#My Cup of Tea Maid Cafe

[schneiderenjoyer]

This game ain't gonna help you beat the lesbian allegations. and why would you

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 2: Tiger's Eye]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can’t seem to get away from…

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don’t like Titanic you won’t like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.7k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @arcielee @nightvyre @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama @ecstaticactus, more in comments 🥰

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The taxidermied tiger head hangs above the fireplace in the sitting room, its jaws agape in a perpetual roar and its eyes polished spheres of metamorphic rock the color of dusk. Daemon shot it in Burma years ago—valleys of saturated green earth, mountain ranges like a crooked spine—shortly after opening his third black opal mine in Australia. You stare at the disembodied creature and she stares back, a silent scream, a doomed eternal terror in her tiger’s eye gaze: Help! A man is killing me. A man is taking me from where I belong. A man is nailing me to a wall so all the world knows he is the one whose bullet severed my aorta, filled me with hemorrhaging blood until I sank down, down, down.

You say, still looking at the slayed beast: “Did we really have to bring that with us?”

Daemon glances over as he fastens his cufflinks, onyx with red beryl in the shape of a three-headed dragon, the Targaryen family crest. “I’m sure you’d prefer a finger painting from that Italian tosspot you’re so enamored with. What’s his name, Pizarro?”

“Picasso. And he’s Spanish.”

“Even worse.”

You turn to Daemon, and you can feel yourself wilting, becoming pitiful, vulnerable, needy. “Where are you going?”

He smirks as he stalks past you. “Wherever I want.” Then he passes through the doorway and out into the hall, flanked by the ever-grim Edward Rushton, black suits and polished leather shoes.

It’s midday on April 12th, and you and Fern are now alone in the Targaryen staterooms. Laenor is down on F-Deck enjoying the Squash Racquet Court with his new Parisian companions, Rhaenyra is in the Reading and Writing Room with a group of ladies led by the Countess of Rothes, and Dagmar has taken Draco…somewhere. Meanwhile, your sweet-tempered maid is flitting around making beds and collecting empty cups and soiled linens. “Fern?” you call.

She peeks out of Draco’s bedroom. “Yes, ma’am? Do you need something?”

To leap overboard and swim back to Ireland. “Would you like to take a stroll around the Promenade Deck with me? Breathe some fresh air, look for dolphins and whales, have lunch at the Verandah Cafe?”

Fern is apologetic in that soft, skittish way that she has. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I have to finish cleaning the rooms before Dagmar comes back.”

She doesn’t say why—that would be insubordinate—but you know. Just like on the family crest, the dragon has three heads: Daemon, Draco, Dagmar. All must be appeased lest their fire turn you to ash. And Fern lives in terror of the gaunt Scandinavian tyrant. “Right. I understand.”

“I should be done in an hour or two. When you return from your walk, I’ll make you tea.”

“You’re too kind.”

She is confused. “It’s my job, ma’am.”

“Still, I’m glad you’re the one doing it.”

Fern smiles, small and hesitant. “Thank you, ma’am. Enjoy your walk.”

Outside on the Promenade Deck, the sun is bright and the wind brisk, just warm enough to forego a coat, black mink or white ermine or grey rabbit or reddish fox, pelts harvested, creatures butchered. Your dress is a cheerful yellow, as if attempting to conjure the golden-haired magic of the Targaryens, their willfulness, their invincibility, their habit of bending the world’s truth in their hands until it snaps. Yet none of them are here with you; you are alone, you are unnecessary. As you walk, you pass women reading novels on teak deckchairs, children playing with spinning tops and dominoes under the watchful eyes of fathers and governesses, men smoking cigars as they debate business and politics and which gemstones they should purchase for their sweethearts. You have to get away from them.

You take the Grand Staircase up to the Boat Deck, the highest level of the ship, and to distract yourself you count the covered lifeboats that are stowed there. This does not assuage your anxiety; you see only twenty, and while you have made a practice of avoiding sailing and therefore are no expert on the issue, this does not seem like enough. You go to the railing—about as tall as your waist—and lean over it as you stare, thoughts troubled and brow furrowed, into the wild, uninterrupted blue of the North Atlantic, five hundred miles from the coast of Ireland. To your left is a man painting a sheet of paper clipped to an easel, a palette held in his hand, viscous globs of color from small silvery tubes. Seventy feet below where you stand is the sea, thrashing against Titanic, a wood-and-steel intruder. You lean a little farther over the side of the ship. The water is cold, you imagine; cold, deep, dark, silent.

If I fell in, this would all be over, you think. No more Daemon. No more anyone. The only people who would miss me are my parents, and they’ll never see me again anyway.

But no; you cannot abandon Draco. He’s a piece of you, even if he doesn’t know it. You cannot allow him to become a monster.

The viola player peeks out from behind his easel. “Not thinking about jumping, are you?”

You gasp, startled, and then cover your face as you groan. “Why are you always out here?!”

“Aw, fancy rock lady needs a member of the perpetual underclass to malign,” he says as he adds brushstrokes to his painting. He has procured a suit somehow—black, slightly too big for him, likely stolen—to better masquerade as a first-class passenger. “What’s the matter, rock lady? Did your servants not put enough sugar in your tea this morning? Did they tug a little too hard as they brushed your hair?”

“You’re not well mentally. You need a straightjacket.”

“I’m not the one about to throw myself into the Atlantic Ocean.”

You glare at him, bitter, defensive. “I wasn’t going to jump.”

“Then what were you doing?”

You can’t answer; you wring your hands and press your lips together so tightly they ache, watch dark smoke billow from the nearest funnel, coal shoveled into blazing furnaces, treasures of the earth extracted like teeth and consumed.

“Hey, I didn’t, um…” The viola player lowers his paintbrush, repentant. “It wasn’t my intention to upset you.”

You ask to change the subject: “What are you painting?”

“People,” he says, grinning, then turns his easel to show you. It’s a father holding his daughter so she can look over the railing and pointing to show her something out in the waves, dolphins, perhaps. His work is excellent, you are surprised to see: wispy curls of hair, irises alight with emotion, shadows and wrinkles and cheeks ruddy from gusts of wind, imperfections of reality.

“It’s good,” you manage once you’ve gotten your bearings.

“And of course you’re shocked.” He points to a scuffed brown leather portfolio resting against one leg of the easel. “I have plenty more, if you’re interested.”

You open the portfolio. There are men worriedly counting coins, women waiting on park benches, children beaming as they feed ducks or tend to their dolls, people giggling and scowling and burning up with clandestine longing, people sipping drinks in smoky pubs. In the bottom right corner of each painting is a moniker for the subject: Crystal, Big Red, Sunshine, Baron, Carnation, Tiny, Mars, Archer, Harpist, Pennies, Henry VIII, Belfast Belle. Unwittingly, you smile to yourself. “You give them names.”

“I watch people, but I don’t usually talk to them,” the viola player explains as he dabs thick oil paint on the paper clipped to the easel, treated to resemble the texture of linen. “I like to catch them unawares. Keeps the moment genuine, truthful. Otherwise they start acting for me.”

“Why paper instead of canvas?”

“Easier to travel with. Lighter and less bulky.”

You recall what he told Daemon at O’Connell’s Bar back in Galway: Well I’ve played all over Ireland, sir. All over Europe, in fact. You gingerly slide his paintings back into the portfolio and tease: “Who do you think you are, Picasso?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. His sand-colored hair trashes in the wind that blows off the ocean, salt and mist. “I am under no such delusion. I’ve met him, though.”

You gawk at the viola player. “You’ve…you’ve met Pablo Picasso?”

“Yeah,” he says casually. “In Barcelona. I love his Blue and Rose Period stuff. Now he’s doing some weird cubism bullshit.” The viola player shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s his art, he can paint what he wants. But I prefer something a little more…real.”

“I do too,” you confess. “I went to Paris once with my parents. I saw some of Picasso’s work in a gallery, but he wasn’t there at the time. I bought a few paintings.”

“Which ones?”

“Mother and Child from 1905. Flowers from 1901.” You hesitate. It’s a bit scandalous. “Blue Nude.”

