#Might drop snippet later

[dykevanny]

I need to work on my fanfiction . Hm

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 9: The One Where You Choose Your Own Brazilian Adventure

My planned post – the “In Dedication of JVN” one where I fangirl over Jonathan Van Ness and what a fun and interesting piece of the Lukola puzzle he is – was derailed today because I was once again asked about Brazil. Well, more specifically, I was asked about whether I thought we were ever going to get those steamy, hopefully X-rated pictures, from Brazil. There’s pictures?!

In truth, I thought we’d collectively squeezed that grapefruit dry and left the rind somewhere between Italy and the Glamour Awards.

Alas, here I am writing about Brazil.

It’s funny because I’ve never thought much about Brazil. I know, I know! How could I possibly type those words without my nose growing six inches in front of my face? Well, it’s because it was always Australia that intrigued me. More on that later…

So why exactly do we believe there are pictures from Brazil? And, why do we think they are going to prove some kind of hot affair between Luke and Nicola? This theory is likely fueled by rumor; rumor born from how Luke and Nicola behaved towards each other while they were in Brazil.

I thought it would be fun to play a little game of “Choose Your Own Adventure” to determine if we’re ever going to see these alleged pictures. And, yes, I will be a very sarcastic bitch when doing this.

Before I start, though, I want to give a quick shout out to my dear friend, whom I shall call The-One-Who-Drops-Random-Pics-Into-Our-Group-Chat-and-Lets-Us-Sweat-Over-Them-for-Atleast-Three-Minutes-Before-Finally-Explaining-Them. She was a wealth of information about Brazil and even had a nice mother-daughter chat with me about the significance of a clean-shaven face (pardon me for never having dated a bearded man, which is odd because I find facial hair quite attractive).

Now, gather ‘round and I shall give you a little prologue to our adventure!

I’m sure most of you already know all about Brazil. In fact, many of you are probably self-described experts at this point. But, for those who are new here, let me go ahead and light the candles and set the ambiance for you. 

On May 19, Luke and Nicola were shuttled off to do their beach photoshoot in Brazil. You know, the one where Nicola was walking the dogs; Luke was strumming the guitar; Nicola was being all girlfriend-like fixing Luke’s jacket; Luke was gazing up at Nicola at the pub while she was touching his neck; and then there was that moment when we all thought they might kiss. Yeah, all that plus Luke’s scruffy face from the week prior suddenly appeared clean-shaven. Apparently, you can never be too “Casual” when you’re headed down south (pun intended – as was that Chappell Roan reference). And, about now is where I’ll “insert disclaimer that this is speculation only.”

The following day, we had the actual premiere. I’m not sure what those two were up to before the premiere but both were un-fucking-hinged by the time they made it to the red carpet. We had angel-face Nicola looking up at Luke like he had created the universe and Luke answering Nicola’s Little Red Riding Hood vibe with one sexy ass Big Bad Wolf persona. I mean, the bits and bobs that came out of Luke’s mouth that day! “There’s a carriage downstairs.” “I mean, in this heat, all I’m thinking about is when we didn’t have to wear clothes ‘cos that would be quite nice right now.” “I mean the show is proof that it is [okay to kiss your friends].” With Nicola whispering back, “This is true.” Then there was Luke taking that mic without taking his eyes off Nicola. We had Luke helping Nicola put on her bracelets because – God forbid! – she let go of him for 30 seconds to do it her fucking self. And, let’s not forget about the two of them holding on to each other behind that woman’s back (I’m sorry, I don’t recall her name and I’m too lazy to look it up – mainly, because I’m certain most of you don’t really care about that other woman).

We were also given snippets of Luke and Nicola at the premiere afterparty, looking like two people who, at a minimum, enjoyed each other’s company. They greeted fans outside the venue and, as they walked away together, Nicola seemingly put her hand on Luke’s lower back as if to guide him in the right direction (go ahead – let your imagination run wild – it’s a great opening for a FanFic).

Then, throw in the beach walk with the giant security guard; the interview where Nicola was wearing the fluffy pink skirt and the two of them talked about Chappell Roan’s “Kaleidoscope” (seriously, those two were listening to that song together?); Nicola couldn’t stop giggling about the “meat” of the Carriage Scene; and Luke appeared perhaps a smidge too interested in Nicola’s answer about what she looks for in a man (which fit perfectly into Luke’s “Like, how nice is it when someone notices, like, your kindness or your sense of humor?”). And, we can’t ignore them seemingly sharing a tea cup and Luke reaching for Nicola’s spoon after she’d sampled a dish. Don’t even get me started on over-analyzing Luke’s “manspread” that day.

Let’s also not forget about the rumor portion of this Brazilian escapade – because that is what fuels the sexy hot pictures theory and the central plot of our storied adventure.

Rumor has it Luke and Nicola spent a lot of time with each other in Brazil.

By themselves.

In one or the other’s room.

On the beach.

By the pool.

There were also rumors of them making out in the hotel hallway.

The only evidence we have of any “alone time” are some pictures that were dumped on X of them dining together alone, without any other members of their team.

Now that the backdrop has been set, let’s go on my little adventure.

During the summer between my 7th and 8th grade years, I was bored out of my mind. I grew up in the countryside. No neighbors. No sidewalks. No cable! Just fields, wooded areas, and my two sisters, both of whom had no interest in entertaining me that summer. My mother suggested I read. After boredom had dug itself so far into my being that I was left with no choice but to read, I finally ventured over to the bookshelf and grabbed the thinnest book I could find. It was a “Choose Your Own Adventure.”

If you don’t know what a “Choose Your Own Adventure” book is, then you (and your children) are missing out. Basically, you play the role of the protagonist and make choices to determine the outcome of your story. Sometimes you make the right choice and survive; other times you make the wrong choice and get turned into a little mouse that may or may not be eaten by a cat.

Here we go.

As the protagonist of our story, you are:

THE EMPLOYEE

You’re an employee of the hotel Nicola and Luke stayed at while in Brazil. You have sworn to maintain the privacy of hotel guests; you’ve signed a non-disclosure agreement of sorts to protect the privacy of guests, especially since you have access to VIP areas. You can be a housekeeper, a watchman, a concierge, a seven-foot-tall security guard, whatever tickles your fancy. Doesn’t matter – you’re all bound by the same provisions to protect the privacy of the hotel’s guests. But, in this story, let’s say you’re the housekeeper because – what’s that old saying – the only person who knows everything going on in the house is the maid?

You’re cleaning Nicola’s room and you find lots of signs of a man being in the room. In fact, you find a coat that looks exactly like the one Luke was wearing the night of the premiere. Oh my. As you’re leaving, you see two people making out in the hallway – headed straight towards the room you’re just leaving!  It looks like Nicola and Luke. What do you do?

Choice A: Well, you’re a pervy housekeeper so you pull your phone out and start taking pictures. I mean, those two are so into each other, they don’t even notice. You then run and play show-and-tell with your friends because you can’t keep a damn secret. Unfortunately for you, that gossip spreads faster than lice in a preschool, and hotel management tracks your ass down because, guess what, your friends can’t keep a secret either. So, congratulations on being fired. You’re meeting with the lawyers is first thing in the morning. Oh, we also need your phone and the names of all your friends.

Choice B: You respect the privacy of Nicola and Luke and simply turn and walk the opposite direction. Taking photos of them never even crossed your mind! But, damn, what a good story to tell your bestie when you get home, even if you don’t have “receipts.”

THE VIP GUEST

You’re a random guest staying at the hotel. In fact, you’re a random VIP guest staying on the same floor as Nicola and Luke. When you checked in, you signed a non-disclosure agreement. I mean, you want your privacy protected, too! And, heck, NDAs are thrown out like candy these days. You’ve seen so many at this point, you don’t even bother to read them.

You take the elevator up to your floor and, as you step into the hallway, you’re confronted with – goddammit, there’s two motherfuckers all over each other! The guy is trying to slide his key into the door, but the woman’s dress is so awkwardly large, he can’t seem to find the right slot! You realize the people look a lot like those two stars from Bridgerton, and your best friend, Effie, is a huge fan! What do you do?

Choice A: You can’t believe Effie is missing out on this excitement so, of course, you pull your phone out and start taking pictures!! I mean, that NDA you signed didn’t even cross your mind three minutes later when you were forwarding the pictures to Effie! And, because you can’t control what Effie does, she forwards the pictures to all her Bridgie buddies. The next morning you awaken to find the pictures all over X. Oopsie. You feel slightly guilty, and a bit peeved at Effie – but only until you’ve had your morning coffee.

Choice B: You take people’s privacy very seriously. Well, maybe you don’t take it that seriously, but it would be too difficult to dig your phone out of your handbag to take pictures. And, to be honest, Effie is the huge fan, not you. Plus, it seems the guy finally got that door open and damn, based on the sounds of it, he's unlocked something magical. Oh well. You’ll call Effie in the morning to tell her your story, if you remember it.

THE RANDOM STRANGER

You’re a random stranger taking an evening stroll along the beach. You love the sound of the ocean. It’s so peaceful…the sound of the waves… Ugh, what is that noise?! It sounds like – shit, it is! – two people snogging in a cabana about 10 yards away from you. Wait a minute – is that? Yeah, you think it could be! I mean, you were just at the Bridgerton premiere last night! What do you do? Without hesitation, you pull out your phone!

Choice A: You creep behind an umbrella and zoom in as close as possible with your camera! I mean, shite! You can’t believe this! How long have you been filming?  Probably longer than necessary but who cares? Suddenly, you feel a presence behind you, perhaps a seven-foot-tall presence, and you slowly turn around. Fuck! Who’s this guy?! He takes your phone, drops it to the ground, and stomps on it, shattering its insides.  Asshole.  You bend down to pick up the phone, but the man taps your shoulder and shakes his head, “No.” Well, umm, yeah, I guess you best be leaving.

Choice B: You use your camera to zoom in on the couple. Snap! Snap! Snap! Then you get the FUCK OUT OF THERE! You tell yourself you don’t look suspicious at all, even though you’re practically running and your heart is about to pound its way out of your chest! Oh, thank God, you’ve made it to your car. You start it up and, like I said, YOU GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE! You get home and take a look at the photos! Goldmine! So, should you drop them on X? Maybe be a little see-you-next-Tuesday and try to sell them to Nicola or Luke’s teams? But, hell, you don’t even know where to start with that! Or, should you just pocket them for your own pleasure? You tell me….

The End.

Yes, I am absolutely being a facetious little ass! The above scenarios were for (the most part) my own entertainment. I mean, there are so many situations where these alleged pictures could exist (these playful ones don’t even scratch the surface). But, do the pictures exist?

If we’re being logical here, you would think that, if anyone in the general public were in possession of these alleged sexy-time pictures of Luke and Nicola, or had seen them, it would be all over social media at this point. I mean, ALL OVER. So, what can we deduce from the fact that they aren’t?

That the pictures probably don’t exist. Don’t shoot the messenger! Seriously, watch where you point that thing!

But, let’s say pictures did exist. Who is the most likely person to dump them on, say, X? The hotel employee, the VIP guest, or the random stranger? I would place money on the random stranger, followed by the VIP guest. The hotel employee, who probably has the most access to VIP guests but the strongest legal barriers, would be the least likely to photo dump. What is the likelihood that someone from one of these three groups – for example, a random stranger – (a) had pictures of Luke and Nicola, (b) didn’t drop them on social media, and/or (c) didn’t share them with someone who dropped them on social media?

I’m all for a good conspiracy theory but I find this one to be a hard pill to swallow.

Maybe one person can act as a lockbox for this kind of secret, but when you start including more people, the ability to keep something (like illicit photographs of two celebrities) out of the public eye diminishes rapidly.

Remember what Benjamin Franklin said, “Three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead.”

Unfortunately, this quote is incredibly accurate. The general public cannot keep secrets.

If the pictures exist, they are most likely in the possession of Luke and/or Nicola’s team (of lawyers). So, unless they’re going to sneak them on to X for giggles (I mean, it’s been known to happen), you’re probably never going to see them – and that’s assuming they even exist.

However, if you’re the housekeeper from our first adventure and you happen to have some candid photographs you’re just dying to share, just find yourself a printer – one that cannot easily be linked back to you – and print them out. Then, “accidently” drop them at the feet of someone who knows exactly what they are, and then give them enough time to take their own photos of them and send them to their best friend’s brother’s sister-in-law’s third cousin’s wife’s neighbor, who could drop them on X for us. I mean, you should be golden with seven degrees of separation.

[macabr3-barbi3]

Pillow Talk- Vox x Reader

(Banner made by my love, @fraugwinska 💛❤️💛)

A Vee Tower maid, you get an eyeful- and more- when stuck hiding in Vox's closet after Alastor comes back to town.

Tags: the Alastor body pillow; Dry Humping? I think that's what it would be; Accidental Voyeurism; Cunnilingus; One-Sided Alastor/Vox; Vaginal Sex; improper use of electricity lol; maid outfit; a tiny bit of hypnosis but not regarding the sex

[this is almost a crack fic honestly I laughed way too much writing it xD this was inspired by a few pieces of art- as soon as I can find the artists I'll link them below!]

So technically, you weren’t supposed to be here. The entire cleaning crew knew that the main apartments of the Vees were off limits unless they specifically asked for them to be serviced- you, specifically, would not be a welcome sight, especially by the CEO.

But when Vox had spotted you outside his office he had barely spared you a enough of a glance to get his hypnotic eye swirling before he had very explicitly stated, “I want every single thing in here put back where it belongs,” and apparently, to your will-bent limbs that meant even the fucking throw pillow on the couch needed to be returned to his home.

The blue striped fabric clutched in your arms, cleaning supplies left in one of the numerous cleaning closets, your feet took you to the elevator, pressing the button for the elevator to take you up to the penthouse. You were sweating a bit in your uniform- despite how little fabric the damn thing had (courtesy of Valentino deciding “if we have to fuckin’ look at them they might as well be hot” when hiring a cleaning crew, apparently) you were still nervous about going against established orders for implied ones. If Vox found out you had been in his section of the penthouse, in his room, Satan only knew what he would do to you.

That shouldn’t have excited you a little as you thought it, but it does- your breath comes a little quicker as you had entered the key code to Vox’s sector of the penthouse floor, thankfully empty as you enter and where you now stand. The television is playing something from the news, Vox sat at his desk with some sharp toothed red deer demon in the frame with him, mouth turned down into a frown and spewing vitriol- you caught some snippets of speech from the low volume, something about him being a fossil, outdated, et cetera. It wasn’t surprising- Vox and all of the Vees were all about innovation, updates, upgrades. If this guy was into older tech it made sense that he would take personal offense to that.

When you try to toss the cushion onto the couch your arm freeze, unwilling to release the fabric- which meant it wasn’t a couch pillow but a bedroom one, and your feet turn to take you in that direction. The door opens without a lock, and the room that greets you is a little neater than you would expect from the CEO of the company, being as prone to outbursts that the staff had to clean up as he was. The bed was made up, and finally your compelled brain allows you to throw the pillow out of your grasp to bounce harmlessly on the bed. Order satisfied, you’re about to turn to leave when the lights snap out with an audible click.

