, and you nearly choke when you feel the spurts of hot, sticky cum filling up your throat and windpipe. you get to work trying to gulp it down, feeling it invade and force itself down your esophagus while coating the insides of your cheeks. you swallow and swallow the best you can, feeling the loss of air getting to your head. cum seeps out from your stretched lips, and it spills down your exposed chest, pooling in your lap and staining your glistening tits.

oliver weakly lets you go, collapsing with a huff back into his seat. you slump over yourself, barely grounding yourself. oxygen finally floods your deprived lungs, and you cough ungracefully as you take in shaky inhales. you wipe half-hazardly at your face, trying to clear it of the tears, snot, spit, and semen all over your lips and chin. your vision is blurry, but you know it’ll come back to you soon so you stay put as you are.

“oh fuck…! are you alright?” oliver’s gentle voice breaks you of your thoughts. he’s the first to break character. 

you lift your head, seeing your boyfriend sitting up from his half-laying-half-seated position on his chair. he looks spent; his police officer costume is also stained with cum, and his softening cock lays limply across his crotch. sweat dots his brow. his features are far gone, still hazy from his climax, yet they hold the same boyish affection he reserves only for you.

you swallow again, your stomach swirling dangerously when you continue to taste his sticky cum coating your tongue. “i’ll live. you’ve been rougher with me before.”

he raises an eyebrow, and he wolf-whistles at you. you scoff at him, but you don’t stop the smile that blossoms on your fucked-out face. leave it to him to make you laugh like that right after fucking your face without any regards to your well-being. the duality makes you weak in the knees, and if you had the stamina for it, you’d suck his dick like that again in a heartbeat. 

“so, I take that to mean that you’re still up for some more?” as if he read your mind, he offers up a suggestion to you. you wipe at the cum that’s starting to dry on your chest, shooting him a curious look.

you could do one of two things. you could nip this in the bud right here and now, end this roleplay session and go clean yourself up in the bathroom. you could ask your boyfriend to open up his wallet for you and order you some nice take-out for the night, and you could turn on a sappy romance movie on the tv and cuddle up with him for a laidback date night. your tired mouth muscles rejoice at the thought of it, and your heart swells with affection.

but that’s so fucking boring—your entire lower half of your body, the part that crawls and writhes and demands relief from the arousal you’ve been ignring this whole time, would never be satisfied with an easy alternative. you want to be ravished, want this corrupt officer to take advantage of the prisoner that’s running out of options, to mold your body against the needs of your boyfriend.

“why, officer?” you quip back. the title makes oliver’s grin stretch even wider, clearly thrilled that you’re willing to play along. you make a show of licking your lips again, to lap up any of his cum that you might have missed. “was that not enough for you? should i try something else? jeez, wasn’t a pretty girl giving you a blowjob enough to convince you? …ugh, fine. tell me what you want me to do.”

“feeling a bit feisty still, eh? i could work with that—yeah, a little more lovin’ would be really nice,” he whispers. his features are clouded over with a newfound lust towards you. he gestures for you to move in closer, and you scoot towards him, letting him lean down and cup your face. he hooks his fingers underneath your soiled chin, tilting your face up so that your gaze locks with his. you hold your breath as he makes sure you can’t look away or even escape from him. you muster up the best doe-like eyes you can, softening your gaze and making yourself more inviting that you already are, only for him. your boyfriend simply lets out a throaty chuckle, “so that’s one hole down, sugar. whaddya say about letting mr. bad cop have a try at the other ones?”

KINKTOBER 2023—le premier jour.

[nohoney]

♡ gave you love, put my heart inside you ♡

notes: thank you for your patience for the next installment of teddy bear! this part follows keigo and how he came to meet the reader and his descent into fawning and obsessing over her

♪ With cotton and feather / Gave you love, put my heart inside you ♪

warnings: yandere hawks, stalking, obsessing, voyeurism

words: 3.6k

synopsis:

At first he wanted to keep some distance for a while, taking his time to learn what he could from afar. His own restless mind just couldn’t be patient though.

I miss her… she smelled so good. She could be in my arms right now. Who is she with? Remember how she smiled? I want her to look at me. I want her to be with me.

The cityscape is beautiful at night. Sparkling lights of hightowers and flashy advertisements are far away from the height he stands at. It’s a breathtaking sight to be able to take in, even if Keigo knows that there’s criminal activity hiding in the shadows of the city. In the meantime, he can ignore all of it to simply watch you be in awe of the view. The wind blows gently, his wings closing in close against his body, stifling a chuckle when you pat down your skirt to keep yourself modest.

He’d be taking it off you later anyway.

“I bet you have lots of people tell you how incredible your quirk is,” you tell him as you approach Keigo with arms held out for him to take, “you can do so much with your wings.”

Only because his talent is honed so very well from the people who took him and molded him into who he is. He traded his name to become Hawks; but with you, he feels like Keigo Takami.

You’re like any other fan of his, in awe of his talent and his charm that was all carefully crafted to make him a sparkling idol. Keigo adores all your fawning above anyone else’s. He knows that attention is what comes with his status and he plays his part well as a hero, he understands what he means to the public. But he never wanted someone as badly as he wanted you.

He was just on patrol, a rather leisure one with not much activity going on, and the crowds gathered to him. Keigo had time, talked with a few, took a selfie here and there, and handed out some autographs. And he saw you, looking at him with awe no different than anyone else’s, but something deep in chest told him instantly that he needed to have you.

“You’re so pretty.” Keigo’s first words spoken to you and oh how he adored how bashful you became. Truthfully he was taught to never play into any favorites with fans or to never go a step too far, always be warm but distant. He just couldn’t help himself though. “May I have your name?”

He shook your hand after you introduced yourself, he wished that he could take off the gloves and feel your skin against his palm. The perfume you wore was sprayed against your wrist as well and he made an excuse to keep your hands touching. You wore a bracelet, a gold chain with a single charm as its only decoration. Keigo remembers fixing the charm so that it rested properly where it could be seen, the tips of his gloves grazing the inside of your wrist.

You had smiled shyly and thanked him for the compliment, pulling your hand back slowly and holding it against your chest.