But the viola player neither cringes nor makes a joke. “I remember that one,” he says softly, watching you. After a moment he asks: “Are they hanging in your rooms?”

“They’re in a trunk. Daemon doesn’t like them.” And the animosity in your voice is an act of treason, however small. You glance around for Daemon, Rush, Dagmar, Rhaenyra, Laenor, and thankfully find none of them. You avert your eyes, ashamed. A husband you hate, and fear, and obey, and lie awake at night conspiring how to please.

There is something that ripples across the viola player’s face—sympathy, distress—and then he resumes putting the final touches on his portrait of two unnamed passengers. “Do you paint?”

You laugh. “Very badly.”

He offers you the paintbrush, saturated with a reddish-gold color like dusk. “You can help me fill in the man’s scarf. That’s hard to fuck up.”

Your jaw falls open.

“That’s hard to mess up,” he amends.

Smiling shyly, you take the paintbrush and add a few tentative strokes to the scarf. The viola player accepts the paintbrush when you forfeit it.

“So besides making awful paintings, how did you spend your time back in Galway?”

Reminding my father who he is. Taking long walks through the fields with my mother. Sitting in the garden wondering how my life went so wrong. Trying to stop my only child from becoming a demon like his father. “I read a lot. Mostly Edgar Allan Poe, Jane Austen, and Shakespeare.”

“Shakespeare?” he echoes, amused. “Recite some for me.”

You take a moment to decide on a passage.

“Not for the world: why, man, she is mine own,

And I as rich in having such a jewel

As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl,

The water nectar and the rocks pure gold.”

“The Two Gentlemen of Verona,” the viola player says, much to your amazement. He’s a thief holding a third-class ticket, and yet he’s learned. This is rare outside the blue-blooded aristocrats and the titans of industry. Fern can barely read and write.

“Where were you educated?”

“The world,” he replies, grinning.

“And the world included lessons on Shakespeare?”

“Sure, sometimes.”

“Alright then, let’s hear an excerpt.”

He considers this, tapping the handle of his paintbrush against his lips. Then he says:

“My crown is in my heart, not on my head;

Not decked with diamonds and Indian stones,

Nor to be seen: my crown is called content:

A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.”

“King Henry VI,” you say, admittedly impressed. “I didn’t know poor people read Shakespeare.”

“Shakespeare’s plays were written for everyone, fancy rock lady. Standing tickets at the Globe cost pennies.”

You study the viola player as he paints, feeling a bewildering combination of curiosity, amusement, fondness. “What’s your name?”

He pauses as if he’s not sure what to say, then gives you a sly, crooked grin as he replies: “Picasso.”

Now a steward is approaching, and the viola player is alarmed, perhaps anticipating being revealed as a fraud and dragged back to the third-class accommodations; but the steward is only passing by with a tray full of champagne flutes, offering them to illustrious passengers as they stroll the decks. You take two glasses and he continues on his way. You down one flute in just a few gulps and offer the other to the viola player. He smiles politely but does not reach for it.

“Thank you, but I don’t drink.”

“Really?” Have you ever met a man who doesn’t? You can’t think of one. And you are suddenly aware of how quickly you finished your champagne—unladylike, improper, but surely no great disgrace in front of this audience—and how yearningly you’re already glancing at the second glass, carbonated amber, fool’s gold.

“I’m not someone who can stop at just one or two,” the viola player says. “I’ve learned that about myself. Tried to fight it for a while, turns out acceptance is easier. I hardly even miss booze anymore.”

“How long did you fight it?”

“Ten years.”

You are caught off-guard. “What? How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

Since he was thirteen? Can that be right? “We’re about the same age,” you say instead, taking a distracted swig from the glass that would have been his.

“Yeah,” the viola player agrees thoughtfully.

You finish the champagne and hand both glasses to a passing steward. “I should go,” you tell the viola player. “I don’t know where Daemon is on the ship, and…” I don’t want him to see us. I don’t want him to hurt me.

“Sure. I get it.”

“Good luck with your painting.”

“I’ll make one of you next,” he promises, and you’re certain he’s joking.

You smile and turn to leave. “Whatever you say, Picasso.”

You walk towards the Grand Staircase that leads back down to the Promenade Deck. As you pass the Gymnasium, you steal a glimpse through one of the windows and see them inside: Draco giggling as he rides the electric horse and yanks gleefully on the reins, Dagmar beaming as her gnarled, arthritic hands hold him by the waist so he doesn’t slide off.