You freeze in the darkness, worried somehow that you’ve been caught, but they flicker on mere moments later. Another tentative step towards the door, and that’s when you hear it- a crackle of electricity from the living room, not unlike an arc flash, one that you’ve heard enough times working in this building to know what it means.

Vox is back.

In hindsight, it was fucking stupid. You probably had better luck explaining yourself, telling him that his command earlier had forced you up here against your better judgment because of course, Vox, sir, you knew that the penthouses were off limits. But your prey brain reverted to instinct, doe ears dropping against your head, and you bolted to the nearest safety- the closet. 

You can hear him coming closer, his voice increasing in volume- “that ancient fucker, thinks he can just come back to my fucking town, in my fucking section like he never- fucking dammit, Bambi, I can’t believe-” He just keeps going and you shuffle further back into the clothing around you, the smell of his soft cologne enveloping you as you descend. You can see light peeking through the slats of the doors, and it vanishes as he quickly approaches. The door flies open and you squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for a sharp clawed hand to land on your arm and haul you out but it never comes.

He grabs something close to you, something soft you had been inadvertently leaning against, and slams the closet door closed again so hard that it swings back open, another crack that light leaks through. Despite your better judgment you lean forward, peek through the slats of the door at what is happening in the room. He throws the item he had grabbed against the bed, and it bounces at an angle so that you can see what it is.

A body pillow- with that guy from the television on it, his red outfit unmistakable even not knowing who he was just from a quick glance. He wears a sly smile on his face, eyes half-lidded over a monocle, a frankly stupid haircut that came to his shoulders with tiny antlers peeking out of it. Vox is still bitching, and this time you catch a name: Alastor. Your boss kicks his shoes off, rips his jacket from his frame, and falls to his knees on the mattress, bringing the pillow close and slotting it between his thighs.

You stop breathing.

He falls forward and braces himself on one hand, the other scrambling at his fly to bring out an impressive erection that you can tell even from this distance must be painful, faintly glowing a bright blue at the tip before fading to the darker shade of his normal skin at the base. He strokes himself once, spreads what looks like a fair amount of precum over his length before he releases his grip and dips his hips into the pillow, now free hand clutching at the fabric between his fingers. 

“Alastor,” he moans, and the low timbre of it shoots straight through your core, thighs clenching together as you stand stockstill in the darkness of the closet. “Oh fuck, Alastor, Al- fuck, fuck,” and his hips are driving into the pillow all the while, the bright tip of his cock occasionally peeking into view from your vantage point. 

You bring a hand up to clamp over your mouth, to try and muffle your breathing as you watch the private act and shift closer to the wider gap in the doors for a better view- slowly, silently. His voice is dark and delicious as he groans into the seemingly empty room, unrestrained in his pleasure. The hand braced on the bed is shredding the sheets, bits of fabric floating up into the air with the force of his claws dragging into them- the one on the pillow is surprisingly gentle, clenched lightly where the hair is on the image of the demon that adorns it.

Your body aches at the apex of your thighs, slick and throbbing just at the sights and sounds before you- if you made it out of this, if Vox didn’t discover and immediately kill you for witnessing this, you were going to have the most phenomenal orgasm of your fucking afterlife the moment you could get yourself alone. You’ve never wanted to be a pillow so badly in all of your existence- Hell, you’ve never wanted to be a pillow period but Vox was making it look downright tantalizing to be shoved between his legs and thrust against. 

He’s still going, his lower body moving rhythmically against the pillow and still muttering under his breath- “Alastor, Alastor, Alastor,” like he’s in a trance, can’t stop himself from saying it. His voice catches in his throat, hips stuttering then stilling while shoved hard against the pillow, collapsing against the mattress with a frustrated groan.

Everything is quiet for a moment, the only sound your muffled breathing against your hand as you peek through the door at the VoxTek CEO. Your spare hand itches for movement at your side, but you refuse- absolutely refuse- to get yourself off in your boss’ closet with him less than five feet away. You fist your fingers in the poofy fabric of the Val-approved maid uniform that the crew was made to wear, and you wait.

When Vox pulls his head up from the mattress, his screen is tinted pink in embarrassment even thinking no one can see him- he looks down at the pillow with such an earnest expression of longing that you feel embarrassed and avert your gaze for a moment, until he scoffs and you look back up to a sight you’re more familiar with. His face is twisted in anger now, and his claws hover menacingly over Alastor’s face before he snarls in disgust- at himself? At the other man?- and clambers off the bed. You watch his body move across the room, lithe muscles flexing as he moves, and only when he exits the room do you heave out the breath you had been holding, taking your hand away from your mouth.

You hear the rushing sound of water that indicates that the shower has been turned on, and you make perhaps the dumbest decision you’ve ever made- you stay in the closet instead of taking these precious few moments of him being out of the room to book it out of the penthouse. You’re not thinking clearly, so preoccupied with the arousal that it wars inside your body with the logical part of your brain saying to get the fuck out. But you’re surrounded by the sweet, heady scent of his cologne, the rough sounds of his groaning still echoing in your ears, and with your eyes slipping closed you slide a hand up under your skirt; you didn’t end up in Hell by sticking to the concept of chastity, after all.

Your free hand fists in the fabric of his shirts that hang next to your face, bringing them closer to breathe in the scent of him. The sounds he made echo in your mind, your fingers brushing lightly against the dampness of your panties, hand dipping inside them to graze your clit-

The closet door flies open, the light falling across your body and illuminating what is clearly a shocking sight to the Overlord if the glitching of his screen is anything to go by- one hand holds the Alastor pillow in a death grip, obviously about to toss it back into the closet after wiping it down with a damp rag (the sink, you realize, not the shower), probably for one of your team members to properly clean later under an oath of secrecy. Your hand is up under your skirt, the other gripping his shirts for dear fucking life, and Satan’s fuck, he was absolutely going to kill you.

You both stand frozen for a moment, still too shocked to move your hands until you see the spark of static cross between his antennae. You let go of his shirts and remove your hand from under your skirt. “Sir,” you start, and your voice cracks on the word. “I’m-” 

“Shut the fuck up,” he snaps, and even without the swirl of his hypnotic eye your jaw clamps closed. He lets the Alastor pillow fall to the ground, both hands free now to open both closet doors, and you close your eyes- this was it, goodbye Hell, nice knowing you. At least you were going out with a hot image burned behind your eyelids of the guy that was going to murder you.

Instead you feel the sensation of your floppy ear being rubbed between two fingers, gentle and inquisitive. When an eye peeks open again, Vox is staring at them, his gaze flicking between your ears to the tiny white spots that line the edges of your face that he can now see with the increased light. “You a deer?” He asks, his tone dark, and you heave a shaky breath.

“Yes, sir.”

He hums, a quiet noise as his other hand comes up to rest softly on your waist. “Didn’t notice earlier. Thought I told the head cleaning bitch I didn’t want any fucking deer in my tower.”

You force yourself to breathe slowly. “I had great recommendations and she said she would just keep me out of your way.”

“Great recommendations, huh? Any of your previous employers know you fucking touch yourself watching people get off in what they assume is the privacy of their own homes?”

Instinct- you try to run rather than face his questions, only getting as far as an abortive jerk forward before both  of his hands are on your hips, pushing you further against the back closet wall. His scent is fucking everywhere, a faint heat coming off his screen with how close it is to your face, and you feel the threat of claws where he grips you. “Please, I’m sorry-”

“This for me?” Vox takes one hand off your waist to grab your hand- the one that had been under your skirt- and moves it back to its prior position, just pressing against the front of your damp panties. “Or was it the fact that you were being a little pervert and I was none the wiser? Tell the truth now, dear,” he says, his eye going black rimmed and swirling, and you’re helpless to answer.

“A bit of both, sir,” you breathe, and he looks pleased at your answer, pressing your fingers harder against the heated skin under your joined hands. The words don’t stop- “I didn’t mean to come here, sir, there was a pillow in your office- and you said everything had to go back where it belonged, so-”

“Gotcha, gotcha,” he nods. “The downsides of hypnotism, huh? But it’s gotten us into an interesting situation- how much of that did you see?” He tilts his head towards the pillow.

Deep breath. “All of it, sir.”

“You must think I’m pretty pathetic now, huh?” 

His eyes still spins lazily at you. “Not at all,” you say, and the pixels of his eyebrows twitch upwards. “I thought it was… alluring. Sexy, to watch you let yourself go like that.” You glance down at the pillow, a grimace taking over your mouth. “Admittedly a little gross that you aren’t like. Properly cleaning that. Were you just going to throw it back into the closet?”

His screen tints and he lets go of you, taking a step back to kick the pillow out of your line of sight. “I have a dry cleaning lady that comes on Saturdays,” he says defensively, “it would have only been in there like two days max.”

“Sir, that’s still kinda-”

He tugs you out of the closet by the wrist and pulls you over to the bed, sitting on the edge and pulling so that you straddle his lap. “You wanna keep calling me gross or do you wanna fuck me?” He grinds your hips down onto his and you feel the hard length of his arousal against you despite it being not more than a few minutes since he had finished with the pillow. 

“Can’t I do both?”

“Cause let me tell you,” he adds, talking over you, not picking up the barb, “the sooner I can get that fucker out of my head, the happier I’ll be as your boss. And a happy boss might not decide to kill or fire you for being a- what’s the lady equivalent of a Peeping Tom? Just a slut?”

“I’m not sure there is one, sir,” you say breathlessly, and his tongue snaking out of his mouth to trail along the length of your neck distracts you from his fingers reaching up under your skirt to slide your panties to the side, thumbing your clit with soft pressure.

“S’nice that you’re a deer,” he murmurs, the tingly sensation of his lips tracing a path down your collar, letting his tongue slip between the swell of your tits, pushed on display in this fucking uniform. “Just like- shit, do you have…?” His other hand comes under your skirt as well, reaches around the back to cup your ass, and at the base of your spine-

“Oh, fuck,” he whispers when he gets a grip on your tail, fingers tightening around it in a way that makes you cry out, high and trembling. “Fuck, I gotta-” He shifts the both of you, a quick motion that ends with you bent over the edge of the mattress while Vox flips your skirt up, exposes the cute fawn spots that covered your ass and thighs, the fluffy nub of your tail above the red lace of your panties.

“Fuckin’ red,” he mutters, mostly to himself, “just like him- what is it with fuckin’ deer and red? Do you all use the same style guide or something?” When you look back, there’s a note that appears on his screen- “ask Vel about deer style magazine?”- before he sees you watching and grins. “Might wanna hold onto something, doll,” he advises, and before you can ask him why his face is pressed against your rear, tongue slipping between the slick folds of your cunt and diving in.

The shock of it makes you yelp, immediately devolving into a moan that’s lost in the sheets when you bury your face into them. The slick muscle is long and strong, reaching deep and flicking against your inner walls with a fervor you’ve never had from a partner before. You try to grind your hips against the bed, the motion aborted when Vox’s large hands come up to your waist and hold you in place so he can lick into your pussy more efficiently, keeping you firmly against his screen. He moans at the taste of you and keeps you still with one hand, the other coming down to rub forcefully at your clit. You groan into the sheets, fingers fisting in the fabric and fuck, fucking finally,  pressure and friction where you wanted it. “Vox, sir, please,” you whine into the mattress, and he moans against you, the vibration of it from his screen adding a nice edge to the pleasure. “Please, please, please-”

Tongue still inside of you, you can hear his voice, broadcast from the speakers on his head- “I’m not sure you get to beg for anything, baby,” he says, and his tone drips sarcasm and amusement. “I could leave you high and dry and I would be well within my fucking rights- maybe I decide that perverts don’t get to cum.” His tongue starts to draw back, and when your walls clench down on him in protest he fucking laughs. “I guess fucking any deer will do, though- helps that you’re fucking cute, even if you don’t really look like-”

Like him. Like Alastor. It should have been insulting, and maybe a little terrifying that possibly the only thing keeping you from having been murdered on the spot when he opened that closet was that you were a fucking deer.

Logic had no place in your body right now, though; you’d been aroused for the better part of Satan only knew how long, and you would take what you could get. Maybe if you were lucky he would just fire you after he fucked you stupid. “Please,” you ask him again, not caring if you sound pathetic about it, and he does pull off your pussy now, leaves your soaked entrance clenching down on nothing. “Fuck, sir, please-” 

He chuckles and you hear the clinking of his belt behind you, loud in the quiet of his room that’s interrupted only by your soft moans into the mattress. “Don’t worry, Bambi,” he said, using the nickname for Alastor that he had spit in anger when he first came into the room. “I’ll give it to you- give it to you real fucking good.” His hand reaches above your head and grabs the pillow that had led you in here like a lamb to the slaughter, shifts your hips up enough to shove it under them while pressing against your back. You feel the hard line of his cock against your ass and resist the urge to grind back onto it, staying put until he decides to move.

“Ohh, look at that! That’s fucking cute,” he says, and there’s a hard grip on your tail, making you aware of the faint shakiness to the appendage in his grasp. “All twitchy and needy- you always get like this when you want a cock in you?”

Your response is a drawn out whine when he finally pushes in, and fuck- seeing it glow faintly against the pillow while he rutted to completion couldn’t have prepared you for having his cock inside of you, filling your cunt perfectly and still fucking going. Vox presses in slowly, methodically, until he’s buried balls deep and breathing heavily against your back. “Fuuuccckkk,” he groans, and the rumble of it through his chest makes your inner walls spasm around the hard length of him. “Oh fuck, baby, do that again,” he encourages, a hand squeezing at your tail, and what are you supposed to do? Not listen to him? You clench down and he chuckles, low and dangerous, and there are lips nipping at your skin where the shirt of your uniform leaves you exposed. “God fucking damn, Bambi, you’re just-” He pulls back, the drag of his dick inside of you leaving sparks of pleasure that burn behind your eyelids, and shoves back in, the tip of him bumping something soft and sweet inside you that makes the evidence of your arousal drip from where you’re connected. He sets a steady pace, and you wish you could fucking see him- watch him use your body for his pleasure like he had used the pillow, mindless with it, bucking his hips with reckless abandon.