When he was in his simple room, Keigo remembered your alluring perfume. Some of it was still on his gloves, his eyes rolling back as he groaned and fisted his cock with his free hand. Your smile, your pretty smile, and how you looked at him made him feel something he had never felt before.

Keigo wanted you.

Badly.

He was never one to use his skills for any personal gain, his eyes were always set on creating a better society for heroes. But meeting you gave him some different purpose that he hadn’t discovered yet and Keigo knew that now he had met you, he had to have a life with you.

He just does a little search on you by your name. First and last that you willingly gave to him! All your info was available to him, phone number and home address and your graduating year and your current place of work! On his least busy days and his off days, Keigo memorized your routine. The time you wake up, when you shower, when you head off to work, when you schedule time with your friends, and so on and so forth.

Keigo even learned how you masturbate.

His feathers are slippery little things, delicate when he wants them to be. He tucks them in the small crevices in your home on the late nights he hovers around. Listening carefully, Keigo memorized the weight of your steps when you walked, how you sigh when you’re frustrated about something, and he was most intrigued when he felt his feathers distinguish intimate sounds while you were in your bath or bedroom.

One night, he even risked a feather fetching him a pair of your panties when you left your window slightly open one night. You left them on the floor along with your other laundry before heading out for the evening to see your friends. When his feather dropped a skimpy little thong into his hand, Keigo wasted no time returning to his little room to gush over the little souvenir he had taken for himself.

It made him feel just a little bit closer to you.

At first he wanted to keep some distance for a while, taking his time to learn what he could from afar. His own restless mind just couldn’t be patient though.

I miss her… she smelled so good. She could be in my arms right now. Who is she with? Remember how she smiled? I want her to look at me. I want her to be with me.

So he created fate, swooping by you while you walked alone after work and claiming he was patrolling outside of his normal route. Keigo saw you decline after work drinks with your friends so he knew it was meant to be. He flatters you by saying that he remembered you by your bracelet which you were still wearing. When he offered to walk you home and you accepted, his heart practically soared and he had to keep down the biggest smile that wanted to come onto his face. Of course you wouldn’t say no to him, you belong to him after all and should accept anything he gives you.

The perfume you wore roused him quite a bit though; he was having to fight off popping a stiffy around you.

“Hey… thank you Hawks. You didn’t have to go out of your way but I really appreciate it.”

It was so difficult for him to practice restraint, Keigo himself knows that he can have difficulty with self control. That only applied to eating his favorite foods or maybe having the extra dessert; it was different with you. But he gives you that smile that he flashes for everyone, asking for your hand.

He bowed slightly and kissed the back of your hand, inhaling gently to smell your perfume.

Keigo was in love.

━━━━ ♡

You occupy his thoughts.

Morning, noon, and night.

You were sending him texts, telling him to be safe and to make sure to eat a healthy meal. Keigo was so happy that you were thinking of him too. The people around him notice that he is more chipper than usual but he brushes it off and says that a hero needs to keep a smile on their face. Inside his mind, all he could think of was you.

At that point, you and him had already been intimate.

You were on him rather fast when he gave you the first sign and he couldn’t have been happier. Truly, Keigo thinks that you must not have wanted to wait any longer to be with him too. You must have sensed the soul tie between the two of you, the tethering pull of two people meant to meet and fall in love. He was glad that you were so quick though because he wasn’t sure how okay he would have been taking it slow. It was agonizing watching you from afar and when he chose that day to approach you, he wanted to take the fast track to his destiny with you.

The aching desire to be with you when he watched you from afar was soothed the second you had leaned in to kiss him.

That first night, he wouldn’t let you off his face because he wanted to memorize the taste of your pussy so badly. The way your hips rolled when you wanted more, how you’d tuck them back if you wanted more focus on your clit or bring them forward when you wanted him to lick your hole. The way you grind on his tongue, how your thighs shake when you’re close to cumming, every soft little whine he elicited out of you, Keigo believes that a god up there sculpted you for him.

“Oh god…” you sighed up to the ceiling after the first night you had together, “That was fucking amazing… would it be okay if I asked if we could do that again?”

Of course! Of fucking course! What a silly question to ask! As many times as you want him, whenever you do!

He carried you in his camera roll too with sweet selfies and sexy nudes. He loved your texts but loved even more when you called him. The softness in your voice when you were whispering on the phone to him made him feel all fuzzy inside. Nothing had ever made him feel this way, no person made him feel this dizzy and head over heels.

“I like when you hold me like this.” you commented one day as he held you in his arms, “When you have your wings tucked those close, it makes me feel safe.”

Keigo held you tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, humming absently. Your words are sweet, genuine, but having you so close was making him hard. He wanted to be gentlemanly and let you decide whenever you wanted to initiate intimacy. His heart is full of love for you but his cock is aching to be in you all the time. Keigo doesn’t just want you for sex but he’s in the honeymoon phase where his heart is always fluttering and he can’t help wanting to have you again and again.

“Hawks, I can feel you.”

He coughed into his fist before apologizing, “I’m sorry… I’m just really attracted to you. Kinda can’t help myself.”

“I haven’t even done anything for you to be excited over.” You laughed.

That’s exactly it; you never had to do anything to win his heart. It belonged to you already. Your existence was enough reason for him to be madly in love.

━━━━ ♡

“Say my name, lovebird. Wanna hear you say it.”

His fingers are dipped deep into your pussy, teasing that sensitive little spot in you that makes you writhe and whine for him. Months of being called Hawks by you, just like everyone else does, it was maddening for him. He needed you to know that you were the most special to him, that you had a privilege more than anyone else does in this entire world.

Already so many secrets are carried between the two of you, but this one is the biggest one.

Keigo Takami, his name.

He gave it up to be taken in and he hasn’t been addressed by it since. It has been years since Keigo Takami has been spoken by anyone. And its affiliation is dirty too, linked with his criminal father, the commission needed him to discard all past links to create him.

You can call him by his name, only you.

“C’mon, say my name. Be a good girl for me.”

It’s sweet how you’re so shy about it but there’s no reason to be. Telling you this secret is a gift that he hasn’t given to anyone else. So he wanted it to be used only by you. All this hesitance that you have is unneeded. Say my name, say my name, say it-

“Oh god!” You sobbed as his fingers withdrew from you, “Please put them back! Please, it was so good! I was just about to-“

“Say my name and I’ll make you cum in whatever way you want.”