You lay your palm against the cold glass, separated by a few steps that might as well be miles, wreckage peering up through the darkness from the bottom of the sea.

~~~~~~~~~~

Fern helps you dress for dinner: a glittering gold gown, a tiger’s eye amulet from Burma. Laenor has brought a companion, one of the Parisians he’s become so well-acquainted with, a count’s son named Hugo. As Laenor is preoccupied, Daemon escorts Rhaenyra to the First-Class Dining Saloon down in D-Deck. They meander together, her arm linked through his, murmuring gossip about the other passengers and snickering contemptuously. You trail behind them, feeling invisible, a sun that casts no warmth.

All around you are other first-class passengers descending the Grand Staircase: Benjamin Guggenheim and his mistress two decades his junior, John Jacob Astor and his pregnant eighteen-year-old wife, railroad tycoons Charles M. Hays and John B. Thayer, steel industrialist George Dennick Wick, the glamorous Countess of Rothes, the newly-wealthy Margaret Brown, the eminent journalist W.T. Stead, the White Star Line’s managing director J. Bruce Ismay. But your gaze keeps drifting to Macy’s department store owner Isidor Straus and his wife Ida, neither young, neither beautiful, and yet so evidently devoted to each other. You wonder how that feels; surely nothing like a bruise, a reproach, a back turned to you in the marriage bed.

On the A-Deck landing of the Grand Staircase is the viola player, his horsehair bow gliding over four thick strings to loose an energetic, jubilant song, standing there in his suit that no one else notices is too big for him because they don’t really see him at all. He is less than a fixture of the ship; the first-class passengers marvel at the glass-and-wrought-iron dome overhead and the Neoclassical clock on the wall and even the bronze cherub statue at the base of the steps, but the flesh-and-blood machinery of Titanic wears a sort of camouflage, unremarkable and interchangeable, uncomfortably human. The viola player gives you a wink and a quick, subtle smile as you pass by him, and you smile back. And for a moment, it is like you have a friend aboard the ship, a groundswell of fleeting joy, gratefulness, peace.

Dinner is oysters, salmon with hollandaise, corned ox tongue, chateau potatoes, asparagus soup, Waldorf pudding, other things that you pick at without much interest. You miss Lough Cutra Castle, you miss your parents, you miss Ireland, you miss your life before Daemon Targaryen stalked into it with his ever-glinting green eyes and his talent for making you so desperate to satisfy him. Instead of eating, you mostly drink champagne, draining glasses of it until your cheeks are warm and your thoughts hazy. You look around for the viola player, but he never appears in the First-Class Dining Saloon. Instead, the five-piece string ensemble that welcomed you aboard Titanic yesterday is playing Alexander’s Ragtime Band.

Daemon has invited a guest to share your table, chief designer of the ship Mr. Thomas Andrews. He is gracious and even-tempered, exactly the sort of man Daemon likes to entrap and enchant and have his way with. As you drown in champagne, Daemon tells Mr. Andrews about surviving a hurricane while mining Larimar in the Dominican Republic, domesticating a ring-tailed lemur in Madagascar (Daemon had named it Aegon and kept it on a leash), getting lost for three days in the Australian Outback and resorting to eating snakes and dingoes, bludgeoned to death with rocks and roasted over campfires. Rhaenyra observes all of this with a proud, radiant smile, encouraging Daemon with nods and oddly girlish giggles. Laenor, meanwhile, is chatting with Hugo and paying little attention to anything else. He and Rhaenyra have three young sons back in England, though they resemble Laenor Velaryon far less than they do Harwin Strong, Viserys the Duke of Beaufort’s former Master of the Horse and Rhaenyra’s rumored lover. The virile, dark-haired Harwin Strong was killed last year in an unfortunate riding accident, whereupon Daemon rekindled his previously strained relationship with Rhaenyra in the interests of helping her cope with the loss. As it turned out, Daemon’s niece had grown up to be much the same as he is—daring, sarcastic, charismatic, incorrigible—and as if you didn’t have enough difficulty winning his affection before, now you must compete with his kindred spirit, a golden-haired wildfire only a few years older than you and who Daemon can delightedly torment his estranged brother with by capturing her in his orbit.

Daemon is saying, his elbows on the table and miming clutching a massive gemstone in his palm: “As a famed French fashion critic once wrote, The jewel, which is so well adapted to a woman’s adornment, is a combination of the riches of nature and art.”

“Not just any fashion critic,” you say without thinking, the champagne parting your lips before you can reconsider. “Charles Blanc. And I’m the one who gave you his book, remember? It was one of my wedding presents to you.”

Everyone turns to stare at you, as if abruptly being made aware of your existence. Laenor and Hugo appear puzzled. Rhaenyra is frowning with disapproval. Mr. Andrews nods politely. Daemon, after a moment, chuckles in that low, rolling, sardonic way that he does.

“Yes, dear, you certainly did. Clearly it made an impression.” He looks to Mr. Andrews. “You’ll have to forgive my wife, good sir. I’m afraid she has a weakness for champagne.”

“Don’t we all?” Mr. Andrews replies diplomatically.

“The truth is,” Dameon says as if he’s confiding in the shipbuilder; and yet there’s an exhilaration he can’t entirely disguise, a malicious triumph, proof of the power he has over you. “She’s petrified of sailing, has been for years. And this journey…well…it’s been quite an ordeal for her. But under no uncertain terms was I leaving Ireland without my family. Where I go, we all go.”

“I’m so sorry to hear about your rattled nerves, Lady Targaryen.” Mr. Andrews’ eyes are soft with pity for you, a neurotic and illogical woman, tortured by her own nature. “Is there anything I can say to alleviate your fears? Have you been on a ship that’s run into trouble before?”

“No, no sir, I just…” You push through the warm, amber-gold fog of the champagne to explain. “I’ve never been able to stop thinking of all the water beneath us, and a ship…even one as large and luxurious as Titanic…it seems too vulnerable to me. One puncture and we all go straight to the seafloor.”

“That’s why I built Titanic with watertight bulkheads that go up to E-Deck,” Mr. Andrews says, smiling reassuringly. “There are sixteen total, and the ship can stay afloat with several of them flooded. This is meant to contain any possible breach in the hull.”

“Oh, how ingenious!” Laenor exclaims. “Hugo, isn’t that extraordinary?”

Mr. Andrews continues: “Truly, Lady Targaryen, I have built you an unsinkable ship. You have nothing to worry about here on Titanic.”

“Of course she doesn’t,” Daemon agrees.

“And there are lifeboats, I suppose,” you say. “Although…I didn’t see very many up on the Boat Deck. What is their total capacity, I wonder…?”

“Over 1,000 souls, ma’am,” Mr. Andrews replies.

You are horrified. “That’s half the people onboard.”

“Yes,” he concedes. “But as I said, Titanic cannot sink.” Again, he smiles blithely. “Besides, in the event of an evacuation—engine failure or damaged propellers or some such thing—the lifeboats would only be needed to ferry passengers from Titanic to the vessel we’d hail to rescue us with the wireless telegraph machine. The lifeboats were never intended to be able to hold all the passengers at once, that would be absurd.”

“Impossible,” Daemon concurs. “What on earth would necessitate a swift and total evacuation?”

“What about an iceberg?” Hugo says as he eats a heaping spoonful of Waldorf pudding, vanilla custard mixed with nutmeg, apples, walnuts, and raisins.

Mr. Andrews titters patiently, as if this is the most ludicrous thing he’s ever heard. “No iceberg could damage Titanic enough to flood more than three bulkheads. And we have lookouts employed to spot them and sound the alarm so we can turn in time. Icebergs are not a concern whatsoever.”

“Très bien!” Hugo declares, redirecting his full attention back to his Waldorf pudding.

Mr. Andrews looks to you, his voice kind but patronizing. “Do you feel better now, Lady Targaryen?”

“Much better,” you lie.

“Good. Then no more worrying. And no need to drink yourself under the table either.”

Daemon says with a derisive snort: “Well, she is Irish.”

Everyone laughs; everyone but you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Back at the Targaryen staterooms, Rush is waiting by the door to take your coats. Laenor and Hugo bid everyone goodnight, then depart; Rhaenyra, seemingly reluctantly, takes her leave as well. She and Laenor have separate accommodations as they always do while travelling, not unheard of among first-class passengers but also not helping to dispel the rumors concerning her sons’ parentage.

Dagmar is perched on one of the sofas like a falcon on a branch, her talonlike fingers knitting a forest green blanket for Draco. Your son, meanwhile, is sprawled on the sitting room floor and at war with Fern, who is trying to coax him out of his shoes and day clothes and into his pajamas.

“Draco, please, my love, it’s time to get ready for bed now—”

“I want to go back to the Gymnasium!” he screeches, wriggling out of her grasp. From the sofa, Dagmar chuckles as if this is charming behavior, a portent of superb athletic fitness, perhaps. “I want to ride the horsey!”

Fern is exasperated. “Darling, the Gymnasium is closed, no one is allowed to use it any more tonight. But I promise you’ll be able to go back tomorrow—”

“No!” Draco shrieks. “Now! Right now!”

Fern finally manages to slip off one of his shoes, and faster than anyone can stop him, Draco draws back his hand and slaps her across the face, open palm, a sharp crack in the air, and of course he’s too young and too weak to do anything but stun her, but he won’t be four years old forever.