A hand wraps around your throat, gently at first before the feeling of it makes you moan and he tightens his grip, thumb coming up to brush against your lips and smearing the drool that he finds there, having fallen unbidden from your mouth as you panted with your mouth open while he fucked you. “Making a mess of my sheets, huh? I like the sound of that- fucking the drool out of you while I fuck my cum into you-”

The keening cry you try to let out at that is garbled and broken with his hand squeezing your throat, the other still having a grand old time pulling on your tail, and fuck, you think you could cum just like this. “V-Vox, sir,” you manage to get out with the pressure on the sides of your neck, “please, gonna-”

“Gonna cum, baby?” He lets go of your throat and you fall forward onto the mattress, face burying in the sheets again and muffling your sounds- he brings his fingers to your clit to circle it while he fucks you, still pulling your tail, and everything inside of you feels like its tensing and electrified around your cunt where you’re stuffed full of him. “Come on, show me how- how fucking sorry  you are for getting caught with your hand down your panties.” He brings his face down next to yours, teeth snapping in your ear and licking up the side of your face at the tears that have leaked out. “Wanna fucking call me gross now, Bambi? When you’re about to cum on my cock like a goddamn slut- fuck, so close, it’s almost fucking perfect-”

Static sparks off his antennae, and you can almost feel the thrum of electricity though his body before it ends at his finger tips, shocking both your clit and the sensitive skin of your tail where he still holds it in a death grip- that’s all it takes for you to almost scream with your orgasm and drag him over the edge with you, a soft grunt of “Alastor, fuck, Al-” as he spends himself in long, hot pulses inside of you. Static still tingles lightly at his fingertips, causing tiny jolts of pleasure that make your muscles twitch and your walls flutter around Vox’s cock, drawing your release out until you’re almost overstimulated, trying to shift your hips out from under his body.

The hand on your tail tightens in warning. “Stay the fuck still for a sec,” he mumbles, and he presses his face against your back- you can feel the heat of it through your shirt. “Just fucking- came twice in the span of thirty minutes, let me catch my goddamn breath before you try to go again.”

“That’s not-” He presses hard against your clit and your body jerks in his hold. “Not helping,” you finish feebly, and he laughs against your flank before he lets go of your body and pushes back, pulling out with a loud, wet noise that brings a flaming blush to your face. “And not what I was trying to do.”

There’s a shuffle of movement and then the bed dips in front of you- you raise your head up from the mattress to see Vox eagle-spread across the sheets, his chest heaving. “No, you were just trying to get off in my closet after watching me fuck a pillow like a fucking loser. Not sure if that reflects worse on you or me.”

You flush, and prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him- he didn’t seem like he was as angry now, less likely to murder you probably. “It’s not great for either of us, but probably a little worse for me.” You take a deep breath, tense despite the orgasm that made your bones feel like goo. “I… I don’t think you’re going to kill me now? But I do understand if you would still like to fire me, sir- this was… lovely, but I was still unprofessional, and-”

“God, just- shut up, damn, is that also a deer thing? Never being able to stop talking? I’m not gonna fucking fire you.” He throws an arm over his screen, his internal fans whirring and blowing hot air across your face. “Are you any good at your job or do you hide in closets on a regular basis?”

“First time transgression, sir.” He chuckles, and you shift a little bit higher up. “Besides- you know, this, I do a good job.”

He hums, turning on his side to look at you- or more specifically, to look at the valley between your breasts where they’re pushed up from your position on your elbows. “Fuck,” he mutters, then actually meets your eye. “Can you get a cum stain out of a pillow?”

You resist the urge to laugh. “I can do more than just wipe it down with a damp cloth and throw it in the closet to sit for two days.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he says, his screen tinting pink, but he doesn’t actually seem upset about it. “It would have gotten cleaned eventually. The point is- you’ve already seen it, I don’t think there’s any reason why anyone else needs to.”

“Your dry cleaning woman hasn’t seen it before?”

“What, you think I make a fucking habit of this?” He sits up, crossing his legs on the bed to turn and look down at you. “First time transgression, doll. Fuckin’ Val bought me that thing as a joke a few years ago, I forgot about it entirely until he came back, and all this fucking tension came along with it that I obviously couldn’t do anything about with him. No one else has seen it, no one else- no one else knows.”

“I can keep a secret,” you find yourself saying. “And yes, I can get a stain out of a pillow like that.”

His eyebrow quirks up. “I’ll take your word,” Vox says. “Tell you what- you work your magic on that fucking thing, we toss it back into the closet- properly cleaned this time- and we can discuss some kind of arrangement between the two of us. A personal contract with me, instead of the collective like everybody else. You won’t have to wear that uniform anymore,” he adds, “but I can’t say one that I come up with would be any better. I’d keep that cute tail on display though.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You stand from the bed and enjoy the way that his eyes trail down your body, even if they do hover a little longer on your ears. “Do you keep any hydrogen peroxide in the apartment?” He blinks at you. “Bleach? Rubbing alcohol? Fuck, baking soda and vinegar?”

“I’m the CEO, what the fuck do I need any of those things for? Everything I need other people will do for me.”

“God damn it- okay then, you wait here and try to keep your hands off the pillow- I’ll be back.” With a grin rivaling the one on the soiled cushion's image you turn your back to the still grumbling demon. You couldn’t believe your luck - not only had Vox not killed you but you got a good fuck and the promise of some sort of a promotion out of the situation as well. With newfound confidence, you flipped your skirt up and wagged your tail at him before you disappeared through the door to look for the necessary supplies, chuckling to yourself as you heard the grumbling turn into a needy groan.

[taegularities]

regarding: colour me in — alright. almost 8 months later… they're coming back 🥹 that's how long it's been since a main chapter dropped? crazy. but cmi12 is (nearly) done and ready 🎨🤍

dropping next Friday, August 2nd, 8pm EST! might shift to Saturday in case i need more time to edit.

the chapter's name is cmi: palette; and palette will be around 32k long (sorry? you're welcome? idk lmao) :D you can of course take your time to read it, but i promise it'll be worth it <3

lots and lots of glimpses into our babies' and their friends' lives!! it's a beautiful chapter that then leads to deeper aspects of their relationship.

this chapter is already part of the new arc, which means we'll see a whole new side of all the characters. there'll be fluff, but there will also be angst, hardships and tears. partly heavier, partly lovelier than before. we'll go on a whole journey with them before this lil story comes to an end <3

also! i have decided on how many parts this series has left, but this could change anytime 🤧

maybe you saw already, but i've been struggling with colour me in. not because i don't love the story — it's my everything. but because the site has gotten quieter — so i'll need you all in for this one to get to the story's end eventually. i wish i could read thoughts, but i can't so pls lmk how you feel about this 🥺

i often get very nervous about my fics and i still am this time, as well, but i'm confident you'll like this part 💕 so give it all your love; a little support always goes super far. cmi is nothing without y'all and i live for your cheers. that said, see you soon 🤍

snippet under the cut! 🌺

–

🎨 let's talk about it | join the taglist 🎨

love you all <3

[tlbodine]

Stuck? Try junebugging.

I don't know who needs to hear this, but we're 5 days into nanowrimo so maybe this will be helpful.

Do you want the safety and surety of knowing what happens next in your story but can't stick to an outline? Does knowing in advance what will happen suck the joy out of discovery writing? Do you try to wing it through plots but get tangled in plot holes or have a story that runs out of steam because you can't figure out what went wrong? Are you at your most creative when you have a little bit of guidance? Do you tend to under-write? Do you get ideas in your head for random scenes and snippets that drop from the sky without context?

If any of these apply to you, junebugging a draft might be for you!

What Is Junebugging?

Since you're on Tumblr, you might already be familiar with the concept of junebugging as it relates to cleaning. If not -- I think the idea was first introduced to me by @jumpingjacktrash.

The basic idea is that you tackle cleaning by way of controlled chaos. You pick a specific area you want to focus on, like your kitchen sink, and then wander off to deal with other things as they occur to you, but always returning back to that area. You end up cleaning a little bit at a time in an order that may not make sense to an outsider but which keeps you from getting overwhelmed and discouraged.

How Does Junebugging Work in Writing?

OK, so that's great, but how does this work with writing? Well. In my case, the general idea is to jump between writing linearly, outlining, and writing out of order. It usually looks something like:

Start free-writing a scene, feeling my way through it and enjoying the discovery process.

Thinking, ok, now I have this scene, did anything need to happen to lead up to it? Do I need to go back and add some foreshadowing? Does this scene set anything up that needs to be paid off? And then jump forward/back to make those adjustments.

I'll usually have a bunch of disconnected ideas of ideas that have popped into my head, so I'll write those down in a list somewhere and then try to figure out what goes in between them and what order it goes in.

I'll write what I call "micro-scenes" which is where I'll just sketch out a few essential elements of what's going on without worrying too much about details, description, etc. -- just he did this, she said that, the setting was this, real bare-bones script. Then I can come back through and flesh out each of those microscenes into an actual scene later.

Got a story that has a complex structure? No problem. Write through each storyline one at a time and then chop them up and weave them together afterward. Write all the B plot scenes first then come back through to do A plot and C plot. Move the pieces around like legos. No one ever has to know.

This method works for me because I can't "decide" story elements in advance. I have never been able to just sit down and "figure out" what happens in a story beyond a couple steps ahead -- I have to discovery-write my way forward. But at the same time, that gets really daunting. So I zoom forward with micro-scenes, roughing out the beats in the most bare-bones way possible, then when I run out of clear vision for what happens next I backtrack, flesh out those scenes, build in connective tissue, etc. and by then I will probably find more inspiration to jump forward.

It's basically folding drafting, outlining, and revising all together into a single phase of writing, which is chaotic and goes against everything people teach you, but if it works? then it fuckin works.

Anyway, sorry for the jumbled-up post, I'm dashing this off quickly while I heat up a pizza and I'm about to dive back into my WIP -- but I hope this was a little helpful. If nothing else, take this as my blanket permission that it's 100% OK to jump around, write out of order, write messy, outline sometimes, pants sometimes, and do whatever else it takes just to get through the story. You've got this. Good luck.

[overtake]

This is a super short (550-ish words) snippet from the maxiel hockey au I got 30k into before life got in the way. I’ll probably never finish it, so have this random scene. For context, Daniel is staying at Max’s home because he has an ankle injury and the only bedroom at his own place had stairs.

Daniel hears Max before he sees him. Based on the frantic pounding down the stairs, you’d think Max was being chased by a fucking murderer.

“Daniel,” the shadowy figure in Daniel’s doorframe says in a shaky, frantic voice. Daniel hasn’t kept his door shut since the cats first started scratching at it and demanding to be let in, and he briefly wonders in the recesses of his sleep-addled mind if Max has ever Edward from Twilighted him and just watched him sleep.

“Hmmph?” Daniel manages. His brain is thick and sluggish through the foggy, sleep haze surrounding it. He tries to prop himself up on one elbow and immediately fails.

“There’s a spider in my room,” Max hisses, as if he’s scared the spider might somehow hear him and immediately attack. “Can you come kill it?”

“I am not walking up stairs right now,” Daniel groans. It was a brutal PT session, and he spent half his afternoon with his ankle wrapped in ice and elevated. Plus, he’s not exactly fond of spiders either.

“I can’t sleep in there,” Max says, and Daniel wants so badly to make fun of him, but there’s an edge of real panic in his voice. Also, Daniel is even more scared of far more embarrassing shit, so he’d never win.

“Stay in here,” Daniel says, reaching an arm behind him to flop at the empty space. “Plenty of room.”

Max only hesitates for a second before crawling in. “Are you sure?” he asks, like he isn’t already sticking his cold toes against Daniel for warmth.

“The terrors will probably kill the spider by morning for us,” Daniel says, letting his head drop back onto his pillow.

“Jimmy and Sassy are not terrors. It’s not nice how you talk about them,” Max says primly as a crash echoes from somewhere upstairs. Daniel doesn’t dignify him with a response.

He feels Max’s weight settle behind him, and a hand reaches out as his eyes drift back shut and lightly caresses his exposed shoulder. “Thank you, Daniel.”

In the morning, Daniel wakes up to find Max curled in a ball around a pillow he somehow stole from under Daniel’s head, quietly letting out cute little snores. Sassy is lying content on the floor nearby with half a dead spider dangling out her mouth.

“That’s your problem to collect and throw away,” he tells a sleeping Max. He’s got freckles on his shoulders, Daniel notices, a whole constellation of them decorating the broad, pale canvas.

He fights the urge to trace the space between them and instead collects Max’s morning Red Bull from the fridge. He leaves it to drip condensation on the bedside table closest to Max’s pillow-creased face, next to a little note that Daniel is out for his morning walk.

Max texts him twenty minutes in to his stroll.

Max Verstappen: thanks for the red bull. okay if i stay again if we don’t find the spider? It was huge.

Daniel gnaws at his cuticle, contemplating his response for half a second. It’s not like he has proof that spider was the one Max saw. Sassy probably got rid of the evidence, so he can’t ask. He doesn’t want to make Max sleep in a room that makes him anxious.

Daniel Ricciardo: Of course. Better to be safe. That spider could be deadly.

Max Verstappen: Need your Australian powers to scare it off

Daniel Ricciardo: 🤺🤺🤺

When he opens the kitchen bin later that day, he sees the body of the spider sitting on the top.

“Crazy girl. You learned how to open the bin,” he coos to Sassy, aiming for a head scratch she runs away from and pretending he doesn’t see the very human tissue wrapped around the remains.

[gulliblelemon]

Birthday more-than-snippet

As my birthday gift to myself, I'm giving you the first 1.2k words of my next fic. (Still hasn't gone through my whole editing/beta process yet, but I wanted to share anyway). It is, as yet, untitled (obviously - I'm still me), but here is the some context for the 'no context' fic 💜

~🏳️‍🌈💜🏳️‍🌈~

The slamming door makes Wille jump. He’s been sulking, leaning against the wall, waiting for his turn to be called into his mother’s office. A summons is rarely a good thing where Wille is concerned. He’s the fuck-up, the let-down, the disappointment who continuously fails and falls short of his mother’s expectations. 

Not like poster-boy Erik. Poster-boy Erik who is currently storming out of his mother’s office and away from Wille.

There’s a split second of shock, where Wille doesn’t quite know how to react, he half pushes off the wall, ready to tear down the corridor after Erik before he hears a voice calling out of the office.

“Come in, Wilhelm!”

He hesitates a moment longer before sighing and stomping into the office, ready to defend himself for something he doesn’t even know he’s done yet.

“Sit down, Wilhelm,” his mother says, gesturing to the chair opposite.

The seat is cold and unforgiving, not unlike the expression currently residing on his mother’s face. She looks at him for a beat, lips pursed, calculating, before shaking her head and sighing. 

For a moment, Wille is taken aback. It’s a surprisingly vulnerable noise from her, and not one he is used to hearing. It’s less surprising than the words that follow. “Thank you for coming, Wilhelm. I appreciate you making the time at such short notice.”

Thinking of his exceptionally empty schedule of mostly moping around and feeling sorry for himself after being torn apart by the media for a club fight that wasn’t his fault, Wille just nods. “Of course,” he says, not wanting to rock the boat. 

She sighs again before exclaiming, “If we could have one week without a scandal! Is that too much to ask?”

Shocked, Wille tries to rack his brain for what else he might have done wrong this week but is interrupted by Kristina shaking her head and saying, “Sorry, that was unfair of me. What I actually called you in her to say is: we are postponing your transfer to Hillerska. Potentially indefinitely.”

What? Wille knows his mouth drops open at her words, but he just can’t comprehend what she’s saying. 

“I know it’ll be coming as a shock, goodness knows the whole this is a shock to all of us. Honestly, Erik should have known bet—”

“I’m sorry… what?” Wille finally says, spluttering an interruption, much to his mother’s chagrin.