You whine and shake your head, “I-I don’t know if I’m ready… it’s so intimate.”

Keigo chuckles to keep everything relaxed but inside, he’s dying. He wants so badly to hear his name from your lips. It felt so easy for him to give you this secret so he doesn’t understand why it’s so difficult for you to give it back to him. He wants you to say his name. Say it and he’ll reward you, you won’t have to lift a finger at all. He will take care of everything as long as you give him this one thing.

He pulls you up by your arm, lifting you off the bed that he sleeps on and brings you into his embrace. Your head tilts up at him, his hand carefully cradling jaw and his wings coming around as if embracing you too. “I’m sorry. Was I moving too fast?” Keigo speaks softly, “This is all new for me and I was just following what I felt was right. I won’t make you…”

Say my name! Say my name! Say it! Say it!!

He’s adoringly in love with you but there’s an ugly side to it too. Keigo is going to love you only on his terms and his only. It’s so pure what he feels for you, it eats him up on the inside and he even struggles to sleep because his thoughts race only around you. His pretty little bird, the one who makes him smile and he wants to hide you away from the world so that you’re protected from the dangers of it. He’s no longer just a hero for his country but he’s a hero for you.

“I-I want to! I do!” You tell him hastily and take his hands into yours, “It’s just that you’re someone so special. You’re important to everyone out there and I don’t feel worthy of you.”

His heartbeat is so loud in his ears that he almost feels dizzy.

Keigo presses a kiss to your forehead and brings you into an embrace. He whispers gently to you how he adores you so much and that you need to trust in his affection. Who cares what the outside world would think? Who is there to judge when this secret is known by no one? They don’t even know about the two of you so there are no opinions that you should be scared of. It’s just you and him, no one else.

Slowly the hesitation you had crumbles. Each murmured word he speaks makes you weaker, your eyes welled with tears and your heart touched by his vulnerability. His sentiments are only for you and he had never cared this much about anyone until he finally saw you.

“K-Keigo?”

The biggest smile comes onto his face. Genuine happiness shoots through his body and he swears he wants to collapse from the sheer joy he’s experiencing. No one was supposed to call him by his abandoned name when he had been taken in to become a tool for society. He was supposed to be Hawks for the rest of his life by everyone.

But to you he is-

“Keigo! Keigo! K-Kei—fuck!”

He pounds away into your cunt, fucking his name out your mouth to the point that he knows you’ll probably lose your voice a little the next day. This overwhelming emotion fills his veins and makes him feel like he’s high. Having emotionally charged sex is different, having sex with feelings is different, being in love while having sex is different.

There’s an excited energy that isn’t just coming from him but you as well. Keigo sees how beautiful you are and swears that he can see hearts in your eyes. Before there was a shyness in your gaze whenever you looked at him, trying to keep some reservation and to keep a safe distance just in case you thought this relationship would fizzle out. Now that he told you just how special you are, you look so happy as you take everything he gives to you.

His cock pistons into you, a harsh rhythm that makes the headboard bounce against the wall and your whole body shake with pleasure. When he slightly fixes the angles of his thrusts, Keigo notes how your body reacts and sees that your eyes roll back. He fucks into you now that he’s found that sweet spot in you. Through gritted teeth, he tells you, “Cum for me, cum on my cock! Fucking cum!”

Your body tenses, your breath caught in your throat at first before you scream from the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. And god, the way your pussy clenched around his dick is the only warning Keigo gets before you cum all over him.

“K-Keigo! Kei…!” You’re sobbing as he ruts into you, spurred on by how beautiful and utterly wrecked you have become. Stars litter your vision and blind you so there’s no way you could have been able to see that insane look in his eye as he looked down at you.

He chants in his mind that you are his.

His hips messily pound into you until he jams himself as deep into you as he can, filling you with thick ropes of cum and his nails digging so hard into your hips that you squirm.

At first he’s lost in bliss, Keigo’s world is perfectly silenced as he basks in euphoria. Slowly his mind ascends down, like one of his feathers that is blown by a gentle wind but then sharp when he recalls it back to him. When he hears the call of your name, he snaps out of his reverie to peer down at you.

“Oh baby… oh my sweet baby…” he whispers as he leans over you, inspecting the tear stains around your eyes and how your bottom lip is swollen from when you were biting it.

“Keigo… Keigo…” you call him with a breathy voice, trying to get your bearings in order after cumming so hard you practically almost blissed out from the pleasure.

Your hands reach out to hold his face gently, to bring him into a lazy but sentimental kiss and fall asleep in this bed that smells so deliciously of him.

His hands grasp your wrists and he holds them above your head, keeping you pinned down instead.

“I’m not done yet,” He tells you, “I want more.”

Say my name more.

“Keigo…!”

Say my name more.

“K-Kei!”

Keep saying it, it’s only for you to say.

“Keigo!”

━━━━ ♡

It’s a gentle whisper spoken against his lips when you confess that you love him.

He was sent away to further distance in the country to investigate a case. It broke him to be so far apart from you. Even as he kept his composure conducting interviews and collecting information for a case, you were the only thing on Keigo’s mind.

Four whole days isn’t terribly long but it was agonizing to not have you so close.

So when Keigo had returned, he had spent an entire night showing you how much he missed you. Truly, he was insatiable and kept fucking you endlessly over every surface possible in his personal space. Bent over his couch, he muttered into your ear how he jerked off to the saved photos he had of you in his phone. Riding him while his hands squeezed your hips, you admitted to touching yourself when he’d call you to ask how your day was and to make sure you were taking care of yourself. On his mattress, you kissed I missed you against his lips and begged him to hold you tighter in his arms.

Skin to skin, your body melts into his in a tight hug. Your sweet perfume has been smudged off your body and into his bedsheets again. Now you just reek sex and sweat and Keigo feels intoxicated when he presses his nose into your neck and inhales. Oh nevermind, he can still smell the faint of your perfume. It makes his cock twitch inside you and he admires your little gasp.

“Don’t ever leave, let’s stay like this.” You whisper to him. One of your hands gently strokes his wings, red feathers gliding along your fingers and you awe at them again as if you hadn’t done it dozens of times at this point. “Stay with me, okay?”