One day he’ll be able to hurt people. He’ll be able to break them, bruise them, ruin their lives.

“No!” you shout, then bolt to Draco and drop to the floor to hold him by his frail little shoulders, firm yet careful not to harm him, no scratches, no bruises, no pools of trapped blood that will ache with violent memory. “You never do that! You don’t hurt people! You don’t hit women!”

“Mam?” Draco whimpers, his lips quivering and tears shimmering in his eyes; and he almost never calls you that, he almost never acknowledges you as his mother at all. But he knows, he must, this proves it. “I’m sorry…I won’t do it again…please don’t yell at me…”

Immediately remorseful, you embrace him, and Draco clings to you as he sobs. Fern is watching you with huge, frightened eyes; then they flick to someone standing behind you.

Rush grabs you by both arms and wrenches you away. You yelp in shock and pain; Dagmar swoops in to take Draco and vanishes into his bedroom, glaring at you over her shoulder, frigid lethal fury. Fern is covering her mouth with her hands so she won’t scream.

Rush hurls you to the carpet and backs away. When you look up, Daemon is standing in the doorway of your bedroom, orange dusk-like light spilling out from behind him.

“Come here,” Daemon says, beckoning you with his right hand.

You are terrified; you are shaking. “No.”

“The longer you wait, the worse it will be.”

“No,” you say again. You glance at Fern, but she can’t help you; she turns away, stifling a cry with her palms. The room is spinning, your thoughts are slow, your skull aches with rhythmic pulses like blows from a hammer. You peer up at Rush, blinking blearily. “Do you like working for a man who beats his wife?”

Rush doesn’t reply; his face is grave but otherwise unreadable. Fern curls up on the floor, shaking her head. The taxidermied tiger head roars silently from above the crackling fireplace.

Daemon says from the doorway: “Dear, I’m losing my patience.”

There’s nowhere else to go. You crawl towards him, then at the halfway point stagger to your feet. Daemons steps aside so you can cross through the threshold. He closes the door and locks it. You stare at him, swaying a bit, your hands hovering in front of you. You’re trying to figure out where he’s going to hit you, but he’s good at not letting on, and you’re drunk. You guess stomach, but it’s your face, just like Draco struck Fern; his open palm sets your cheek on fire and rocks your head back. You lunge for him, fingers clawing and knuckles jabbing at his ribs. Sometimes you fight back and sometimes you don’t—occasionally he finds it endearing and leaves you alone, more often it exacerbates the situation—but tonight you are overwhelmed with wrath for this man who has taken everything from you, your home, your parents, your son, your future.

You shove Daemon into his writing desk, then he pins you to the wall, slides open a drawer of the desk with his free hand, pulls out his gemstone-studded dagger and lays the blade against your windpipe. And you scream, because for all his roughness and his threats Daemon has never done this before. No one appears to rescue you; no one would dare.

“You will not correct Draco,” Daemon says. “He is my son, and I will deal with him.”

You seethe, teeth bared: “I don’t want him to be like you.”

“Think about it, dear,” Daemon hisses, the blade cold against your throat. You can feel it stinging, a thin slice like a papercut you’ll have to cover with makeup tomorrow. “We’re on a ship in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. If you were to take a tumble over the railing, who could say if it was an accident or a suicide or a crime of opportunity committed by some third-class scoundrel? There would be nothing to investigate. You would be gone, and that would be the end of it. Draco is past the fragile years of infancy, he is healthy and he is fierce. Your father’s quarry is already under the control of my managers. What do I need you for now? Why the fuck would I tolerate any further obstinance from you? Your usefulness has come and gone. You stand on the thinnest of ice. One wrong step, and you’ll find it splintering beneath your feet.”

He lifts the dagger away and strides out of the bedroom. You stand there in the tawny lamplight like a sunset, trembling all over, gasping for air, your hands flying up to your neck. When you check your fingers, they are sticky and copper-smelling with a small amount of blood.

He could have killed me. I think he wanted to.

There is a tall oval mirror by the bed, its frame gilded and glowing in the ochre lamplight. You stare at yourself, tears flooding down your cheeks, a gold dress worth more than you are. Everything you own is Daemon’s. That will be true for as long as he lives.

You flee out onto the small private deck attached to your rooms, through the back exit, and into the labyrinthian hallways of B-Deck. You run towards the stern of the ship, dodging stewards who ask if you need assistance and men sauntering back from the First-Class Smoking Room after dinner, puffing on their pipes and their cigars, nursing stout glasses of brandy to keep them warm. When you break out into the open air, it is bitterly cold. The ocean is a vast lightless void; you could mistake it for nothingness if it wasn’t for the thunderous rumble and salt spray of the waves. Your gleaming gold dress billows around you as you sprint to the metal railing that encloses the stern, grip the top rung with shaking hands, stare down into the roiling depths churned by the propellers.

Where can I go? There’s nowhere to go. There’s nowhere else to run to.

“Hey,” the viola player says; you recognize his voice immediately.

You turn away, not wanting him to see the swelling on your face, the traces of blood at your throat. You are heartbroken, you are humiliated. You agreed to marry a man and now he’s ruined your life. You wrap your bare arms around yourself and sniffle, shivering, swiping tears from your eyes.

After a while, the viola player says cautiously, realizing you aren’t in the mood for disclosures: “It’s cold tonight.”

“Obviously.”

He takes off his black wool coat, presumably stolen like the suit he wears underneath, and offers it to you. “I have more layers on.”

“I don’t want you to be cold.”

“Please shut up and take the coat, okay?” You accept it and put it on, and instantly you begin to feel better. The viola player asks gently: “Does he hit you?”

You shrug, petulant like a child. “Sometimes I hit him back.”

The viola player sighs, but he’s not just disappointed; he’s saddened, he’s pained. “Look, I know what it’s like to get knocked around. That’s why I left home.”

You remember what he told you when you first realized he’d followed you onto Titanic: I have family in New York City. I left home and haven’t been back in years, and I think now’s a good time for a visit. “Why would you ever want to see them again?”

“Things are different now. I’m older, I’m not afraid to walk out and be on my own, I’m confident that I can advocate for myself better than before. And they aren’t all bad. I have…” He hesitates. “I have two brothers and a sister in New York, and I miss them.”

“What are their names?”

“Um,” he stops to think. Clearly he’s making them up. “Arnold, Henrietta, and Dean.”

“Do you actually have siblings or is this some sort of metaphor?”

He laughs. “No, they’re real. The names might not be, but the people are. Want to see your painting?”

“You were serious?”

He carefully pulls it out of the brown leather portfolio he’s carrying under one arm. And if it’s supposed to be you, he’s failed, but still the image is mesmerizing: a young woman—too beautiful, far too beautiful—glancing over at him from where she was pondering the waves under a clear midday sky, her hair in disarray from the wind and her eyes fearful, an oil-paint snapshot of desperation, defenselessness, wonder, hope.

“It’s very nice,” you say at last. “But I don’t look like that.”

“Yeah you do.”

You examine the bottom right corner of the painting to see what he’s named you. You skim your thumbprint feather-lightly over black cursive letters, drawn with the smallest of brushes. “Petra,” you murmur.

The viola player says self-consciously, as if hoping you’ll approve: “It’s Greek for rock.”

You smile faintly. “I know what it means.”

“Oh, fancy rock lady took Greek lessons in school.”

“Of course I did.”Greek, Latin, French, Irish Gaelic. You muse softly, still studying the painting: “Petra and Picasso.”

You don’t have to look at him; you can hear the grin in his voice. “Guess we’re friends now, huh?”

“I’ve never had a poor friend before.”

“Well, firstly, you can’t call me your poor friend. That’s offensive.”

With great unwillingness, you surrender the painting and give it back to the viola player. “I can’t keep this. I’m sorry, I want to. But Daemon might find it.” And then he’ll push me overboard and I’ll be dinner for the sharks.

He tucks the painting safely into his portfolio. “I’ll hold onto it for now.”

“Forever, you mean.”

“You might not always have to worry about Daemon.”

You share a dark, horrible truth: “I’ll never be free of him.”

“We’ll see,” the viola player replies, undaunted.

We’ll see.

[occasionalsweetpool]

The second occasional sweet pool of the day! Befitting of the overall food theme, I’m posting the cafe menu of the 2009 sweet pool cafe held at CURE MAID CAFE.

Drinks

There are five drinks on the menu; two for Sakiyama (one for reason, one for instinct) and the rest are for the other three main boys. Sakiyama, Shironuma and Mita’s are all cold drinks served in a colins glass whilst Okinaga’s is served hot and in what looks to be ceramic coffee cup. Fitting for Okinaga to be the odd one out.

Note: I am an American so I never had any of these since this was region exculsive to Japan. I was also like, 6. So it’s just the menu!

Sakiyama Youji’s Reason/Rational (¥400/$2.78) (Blue Hawaii + grape jelly)