She purses her lips and exhales through her nose. And this is more familiar territory, this he is used to, this barely concealed annoyance and her obvious displeasure at his mere existence. 

But it soon melts into something else, and she closes her eyes, massaging the point between her eyebrows for a moment before lowering her hands and clasping them in front of her.

“It has come to our attention,” she says, “that some of the things that go on at Hillerska are things that we do not want The Royal Family to be associated with.”

“Things?” Wille says. “What things?”

“That is none of your concern,” she says. “We have simply decided that at the present time, it would be prudent to send you elsewhere. Distance ourselves from Hillerska and its reputation.”

“Is this why Erik stormed out?” Wille asks. “What happened?”

“I have already said—”

“If it’s public knowledge, I’m going to find out sooner or later,” he says. “And surely it’s better to hear it from you than some gossip magazine.”

He’s not even sure why he’s pushing so hard, except that for once, Erik might have fucked up more than he has. And that alone is enough to make him more than a little bit smug.

Kristina is looking at him carefully, her face is exceptionally still although her eyes have narrowed slightly. “I suppose you are right,” she says eventually, and he lets out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “Maybe hearing it from us would end up being better. Well” - she uncrosses and recrosses her hands on the table, it’s as close to a nervous tick as she gets - “it appears that the Hillerska initiation ceremonies have become somewhat more vulgar in the years since your father and I were there. We have been made aware of the fact that there was some… inappropriate behaviour. Behaviour that will be frowned upon by the public. Especially when taken out of context.”

“What like?” Wille says, trying not to sound too eager. Erik had always brushed off the Hillerska initiations, and told Wille he’d find out when he had one himself. 

“We have been made aware that some of the students were forced to… undress.”

Wille baulks. That seems a bit excessive. The idea of having to strip in front of new classmates seems awkward at best. Embarrassing and humiliating. Although Erik had said that the point of the initiation was to prove that no one was above anyone else, a shared experience to bring the new students closer together. And maybe it’s no worse than having to change in the locker room anyway…

“They were also,” Kristina continues, “made to watch an… unsavoury film.”

Wille screws up his face. “I’m sorry… a what?”

“A… pornographical film, I am led to believe.”

Wille’s stomach turns. “Seriously?” he says. And that’s way worse than getting changed in a locker room. He doesn’t want to believe it. Doesn’t want to believe that Erik would have been involved in something like that, but also doesn’t want to believe that Erik would have sent him to Hillerska knowing that that was going to happen to Wille without warning him. Not without—

“A pornographical film depicting… relations between two young men.”

It feels as though the floor has been pulled out from beneath him and he is free falling. Wille gasps and it gets caught in his throat. Through a splutter, he says, “A— they showed them a gay porn film?”

Kristina curls her lip in distaste. And Wille doesn’t want to know if it’s distaste at the act of showing it to unsuspecting first years who have been stripped of their clothes, or if it's because of the content of the film. Wille hasn’t come out to his family, or to anyone in fact. It is a secret that he carries with him, slowly festering, breaking him down from the inside. But no one needs to know. It doesn’t make any difference. He can bear it, he can carry it through life and tell no one. 

But can he bear the knowledge that Erik would— That Erik thought it was fun to laugh at that, to put people in the position of— No. Wille can’t. It’s too much. He wants to vomit. And he wants to run. And he wants to scream.

He does none of those things. 

“Apparently so,” Kristina says, with a small shake of her head, as if it’s just a small inconvenience, as if Wille’s views of his brother have not just been completely upended. Maybe Erik wasn’t actually involved. Maybe he was against it. Yes, that must be it. It can’t be that his brother would do that. There’s no way.

“So, understandably, we cannot have you beginning to attend, at least until this is all sorted out.”

Still reeling, Wille says, “Sorted out?”

“Yes. We need to either deny the claims that Erik was involved. Or - if that is not possible - at least do something to regain the public’s trust in the institution. And ourselves. Honestly, Erik should have known better.”

Yes, Wille thinks, he should.

“Can I go?” is what he says instead. 

She looks at him for a moment, then says, “Yes, I suppose there’s nothing further to discuss at the moment.”

Nodding his head, he stands and practically flees from the room.

[judesmoonbeauty]

𝕁𝕦𝕕𝕖 𝕁𝕒𝕫𝕫𝕒'𝕤 𝕄𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕊𝕥𝕠𝕣𝕪: ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝟞

This is a fan translation only. Please expect grammatical errors and translation inaccuracies. This is a full translation. Creative liberties are taken for characterization and smoother translation process. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not post my translation elsewhere. Thank you for your support! ☾.

Both chapters 6 & 7 discuss snippets of Jude's past records. If you'd like to read the event in full, then please check out my collab translation here.

Jude: I’ll take on any challenge. I’ll do as the princess commands.

The outcome of the contest was left up to me.

(I think I should choose a contest that would be beneficial for Jude. But….it should be a fair match.)

(And this might be a chance to get to know Jude better….)

Kate: All right then, please choose a drink that I would enjoy the most from this establishment.

Number One Gentleman: Okay, sounds good!

The number one gentleman winked and presented me with the most expensive drink the venue had to offer.

Meanwhile, Jude poured something into a glass —

Number One Gentleman: Just water? What, is it some sort of special gimmick?

Jude: There’s no gimmick.

Jude: The lady doesn’t appear to be used to drinking, so I served her this.

Kate: How did you know that I’m not used to drinking?

When I asked, Jude gently moved closer to me.

The soft sofa sank and the distance narrowed between us.

Jude: Reading facial expressions are the basics of negotiation skills — No, it’s because I was interested in you.

(…....)

Jude: ………….It’s perfect for birdies. Drink it, 'fore ya collapse.

After dropping a cheap line, he whispered this into my ear so that only I could hear.

Seeing me turn red while within Jude’s arms, the noblewoman who suggested the contest smiled.

Curvy Noblewoman: ….Seems like the victor has been decided. Young lady, whom do you choose?

Kate: I choose…..

—Right at that moment, the door busted open.

Noblewoman’s Husband: You’re fooling around with young men again!

Curvy Noblewoman: Oh, you!

Noblewoman’s Husband: Damn it all, even though we’ve been married for years…!

(Um? What…?)

While staring the abrupt scene of chaos Jude leaned in close to me.

Jude: Let’s get outta here ‘fore it gets troublesome.

Kate: …….

Blushing at the sight of Jude right in front of me, I nodded firmly.

Kate: Haa, Haa…..Wh-what about Ellis?

Jude: Don’t worry, he’ll make it out easy.

Kate: But is that all right, you missed your chance to claim the land deed…..

Jude: Pretty sure that noble lady’s in the habit of cheatin’ ‘n other things.

Jude: Got loads t’shake her down with, I’ll just take it later on.

Now that I think about it, I feel like I gained something from what I saw tonight.

Kate: I see. What can I say, that’s cunning of you….Heh, hehe….

Jude: Ha, what? Yer laughin’ outta the blue’s creepin’ me out.

Kate: I mean, I never expected my first Crown mission in a while to end like this.

Kate: Plus….Pff…..Jude your fake personality’s something you’d see in a dream!

Him acting like a gentleman to the lady clients may be the best thing I’ve seen tonight.

Dying of laughter, I pressed the back of my hand to my mouth trying to contain it…..

Jude: Huh…..so ya can laugh like that?

Kate: That’s because you’re usually saying things that make me angry, Jude.

Jude: ‘Cause ya ain’t a bit hateful it’s cute.

[Answer: Turn Red +4/+4]

Kate: C-Cute….?

I was so shocked that my cheeks felt like they were on fire.

Seeing me that way, Jude’s lips twisted into a mocking smile.

Jude: Ha, so foolish. Yer a damned fool if yer pleased with that rubbish.

Jude: Ya got flowers for brains, so time to stop goin’ to places like that.

Jude: You’ll end up losin’ everythin’, lookin’ all kinds of pitiful ‘n humiliated.

(But I want that thrill back even for a moment….)

Kate: Thanks for the advice, but don’t worry, I won’t be going back!

I spewed my pent-up feelings.

Kate: Anyway, the club turned up clean, so Crown doesn’t need to condemn it, right?

Jude: Yeah it’ll be left alone, whether that stupid place’s ‘round or not, it ain’t for better or worse.

Jude: ‘Sides….it’s better than buyin’ ’n playin’ with women for their bodies, innit?

— The moonlight shone on him as he grumbled.

Something I couldn’t put into words made my heart shake, but it was just for a moment…..

Jude: Oh, forgot to ask ya somethin’ important.

Kate: Something important? What is it?

Jude: Which one was the lady gonna choose in the end?

Kate: That’s….

(I didn’t expect to be asked that now….)

Darting my eyes around, Jude laughs.

Jude: Woman’s so easy t’read it ain’t even funny.

Kate: I haven’t told you the answer yet!

Jude: Yeah, yeah, yer foolish ‘n cuuute. I’m goin’ home.

Here Jude repeats kawaii twice emphasizing her cuteness.

Jude mercilessly quickens his pace, and I follow after him almost running just to keep up.

(There’s no doubt that I was going to choose Jude at the time…..)

But—

(I definitely DON’T want to tell Jude that!)

The following day, after the let down of a mission —

Jude: Oh - I forgot some documents in the room. Hold this briefcase while I go get ‘em.

Kate: Sure….whoa, it’s heavy.

While being toiled away by Jude since that morning, a refreshing smile happened to pass by.

Roger: Hey, Jude. Can I borrow your lil lady for the day?

Jude: She ain’t mine, so do whatever ya want.

Roger: Hm? Well then, I’ll just take ya up on your offer and snatch her away.

(Umm…So, does that mean I won’t be helping Jude with work today?)

As I was confused between their two gazes, Roger took the briefcase from my hands and returned to Jude.

Roger: C’mon, Kate.

Kate: Whoa, hey, Roger!

Even though I was being tugged along, I turned around and saw Jude walking toward his room disinterested.

Then I got into the carriage with Roger.

Kate: Is there something going on?

Roger: Yeah. There’s a British Medical Association conference today. Hm, even if I say that I’m not sure if you’ll understand.

Roger: Basically, doctors and students who aspire to become doctors, come together to present their academic research and interact with each other.

Kate: That’s right.

(I understand that much about the British Medical Association, but why would Roger want to bring me along?)

In the middle of pondering over that, Roger’s lip pulled into a smiled like he could see what was happening in my head.

Roger: There’s a man named Oswald Simmons who’s taking to the podium today.

Roger: It seems like that man was Jude’s benefactor who once looked after him.

Roger: Maybe you can learn something by speaking with him. You’re having a rough time finding “something to like” about him, aren’t you?

(Jude’s benefactor?!)

I couldn’t help but lean forward at the unexpected good luck.

Kate: I was definitely going to become his prey, thank you!

Roger: Haha, it’s fine. I’ll ask that you be my secretary for a day in exchange.

Kate: Yes, of course!

Roger: All right then, I’ll be in your care.

What he handed to me was a notebook so thick, that I thought it was a bit much…..

Roger: Look over the medical presentations from the first half of last year.

Roger: It’s fairly specialized research, so it’s best to know some of the fundamentals.

Kate: ………….

Nothing free comes cheap.

—This guy is probably a scoundrel too.

The British Medical Association conference started right on time —

Oswald: You there, tell me the year and place that ether anesthesia was first utilized.

Black-Haired Student: Huh, me? Let’s see 18……

Oswald: Too slow, Boston, USA, 1846. William T. G. Morton was the first to use ether in public surgery.

Oswald: Young lad there, explain the difference between chloroform and ether anesthesia.

Freckled Student: Uh, well chloroform is more powerful than ether, and……

The doctor who was Jude’s benefactor - Oswald Simmons - was outstanding at the podium.

Oswald: You lot all need to start over from your mum’s womb. Gits.

(I feel like he and Jude have something in common.)

The students leave the lecture room teary-eyed and exhausted.

(I’m a little scared to speak to him…)

But then there’s no point in coming this far.

Gathering my courage, I approached Oswald who was tidying up the podium.

Roger: My name’s Roger Barel. That was quite an interesting lecture.

Oswald: Barel? Ah, the eldest son of the Barel family. Your father assisted me the other day.

Oswald shook Roger’s hand and then turned his attention to me.

Oswald: Hm? And who is this young lady?

Kate: Nice to meet you. My name’s Kate.

Kate: Um, you know Jude Jazza, don’t you? We’re Jude’s friends.

Oswald smiled meaningfully at that remark.

Oswald: Haha, I suppose there’s something you want to ask about him.

Oswald: What’s the point in standing around and talking, come along.

Kate: Okay….!

People in the dining hall were scarce, probably because it was well past noon.

Oswald: You’re “looking for something to like about Jude.” Well, I never expected to asked such a cute question.

After listening to my story attentively, Oswald smiled pleasantly.

Kate: Cute…..?

Oswald: He’s the got the kind of personality that makes people hate him, doesn’t he?

Oswald: I thought for sure you’d say, “Tell me about Jude Jazza’s weaknesses!”

(Jude has a lot of enemies. I think that’s probably normal…..)

Kate: Heehee, I would like to know Jude’s weaknesses though?

Oswald: Haha, you’re such a frank young lady. Very well, I’ll tell you everything I know.

Kate: Huh, are you sure?

Oswald: Yes, because it seems amusing.

Roger: I get the feeling Jude’s like his benefactor.

Then Oswald started to tell us about

— His first meeting with Jude.

Oswald: That was more than 20 years ago now.

Oswald: I was doing charity by treating the workers at the port, Jude brought his younger sister and came to speak directly with me.

(Jude has a younger sister….)

This is the first I’ve heard anything about Jude’s family.

And I’ve noticed one more thing……

Kate: What do you mean by speak to you directly?

It seemed worded that way for a reason.

Oswald: He asked me to heal his sister’s illness.

Oswald: Even though Jude himself suffered from poor bronchial issues and severe asthma.

Roger: Both of them? Then it’s highly likely environmental factors were the cause of the illness?

Oswald: Yes, undoubtedly. It was plain as day they were living in terrible conditions.

Oswald could tell at a glance their condition was abnormal, so he gave them a free exam.

However, their symptoms were severe—

Oswald: Continuous administration of medication is needed to treat the illnesses.

Jude: Medication…..means it’s gonna cost money, yeah?

Jude: Money again. It’s all ‘bout money.

Jude’s Sister: Big brother, let’s go home? [Cough], I’m fine.

Jude: …….Ya ain’t fine.

Jude looked at his younger sister with concern —

Jude: …………

That’s when Jude picked up a fallen liquor bottle, smashed it, pointed it at Oswald and threatened him.

Jude: I’ll pay ya back double. So, lend me the medicine!

Technically, the line translates to, “Go ahead and invest in me.” 投資 “Toshi” meaning to 'invest capital' or 'investment' in general. However, at the start of Past Records, Jude is five years old. So, I felt “lend” would be a more appropriate term for baby Jude, and added the word medicine to clarify what Jude was asking for.