I could never dream of leaving you.

Keigo wasn’t one for drinking and to be honest, he got drunk easily. But the intoxication he had for you couldn’t compare, his mind swimming in a sea of thoughts that only consisted of you and you alone. If only he could stay like this forever with you or at least…

You never leave his home.

Then his mind blooms an idea, one that doesn’t have to be accomplished right now but it will become reality when it’s the right time. His mind begins to swoon over it, lost in the daydream of his mind but he snaps out of the reverie in time to hear you calling for him. “Yes, songbird? What is it?”

Your hands cup his face and you kiss him, your lips soft and your kiss shy. He adores you, he wants to lock you away into a cage, he wants nothing else but for your mind to be consumed with thoughts of him, of the two of you together.

“I love you, Keigo.” you whisper when you pull back from the kiss, just a breadth away from his lips and Keigo’s heart skips a beat.

Your confession consumes him whole and you don’t know it yet, but you seal your fate.

[pagan-sloth-witch]

Hi everyone. Thought I’d do some closeted witch and pagan tips from a fellow closeted pagan witch. These are some things I’ve seen online and kinda mainly things I’ve done in my practice that have worked for me. In the future I might reblog and add on with new delopments

• Playing cards as tarot. They’re a great alternative. I love to use them for my readings. There’s plenty of free websites that provide meanings for the cards, and what playing card suits translate to what tarot card suits. One downside is you don’t have the major arcana, but it’s still a great tool to use if you’d like to do tarot

• Use candles. You can work with the candle itself for magick, or just the flame for the fire element. You can also use it in devotion to a deity and correspond things like the color and scent

•If you can collect them, crystals and minerals are wonderful to have. Collecting them could be explained as just a new hobby. Sometimes you can also get lucky and find some in nature. I’ve found some quartz in my backyard

•Altars hidden in plain sight. I have Lilith’s altar on my desk, using existing decorations I’ve devoted to her, and a few new things I’ve made and found for her. Your altar can simply look like it’s just some decoration on your desk, wardrobe, or wherever you set it up (I can talk more about altars in another post. Mostly pertaining to deities since that’s what I have experience in, but hopefully it can still be useful)

•Prayer. Praying is a great way to communicate with deities. Saying good morning and goodnight are two easy to do examples. If you pray in your head instead of aloud, it’s silent too, and a good way of keeping it a secret

• Meditation and mindfulness. Good for you outside of just pagan and witchy practice, this can also be a form of communication and honing your intuition

The internet is a great resource, but always take things with a grain of salt. People can be wrong, so always try to double and triple check your information. And see what works for you and your practice. Don’t be afraid to change it up and experiment

Above all, take care of yourself. You deserve it. The deities your working with will understand. It’s okay to take breaks, be gentle with yourself. Your trying, and that’s what counts. Have a wonderful day/night you lovely crows

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Tagged by @rewritetheending for wip Wednesday! I’m giving Eddie heat stroke sorry dude the torments continue

It’s so hot Eddie’s stomach muscles have locked into a permanent clench. The call about a fire at an apartment complex over near Wilshire had come in at around 6 this morning and it’s almost noon now, and they’re still working their way through hotspots that seem to flare right back up after they’ve been put out. Eddie is in an apartment he’d been in two hours ago when he’d used it to get to the unit next door, and which hadn’t even been touched by smoke then and has since become an inferno. There had been a big poster of one of the Texas Rangers players on the wall next to a UCLA pennant, and Buck had nudged him and cackled as he made a gesture Eddie thinks was supposed to convey tipping a cowboy hat. Both decorations are gone, probably floating around them in ash, wall completely engulfed.

It’s hard to catch your breath when you’re bathed in this much heat, and Eddie is grateful for the years spent honing his and Buck’s dynamic duo act. There’s no need to try to force words out when he holds out a hand and knows Buck will be there to put a hose in it. Just holding the hose steady is making his arms shake, and he’s fighting down waves of nausea, but they’re beginning to knock the flames down when the radio crackles on.

Tagging @devirnis @kitkatpancakestack @homerforsure @iinryer @rogerzsteven @bigfootsmom @burins @shortsighted-owl who are you tormenting on this fine Wednesday

[elf-simp]

Seiei Tsuwamono

B A S I C S

Name: Seiei Tsuwamono

Nickname(s): Cici (Shorthand to remove confusion with his name and title)

Age (at time of death): Unknown, speculated to be around 300.

Nameday: 5th Sun of the 3rd Astral Moon

Race: Rava Viera

Gender: Male

Orientation: Asexual

Profession: Master strategist / Samurai councilman.

P H Y S I C A L     A S P E C  T S

Hair: A creamy off-white with blackened tips. He keeps it long and always has at least some part of it braided

Eyes: Very bright, dusty teal decorated by an almost constant scowl. (But he's not actually mad that's just his face)

Skin: A warm 'espresso' tone that is fairly smooth in most places. Exceptions being his facial scar and hands which are quite rough.

Tattoos/scars: A single, long scar rests over his right eye that he has had since his youth. His eye under it is undamaged.

F A M I L Y

Parents: Unknown

Siblings: A single older brother that he "does not get along with."

Grandparents: N/A

In-laws and Other: No in-laws. Other: Adoptive daughter (formerly) named Sophinia

"Pets": A crow named "Kehaar" is almost always at his side. He has been seen with varying other beasts in his employ as well, though he was reluctant to consider any of them 'pets'

S K I L L S

Abilities: Has demonstrated exceptional swordsmanship, a skill honed over the course of hundreds of years. Strangely good with animals, seemingly able to tame them in a matter of minutes. Exceptionally creative under pressure, usually during combative encounters.

Hobbies: Fishing, foraging, cooking, mahjong (sucks at it), kenjutsu, and general martial arts

T R A I T S

Most Positive Trait: His sense of humor

Most Negative Trait: His sense of humor

L I K E S

Colors: Green, White, Orange, Yellow

Smells: Fresh tea, Rain, Cherry blossoms, Campfires

Textures: Down feathers, Linen, Smooth stones eroded by water, Old and dried tree bark

Drinks: Tea (All), water, juice (all), Soju, Sochu

O T H E R    D E T A I L S

Smokes: Never

Drinks: Infrequently and almost always alone. Prefers drinks with 'floral' flavors. Seems almost entirely unaffected by alcohol.