Sakiyama Youji’s Instinct (¥400/$2.78) (Pomegranate x ginger ale + grape jelly)

Shironuma Tetsuo (¥400/$2.78) (Green tea x peach flavour)

Mita Makoto (¥400/$2.78) (Cola x orange sherbet)

Okinaga Zenya (¥400/2.78) (Hot nata de coco + berry)

Originating in the Philipines, Nata de coco is fermentended coconut water. It’s usually served cold or in it’s more gelatinous state. I’ve never had it before, but I’m assuming it’s similar to stuff like coffee jelly. 

Foods

There are 9 dishes in total, three desert plates and 6 meal plates. They also came as set meals.

Omu Yakisoba Bread (¥400/$2.78) (Also, as I far as I can tell, this is and another meal item from the menu are not sold as a set meal. I guess because it’s also literally yakisoba bread, lol) It’s based on the Yakisoba bread sold at the school store, aka the thing Shironuma is seen eating a majority of the rooftop cgs.

Omega Meat Burger (Alone: ¥1500/$10.44. Meal: ¥1700/$11.83) Apparently, it’s just a Big Burger. Which is fiitng, I guess.

Shironuma’s home-cooked food. (¥400/$2.78) (This is the other meal item I was referring to earlier. Ironically enough, there both food items associated with Shironuma.)

Kitani’s cooking. (Alone: ¥1100/$7.66. Meal: ¥1200/$8.35) White rice, miso soup and stir-fry minced meat with eggplant. Lovingly prepared for Zenya.

Sakiyama’s home curry. (Alone: ¥900/$6.26. Meal: ¥1100/$7.66)   Colour of the curry is redder than usual curry. Comes with special seasoning.

Zenya’s Failure Hamburger steak. (Alone: ¥900/$6.26. Meal: ¥1100/$7.66)   I’m assuming it’s called this because it’s cut up rather than being in the proper fillet form you usually serve hamburger as. Or it’s a jab at Zenya being literally a ‘defective’. 

Youji-kun hot cake (pan cake) (¥700/$4.87) it’s a hotcake with youji’s face on it. would you eat the youji hotcake

sweet な台詞ケーキ (literally ‘sweet dialogue/words cake) (¥700/$4.87) So this one’s actually super cool, in my opinion. It’s a standard souffle cheesecake, but as implied with the name, the gimmick is that lines from sweet pool’s script written on it. The one from the product image is, from what I can tell, 「やばいだろ、これ」.

Makoto’s bad lifestyle habit sundae. (Alone: ¥600/$4.18. Meal: ¥800/$5.57.)

OTHER COOL STUFF

For free, you can also get coasters. The first one is for CURE MAID CAFE, which depicts the boys making food (and Okinaga even has Christie with him!) This event was also held at a crossdressing cafe called Queen Dolce, which is the second set included, which depicts the boys as butlers/waitstaff (a missed chance to depict the boy’s crossdressing, but ohhhhh well).

According to the website, the Queen Dolce was styled like the Cerulean Warbler (that’s the bar Shironuma works at!)

Also, the coaster arts was used for a pattern design for mug designs! It comes in both purple and turquoise.

[maycat-19-142]

Shoto todoroki x reader festival

A/n: you worked on the raid to save eri with the nighteye agency but you made up your classes because you did them at night earlier in the week.

⚠️: spoilers, fem reader' you are in the band on the clarinet. Kissing

Quirk- magic- basically anything Scarlett which can do you can do.

Non of the characters or quotes are mine they belong to the original creator that said don't steal my work ©️Maycat-19-142 2023

Part1/part2/part3/part4

"It feels like we haven't been here in forever" tyu said as you and the your classmates walked to the dorm building. "Wow this feels weird" you say adjusting you bay strap. You walked up to the blinding and opened the door for your class mates. They went it and you followed after they walked in

"There you are" mineta said as he ran up to your group "we we're all scared" the class said in a gamble of words of worry. "Here is a cake" sato said. One second later torū had you, tyu, and uraraka in a hug what was extremely tight, you were struggling to breathe this uraraka said "that bit tight i can't breathe"

Torū relaxed her arms around you. "Sorry" she mumbled "it is ok" you say patting he arm. You saw todoroki looking down st the floor. You slipped out of the mess and over to him "hey sho" you say

"Hello" he said "are you ok"

"I'm ok sho" you said as he pulled you in by th the waist and put his head on your shoulder "I was worried about you" he said as you put you arms around him "I'm going to bed rhe extra training starts tomorrow" he said before kissing you good night

"I love you" you said calmly before he said it back and walk to the Elevator to head to his dorm. You walked back over the the mess next to kirishima. Then iida jump in front of the group and yelled for them to stop. Iida then walked up to the group including you and yelled "do you have any idea how worried I was for you all if was horrible that if you died." Iida said shaking deku by the shoulders

"I'll go make some tea" momo said running to the kitchen. Sato tried to make dkeua dn kirishima eat some of the cake. Yiu said goodbye and good night to your classmates as you went to your dorm room to get some sleep.

The next day it was announced that you had rhe school festive coming up. You sat in your seat as kirishima jumped up and objected out of safety but wa stood this was for everyone else.

"You must pick a organization and original program" aizawa said before passing out. Iida went to the front of rhe class to start a brainstorm section some of rhe things said out loud were. "Maid Cafe, mochi shop, arm wrestling, fun house, disco, hero quiz, frog song, petting zoo, soda stall" the soda was fro? Todoroki obviously "fight to the death, dark fest, twinkle extravaganza, a skit," yiu though in a "magic show"

So you had 20 options. A bunch got cute for beings to vague or inappropriate. The magic show was cut for being to vague. "Who said history presentation and study group" torū ask as iida and momo hid their faces.

Iida yelled "be quite" which did not work. Soon the ball went off. "We will pick by tonight" said kirishima.

That night the other raid team members went to extra classes while yiu had finished them by not sleeping for a few nights. "Where is the raid team" ojiro asked as you walked from the elevator your hair tied up and you were waring pajamas pants and a sweater that was probably shoto's "they are working on extra classes" you said holding a cup of tea.

"What about you [lastname]" tokoyami asked

"I made up my classes already with midnight and mic" you said crossing your legs on the couch next to shoto. "So I was looking over the list and we have put stran on the other students so we should do something to lift there sprints." Iida said

"I agree" momo said "we are training to be heros she we must be aware of what we cause."

"So no food" iida said "what else could we do"

Sero said calmly "a zoo sounds smelly" yiu nodded in agreement

"a skit would be good" jiro said

Mina said "what about a dance party" at that todoroki stood up and walked to the computer with the list of ideas "a dance party would be fun"

He then pulled up a video of Rave and mineta said "I didn't expect that from todoroki, wait are you a raver"

"No I agree that it needs to be fun for the other courses. In order for that we should have some sort of entertainment, I got rhe idea from extra exam training" you mind pictured yiu stoic boyfriend and bakugou at and 80s themed dance party which made yiu laugh a bit.

"Interesting" iida said looking at the laptop with the video "singing an dancing."

Sero pipe in "we don't know how to dance and no one wants to see a crazy routine"

Mina yelled "I can teach yall"

"Hold on we need some amazing jams" mineta yelled. "Jiro can do that" torū said. Everyone's eye went to jiro and she looked shocked

"we can perform live" torū said as jiro said "music is just a hobby"

"Why not use to to make people smile" kota said as jiro looked shocked "after what yall said if I don't do it wouldn't be rocken."

It was chosen to be a concert. now all was need was for roles to be picked. you walked out of the school building with mina and torū. you heard some of the gen ed kids talk about how the villain attacks and dorms were the hero classes fault. you just ignored them and kept walking to the 1-A dorms.

when you ot to the droms you and you class stated to talk about how you were going to do the concert. "we can do a club song" jiro said then she asked "does anyone play" everyone was silent till you said "I played the Clarinet in middle school."

jiro's head shot up and said "perfect"

then kaminari said "bakugou didn't you say do played the drum as a kid." bakugou looked pissed off and tried to walk away but the class asked to hear him play. so jiro got a drum set and got bakugou to play.

"bakugou has to be the drummer" mina said as the class looked in shock.

Bakugou turned and said "don't you get it we are trying to help the other classes but we caused the stress in the first place so we're just trying to make our selfs feel better"

"That is true did we think it thought" iid said to momo

"You didn't help us pick so you don't get a say" todoroki said to bakugou.

"If we're putting on a show we will have to kill them with the music" bakugou said in a oddly calm tone

"BAKUGOU" the a class cheered

"This is amazing" torū said jumping on jiro". "Yup" jiro said happily. "We'll do our best"

"Now we need the rest of the band" jiro said

"As a part of my classical education I learned how to play the piano" momo said

"Perfect" jiro said

Mina whined "I wanted the girls to get together for a dance number but I think we'll be ok with out momo and [yourname] and you'll be cute on stage"

"Base is my specialty so now we need gathers and vocals" jiro said

"So does that mean every one else will be dancing" ojiro asked

"I doubt this will be enough to get the Audience pumped up" iida said

"In the video I showed it ha-" todoroki was cut off by mina

"Special affects" mjna yelled.

"Yup" you said

"This is what we need" mina said showing a video of a rave "there are sparks and lights and streamers.

"We need and explosion of color" torū said