[Main Story Master List] [His Side Story - Chapter 6] Dividers: @.natimiles

GAHHH I love them together so so much! They way he loves teasing her and how she WANTS exciting missions - QUEEN. And the way he switches back to his to his normal speech as he whispers in her ear!!!!

Tags list: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @velisle @nateko @greatwitchsongsinger @injudescoat @aeyumicore @complexivelovely @cosmowgyral @lunaaka @rosalyne08 @8the-perfect-lie8 @voydsoul @goustmilk @kraiyne

If you wish to be added (+18 YO), or removed from my translations tag list, please let me know!

[tales-of-wocdes]

Could I maybe get a snippet of a MC that runs around an knocks stuff off their places like a cat and hates baths. So pretty much being a cat in human form. :D

"MC, it's bath time." Havard calls out as he entered your room.

Oh no, you are not doing that! You dash off your bed, and scramble out the window, knocking the flower vase to the floor as you do so. Whoops... you might get scolded later.

You land in the grass, and dash off. You need to run like the wind! No baths for you. None. Nope. Having none of that.

You dash off through the garden, through flowerbeds and bushes.

There, the stairs will let you get on the wall and then onto the roofs. No stupid bath time for you!

Reaching on top of the wall, you stop to catch your breath for a bit. Then start stalking where you could get to one of the roofs.

"MC? Where did you go?" Havard's voice asked from down. He must be in the garden! No time to stop, no time to hesitate.

You dash off, running along the wall and leap! You land on the roof of the nearest building and hide behind the chimney.

You peek out a few times but see no signs of Havard. You know, it is quite nice up here, in the sun. It's warm. It is however, too open.

There has to be a better place. You survey your surroundings, and spot it.

A box used to small gardening supplies in a sunny corner of the garden.

You climb down the roof, you do it a lot. Just a few little leaps and dropping down a bit. As long, as no one sees you do it, it's fine.

You dash to the box, and empty it of the useless gardening stuff. Who needs little shovels and stuff.

You climb into the box. It is rather snug, and you wiggle around a bit, ending up curled up inside it.

The sun is warm and you have a box.

Perfection.

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

Here we assume MC is also as agile as a cat :D

[biolumien]

palette

hajime umemiya x graffiti artist!reader only a little snippet, but it might become bigger later, word count: 899

you were at home right here with the collection of paint markers and aerosol cans at your feet. your free hand adjusted the filtration mask on your face as you sprayed a nonsensical pattern onto the wall using a fluorescent green so bright it almost hurt your eyes. as you began to draw on the concrete wall using a black paint marker, you felt the sneaking suspicion that eyes were on you. 

that was odd. 

you did most—hell, all your graffiti work in the dark of night, hidden from sight. you’d been chased off by a few townsfolk when you were tagging signs or walls in broad daylight, which you supposed was fair. you were technically doing something utterly illegal, after all. but you kept at it at night, painting flowers and animals, or just random letters onto whatever surface you could. 

bofurin boys often covered it up—as was their right, too, you supposed, but it always irritated you when you’d come back around and find work you’d slaved on all night be covered up with a fresh layer of white paint. 

but back to the feeling that you were being watched. 

“who’s there?” you call out, pulling off your filtration mask slightly. 

“so you’re the one doin’ all those green tags!” a boisterous voice said, and you felt a sudden presence right behind you. you whirled around, dropping your black paint marker across the floor, wincing as it skittered across the alleyway. “did you know that this taiyaki place has called us every day for a week about the graffiti?” 

fuck. you did know that voice. hajime-fuckin’-umemiya, leader of the bofurin, who had essentially annexed and reformed furin high school by force. not only were they vigilante heroes of justice—they also practically were civil servants that served the community—and now their fucking leader was staring at you with a strange, open look in his eye. 

he wasn’t even dressed in his furin uniform—you think you’ve seen it a few times, the whistling long coat that he wore out on patrols with some of the other furin boys. despite it all, he somehow had that sort of aura of warm authority about him—paired with a brilliant and curious smile on his face.

“so what?” you ask defensively. 

“you do know the graffiti’s illegal, right?” umemiya questioned, raising an eyebrow as he walked over to where your marker had skittered across the floor, picking it up. “you could be put in jail for up to five years, you know!” he flipped the marker around, holding it out to you. 

“like i need someone from furin lecturing me about that,” you say, taking the marker back from him. umemiya seemed to deflate a little, almost like a sad puppy, upon your very subtle furin insult, so you hastily add a, “no offense.” 

“mm. i get it, i get it! i do. all the work i did to rehabilitate bofurin’s image doesn’t mean much when people remember how dangerous it was before,” umemiya says sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “but! i figured i’d come around the taiyaki shop at night, see if there was some repeat offender doing the graffiti, and here you are!” 

umemiya spreads his hands magnanimously, and you can see how worn and callused his hands are from years spent brawling against other students. there was no way he was going to start fighting you, right—?

“i just wanted to ask you to stop,” umemiya says. “i mean, i respect your artistic visions! i always thought it was a waste to paint over your works—i remember one time you did this bright yellow rabbit on a blue moon, very cool, by the way—and—“

huh?

“i really like your art! i was wondering, if maybe…”

you held your paint marker, watching umemiya seemingly steeling his nerves for a moment–

“do you want to come to furin and paint? there’s a lot of graffiti already, and most of the time when we patrol we never use the classrooms anyway, so if it was anonymity you were worried about, that’s covered—and plus, at night, you’d still get a lot of time to do whatever you want—”

“… you’re offering me a place at your school to just—paint?” you ask confusedly, raising an eyebrow. 

“well, yeah!” umemiya says. “i mean, it’s a waste to paint over your hard work, right? it’s different than the other tags.”

“... is it?” you ask, staring at your half-finished graffiti, joining other fresh tags on the wall. 

“well, i’m not really sure if i fully believe in the idea that art carries intention–but i’d like to think yours does! and it’s kind. and i think there’s people at furin who might appreciate it.” 

“well…”

you sigh, running a hand through your hair.

“well, okay,” you say. “but if anyone tries to start something–”

“please,” umemiya says. “we’re not animals. it’ll be great to have you.” and then he holds out his hand to shake, and you stare down at it.

are you really doing this?

umemiya’s expression is bright, warm. 

you shake his hand. 

his grip is firm, his thumb squeezing the space between your index and thumb–and you laugh with a hint of exasperation in your voice. here you were, pulled right into umemiya’s thrall–lured in by him like a sweet siren song.

“fine. see you tomorrow, then,” you mutter, your cheeks heating up.

[outsideratheart]

Meant to be - snippet (Alexia Putellas x reader)

A/N: this is only the first part of this fic which could be read as a stand alone fic or prequel to Birthdays in Bed. There is more, I promise.

Life has a funny way of giving you the thing you wanted most exactly when you needed it. Sometimes you think it isn’t meant for you, only for it to happen a few months later. 

Both you and Alexia were emotionally exhausted after going through 4 rounds of IVF. The first time didn’t take which you knew was a possibility but the fourth, that one was successful. As Christmas morning came around you watched as Alexia handed out Eli and Alba two very different presents that held the same meaning. They both welled up upon realising what it was you were telling them.

It was happiest time of your lives but only a couple a weeks later, a few days into the new year something felt wrong. You woke up in the middle of the night with sharp pains in your lower abdomen. When you pulled back the bedsheet and saw the red stains you knew exactly what was happening. Alexia woke up just as you got out of bed and saw you go into the en-suite. When she saw the cause of your awakening she jumped out of bed and ran to you.

It was a tough couple of months that followed. The team hadn’t been told that you were expecting so at least training was like normal, that was about the only place. You and Alexia were grieving the loss of your child and it was starting to take its toll. You had a decision to make. Do you try again or take a break to process the loss. In the end you agreed to try once more and if that one didn’t take then you would take a break until the summer where you would try another round.

“Are you ready?” Alexia stood in front of you in your bedroom with the test in her hand. You had sent her into the bathroom to get it as you were too nervous.

You nod your head. That told her yes but that wasn’t was you were feeling. You weren’t ready and that’s because you didn’t know if you want it to be positive or negative. The miscarriage affected you mentally more than you could have imagined.

Alexia looked down and whilst you tried to remain stoic, you saw her features drop a little bit and that told you all you needed to know.

“It’s negative, isn’t it?” You hold your hands out for her to take. She joins you on the bed and rests her head on your shoulder.

“Why is the universe so against us starting a family?” Your wife asked in defeat “We are good people”

“You, my love, are the amongst the very best people” you softly kiss her hairline “This is something that is out of our control. I have put a lot of stress on my body over the years may—“

“No!” Alexia’s head snapped up “You won’t blame yourself for this”

Alexia knew that you blamed yourself for the loss of your unborn child and whilst you promised you were doing better, she knew deep down the guilt was still there.

“I was going to say that it’s because of this stress that it might take a little bit longer than we hoped. Let’s face it, we are not the most patient people in the world”

The woman beside you chuckled as she fell backwards so she is now laying on the bed.

“We will have a family Alexia. It will happen when it is suppose to happen” 

“How do you know that?” 

“I don’t but I refuse to believe the alternative. Now, go shower because we have training in a hour and you know we can’t be late”

It was true. Every training session was crucial at the minute. The team were only a couple of games away from winning the league, the Champions League final was at the end of May and the Copa de La Reina semi final and final was at the beginning of June. It was a busy time for Barcelona and truth be told it was a welcomed distraction for the both of you.

Before you knew it you were playing in the Copa de La Reina final having won the league and the champions league within the span of a month. It was a final again Atleti, your favourite fixture of the season. You got to play against some of your best friends and it was always a good game.

“Once last game. What do you say? Shall we have some fun?” You nudge Alexia as you exit the locker room for the warms up.

“And dinner afterwards” Alexia suggested.

“You do realise that if we win then the whole team will be going on out dinner” you teased.

“I’ll take that as a yes” Alexia kisses you on your lips, leaving you in shock. Never had she done that before a game and not out in the open, not that you were complaining.

You ran your fingers over your lips as you savour the feeling of your wife’s lips on yours. There was something going on with Alexia. She was untouchable on the pitch and she played you ball after ball. Lola did a very good job at keeping your shots out of the net but some she stood no change at stopping. Going in to the final minutes it was 3-2 to Barcelona.

You were through on goal and it was only going to end one way. You felt so confident in the shot you had planned that you were already planning your celebration in your head. Only you never got the chance to fulfil it as you felt the full force of a pair of studs connect with your ankle and you heard something snap. Carmen was by your side immediately.

“Y/N! Y/N!”” Lola joined her followed by Alexia a couple of seconds later. Your wife didn’t push the defender out the way as she knew the tackle wasn’t on purpose. She simple went to your other side but not before looking at your ankle which was clearly broken.

It was bad. You knew this so you didn’t argue when the stretcher came onto the pitch. You were strangely calm as you talked to the physios and the players around you.

“Ale, please come with me to the hospital? I can’t go there alone not after last time” 

Staying and playing out the final seconds was never even a thought in Alexia’s mind. She knew the moment you were referring to and whilst you would be going to a different part of the hospital, she wouldn’t let you go alone.

A couple of hours later you were laid in a hospital room. Alexia was by your side as you both wait for the x-ray results. You knew they had to take them but you didn’t need a medical degree to know that you broke you ankle, it was a clean break and you knew that you would be out for an extended period of time.

It felt as is every five minutes three more footballers joined you in your room. You were pretty sure this many visitors weren’t allowed but you also know that the nurse was a fan which explains the leniency.

When the doctor came in there was enough football players to have a starting 11 and some subs. The older man laughed as he scanned the room. 

“I have your results. Miss Y/L/N—“

“It’s Putellas-Y/L/N” Alexia hated it when people called you by your maiden name even though the two of you never officially announced you were married.

“My apologies. Miss Putellas-Y/L/N” The doctor sent Alexia smile who nodded whilst smiling herself “as I was saying, I have your results. I think it’s best to talk to you in private. Your wife can stay of course”

Up until now you had remained in high spirits having already accepted your fate but the doctor words dampened those spirits entirely. 

“Is something wrong?” Alexia asked as she squeezed your hand three times.

“Not necessarily”

You told your friends that it was ok to leave and the doctor promised to come and get them once the results had been discussed.

The atmosphere in the room did a complete 180 as you and Alexia waited for the doctor to speak. 

“She has broken her ankle, no?” Alexia’s patience grows thin.

“Yes, let’s start with that” he says which confuses you and Alexia “You ankle is broken. It was a clean break but is a bad one. We are going to take you into surgery in the morning”

“No, you do it now. She is a professional athlete. She is a priority”

The doctor looked at you for help.

“Alexia, let the man speak. I’m sure there is a reason for the delay in surgery. There is a reason, right?” 

“There is a reason. It is part of procedure to take blood tests when a patient gets admitted. Y/N,” the man donning a white coat moves closer to you “Have you been trying to start a family?” 

This was private information. Information that you and alexia didn’t feel comfortable discussing with a stranger, nor were you ready to talk about it.

“We were. Did that play a part in the break? Did the hormones I’m taking weaken my body?” 

The doctor looks at you, over to the Alexia and then back to you.

“You’re pregnant. Rather far along actually”

You were rendered speechless. How is this possible? The text was negative and you haven’t tried since. There was no way you were pregnant. Alexia must share the same disbelief because she explains this to the doctor. He confirms again that you are indeed pregnant and that the hospital tests are much more accurate that the ones you take at home.

“You’re 9 weeks along. I have a nurse ready to give you an ultra sound if that is something you would like or we can schedule it for the moment when things are a little bit quieter” he laughs as he dips his head to the door, a reminder that your friends are outside.

“Are you sure?” Alexia asks still not believing what she is hearing.

“100%” and with that the doctor left you and your wife alone to proceed what he has just told you.

[regency-monster-love]

This story was inspired by a line in a story by @slightly-knot-insane that mentioned a monster sharing his name as a way to form a mating bond. I loved that idea and wanted to expand on it here, and the “Christian name” prompt for @janeuary-month seemed like the perfect chance to do that!

Male monster x female human | Regency era | NSFW: p in v, loss of virginity

~ 😈🎩 ~

The newlyweds were finally alone, the wedding breakfast over and all guests departed, when the monster gentleman leaned down to give his new wife his mating gift: his first name. It drifted past his lips, warm against her ear, and she shivered at the feel of it seeping into her.

She hadn’t thought it would affect her so; she was only a human, after all, and exchanging names to form a mating bond was a custom for his kind of monster only. But she’d waited so long to learn what his name was, that to finally hear it now, made her truly feel as if the last bit of wall between them had been torn clean away, bringing an intimacy beyond any she’d felt from him yet.

When she repeated his name to him, it was his turn to shiver, though the feeling that spread through his body was a heated one, hotter than a blacksmith’s forge, her pronouncement of his name the hammer strike that welded the last rivet of the irrevocable bond between them and made him whole.