Drugs: Used them ounce, had a "bad experience" and refuses to again.

Mount Issuance: Either whatever the falcon porter has on hand for the day or whatever stray beast he happens to find that can support his weight.

Been Arrested: Never. Generally either low-profile or keen enough to avoid the eye of authorities.

Tagged by @oneiroy

Tagging: @mythandral @yloiseconeillants @azure-dragonsinger @cantspelldragoonwithoutgoon @abyssalmermaiden @khajiitclaws and @biblicallyaccurateviera

[saturnsorbits]

A/N: A little Angel Dust piece I started before I ran out of steam with Hazbin... It's unfinished and not much happens, but here.

Angel's staccato moans echo around the studio. They drift into the air and lace together, tangling themselves gently like lovers. Each gasp is more delicately crafted than the last, mounting, competing with it's brethren until, at last...

His breath leaves him in a rush, timed perfectly as the camera pans up from where the demon rocks into him to Angel's face. His eyes are scrunched in pleasure, jaw lain open, loosing more symphonic noises from his throat. In the basin of his mouth, he gurgles, forcing a hiccup up from his lungs as his eyes snap wide, only to roll back moments later.

He waits.

Counts the beats.

Then, he moans again.

The noise is softer this time, a gentle sound that is more purr than whine as he curls himself around the demon still nestled inside of him. The demon slows, chest heaving, sweat slicking his shoulders. His eyes are almost entirely black – pupils vanquishing what little of his iris' he had to offer as he untangles their limbs enough to look Angel in the face. He smiles, but it's shaky and too sincere, lighting up those blackened eyes in a way Angel is all too used to.

They're all the same.

He wriggles, attempting to unsheathe the demon from inside of him. The demon's cock twitches. He's almost resigned himself to another round when a clap of Valentino's hands has the demon scrambling off of him and clambering from the bed.

'Cut!'

Angel sits up, elbows perched on the mattress. Swinging his legs from the bed, he ignores the ache in his thighs as he takes his robe from an aide with a smile and slips into it. He's already thinking of the warm shower that awaits him in his dressing room, the fresh towels and plush slippers, but before his thoughts can stray too far, a familiar voice is calling him back.

Val's arms are folded, his glasses sat crooked on his face as he taps the toe of his boot against the hardwood. 'Clean up, but don't get too comfortable. I want you back out here in twenty. There's a new hire I want you to meet.'

Angel cringes, but hides it easily with a blasé grin. 'Meet...' He drawls, the lower set of his hands digging into his hips. 'Or fuck?'

A laugh trickles over Val's lips. It's a loud, but broken sound. Boisterous in all the same ways he is. He snaps shut his jaw, tipping his head until he can glare at Angel over the rim of his glasses. 'What do you think?'

Snorting, Angel uses his upper arms to salute while his lower continue to clutch at his waist. He twists with a well-honed grace and makes for his dressing room.

His dressing room is far from the worst of rooms in V Towers. It's decorated, pink, to his tastes. A long couch occupies one wall, his vanity the other; while the wall not hosting the door is blocked, hidden by a rack of increasingly scandalous clothing. Hearts litter the furniture: an upholstered pillow, a carved shape in the vanity, the links of a chain used as wallpaper. It was amusing once. Having the depiction of love so abundantly used in a place that was void of it, but now, it was little more than mocking.

His conquests seldom made him cum... Never mind love them.

A sharp knock at the door shakes him from his thoughts before they can begin to cloud, the small round face of an aide – the sound woman, he thinks – pokes around the door frame.

'Ten minutes, Angel.' She tries to smile through her cringing. 'But Val wants you clean...'

'I'll be ready.'

Angel sighs. His shoulders slump, body folding in on itself as he lets himself hit the comfort of the couch. It would take him barely five minutes to clean himself up properly, ridding himself of any evidence of the last. He'd be fresh as a daisy for whatever newbie Val had lined up. Until then, he glances at the mirror laying flat on the vanity, he'd make use of the other five in the best way he knew how.

000

Angel reappears cleaner, and considerably more excitable, with almost three minutes to spare. He strides through the studio like he owns it, the heeled black boots he'd slipped into clicking across the floor as he twirls, throws up his arms and neatly tosses himself to the plush comfort of the bed.

'So...' He folds his upper set of arms behind his head, letting the others rest along the mattress. Folding his legs atop one another, he grins. 'Who's the lucky man who gets to fuck me next, huh?'

'About that...' Val twists, cigarette holder pursed between his lips. He blows out a plume of smoke. Wrapping his knuckles on the head of a small, bony intern, he absently gestures the door to another of the studio's dressing rooms. 'If you'd like to receive our guest.'

The intern scrambles to obey. Skittering across the floor, he knocks politely on the dressing room door before pressing his ear to it and gingerly turning the handle.

Val sits back in his chair, blowing more smoke from his cigarette as he crosses folds his knees. 'There's one aspect of the market we're failing to appeal too and I thought it was about time we fixed that.'

The door opens and Angel sits up.

Craning his neck to see, he feels the bones in his spine crack as he almost tips forward in his eagerness. His eyes widen, head tilting as he watches his new co-star stride into the room.

There's a music to your body. One that has him mesmerized from moment he watches you take that first step towards him. Your hips sway, your body twisting as each step causes the soft bend of your curves to flick – caressing the very air through which you walk. The slope of your shoulders pulls your body tight, although you make the posture look effortless as you glide towards the set.

Angel stammers. 'A woman?'

From his chair Val grins, sharp teeth digging into his lower lip as he taunts. 'You've never been fussy before Angie... Don't start now.'

'I...' Angel swallows his words. He has to. They turn to liquid on his tongue, mixing with saliva and searing the back of his tongue. Taking a second to slip his composure back into place, he flicks back on his signature, mega-watt smile. 'Hey-ya, Gorgeous – what's -.'

You blink, eyelashes fluttering as you readjust to the harsh burn of the studio lights, but when you spot him, there's no denying that he's stunning. Licking your lips, you beat him to the punch, enjoying the pinking of his cheeks as his confidence liquefies and turns to blush and anticipation. 'Hey, yourself, pretty boy...' You cock your head. 'Oh, I'm going to eat you alive.'