"We can have uraraka make todoroki and kirishima flout and have kirishima chop away at todorokis ice and have aoyama be a disco ba" mina said happily

"You want mwa to be a disco ball" aoyama said "well I was born do to this"

Then the other raid team members walked in to see the class talking about jobs "hey we're done making up classes" uraraka said looking exhausted

"I see" tyu said as yiu gave her the run down on the jobs

"Bakugou" Kirishima said "on the durms is a little odd"

"YOU GOT A PROBLEM" bakugou yelled at uraraka, tyu, and kirishima who all shock there heads

"Questions, who's singing" tyu asked jiro

"We haven't got that figured out yet" jiro said

"Don't it have to be you" uraraka asked

"I could do it" mineta said

"Just imagine the singing disco ball" aoyama said

"Guy I'm a good singer" Kirishima said

Jiro was handed a mic and sang an amazing piece with high and low notes that blew way you and your class. "Jiro that was amazing" you said as she finished the song

"Jiro is the singer" iida said

"Now guitars" jiro said as kaminari, mineta volunteered to play

"Don't try if you not going to kill it" Bakugou said as kaminari picked up and guitar and played a simple yet amazing song. Rhem tokoyami picked up a guitar and revealed he played for a while before getting stamped by the F cord.

Around 1:00am rhe roles were finalized with the dance, band, and affects teams. "Rest up team tomorrow we start the work iida said as everyone went to bed. You and shoto talk about your roles in rhe festival and you ended up falling asleep together in your dorm room.

Over the next few weeks you worked on the song 'hero too' the main song of the show. You had just finished the 4 practice play though if the song when kirishima said eri was here. Ran out to see her she looked at yiu and said shyly "I recognize you with the [haircolor] hair"

"Hi eri I'm [yourname]" you said getting down to her level. She waved back as deku and togata took he on a school tour. The. Yiu continued working on the song

Today was the day of the show. You got in to your band uniform. It was orange t-shirt with a jean mid lingth skirt that went to just over your knees. You were waiting for deku before going on stage. You and todoroki were standing together before the show started. As deku made it to the stage you ran out on stage before you ran out you kissed todoroki on the cheek. You grabbed your clarinet and the song started as bakugou yelled "our sound will kill you"

"Thanks for coming out today" jiro said as the song began. "We hope you enjoy" the beat dropped after a bit in the song. the gym it exploded with music and color. You moved one of your hands to make a bright amount of color with your quirk.

The first song ended as the next one started, yiu played 4 more songs or various levels of power. After the performance you went to the 1-B performance of there play.

After the shows and plays you helped move extra ice and equipment with your quirk making them float. After a while of cleaning up your got to explore the festival with shoto hand in hand

"Hey [nickname]" shoto asked

"Yes" you said Turing your head to him as you walked by the support course's work

"Let's get photos" he pointed to a photo booth. You agreed and stepped in. The fist few photos were simple and just hugs but for the last one he pulled you in for a kiss.

As you exited the booth yiu got the photos. Yiu looked at them and loved them. They were amazing. You saw shoto looking at them then pulling his phone out of it case and putting the photos in the case. He put the case back on and took your hand and continued walking around the festival

This is part 4 of the series and I love it. This is the shortest of all the parts I think but I love it. Have a good day and night 🌙

Pixie out 🧚‍♀️

[lured-into-wonderland]

Continued from [x] with @starzfield

He looked nice when he smiled. She couldn't deny it. But the number of options they had was a bit overwhelming, especially that she was still wondering about him. A vampire.

"Hmmm, I am not sure...perhaps I will go for some tea after all. Jasmine sounds nice, perhaps something with lavender. Or verbena. Something light, fruity. I like that...and I am used to infusions. I do not really like sweet things. So, anything that is not so sweet would be just fine...I'll trust you with the final choice."

This little chit-chat managed to calm her down, although Nunnally was not truly prepared to the reply to her question. She obviously didn't mean he was a man. Why would that be an issue? But it seemed that such an assumption put the man at ease. Was him being a man causing surprise between the human customers? Why would anyone care, male or female? Humans were so odd; Nunnally did not understand them and that was just another example. But it was more concerning that he was avoiding to discuss the REAL topic. Didn't he notice she wasn't a human? Or did he pretend he didn't? Nunnally hesitated internally. Should she simply tell him she knew? That he was a vampire? Well, probably not. So - for the time being - she decided to pretend that was exactly what surprised her.

"I wouldn't expect that." - she smiled - "This is my first time in the maid cafe ever so everything is rather new. But you can say I am lucky then. To get you as my waiter."

"I apologize..." - she added after a short moment - "...if my question was impolite...I have had no intention to insult you in anyway. I was...just suprised...also by the fact that such places.." - she looked around - "...exist. But I think I like it here." - she decided.

"My name is Nunnally..." - probably another mistake; people don't introduce themselves to waiters, right? But she came as odd already so probably that shouldn't be too much of a problem - "Tell me, are you allowed to join a customer for a cup of tea?" - she smiled again - "Don't worry, if you think I am odd. Many think so. I do not mind."

[laces-and-pearls]

What am I searching for in a relationship, you'd ask?

Well, first of all, respect.

I want to respect my partner, and I want to be respected in return.

I want us to be equals not in our roles but in how we both are living, breathing human being with feelings, emotions, dreams and desires.

I want to support and to be supported.

I know I am capable of opening the door and pulling the chair out myself, and maybe I could even scratch some money from my earnings to pay for myself in a cafe, but I still would love it if my partner did that for me.

I know he is able to cook himself something for lunch, but I wouldn't mind fixing him something nice with a lovely cup of tea on top or wash and steam his shirt before going out.

Like...I love traditional gender roles, and if I ever become a mother I certainly wouldn't want to work no matter how much the society and the crisis pushes me. But I don't want to be a doormat, you know? So many posts here on Tumblr paint traditionalism in these ugly colours where wife is just a maid, a servant and a s*x worker just because she doesn't earn money.

Unfortunately, it's not only on Tumblr. In my real life, I work with families where women don't work, and I can't say how many times I've seen those women humiliated and broken simply because they can't work to support themselves while taking care of their children and husbands.

And it's so scary. So extremely scary, I can't tell you.

So...I'm not sure what the aim of this post is. I'm sad and scared about the huge chasm that lies between women and men, and how much we came to disrespect and demean each other. I wish it was different! And that's why I'll try to be understanding of every man if they are understanding in return.

Have I mentioned I was salty this morning? I don't even know why, probably because I've had little sleep because...work.

Okay. Time to start my day properly. I hope everyone who reads this post is loved and appreciated! And I hope men and women come to understand and respect each other.

[kyuponstories]

Hey so I'm interested in knowing more about Oh Coffee Boy. Like what's the plotline and how'd you come up with it. (⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆

YAAAY, an OCB ask!! 🥹❣️I appreciate your interest, love! 💞

This is a bit long, so buckle up lol. 🤠

I came across a post here on Tumblr a few years ago (on an different account). @one-time-i-dreamt, to be exact, where people submit dreams that they've had. I can't find the exact post, but I wrote it down in my notebook to never forget lol:

"I got hired for a job at McDonald's in the next town over, but I took a wrong turn & ended up at a maid cafe themed McDonald's instead. 'The manager was like, 'Well, we can just transfer you to this store since you're here and we're understaffed.' They called up the store I was going to work at without asking if I wanted to transfer."

I thought that'd make a hilarious plot line for a show, and it's like the great Toni Morrison said, "If there's a book you want to read and it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it." Even tho this will be an animated series, the point remains!

My goal is to make mainly Black (girl) joy stories where brown & dark-skinned Black girls are the leads in multiple fun genres like rom-com, adventure, fantasy, etc. And because I'm an introvert, most of my MCs end up being so as well. In the beginning, the idea was for a slice of life about an introverted Black girl finally working up the courage to get a job after years of social anxiety (gotta make it hit home a bit lol). Thought it'd be a really cute SOL, but never really added onto it.

Fun fact! My grandmother and brother argue every morning. I kid you not. It's always because my grandmother loves coffee. So he makes her a cup of coffee every morning. The problem? She doesn't always finish it.... usually never. But what she will do is NOT care about it until it gets cooler. And then ask him to heat it up for her multiple times throughout the day! 🙃 So big bro complains about it. When my mom was in the hospital, we told the nurse about how grandma is with coffee. Gave her a good laugh when I put the stubborn woman on speaker so she could hear firsthand how it was the first thing she mentioned. 😂