His restraint began to crumble, the layers of gentility and propriety dropping away to reveal the primal nature that went along with his primal name as he claimed his mate for the first time, pushing into her carefully but insistently, steadily splitting open her virgin cunt on his massive, inhuman cock. She called out his name again and again as he thrust into her, her voice thick with lust and sharp with pleasure, each call sending a fiery-hot jolt of pleasure up his spine, making him grip her hips tighter in his claws and pound against her with greater abandon.

He chanted her name as well, and never before had she heard anyone pronounce it in such a rough, hungry growl, dripping with shadow and sin. It made her want to drink it from his lips like wine, but she restrained herself from kissing him, so that they might keep both of their mouths free to continue moaning out their names to each other. Instead, she pulled him by the horns to bring his lips close to hers but untouching, letting their names mingle together in their shared breath as he curled himself tighter around her small, soft body.

He felt the mating bond pulling tighter too, just like the tension low in his belly was constricting, bringing him so close to his climax. His frantic pounding began to stutter, and he bared his fangs as he held himself back from release.

“Let go, come for me, mate, come on my cock,” he urged her, and though she was too sheltered to understand the precise meaning of his words, she could sense what they implied as her own pleasure surged toward a beautifully dizzying precipice.

And when she did let go, only a few moments later, she called out his name once more, and the sound of it was so sweet that it shattered him, ecstasy exploding in jet after jet of hot seed into her spasming cunt. Their bodies thrummed with primal energy as they found release in each other for the first time, and that was when he finally kissed her, swallowing up the echo of his name lingering on her lips, sealing his mouth to hers like their souls were sealed together by their new mating bond.

Afterwards, lying in his arms, she stroked his face, marveling at the new sense of knowing she now had of him. “I love your name,” she told him.

His frills trembled with happiness. “I love hearing you say it. You must never repeat it to anyone else,” he reminded her.

Her lips curled into a tender smile of gratitude for the gift he’d given her, and her alone. Her mate. “I never will. All of you is all mine.”

~ 😈🎩 ~

Read all of my Regency monster ficlets and snippets at the tag #my writing.

[albatris]

snippet sunday?

snippet sunday?

snippet sunday?

The sunlight itched at his skin through his car window. He was trying not to think on what he was about to do, but by virtue of trying not to think on it, he was thinking on it. It was this huge, hulking thing in his brain that his thoughts skittered around; he could tell it was there by the way his mind bent around it, desperate to avoid it. Nat ground his aching teeth, and winced as fangs ruptured forth and pushed a few of his human teeth out. He spluttered and spat the bloody teeth out into his lap, saliva trailing down his chin.

What you’re about to do will feel good.

What you’re about to do will feel right.

What were the names of Kinley’s children?

Where had he married his wife?

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

A voice hissed to Nat’s left. “Watch out.” And, “Over there!”

Nat shoved himself low in his seat, glancing around, but there was no one nearby, no one watching him. His hallucinations weren’t a warning—they were just nerves. Anxiety rising further, Nat scratched subconsciously at his arms with his claws, drawing blood. He brought his forearm to his mouth to suck on it and he tasted the bitter twang of the Garble on his tongue. It was already twisting in his veins, raring for fight or flight, spurred on by his panic.

He stewed in his thoughts like that until he heard a chime of laughter from the front door of the house. Two small children barrelled outside followed by a slim woman in a blue sundress and sunhat. Nat watched them intently, stupidly hoping to spot something that might indicate they were terrible, awful people who deserved the scene they’d walk into later that day. Kane Kinley appeared at the door then, too, and kissed his wife on the cheek to see her off. The wife and the kids trailed down the driveway and off down the road, towels and cooler in tow, and Kinley closed the door after them.

Nat waited a few minutes. Air hissed in his ears and something tapped him on the arm. He sucked in a deep breath and pushed one out, steeling himself, then he started his car. Around the corner, he parked between some oak trees, tucked off to the side of the road. Kinley’s brush fence loomed next to him.

He didn’t want to get out, but he did. He looked left and right and left again to make sure no one was watching, then attempted to hoist himself up over the fence to Kinley’s backyard. Now that he was under the full gaze of the sun, his vampiric agility was reluctant to help him. The Garble was lethargic, complaining.

Help me get over this fence and I’ll give you something good for it, Nat tried. Whether it helped or not, he wasn’t sure, but he managed to haul himself over. He landed with a thud on the balls of his feet, and immediately dropped low to the ground, certain Kinley would have heard him. His ears strained to pick up any signs of movement.

[seriouslysam8]

WIP Snippet

Thanks @tedwardremus for the tag!

Okay, even though nobody asked any questions about my mysterious new heart wrenching angst story, here's a snippet. It's a James disappears as a child and returns over a decade later story.

When Harry arrived at St. Mungo’s, he spotted Ginny straight away. She stood in front of the welcome station as she spoke to the welcome witch. Harry made his way towards her. He placed a hand on the small of her back in greeting, his eyes searching her tearstained and red face.

“What’s going on?” Harry whispered.

“It’s James,” Ginny gasped out.

Harry stilled at the name. “What about him?” he asked in a hoarse voice

“He’s here,” Ginny replied with a low breath. “George found him outside of the shop and brought him here,” she explained, angrily wiping a tear off her cheek. “But this, this woman won’t tell me where my son is!”

An odd ringing sounded in Harry’s ears. James was alive. He was here. It seemed too good to be true. Harry had given up hope years ago that he’d see his baby boy again, though he never would have dared to tell Ginny that. She always held out hope that one day James would come home. But Harry knew that was damn near impossible. 

“As I already said, Mrs Potter, the identity of the boy whom you are seeking information about is under question,” the welcome witch said in an even tone. “These safety precautions are in place for a reason.”

Ginny slammed her fist on the desk. “My brother is with him!” she roared. “You can’t keep me from my son!” she challenged, her chest heaving.

Harry pressed his fingers against his forehead, rubbing above his brow. Harry couldn’t help the skeptic in him. It had to be a ploy, a dark and twisted ploy meant to hurt Harry. If that was their goal, then they damn near succeeded because Harry’s heart had been ripped from his chest and stomped on for good measure.

“I can assure you, no one is in the room except for hospital personnel,” the welcome witch explained. “If you want to take a seat–”

“I don’t want to take a fucking seat!” Ginny roared. “I want to see my son!”

“A healer will be out to talk to you if tests come back that he is, indeed, your son,” the welcome witch concluded.

“Harry!” Ginny hissed.

His hand dropped to his side, his gaze focusing on the welcome witch. Harry had never once abused his power as Head Auror. It was a slippery slope that could cause cracks in Ministry of Magic. It was how corruption began. Yet, Harry slowly reached into his inner robe pocket for his badge. Honestly, a mystery kid showed up. It was under his jurisdiction, or at least he could make an argument for it. He wasn’t seeing the kid as his son but rather a victim. Harry sat the badge down on the desk, his fingers splaying on either side of it as he leaned forward.

“A child that was potentially abducted twelve years ago is in your custody,” Harry spoke in an even voice, his eyebrows raising above his glasses. “This is a matter that the Auror Department would like access to. Now, kindly tell me who his healer is.”

The welcome witch pursed her lips to the side. “Healer Fawley,” she said in a tense tone.

Harry nodded, taking his badge off the desk. “Where might I find Healer Fawley?”

The welcome witch sighed, pointing to the left. “Through those doors and to the right is the mediwitches station.”

Harry slid his badge back into his pocket. “Thank you.”

He turned towards Ginny, his hand finding the small of her back. She didn’t need telling twice. Ginny turned and stormed her way towards the door, walking fast. Harry kept up with her stride easily, his hand reaching for hers.

[sofa-king-lame]

Tidbit Tuesday

Ok this is some truly unhinged crack treated semi-seriously. I've already been chatting to Charlie about this one, but here's a snippet from what I've dubbed 'Glasses Fic'. Inspired by the photo below, Buck finds out Eddie got reading glasses and loses his fucking mind.

Note: this is not an established relationship fic

--

“Glasses. You, uh. Glasses,” Buck stammers, head devoid of any thought other than ‘Eddie’s wearing glasses, Eddie’s wearing glasses, oh god Eddie’s wearing glasses’. 

“I’m wearing reading glasses, yes,” Eddie replies, lips quirking at the left corner. This isn’t - this isn’t fucking fair. Buck has been doing such a good job at repressing his feelings for Eddie – and repression is not something Buck is good at. Maddie has always said he feels out loud, often spilling his feelings before his brain has even caught up to what’s going. He’s working on it – honestly. And he’s been doing so well at shoving his blinding attraction to Eddie into the darkest recesses of his brain, until the motherfucker started wearing reading glasses and had to sit there looking like that.  

“When, uh. When?” Buck croaks and jesus fuck get it together. 

“Couple of weeks ago,” Eddie shrugs. He dog-ears the corner of the page he’s on (Buck will remember to yell at him about that later) and drops the book onto the coffee table, standing up and fucking sauntering over to the kitchen. 

“Uh. Why? I mean – fuck, uh -” 

“Something wrong, Buck?” Eddie muses, cocking his head to one side and oh, okay. They’re playing this game then. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Buck insists weakly. The kettle beeps, indicating it’s done, and Buck kind of misses the high-pitched whine of old-school kettles. The sound might drown out the ringing in Buck’s ears. 

“Do you not like the glasses?” Eddie asks, fucking pouting, and Buck might die. Right here in the firehouse kitchen. 

“No,” he blurts out, “it’s good – they're. You look good.” 

“Are you sure?” Eddie murmurs, rounding the bench so he’s closer to Buck. “You seem flustered.” 

“I’m - it’s -” Buck is mercifully cut off by the alarm blaring, abandoning the empty mugs to scurry past Eddie and down the stairs. 

--

Tags below the cut. This one should be done in the next couple of days.

@playinginthunderstorms @inbucksbusiness @elvensorceress @singitforthegirls @sonofatoasterwaffle

@wrongfulruffian @crose84 @carolinahope @heartsfromeden @shealwaysreads

@lookforanewangle @eddiedisasterdiaz @my-brain-soup @mari-lwyd-crytid-blog @mattsire

@oddgreyhound @namesnamesandmorenames

[luckyroll3]

Quid Pro Quo: Chapter 4

Masterlist and Summary

Warnings: This work of fiction is intended for 18+ audiences only. Includes explicit sexual content, graphic language, some violence, etc. Author chooses to not extensively tag in order to preserve some elements of storytelling.

Word Count: 8,077

You slide into the seat across from Chan at your usual table in the student center. He's got his textbook open, papers sprawled with equations and diagrams on the table. But his focus is wavering, his gaze lifting to meet yours with a flicker of something unreadable.

"Hey Channie," you begin, your voice light but probing, "how was the rest of your weekend?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, a practiced ease in his shoulders, but the tightness around his eyes betrays him. "Usual stuff," he says, though the words lack their typical cocksure rhythm. "Yours sounded... eventful." You see his eyes drop to your neck, noting the bruises from the weekend, although they are faint now, the evidence of your escapades already starting to fade.

"It was amazing," you reply, unable to keep the dreamy tone from your voice.

Chan looks up from his book, his eyes guarded but curious. "Oh yeah?" he asks, trying to sound casual as he leans back against the chair. "Do tell."

You recount snippets of your beachside escape, careful not to delve too deep into the intimacy shared with Changbin. As your words flow, you notice that Chan's smile seems a bit forced, his laughter a touch hollow, not quite ringing out like normal. His usual quips don't punctuate your sentences. Instead, there's a hush, a thoughtful silence that curls around his clipped replies like fog.

Chan nods, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. "Sounds nice," he mumbles, shuffling some of his papers. "I'm glad it went well."

"Seriously, Chan, everything was perfect," you say earnestly, meeting his gaze. "I couldn't have asked for a better first time. Thank you."

"Hey, no problem. It was part of our deal," he replies, looking away and fidgeting with the corner of a textbook page. "Just happy I could help."

You lean in, trying to catch his eye. "Is everything okay, Chan? You seem a little... off."

He shrugs, still not meeting your gaze. "Just stressed about the upcoming final. Nothing to worry about."

"You sure?"

"Of course," he quickly counters, a little too swiftly to be convincing. “I would tell you.” His gaze slips away from yours again, finding a sudden interest in the scattered notes before him.

For a moment, an uncomfortable silence fills the room. You can't shake the feeling that something’s not right. You're not convinced that he’s okay, but decide not to push; with his final exam looming, you focus on why you’re there.

You let it go, sinking into the rhythm of tutoring. The two of you diligently review equations and problem sets, but the air between you remains charged with unspoken tension.

You can't shake the feeling that something's different. Chan's usual playful banter is absent, replaced by terse responses and long silences. Every so often, you catch him staring at you with an unreadable expression, only for him to quickly look away when you notice.

After an hour of stilted conversation and halfhearted studying, you decide to try one more time. "Chan, are you sure there's nothing else bothering you? You know you can talk to me, right?"

For a moment, it seems like he might open up. His eyes meet yours, filled with an intensity that makes your breath catch. But then he blinks, and the moment passes.

"I'm fine," he insists, forcing a smile. "Let's just get back to these equations, okay?"

You nod, pushing down the nagging feeling that there's more beneath the surface. As you return your attention to the textbook, you can't help but wonder what's really going on in Chan's head.

Later that week, you're curled up in bed, a book forgotten on your lap as you check in with Chan.

You: Hey, just checking in. How's the studying going?

Chan: Slow, but getting there

You picture him there, surrounded by textbooks, his brow furrowed in concentration.

You: Keep at it, Einstein You got this, dude 👍🏽

You hope that your teasing draws out that boyish grin, even if you can't see it.

Chan: Will do, coach 😁

****

Chan smiles warmly at your texts before he sets his phone down.

The quiet hum of the desk lamp is the only sound accompanying his thoughts, which are consumed by memories of your tutoring sessions and the undeniable connection he feels with you. He's never experienced anything quite like this before, and it both terrifies and exhilarates him.

He leans back in his chair, letting his head roll over the edge as he stares at the ceiling and thinks about you riding him. He can’t get the image of you moaning on top of him as you came out of his head. He can’t remember the last time he wanted to have sex again with one of his conquests and he wondered what it meant. Although, he didn’t really consider you to be one of his ‘conquests’. He’s not sure what he considers you. This was new territory for him. Chan struggles to keep his newfound feelings at bay. They're different… and confusing.

Just as Chan is wrestling with these unfamiliar emotions, his phone buzzes again with a new text from you.

You: Forgot to mention I found this.

Chan clicks on the link you sent, which opens to a NASA summer internship program for future engineers.

You: Thought of you when I saw it. Assuming you pass Diff Eq (which, I totally believe in you! ️🙃), your GPA will def qualify

Chan: Shit, this is fucking awesome. Thank you.

You: I know it’s not roller coasters, but rockets are basically roller coasters in space 🚀 🚀 And definitely cooler 😆 Plus, I’ll be there next summer too - got recruited for a Women in Astrophysics program How awesome would it be to be there together?

Your message sends a thrill through Chan, not just for the opportunity but because it means he could be in the same orbit as you this summer. He can’t help but imagine the possibilities of spending the entire three months with you.

Chan: That would be amazing. I mean, if you don’t mind me harassing you all summer long.