Angel gulps.

He has a feeling this is a shoot he might actually enjoy.

[nishp]

🍰🎃 Happy National Cake Decorating Day! 🎃🍰

Today, we're getting our creative aprons on and diving into the delicious world of cake decorating. With holiday dessert buffets right around the corner and Halloween just a few weeks away, it's the perfect time to hone your cake decorating skills and create some spooktacular treats! 👻🕸️🍰

Whether you're a seasoned cake decorator or just starting, today is your day to let your imagination run wild. So, what kind of cake masterpiece will you create? Share your cake-decorating stories, tips, or your Halloween-themed cakes with us! 🍰🎨🎃

Let's make National Cake Decorating Day a celebration of sugar, spice, and everything nice. Happy decorating! 🧁✨

[thatscarletflycatcher]

I'm reading an essay by author Marcos Aguinis titled El Atroz Encanto de Ser Argentinos, The Atrocious Charm of being Argentinians, and while it is generally interesting to me as a dive into the Argentinian psyche, and also food for thought and honing of the idea that Argentinians and Americans have, in terms of national spirit, many, many similarities (a thought I most desperately need to refine down to exact definitions that will stop both Argentinians and Americans to get very pissed by it, because I meant it in the most positive way possible), I reached a part where he reproduces in full a satirical email chain, and it's too good not to be translated here for your enjoyment:

How A True Argentinian Should Behave

While driving:

systematically bother the one behind you; at the same time, blink lights and honk to the one ahead of you. You are super fast and nobody can defeat you.

The indiscriminate use of the honk is capable of dissolving a traffic jam on Córdoba street at 6pm.

The Law of Mass is valid. For example, if you are driving in a 4x4 and by your right your "opponent" cruises in a small Fiat, who has the right-of-way? Bingo!

Read the new traffic law: bikes, motorbikes and motorcycles can go in whatever fashion and direction they want; the helmet can be worn at the elbow, so that the hair can enjoy the breeze.

The pedestrian has a right to nothing, but cross wherever they want. If your insurance payments are up to date, run them over; that will teach them to respect you.

The white lines on street corners are just decoration for the asfalt. Nobody knows who the irresponsible guy who told pedestrians they should cross the street by them.

The car on your side is your mortal enemy.

The car manufacturers commited a complete inconsistency: they put in three pedals, when the vast majority of drivers only has two legs. Don't be confused: eliminated the middle one.

Blinking your lights enables you to do whatever crosses your mind. Not blinking them enables you all the same.

The red light on traffic lights indicates "danger!" you must, then, speed up as much as possible and get out of there ASAP.

Ambulances, firefighters and police can wait. Nobody in the Universe has as much a need to reach destination as you.

At a public bathroom:

Do not press any buttons, in case your fingers might get dirty or cramp.

It is to be assumed that there will be paper, soap, and hand dryers, and that everything will work to perfection.

Use aaaaaaaaaall the paper you want; the one that comes after you won't need it.

Throw all that paper into the wc. Modern physics has demonstrated that it disintegrates in water.

Do not forget to carry a safety pin with you, to write on doors and walls the first stupid thought that comes to your mind. Another one, more stupid than you, will find it funny.

On everyday life:

If it rains and you have an umbrella, walk below roofs and balconies, God forbid your umbrella gets wet.

If you don't have an umbrella, and it starts raining, run like desperate, because once you reach the speed of sound, rain will no longer wet you.

If at a shop you don't find the garment you are looking for, don't be impatient: make the clerk show you all the garments. That way they will be kept nimble and alert at work.

Take a cup of coffee or a soda at a cafe, and never forget to tip 5 cents. The little coins are useful for the bus fare.

If you are calling from a public phone booth, and the number you are calling is busy, insist again and again. The ones waiting in line don't have anything else to do.

At home:

If you live on the top floor, don't forget, before taking the elevator, to call up all the other elevators, so that those who are below and want to go up have time, while they wait, to reflect on what they did during the day.

If, on the contrary, you live on the ground floor, do as well call the elevators, which will allow the neighbours living above you the extra time to plan their activities for the day.

Take the trash out whenever you want. You pay so many taxes that you have a right to expect there to be municipal employees ready to collect it at any time.

Saying "good morning", "excuse me", "I'm sorry", and "thank you" have gone out of fashion.

The windows were invented so that you can have a clean house without the disgrace of having to collect trash in smelly cans. Besides, it's very, very, very funny to throw heavy things from your window or balcony.

At the office:

Keep in mind that locks were created by a guy who resented society and wanted to create a test of ingenuity.

Everything is public property, even the belongings of the people working there. Did you forget to buy cigarrettes? No problem: there's always some other kind smoker to whom it is no extra cost to keep up your vice for eight or nine hours.

If you smoke, close the windows, so the rest can share on the smoke that your generous puffs produce.

Comments such as "you look terrible", "that looks hideous on you", "what an idiot you are" help to boost the self esteem of your subordinates.

It is valid and healthy to note to your female coworker that she has gotten fat.

Same applies to the male coworker that is balding.

Speak very loud, that's how people will listen to you, respect you, and even answer.

The person in charge of cleaning has a servant's mindset. Dirty things up thoroughly, so that they can enjoy cleaning your office and making it spotless.

[findroleplay]

I send lots of asks but I can't find RPs for my OC. Do you have any tips?

Let me say that I don't really do Original Characters so I never had to find workarounds for this problem. However, I see some trends in the asks I get and I can try to point out some strategies that MAY work, especially if the problem is getting people to like your ads and not ghosting/dropping threads, which is a different problem.

All the things I say are suggestions to make your ads more appealing, I DO NOT mean that you're wrong if you do/don't do any of the following. Just to be clear. There's no right or wrong ads, but there are ads that appeal to a wider audience.

Offer to double up! This goes especially for OCxCC in fandom. While I think fandomless plots can work very well without doubling up, especially when the plots are built around the two OCs, I seem to see a trend to regard an OCxCC to be more about the OC than the CC. Besides, many people are eager to write their OCs, so they may be more willing to write with you if you let them.