Now, at some point, we starting calling my brother "coffee boy". My mother rarely drinks coffee, and usually drinks tea. At some point, he basically declared "If I'm coffee boy, then you're tea girl", so now he always makes the two of them coffee when they want it while I'm over their tea lol. The funniest thing about it is that mama rarely wants tea, but grandma always wants coffee. 😭At one point, I started dramatically singing "Oh, coffee boy" like the song "Oh, danny boy". And then it clicked! Like magic! ⭐ The title, the main character, his household. My family thought I was CRAZY when I ran upstairs and started writing it out lol. But yeah, those two are the inspo behind OCB! ☕As well as the dreamer who submitted that dream, of course (s/o to you, whoever you are! ✌🏾)

Just realized that I've never really made a summary/bio for this show LOL. Basically, Akachi is a guy in his early 20s who lives with his grandparents who he helps manage a barn with. He hates coffee, a drink he's forced to make every morning for his coffee-loving grandmother. Not only is it disgusting (which my brother also thinks lol), but his grandmother never finishes it. When Akachi takes an Uber to show up to his new job in the city, he shows up at the right restaurant, but the wrong location! Before he can object, however, he's transferred to the understaffed MegDonald's branch (spelled intentionally lol). Turns out Akachi is not only a great chef, but a coffee-making expert that has all of their customers coming in for a cup.... much to his dislike. To top it off, his co-workers are incredibly goofy and cosplay every day! Will the boy survive working at this new job?

Thank you for this ask again, really appreciate your interest in Oh, Coffee Boy! 🥰Writing it is so much fun, hope it'll be even more fun to watch! ❣️

[a-lee-en]

Idk if I've ever actually made this post but: I'm kind of creating a self indulgent project revolving around a tickling theme park. Here are some ideas I've had for attractions/areas:

A tickling fun house where park guests are tickled as they go through. There can be different fun houses with different themes, including a haunted house.

Piggybacking off the previous idea, an escape room where penalties for solving a puzzle incorrectly is tickles, or if it's multiple people one person is tickled why another solves puzzles. Additionally, guests can be tickled in order to receive hints if they get stuck.

Not exactly my cup of tea, but I'm sure people would enjoy public stockades like the ones you see at Renaissance fairs. Maybe even a medieval-style dungeon for those who want more privacy.

A tickle spa for relaxation.

Potentially different kinds of cafes where people can dine, but some cafes are styled like maid cafes where you can pay to tickle someone or additionally a host club style cafe where you can be tickled

Shoutout to @achilleean for this idea: tickle kidnapping service.

If you have any other ideas feel free to add on to this post or send them in!

[milo-my-beloved]

things we don't say

A continuation of the some other life 'verse.

Playlist 🎵 Buy me a cup of tea ☕

Chapter Seven: The Night We Met

"How was your weekend?" Nikolai asks as soon as Inej steps through the door of The Little Palace on Monday morning.

"Oh, you know." She shrugs, tying her apron around her waist. "I planned and successfully pulled off a heist, performed with my ex-boyfriend to a room full of the richest people in Kerch, was maid of honour at a wedding, and threw an upstanding mercher out of my friend's house."

Nikolai stares at her for a few seconds. "Not much, then. Zoya, honey, come and listen to the list of crimes your best barista has committed over the weekend, so I don't gaslight myself into believing his conversation never happened."

Zoya raises an eyebrow. "Please, describe how your life is more interesting than mine."

Inej curses the fact it's Nina's day off, but tells them anyway. She tries to focus on Wylan and Jesper — their wedding was the reason behind the heist, anyway — but she can't miss Zoya's incredulous expression and Nikolai's smirk every time she mentions Kaz.

"You still never told us why you broke up," says Zoya, turning on the coffee machine.

Inej sighs, leaning against the counter. There are never any customers this early in the morning. "It's not for me to say."

"Mysterious," Nikolai says. "Or are you holding out on us because you think there's a chance at rekindling the romance, perhaps?"

She smiles. She's waited for Kaz to call for two months, and a part of her would love for them to go back to what they were. But if he doesn't want to open up to her, she won't hold her breath.

"I certainly hope so," that familiar rock-salt rasp says from behind her.

Inej spins around, glad that her bronze skin disguises her blush. How long has Kaz been standing behind her? Nikolai and Zoya must have seen him walk up to the counter and not warned her, the traitors.

Zoya hands him a black coffee. "Two sugars. Take your break, Inej."

Continue reading under the cut // Continue reading on AO3.

"I feel like I'm being ganged up on," she mutters, but she follows Kaz over to a table hidden in the corner of the cafe.

He takes a sip of his drink instead of jumping straight into whatever he wants to say. It must be hot enough to burn his tongue, but he doesn't flinch.

"Is this about Jesper and Wylan?" she asks. If she doesn't prod him for answers, her break will be over by the time he explains why he's sought her out.

"No, they're fine. From what Matthias said, they're... enthusiastically celebrating their new marriage."

Inej laughs. "Poor Matthias. I bet he's regretting his choice of roommate already."

"I actually..." He trails off, staring into his coffee like it might hold the answers to life. "I wanted to tell you what my nightmare was about."

Inej sits up straighter. "You don't have to. You don't owe me the truth if you don't want to tell it."

His eyes meet hers, and she realises they're the same colour as the coffee. "I know. But I want to be that better man you spoke of, if you'll let me."

She smiles, tilting her head to one side. "I'd like that."

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever memory he is about to dredge up. "There was an accident, when I was a child." He looks like he's fighting every word that leaves his mouth. "My — my brother took me on a cruise. We weren't going far, just from Lij to Ketterdam. But on the way, he got seasick."

Inej's heart sinks.

"He had to stand at the back of the boat so he could vomit into the water. I laughed at him for being so green. And when we were nearly there, when Fifth Harbour was just in sight... he fell in."

She reaches a hand across the table, waiting for Kaz's silent permission before squeezing his gloved fingers.

"I'm not sure what happened. I think he hit his head on the way down. But I leapt in after him, and the boat never noticed two missing boys. I nearly didn't make it to the harbour, but when I got to Ketterdam, Jordie was dead."

"Kaz..." Inej trails off, not sure what words could ease such a loss. "I'm so sorry that you both went through that."

He shakes his head, taking a shaky breath through his mouth. "I've never told anyone before."

She squeezes his hand tighter. "Thank you for trusting me," she says, and she really means it. "How does it feel?"

"Painful. Raw." He places his other hand on top of hers, brushing his thumb over her hand absentmindedly. "But... good."

"Good," Inej echoes.

He lets go to take another sip of his coffee, looking down at it again. "I might need something stronger than this to drink, though."

She grins. "Nikolai owes me an afternoon off. How about we go and get spectacularly drunk?"

He smiles, and it feels like the beginning of a new chapter. "That's the best idea I've heard all week."

*****

The first stop on their quest to get as drunk as possible is the tiny (overpriced) shop on campus, and then back to Inej's flat to drink the cider they bought.

She doesn't bother getting changed, and makes sure she doesn't bring anything important with her that isn't a necessity. Inej isn't much of a drinker, but she's had to pick Jesper up from enough parties to know that drunk people are incapable of keeping track of their belongings.

Once they've finished their drinks and Kaz has beaten her at three rounds of Uno, they walk into the center of Ketterdam with another bottle of cider each. It's only fifteen minutes away, which is a blessing because the buses in this city never show up when they're supposed to.

The weather is pleasant for this time of year, and the fruity taste of the cider reminds Inej of her mother's autumn apple pies.

They have dinner in a pub in town — a burger for Kaz, and a waffle for Inej — and then they make their way to the same shady club that they went to on the night they met.

Inej buys them both two rounds of drinks so she doesn't have to keep getting up to walk to the bar and then sits next to Kaz in the same booth where he broke a creep's hand with his cane the last time they were here. They sip their drinks in peace — gin and tonic for Inej and a vodka lemonade for Kaz — giggling about the quality of dancing and the choice of music. They only leave when a bouncer recognises them and threatens to throw them out.

When the night air hits her, Inej feels like she could fly. She throws her arms out and runs down the hill of a cobbled street in a decidedly wonky line, laughing to herself and grinning up at Kaz.

"Where to now?" she asks once he's caught up.

His eyes light up with the wicked sparkle she's missed so much. "How about we find ourselves a house party?"

There's no shortage of parties in Ketterdam, especially not in the Barrel. Inej has never had much of a reason to stray this far from the university, but Kaz assures her he knows where he's going, so she's happy to follow him to their next destination.