You: I wouldn’t, so apply fucker! I’ll let you get back to your studying. Holler if you need anything.

Chan: Thanks!

He stares at the phone, at your name, longingly. Then the realization hits him like a punch to the gut: he's caught feelings for you. Real, messy, complicated feelings that go against everything he thought he stood for.

“Shiiiiiiit!” he breathes out while covering his face with the palm of his free hand, now very concerned about what this means. But he can't deny it. He wants you. It’s more than that; he wants to be with you.

He knows he's breaking his own rules, but he doesn't care.

He decides in this moment that he needs to make a plan for how he can keep you.

But that will have to wait until after this final. He sighs as he throws his phone on the bed and flips the textbook page to the next set of practice problems.

****

You’re sitting across from Chan in the library at his final tutoring session. He slides papers over to you. His face breaks into a wide grin, those infamous dimples appearing as he announces, "I passed! And not just barely – I fucking aced it!"

Without thinking, you leap up and throw your arms around him. "Channie, that's amazing! I'm so damn proud of you!"

As you embrace, you feel his strong arms wrap around you, holding you tight. The scent of his cologne – a spicy, woody fragrance – envelops you. A tinge of sadness colors the moment, a silent acknowledgment that this chapter is ending. You suddenly become acutely aware of how long this hug has lasted, how his chest feels pressed against yours, how his breath tickles your ear.

You pull back, feeling a flush creep up your neck. Chan's eyes are sparkling, his hands lingering on your waist. "I couldn't have done it without you," he says softly.

Clearing your throat, you step back, trying to regain your composure. "Well, you did all the hard work. I just guided you a bit."

Chan runs a hand through his tousled blonde hair, a mischievous glint in his eye. "We should celebrate! How about drinks tonight? My treat."

You hesitate for a fraction of a second before answering. "I can't tonight, Chan. Changbin and I have plans."

His smile falters for a split second before he recovers. "Right, of course. How about this weekend then?"

"Sure, that’s perfect," you agree. "I'm free Saturday night. I can be all yours."

Chan nods as he considers your words. All yours, you said. And that’s exactly what he wants — for you to be all his. "Saturday it is." He pauses, then asks, "So, how are things with Changbin? Still going strong?"

You can't help the smile that spreads across your face. "Better than ever, actually. Thanks to you."

You watch as Chan chews on his lower lip, pushing down whatever thoughts are threatening to surface. "That's great. Really great," he replies, a note of dejection in his voice.

****

A few days later, Chan joins the soccer game at the park near campus. Today, he and Changbin end up on the same team. As everyone warms up, Chan watches as Changbin jokes and laughs with the other players. Everyone loves him, even the opposing team. He can see why you love him too.

Chan grits his teeth as he watches Changbin effortlessly dribble down the field, avoiding defenders with swift footwork. But Chan can’t concentrate on the game. All he can think about is you and Changbin together. He wonders if Changbin made you shiver and moan the way he did, how quickly Changbin made you cum, how many times you’ve let Changbin fuck you since your anniversary night. It’s all driving him fucking insane.

When Changbin scores a goal, his teammates cheer and rush to congratulate him. Chan hangs back from the rest of the team, clapping half-heartedly.

During the water break at the end of the first half, Changbin jogs over to Chan.

“Hey man, how’d your final go?” Changbin asks, clapping Chan on the back with genuine warmth. “It was earlier this week, right?” He shares that you were talking about him and his exam all weekend. “Now I’m just as fucking invested in you passing too,” he laughs. He wipes the sweat off his face with a towel before tossing it onto his duffel.

Chan feels a flare of irritation at the casual mention of your name. "Oh, I did well. Passed with an A actually," he replies, unable to keep the smugness out of his voice.

Changbin's eyes widen. "No way, nice job!”

“All thanks to my favorite tutor.” Chan takes a long swig from his water bottle and licks his lips, his jealousy simmering just below the surface. Against his better judgement, he adds, “It was a really big help when she agreed to our tutoring trade.” Dark Chan on his shoulder is cheering him on as he lights a match and tosses it into the dry bush.

Changbin's brow furrows in confusion as he chugs a lime-colored Gatorade. "Trade? What trade?" He sticks the bottle into his duffel.

"Just a simple quid pro quo. I helped her prepare for your anniversary weekend and she comped my tutoring sessions," Chan replies nonchalantly, the underlying insinuation clear as day. “It was a win-win. How was your anniversary by the way? You two have fun?” Chan smirks as he squirts gasoline onto the already out of control flames.

The implication lands like a punch to the gut, and Changbin reacts accordingly — anger rises within him instantly and his hands clench into fists at his side. Seconds later, his right fist connects with Chan's jaw before anyone can intervene. Chan stumbles back with the force of the blow, shock registering on his features before it twists into anger. The other players are just as stunned at the sudden violence.

"You son of a bitch," Changbin growls through gritted teeth. “How fucking dare you!” he spits out furiously as he lunges at Chan again and grabs him by his shirt.

Chan shoves him back and takes a wild swing, the punch grazing Changbin’s cheek. The fight erupts, a storm of flying fists and tangled limbs. Soon, they are grappling fiercely, trading blows as their teammates shout and scramble to break them apart. It takes four of Changbin’s frat brothers to drag him away from Chan just as things threaten to escalate further.

“Bin! Chill dude,” one of them shouts. “That’s enough!”

“Get the fuck off me!” Changbin shakes loose, elbowing and shoving them off of him one by one with ease, breathing hard, his face flushed with rage.

“Shit! I’ve never seen him this mad before,” another one whispers. “What the fuck just happened?”

“Fuck this!” With a furious glare, Changbin grabs his duffel and storms off the field, his expression dark with betrayal.

Chan straightens up, wiping blood from his lip, a twisted sense of satisfaction settling over his features. As blood drips from his nose, he tilts his head back, but his smile is victorious despite the pain from getting his ass kicked. In his mind, the score has been settled, even if it means wounding the one he's come to care for most.

****

You’re hunched over your quantum physics textbook, trying to focus on the advanced equations when your dorm room door flies open with a bang. Changbin bursts in, his normally warm eyes blazing with fury, his face flushed with anger, a bruise forming on his cheek. His duffel drops to the floor with a thud.

"Have you been sleeping with Chan?" he demands, his voice cracking with emotion, raw with anger and hurt.

The question is a cannonball that hits you square in the chest.

Your heart leaps into your throat, but you force yourself to stay calm. “Changbin, what are you talking about?” But you know exactly what he's talking about.

Changbin’s fists clench at his sides. “Tell me about this tutoring deal with Chan. What did you trade?” His words are sharp, cutting through any pretense.

Taking a deep breath, you decide to come clean. Your throat tightens, but you keep your voice even. "It was an exchange. I wanted to be more... experienced, gain experience. For you," you explain.

His lack of response is a vacuum that sucks you towards him. You rise from your chair, closing the distance between your bodies.

His silence is deafening, and you rush to fill it, words tumbling out.

"Everything with Chan was a learning experience, nothing more. Purely educational. I approached it from a practical perspective, like a class. You know how my brain works. I needed to make sense of the mechanics." You're pleading now, trying to bridge the emotional gap you feel growing between you with earnestness. You grab his left fist in both of your hands, rubbing your thumbs in slow circles on his wrist. "I don't have feelings for him, Changbin. I love you. Only you. I’ve only ever loved you."

Changbin looks at you, searching your eyes for any hint of dishonesty.

His jaw tightens. “Maybe you don’t have feelings for Chan, but he clearly has feelings for you," he counters, a growl underlying his words. “You just can’t see it.”

"That's not true," you argue, heat rising to your cheeks and feeling a surge of defensiveness despite knowing deep down that you’d seen signs of something in Chan’s eyes and there may be some truth to what Changbin is saying. But you quickly push those thoughts aside. "Chan knows the rules. It was just —"

"Rules?" Changbin interrupts as he rips his hand away from yours forcefully, his voice rising. "What kind of 'rules' are involved when fucking someone else's girlfriend?"

You flinch at his words, guilt and frustration warring inside you. He’s never been so angry with you before. "It wasn't like that!’ you protest trying to justify your actions, feeling smaller under his accusatory gaze. “I did it for us, for our relationship!" But even as the words leave your mouth, doubt creeps in.

“You keep saying that. You did this for us, for me, for our relationship. So what? You would test things out with him and then do them with me? Is that why you’ve been so eager to move things forward.”

“I wanted to be incredible for you. To reward you. Are you saying you didn’t enjoy any of it?”

“Of course I did, but that’s not the fucking point.” He rests his face in his palms as he lets out a frustrated sigh. “This is not how you show someone you love them. This is psychotic.”

“So, you’re saying I’m crazy for wanting to make our first time special?”

He looks up at you with sadness and disappointment. “I’m saying you don’t give your virginity away to the campus fuck boy extraordinaire.”

“‘Give my virginity away’?!?! I didn’t know I needed to protect my fucking virtue. Does this mean my family no longer gets the 3 cows and 5 goats that were promised?” you question sarcastically.

“No one’s saying that.”

“That’s exactly what you meant,” you huff. “I wasn’t a virgin because I was committed to staying chaste and pure until marriage or whatever other fucking reasons people have. You know I don’t believe in that patriarchal, misogynistic bullshit. I’ve just never been interested in sex before you. And I didn’t want to be awkward with you. What does it matter if I got all of that out of the way before you? You’ve fucked other girls.”

“Not while we’ve been together!” he yelled. “Are you telling me you don’t see anything wrong with fucking someone else while we’re in a relationship?”

“I told you, it wasn’t like that. It didn’t mean ANYTHING. It was just fucking sex.”

“So, is that what we did? Just fucking sex??”

You go back and forth, the argument escalating, words flying from each of you like daggers.

Finally, Changbin sighs and takes a step back, his expression unreadable. "I need to think about this," he says, his voice low and cold. "About us.” He picks up his bag. “And I can’t even stand to fucking look at you right now."

Before you can respond, he's gone, the door slamming behind him with a sharp finality that echoes long after he's left.

Silence blankets your room, a heavy, suffocating shroud over the remnants of the confrontation. You sink onto your bed, your mind reeling. You sit there, surrounded by the ghosts of whispered confessions and heated accusations. You think about the decisions you've made and how hurt Changbin seems.

You can't help but feel a twinge of guilt. Did you really need to test things out with another guy before furthering your relationship with him? Was it worth hurting him like this?

But you’re also pissed. Anger bubbles inside you as you realize that Chan not only broke the rules but also maliciously threw this situation in Changbin's face. He shattered your trust.

You lie down, throwing your arms over your face and breathing deeply.

A few hours later, you hear a notification ping on your phone. It’s your calendar, reminding you of your plans to celebrate with Chan at the bar. You swipe it away, too emotionally drained to deal with people tonight. Twenty minutes later, you decide to keep your plans, determined to confront Chan head-on.

Upon arriving, you spot him leaning against the bar in the dimly lit corner, a drink in his hand as he talks to Minho. He doesn't see you approach, too caught up in his conversation.

"Chan," you say, your voice slicing through the murmur of the crowded space. “We need to talk.”

Chan stiffens as he hears your voice, his eyes darting towards you before quickly looking away again. He mutters something to Minho, before turning back to you, his expression hardening.

"What’s there to talk about?" he asks flatly, still not quite meeting your eyes. His words slur slightly. He’s clearly been drinking for a while already. Your gaze drops to his busted lip before shifting back up to his eyes.

Minho glances back and forth between the two of you. He shoots you an apologetic look before quietly walking away to serve someone else at the other end of the bar.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. "Don’t fucking play with me. You know what. I want to talk about Changbin. About why you felt the need to provoke him like that."

Chan scoffs. "I didn't do anything. I just told him the truth about our extracurricular activities."

You frown, struggling to keep your temper in check. "You knew exactly what you were doing. This whole arrangement was supposed to be discreet, but you used it to hurt Changbin. Why?"

Chan looks away, his jaw tight. He scoffs again, his lip curling in a sneer. "Oh, so now you care about Changbin's feelings?” He looks you square in the eyes. “Funny how you didn't seem to give a shit when you were fucking me behind his back, moaning my name."

You grimace at his crass words but remain resolute. "You knew what this arrangement was about, Chan. You're the one who crossed the line by deliberately throwi…”

Chan slams his glass down on the bar, the loud sound cutting you off. He looks away, his eyes settling on the rows of liquor bottles on the wall directly opposite him.

When he meets your eyes again, there's a flicker of something vulnerable there beneath the bravado.

“Fuck,” he says softly. He exhales sharply, shaking his head, his blonde strands shifting out of place. "I’m sorry; I don't know. I was angry… and jealous. He said something to me about you and I just... I lashed out. I fucking lost it."

“What are you jealous about?”

“You!” he says forcefully, his usual charm nowhere to be found as he pounds his fist once on top of the bar, replaced by a turbulent sea in his eyes. "This is your fault! You made me feel something for you; you made me fall for you," he accuses as he points a finger at you, his voice low and raw. “The hugs, the desserts, the laughing, the gifts, the conversation.” He pauses and sucks air in between his teeth. He continues, this time in a softer tone. “The way you call me ‘Channie’ like my mom does, how you listen to my crazy stories without ever judging me,” he pauses again, sighing before continuing, “the way you look at me when you’re beneath me…. How was I not supposed to fall for you?” His voice is a mix of anger and confusion. You let him talk, allowing him to get everything off his chest.

"Chan, listen to me," you start, calm against his storm. "We agreed—no strings attached. This was always just a quid pro quo arrangement. Just physical. That’s how you wanted it." Every word is deliberate. “You broke your own rules. No feelings, no clinginess. Remember? You broke them; I didn’t. I never caught feelings for you Chan.”

His hands find your waist, pulling you close, desperation lacing his touch as he slips them around to your lower back. He leans in close to whisper against your ear, "So all of our moments together meant nothing? I can’t believe that’s true." He nuzzles his nose against your neck, kissing and sucking the thin skin gently before pulling back slightly to search your eyes.

"Of course they meant something," you admit gently, allowing the truth to flow softly between you. "You're a great guy, Channie, and we have developed a relationship. We're friends. All those things you mentioned… They are what friends do for each other. More than that; I consider you one of my best friends now." Your hand comes up to rest lightly against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath the fabric. "But that’s it. I’m sorry. I'm in love with Changbin. Always have been, which I’ve told you since the beginning. That’s never changed for me. Whatever else you’re feeling, that's on you, not me.” You take a deep breath. “What’s on me is that I should have ended this after your birthday party," you say softly.

The air shifts, a moment of understanding flickering in his eyes before it's veiled again by doubt. "Friends…?" he echoes, a whisper lost in the swell of music and chatter.

You look up at him earnestly. "Only if you can accept that." You touch his face gently. “I absolutely adore you. I want you in my life… as my best friend, Chan. But it’s up to you. You need to figure your shit out.” You kiss his cheek and let the words hang in the air between you, leaving the next move to him. You remove his hands from your waist and give them a gentle squeeze before letting go. They drop lifelessly to his side. With one last look, you turn away, the warmth of his gaze on your back as you navigate through the crowd and out the door, the weight of decisions and desires trailing behind you.