This is a corollary to the above. Try to work around having only strictly submissive/bottom characters. Objectively, there's a single post offering a dominant character for every ten that don't mention anything for every twenty that offer submissive muses (not actual statistics). The market is saturated for bottom muses, so to speak. I understand that it isn't something that you may want to do because of course you have a preference for how you've written your OC, but even if you don't want to change your OC to be a top or a switch, try making another OC and offer to double up. The same goes for the ratio of female:male muses in mxf, where males are greatly outnumbered by women.

Write a verse for a popular fandom. I understand the love for obscure fandoms and the frustration for not finding any matches, believe me I do, but this is also something to think about if you want to roleplay a certain OC more than you want to be loyal to the verse. In the same vein, try branching out and write fandomless threads. If you exclude some very popular fandoms like Stranger Things, Star Wars, Marvel and DC and a couple of others, fandomless ads always get more traction than fandom ads. If you just want to flex your OC muscles, give this a thought.

Change your roleplay habits to match the most mainstream trends. If you write script or one liners, try to hone your style to be literate and more descriptive. Nothing against script or one liner writers, but I can count on the fingers of one hand how many ads ask for these styles when the overwhelming majority is usually literate. The same goes for where you write. If you stick to Tumblr, or use other less known platforms, you're already at a disadvantage because the great majority of roleplayers I see everyday are Discord only.

Lastly, put effort into your asks. You've said you have problems matching with partners, so it means that something in your ad must be niche or not popular enough to have a horde of people tap on that heart. Don't weed out other potential partners with a low-effort ask. After all, it's your way to showcase what you can offer. Pay attention to spelling and punctuation. You don't have to write a small novel, but DO include enough information to catch people's eyes and remember to split it into paragraphs. Consider bolding important info. You don't have to go overboard with fonts and other decorative elements, but try to craft something nice to look at.

That's all I can think of at the top of my head. Again, I'm not calling out wrong types of ads or roleplayers, but I'm telling you what the trends in the ads I post are and what are some things that I often see in ads that don't do all that well.

[apocalopalyptic]

@royalreef​ said: Amira's present appears without preamble, literally appearing in the one second that she wasn't looking at the spot, as though it was always there, as though she had merely missed it the first time.

There's no doubt about who it was from.

Who else had this habit, of giving gifts by suddenly making them appear without rhyme nor reason, leaving no evidence of herself? Who else would have wrapped it in paper that glowed like the soft, flickering flame of candlelight, in a ribbon made out of literal gold thread? Who else would place down two flat boxes, labelled with:

" To: Amira!!!!!   Merry Christmas!!!! ♥          - Miranda V."

The first was lighter than the second, and so it was the one that was placed on top and, thus, opened first.

It was a leather jacket, folded pretty as you please in its box. Not merely cow leather, nor even sheep, but something different. Something textured with fine scales, dark and deep black as any, but even sturdier somehow, without having to sacrifice ease of movement. It fit well, perfectly even, with tall, proud shoulders and a belt, fastened with a gold buckle in lifelike imitation of a catshark.

The details were just as lovely as well. Here and there, around the edges, there was gold stitching. Perfect, masterful stitching at that, practical and yet beautiful the closer she looked. Here and there there were loops, woven filigree that spun in lines so fine that it would have been hard to create them and proved furthermore what skill went into making such a thing.

Inside, there was seal fur lining, thick and plush and spotted, here and there. A zipper would have let Amira remove it, if she so pleased, and it held plenty of pockets in secretive locations, roomy and able to hide almost anything Amira needed within their depths. Practical, in that sense, beyond even just the fashion.

The second gift was hard to even lift, in comparison. It was longer, not as wide, and it had to be worked carefully, with that weight. It didn't help that, when the wrapping came off, it had a wooden case to it. A lock was made into the front, a matching key laid atop, and on top were the etched pictures of some sprawling, distant reef, coral shifting as it reached the edges, becoming buildings that had no hard edges to them and drifted towards the surreal.

This gift was a sword with a matching black leather sheathe. The handle was wrapped in a matching leather, tipped with a pommel in the shape of a spiraling golden conch shell. The handle, oddly, seemed to be longer than what was perhaps proportionally accurate on other swords, but that seemed just another quirk of it all.

The blade, as it was withdrawn, was long, heavy, broad. Every edge was a kind of unspeakable sharpness that made the mind hesitate at touching it, perfectly honed in every way. There were etching along the flat of that long, silvered blade, patterns like that of a wolftrap anglerfish, showing the gleam of dozens of teeth bent up on themselves. As though they might spring down, from their decorative position, to snare anyone unfortunate enough to be caught on that cutting blade.

Even just looking at it, sat so perfectly in its case, given freely to Amira, there was an air of intimidation about it. It was the way the mind suddenly recalled the true severity of swords, of what could be done if they were wielded wrongly, or even what might happen if they were wielded correctly in the wrong hands. A responsibility. There were plenty of swords made for lots of reasons, but with a sword like this, there was only possible use for such a thing.

And Miranda had given it freely. Created it and wrapped it up all the same, and gave it freely to Amira. As a Christmas present.

And, almost too, as a form of trust.

The gifts are unexpected, though, frankly, all gifts are for Amira. Even if she’s gotten used to the tradition and actually celebrating the holidays, most of the time she forgets gifts completely, meaning anything from her is usually delivered a few days late and messily wrapped, if wrapped at all.

It’s the type of habit that’s labelled her as someone requiring very little fanfare for holiday sentimentality, so the actual surprise that comes with the unexpected gifts is, in itself, another layer of unexpectedness. She looks around for any signs of the very obvious culprit but can’t find Miranda anywhere, and so makes a mental note, likely to be forgotten, to thank her. Something that takes up the rest of her minuscule patience, and so the wrapping paper, beautiful as it is, is quickly torn to pieces.

Once torn free, Amira holds the jacket up by the shoulders to fully examine it with what is almost reverence. Draping it over an arm, a hand runs down the soft lining, fingers finding all the pockets hidden inside as they run up and down the fur. It quickly occurs to her that this is now probably the nicest thing she owns, and somewhere far, far back in her mind she wonders how the small amount of funds she has for Christmas gifts will ever be enough to buy Miranda anything half as nice. But the worry is vague and unconscious, overshadowed by excitement as Amira tugs the leather jacket on, already marveling at the way it fits. Hands reach up to straighten it out, thumbs idly running along the stitching. She has no mirror to admire herself in but there’s no doubt in her mind that it suits her.

The second gift, though much heavier than the first, is lifted with ease, though its weight does mean that it takes her just a little longer to remove the wrapping paper. The lock and key only adds intrigue, Amira admires them for as long as she can manage but quickly unlocks the case to see what’s inside.

It’s unexpected but, even sheathed, it’s clear what lies in the wooden casing. She lifts the sword out with a little less caution than advised, excitedly unsheathing it to marvel at the blade. In an ill-advised move, she runs a finger along the edge, cussing softly when it inevitably leaves a cut. It’s clear as day that the weapon in her hands has a very real potential for destruction, both her own and other’s, and thus the meaning behind the gift isn’t lost on her, vague as it may be in her mind.

There are very few times in her life she has held responsibility at all, nevermind one like this, and she can’t help but shift a bit at the sudden weight of it on her shoulders, unsure of what carrying it even means yet. She’ll learn with time, she’s sure. If Amira is anything, it’s adaptable.

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From Chaos to Cohesion: The Impact of Certified Office Staging

In the fast-paced world of business, the workspace plays a crucial role in shaping productivity, creativity, and employee satisfaction. Yet, all too often, offices can descend into chaos, with cluttered desks, mismatched furniture, and uninspiring surroundings becoming the norm. This chaos not only affects the physical environment but also seeps into the mindset of employees, hindering their ability to focus and perform at their best.

However, there is a solution: certified office staging. This transformative practice goes beyond mere decoration; it involves strategic planning, design expertise, and a keen understanding of how space influences behaviour. From rearranging furniture to optimizing lighting and colour schemes, certified office staging aims to create harmonious, functional, and inspiring work environments.

In the bustling city of Toledo, where businesses thrive and innovation flourishes, the importance of a well-designed workspace cannot be overstated. As businesses seek to maximize productivity, foster collaboration, and enhance their brand image, the role of certified office staging solutions becomes increasingly pivotal.

Our staging Lovitt by Design in Toledo stands at the forefront of this transformative movement, offering comprehensive office staging services and solutions tailored to meet the unique needs of each client. From decluttering and reorganizing workspaces to optimizing lighting and decor, we specialize in turning chaotic offices into cohesive, inspiring environments that drive success.

So, what exactly is certified office staging, and how does it work its magic in Toledo? Let’s delve deeper into its impact and benefits.

Understanding Certified Office Staging

Certified office staging is the process of systematically arranging and enhancing office spaces to maximize efficiency, productivity, and employee well-being. Unlike traditional interior design, which focuses primarily on aesthetics, certified office staging integrates principles of psychology, ergonomics, and organizational behaviour to create spaces that support and empower occupants.

Certified staging designer in Toledo undergo specialized training and certification programs to hone their skills in workspace optimization. They possess a keen eye for detail and a deep understanding of how different elements—such as layout, furniture placement, lighting, and colour—can influence mood, behaviour, and performance.

The Impact on Workspace Dynamics

The transition from chaos to cohesion through certified office staging by certified staging designer in Toledo can yield profound effects on both individuals and organizations:

1. Boosted Productivity: By streamlining workflows and optimizing workspaces, certified staging designer in Toledo helps reduce distractions and improve focus, leading to enhanced productivity and efficiency among employees.

2. Enhanced Collaboration: Thoughtfully designed collaborative spaces facilitate communication, idea sharing, and teamwork, fostering a culture of collaboration and innovation within the organization.

3. Improved Morale: A well-designed office by certified staging designer in Toledo prioritizes employee comfort and well-being contributes to higher job satisfaction and morale, reducing turnover rates and fostering a positive work culture.

4. Professional Image: A visually appealing and organized office space by certified staging designer in Toledo reflects positively on the company’s brand image, instilling confidence in clients, partners, and visitors.

5. Adaptability and Flexibility: Certified office staging considers the evolving needs of modern workplaces, incorporating flexible layouts and adaptable furniture solutions that can accommodate changes in team structures and work processes.

Practical Implementation Tips

Implementing certified office staging in your workplace doesn’t have to be a daunting task. Here are some practical tips to kick-start the transformation:

Assess Current Workspace: Begin by evaluating your current office layout, identifying areas of inefficiency, clutter, or poor functionality.

Set Clear Objectives: Define your goals for the staging process, whether it’s improving productivity, fostering collaboration, or enhancing aesthetics.

Consult with Professionals: Consider enlisting the expertise of certified office staging professionals who can provide tailored solutions based on your specific needs and objectives.

Focus on Ergonomics: Pay attention to ergonomic principles when selecting furniture and arranging workspaces to promote comfort and minimize physical strain.

Prioritize Lighting and Colour: Optimize natural light where possible and use colour strategically to create a stimulating yet calming atmosphere conducive to productivity.

Encourage Employee Input: Involve employees in the process by soliciting their feedback and preferences, ensuring that the final design reflects their needs and preferences.

In today’s dynamic work environment, the significance of a well-designed office cannot be overstated. Certified office staging offers a holistic approach to transforming chaotic workspaces into cohesive, productive, and inspiring environments. By prioritizing functionality, aesthetics, and employee well-being, organizations can unlock the full potential of their workforce and create spaces that foster innovation, collaboration, and success.

From the layout of desks to the selection of furniture and the strategic use of colour, every aspect of office design plays a role in shaping the employee experience. By embracing certified office staging, businesses can harness the power of space to drive performance, cultivate creativity, and propel their organization towards greater success.

Lovitt by Design commitment to excellence extends beyond certified office staging alone. Whether it’s staging for real estate properties, events, or retail spaces, our expertise knows no bounds. With a keen eye for detail, a passion for design, and a dedication to exceeding expectations, we elevate every space we touch, leaving a lasting impression on clients, customers, and visitors alike.

In Toledo and beyond, our staging company is more than just a service provider; we are partners in progress, catalysts for change, and champions of creativity. As businesses continue to evolve and adapt to the demands of the modern world, we remain steadfast in our mission to help them thrive in environments that inspire innovation, collaboration, and success.

Choose Lovitt by Design for all your staging needs, and together, let’s transform spaces, elevate experiences, and shape the future of work and beyond.