****

The morning sunlight streams on your face, casting warm golden rays on the frat house as you hesitantly approach. The campus is dead, not surprising, given that it’s 7:00 am on a Sunday morning. The only people out are those who you assume are doing their “walk of shame”; you are too, though yours is for slightly different reasons.

Each step feels heavier than the last. Your heart races in your chest, a flurry of emotions swirling inside you as you prepare to face Changbin. You haven’t heard from him since he stormed out of your room, and you haven’t reached out, determined to give him space for the night to cool off. But when dawn approached, you couldn’t wait anymore. Taking a deep breath, you turn the doorknob and step inside. They never lock the front door.

As you step into the living room, your eyes fall on Changbin and several of his frat brothers sitting in front of the large TV playing some video game. They are spread out between the couch, the floor, a couple beanbags, and chairs from the kitchen table. By the empty bottles of beer, cans of energy drinks, and bags of snacks surrounding them, you assume they’ve been up all night playing. You’ve barely slept either, awake most of the night thinking about how to fix this fucking mess you’ve created.

Changbin’s eyes glance over to you briefly before settling back on the screen, his face impassive as he continues to press the buttons on the controller.

One of his brothers nods at you and you give him a weak smile. You sit in the empty recliner to the left of the couch and wait. Your pulse races, your palms damp with anxiety. You’re here to mend things, to stitch the seams of a relationship frayed by truth and jealousy. You curl your feet under you and watch them play as you wait.

When the round ends about half an hour later, you look towards the couch. "Changbin," you start, voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "Can we talk?"

His intense eyes lock onto yours, and you feel a flutter in your stomach – equal parts nerves and longing. Finally, he gives you a slight nod. He sets the controller on the coffee table and stands with a groan. Silently, he turns and walks towards his room. You follow behind.

He stands aside so you can enter first, closing and locking the door behind him. You both sit on the bed, a respectful distance apart while a chasm of silence stretches between you. He waits, eyes searching yours for something unspoken. His eyes are filled with a mix of hurt and uncertainty.

You swallow hard. Finally, you can't take it anymore, the silence.

The words bubble up, urgent and sincere. "Changbin, I'm so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I love you. More than anything. Is this... can we move past this? I need to know if we can move forward from this. You are my future. You have to know that I’m desperately in love with you."

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck coiling tight. You see the weight of hurt in his gaze, but also a glimmer of something else. He looks down and runs a hand through his hair, as he thinks deeply.

“You promised you would never let me go,” you add, your volume so low that you can barely hear yourself. “Never.”

A blanket of silence settles back over the room. For a few moments, it’s just the sound of the two of you breathing.

"I'm sorry that I overreacted last night," Changbin starts softly. "I was pissed, hurt, confused." He swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat before continuing. "I've been thinking a lot," he begins slowly as he looks back up at you. "About us, about what you did with Chan."

Your breath catches in your throat. This is it, you think. He's going to end things. You brace yourself for the inevitable fallout and wonder how bad your breakdown will be. They’ll probably have to restrain you…

But then Changbin surprises you. "I understand why you did it," he says, his voice softening. "I don't like it, I’m still furious about it, but I get it. I get how this made sense for you. You know I love how your brain works. And… I love you too much to let this destroy us."

Relief washes over you like a tidal wave. "Really?" you whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

After a long pause, he sighs and nods. "I can move past it.” He reaches out to take your hand. His touch sending a familiar spark through your body. “But I need you to promise me something."

"Anything," you reply without hesitation.

"From now on, if you want to try anything new, any additional learning experiences… you come to me. Let me be the one to teach you. I’ll show you everything you want to know.” His gaze unwavering, his eyes hold a new intensity, a silent plea for trust.

"Of course," you agree, feeling a surge of relief and gratitude. "I promise," you breathe, leaning in closer. "Only you, Changbin. Always."

His lips curl into a small smile as he leans forward, closing the distance, to press your foreheads together. “Good,” he says softly before his lips find yours in a kiss that seals your vow to never take this man for granted again. It’s a mix of tenderness and fervent hope, a promise of continuity and new beginnings.

This is more than just a makeup kiss; it's a reconnection of your souls, a restarting of the fire that’s always been there between the two of you, smoldering just below the surface. His hands are in your hair, gripping it gently as he angles your face perfectly, deepening the kiss. Your hands roam over his muscular back, feeling the contours of his body through his shirt, fueling your desire.

Suddenly, this isn’t enough. You both need more. You need to feel all of him against you, skin to skin. Changbin breaks the kiss only for a fraction of a second to peel off your t-shirt, throwing it behind him. Simultaneously, you tug his sweatshirt over his head, tossing it next to your shirt. As you continue to kiss furiously, you both shed the rest of your clothes in a frenzy, creating a pile on the floor with the items.

Changbin breaks away to look at you, his eyes full of adoration and something else, something that makes your heart race even faster. He suddenly reaches over to the nightstand drawer, pulling out a small foil packet. He meets your gaze with a silent question. A question to which you respond by nodding eagerly. This is what you both need right now, this physical connection that reaffirms your love for each other.

He rolls on the condom before settling between your legs. His lips find yours as he slowly enters you. You moan into his mouth as he starts to move within you, setting a slow pace that only serves to increase the intensity of your pleasure.

You feel like you’re soaring, the sensation of being connected with him in every way is overwhelming in all the best ways. Your hands grip his shoulders tightly as he thrusts into you deeper, but keeping his speed the same, slow and controlled.

He’s also kissing you with the same unhurried pace as his hands roam lightly over your body. You’re lost in a sea of sensations, your mind consumed by him and him alone. Eventually, his hands find yours, interlacing your fingers before sliding them along the smooth sheets until your arms are above your head. He holds them in place there, while he continues to fuck you, oh so slowly.

His body shifts slightly, hitting a spot inside of you that makes white-hot pleasure shoot through your body. Your back arches off the bed as you cry out his name. Changbin finds that spot again and again, each time sending waves of ecstasy through you, the buildup excruciating.

You can tell he’s close too; his movements becoming more erratic and desperate. His forehead rests against yours as he continues to thrust into you relentlessly.

He groans your name, then adds, “I love you so much.”

His words send a surge of emotion through you, tears brimming in your eyes. You wrap your legs around his body and pull him closer, then deepen the kiss between you two.

"I love you too," you whisper against his lips.

With one final thrust, both of you reach your climax together, crying out each other's names. While Changbin’s body tenses, yours shudders beneath him. Changbin collapses on top of you, breathing heavily as he presses kisses against your jaw, neck and shoulder.

After a few moments of catching your breath, he rolls off of you and pulls out gently before removing the condom and tossing it towards the small garbage can beneath his desk. He chuckles when it misses, falling back onto the bed with a sigh. He then curls up next to you, pulling the covers over both of your naked bodies. When he notices the tears on your cheek, he uses his thumb to gently wipe them away.

You lay there, tangled up together, letting a comfortable silence fall between the two of you. Lying there wrapped in each other’s arms, you realize that this — this raw passion, mixed with vulnerability, trust, and love — is what you share, and always will. Eventually, even as the sun climbs higher in the sky, the two of you fall asleep in each other’s arms.

****

Chan paces his room, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

"Fuck," he mutters, running a hand through his hair as he worries about how he fucked this all up. Chan has come to really adore you. The thought of losing you – even as a friend – is more painful than he ever could have imagined. But how can he fix this?

His eyes land on the books you gave him as a gift. Next to them is a framed photo of him surrounded by a group of giggling girls at a party. He’s slept with almost all of them. He flips the frame down, not wanting to look at it anymore.

Chan sits on the edge of his bed, the silence around him amplifying his turbulent thoughts. He tries to make sense of the feelings that have taken hold of him. The walls of his fuck boy persona crack, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

"Is this really what I want?" he whispers to himself, staring at the floor. “What do I want?”

Some hours later with a newfound resolve, Chan picks up his phone, thumb hovering over your contact. His breath hitches as he presses 'call,' the sound of the rings echoing in the silence. He’s lost count of the rings and he’s about to hang up when you answer.

“Hey,” you say softly, surprised by the call. You ease out of Changbin’s bed, not wanting to wake him, and snatch his recently discarded hoodie from the floor, pulling it on to cover your naked body before exiting his room to sit in the hallway.

"Hey, it's me.” Chan’s voice comes out more vulnerable than he intends. “I... I wanted to apologize for everything," he starts, each word laced with honesty. “I know I fucked up, and I'm sorry. I projected my feelings onto you and Changbin, and neither of you deserved that. Shit, I really like the guy. I don’t know why I was so hell bent on screwing with him."

“Thank you, Chan,” you say, touched by his sincerity. “I think he likes you too. Well at least he did before you told him you fucked his girlfriend,” you tease, unable to stop yourself.

He laughs half-heartedly. “Too soon. Way too soon.”

“Sorry,” you say with a chuckle, glad that the two of you can still joke with each other.

“I’ll apologize to him too, at a later point in time when he doesn’t want to rip my arms from my body. Because he totally could. You know it took four guys to pull him off me?”

“I heard. But he should be fine. We talked, we made up, and we’re good. I’ll leave you boys to hash out your own shit, though.”

“I’m glad to hear that. You two are perfect for each other.” He takes a deep breath. “Listen. You were right. We did develop a strong bond. I consider you one of my best friends too. I’ve shared things with you that I’ve never told anyone else.”

“Me too,” you agree softly.

“And if you’ll have me, I would like to be in your life. As a friend.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he exhales, sounding relieved. The two of you are silent for a few moments before Chan speaks again. “So, I submitted my application for the NASA internship.”

“You did?” you ask excitedly.

“Yeah, on Friday. I won’t hear back until February though.

“Love it! I’ll keep my fingers crossed that you get selected. They’ll be sending me site options in February too. Hopefully we can be stationed at the same one.”

“Yeah, that would be cool.” Another pause. “Hey, I've been thinking, it might be time for a new deal.”

“I don’t know Channie,” you say hesitantly. “Our last deal ended up being nuclear reactor meltdown levels of catastrophic.”

He laughs loudly. “I know, I know. But just hear me out. I need someone to help me unlearn my ways."

“Your ways?” you ask confused.

“Yes. Can you tutor me in how not to be fuck boy?”

His admission hangs in the air, a confession borne from the raw edges of self-revelation. On the other end of the line, your response is soft, a gentle affirmation that stirs something deep within him.

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips. "Okay, Chan. We can try. But is that what you really want? I kinda like Bang Chan. He’s fucking great. He’s my best friend."

“I kinda like him too,” Chan admits. “But he’s also a bit of a mess right now. I need to clean him up, make him presentable for the future. You know, grow up a little.”

You pause, considering his words. “Growing up is overrated,” you say, but there’s a note of seriousness beneath your playful tone. “It’s not like you have to choose one or the other, you know. You can be both.” You hear him hum in approval and can picture in your mind how his head nods slowly in the way that he does when he processes something. “Well, how about you figure out if you really want to give him up. And whichever way you go, I’ll be there. I’ll either help you clean up your ways or be your personal wing woman. That’s what best friends are for.”

“Okay, deal. I’d like that.”

“Deal.” You smile quietly to yourself. “And what would I get in exchange?”

Chan laughs, the sound warmer, more genuine than before. “Oh man… Let me think….”

“Come on, don’t make me wait forever,” you tease, shifting your weight as you sit cross-legged in the hallway.

“How about… unlimited access to my brilliant engineering mind? I’ll help you with all your mechanical problems.”

You snort. “Like you ever fixed my bike.”

“I could if I wanted to,” he retorts playfully. “I just didn’t have time this semester. It’s on my list.”

“Uh huh…” You roll your eyes and shake your head.

“Fine, how about this: I’ll buy your beer anytime we go out. Lots of beer… and shots. As much as you want.”

“That you’re paying for? Not Minho?”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine. Yes. Out of my own pocket.”

“Now you’re talking. Top Shelf?”

“Mid. You know I’m on scholarship.”

“I can work with that.”

Another pause, this one more comfortable, as if both of you are soaking in the new terms of your relationship.

“So,” Chan starts, hesitating. “Are we good now?”

“Yeah. I think we will be,” you confirm, though you know it’s not that simple. You need to clear any potential complications with Changbin.

“Ok good.” You hear the smile in his voice, the relief, the lingering uncertainty. This won’t be easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is. “I’m glad we cleared the air.”

“Me too.”

You both linger on the line, not wanting to let go of this newfound clarity and the tentative hope it brings.

“Get some rest,” you finally say. “You sound exhausted.”

“I will. You take care, okay?”

“You too, Channie.”

“I’ll see you next week?”

“Yeah.”

Chan exhales, a sound of relief mingled with newfound determination. You’re still there, just in a different way. And as he hangs up the phone, he lets himself believe that perhaps there's more to life than the fleeting pleasures he's known—perhaps there's a chance for genuine connection, for growth, for friendship... and maybe even for redemption. And perhaps, it’s also just fine for him to simply be who he is.

You walk back into Changbin’s room, closing the door quietly behind you.

“Hey,” he says groggily. “What are you doing?” He rubs his eyes.

“Nothing babe. Just stepped out to take a call.” After a few seconds of back and forth in your head, you add, “with Chan,” and wait for his reaction.

“Hmmm.” He lifts the sheet and beckons you back to bed. You climb in and snuggle against his bare chest as he wraps his arms and legs around you like a koala hugging a tree branch. “What did he want,” he said calmly.

“To apologize.” You look up and lock eyes with him. “He would also like to apologize to you, if you’re open to that.”

“Maybe next week. Right now, I still want to rip his fucking arms off and beat him with them.”

“Funny, that’s exactly what he predicted you would do,” you say with a chuckle.

Changbin smiles. “As long as he’s appropriately terrified.”

“You won’t mind if we stay friends, would you?”

“Are you going to do it anyway?” Changbin raises an eyebrow at me.

“Probably.”

“Why did you even ask then?” You shrug, causing Changbin to laugh. “No, I don’t mind. You’re lucky I love you.” He kisses you gently. You decide you’ll wait to tell him that you and Chan might be spending the entire summer together, when tempers and tensions have fully dissipated. “You know, I kinda like that bastard too.”

“I knew it!” you whisper excitedly, tapping your fingers on his pecs.

“But I will break his scrawny ass in half if he ever says any disrespectful shit about you again.”

You smile and give him a quick kiss. "I know you will. That's one of the many reasons I love you."

You snuggle closer, resting your head on his chest, comforted by his protective yet understanding nature. There's still healing to be done, but you feel a sense of hope about the future. With Chan, the path forward is less certain, but you're willing to walk it with him as a friend.

For now, you're content here in Changbin's arms, the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling you towards sleep. The world feels full of possibility, new adventures on the horizon. But you know you won't have to face them alone – your two favorite men will be by your side. There's comfort in that thought as you drift off, Changbin's warmth enveloping you.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this messy ass story. Leave me a comment, let me know your thoughts or any requests.

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