It ends up being one of the narrow houses perched on the canal. For a Monday night, the house is packed, and as soon as Inej walks through the front door, she knows she isn't going to make it to her 9am lecture tomorrow.

They drink unnaturally flavoured punch from a bowl, and then Kaz pours himself a whiskey and Inej grabs a can of gin and tonic and they make their way into the garden.

"I'm sorry," Inej says as soon as they sit down on the unmowed grass. They aren't the only people outside, but she doubts the two women arguing at the bottom of the garden care about their conversation.

"About what?" asks Kaz. He stretches out his bad leg, laying his cane next to him. She can just see the crow's beak peeking through the long grass, and it makes her smile.

"Leaving."

She's replayed that night over and over a million times in her head, wondering what would have happened if she had stayed. The guilt kept her up at night, and now she knows the truth, she only feels worse about pressuring Kaz to tell her about his past.

"Don't apologise for that." Kaz takes a sip of his drink. "You were right to go."

She leans back on her hands, looking up at him.

"It was the push I needed," he admits. "You were right. I needed to tell someone. And losing you is the only thing worse than facing my demons."

"Still," she says.

"If you're insisting on apologising for that, then I'd like to say sorry for telling you to leave in the middle of the night."

She smiles up at the moon. "If you insist."

It's a clear night, and the wind is blowing the cool water from the canal at the bottom of the garden up to them. She shivers and edges closer to Kaz. Without saying a word, he shrugs off his blazer and wraps it tight around her shoulders.

"I missed you," she admits, burying her nose in the collar of his jacket and laying her head on his shoulder.

"I missed you too."

The two women's argument steadily increases in volume. They're both slurring their words, and are only a few steps away from the water, so Inej really hopes they can both swim.

She turns her gaze back up to the stars. She can't tell whether the alcohol is making her confident, or if the words are just long overdue, but she says them anyway.

"Kaz?"

"Mmm?"

"I think I love you."

He doesn't speak for a minute, but she doesn't risk turning to see his reaction in case she breaks the spell.

Eventually, he says, "You think?"

"I know," she quietly corrects.

"Well, in that case," he says, turning to look down at her so their faces are only a few inches away. "I know I love you too."

She closes the distance between them, Kaz's blazer slipping off one of her shoulders as she lifts her arm to wrap it around his neck.

They're rudely interrupted by a loud splash, and they break away to find one of the women flailing about in the canal.

Both of them burst out laughing at the same time, and it takes a while for them to calm down, especially when the woman squelches past them with a glare.

"What time is it?" Inej asks, when she's able to talk again.

"Time to go home," Kaz suggests. "I'll call a cab."

"Wait," she interrupts, a ridiculous revenge plot forming in her mind. "Let's call Jesper instead."

Maybe his last call was the one that got her and Kaz together, but she's still salty about being woken up at 2am.

"I'll call Jesper," Kaz says. She can only describe the grin on his face as evil, and it makes her desperate to kiss him again. "And you can call Wylan."

Laughing, they take turn making the calls. When both Jesper and Wylan have promised that they're on their way, they lie back on the grass, still giggling as they wait for their ride.

*****

Inej wakes up the next morning with her stomach rolling and stars exploding behind her eyes. She sits up slowly, Kaz's limp hand sliding off her and onto the mattress.

She rubs her eyes, trying to remember what happened last night. They went out, but how did they get home? She doesn't remember much after leaving the club, if she's honest.

Luckily, there's an orange square taped to Kaz's forehead. She leans closer to read it, not wanting to wake him up by accidentally shaving his eyebrows off.

Congratulations for sorting out your shit, Jesper's handwriting reads.

Inej smiles. There's still a million things left for both of them to say, but this time, she won't be letting Kaz go so easily.

She kisses him on the forehead, and then slips out of bed silently. Before they can face their future, she needs two things: breakfast, and a glass of water.

[hellbecomingroundthemountain]

As I sat and sipped my coffee at a local sidewalk cafe on a recent morning my attention was caught by the sound of curtains flapping in the wind. I looked up and saw a window from an upstairs apartment wide open with its curtains flying outward toward the street, unattended, yet still summoning, perhaps like a maiden beckoning, waving her hand to homecoming soldiers, inviting them to come and laugh, kiss, hug and drink, eat and enjoy the fruits of what they have missed while away from the world in which we live.

Listening to the sound of the curtains snapping in the wind, the noise of the street, the cafe conversations, the laughing, the sounds of kitchen staff all blending together, I’m hit with the thought that perhaps those  curtains are not waving but pushed by the force of a maid’s broom sweeping away the worries of the outside world; the wars and slaughter, the disease and pestilence, all the suffering and sadness that have sent our will to enjoy the fruits of our labors blowing away like those soldiers out on the battlefield.

So as my coffee turns cold, so do my thoughts, for I know my own reason for love and laughter, earning a living or finding inspiration have become a struggle. I’ve seen my spirit looking back at me far too many times, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders as if to say, “Sorry, my friend, I’m trying, but the rock is getting heavier and heavier to push up the hill.” I can only look back and nod, agreeing to such, wishing I could offer a soothing cup of tea to my sagging spirit friend. Unfortunately the barista has declined my request several times when asked if he could serve us all a cup of freedom and  peace tea.

As I stroll away from my cafe morning the apartment curtains wave and pose some final questions as if it needs answers to give its interior permissions. Is it wrong to seek a thrill while somewhere  men thirst to kill? Is it disrespectful when your laughter is matched with a thousand bowed heads on a battlefield of broken cement? Should we be playing parlor games while others pray for children wounded or dead? Is it right to lay with your partner when someone’s husband, wife or lover is lost in a place with no escape? The rivers are running fast and deep and the dams are all full and leaking the blood of the meek. Do we dare to step away, take our finger out of the dyke for even a moment or two?

What to do? If you have faith you pray. If you have friends you gather. If you have family you hug, protect, and tell them you love them. If you have a job you work hard, and if you need inspiration, be patient. If it was there before it will come again. Creativity is the beast that keeps on giving,

[kookiewinchester1401]

SWAMPCON

This was my first convention ever! Personally, I didn’t really enjoy the experience at swapcon. It wasn’t the convention itself or anything. My social anxiety and going solo had made my experience less enjoyable. If I had gone in with my friends, then I would be less anxious and be able to enjoy the convention more. Moving along, I went Sunday morning for like 2 hours.  

One of the first things that I went to was the vendor booths. I wanted to see the different types of fandom merchandise. There was a booth that sold furries things, like tails and ears. That was not my cup of tea. There was a Pokemon focus table but it didn’t only sell pokemon merchandise. I was attempted to buy some small naruto figurines but the price was worth it. Most of the vendors displayed jewelry, pins, and stickers that were based on anime, memes, and cute items. The only thing that I bought was some stickers of the Supernatural character, Dean Winchester, from the small obsession booth. Honestly, I was surprised to find supernatural merchandise here. Next, I went to the art room. This is where independent artists made fan art through pins, jewelry, keychains, t-shirts, prints, and posters based on anime or moe elements. This definitely reminds me of the otaku culture of buying and selling fan derivatives. I found it interesting that some art displayed the usage of that database of moe elements, not artists based their art on anime characters. I knew that some had spent a lot of money to obtain these fan derivatives like what we saw in Genshiken representation of the Otaku at conventions. 

One of the ways that Otaku is able to make fiction their own was in the form of cosplay. On way to the convention, I saw many in cosplay. Most of the cosplay I did not recognize. I saw a lot of elves and furries. It was fun to see a group of friends planning a group cosplay. One of the group cosplay that I recognize was team rocket, Jessie and James. Only if they had a third friend that could’ve cosplayed Meowth. I saw the commitment in the elaborate cosplay that enter the contest. They had handmade costumes and accessories that put some online stores to shame. I saw a couple of cosplayers that were very uncomfortable shoes that cause them to limp when walking. However, they didn’t care about the pain and cared more about the cosplay. This had remind me of the episode in Genshiken when Madarame had hurt his wrist and refused to acknowledge the pain until he had his doujinshi. I am shocked and impressed by their dedication to their cosplaying. 

I decided to go to the maid cafe because, in high school animes, they had an episode that had a maid cafe theme for their school festival. I gotta say the people that dressed in maid and butler costumes were really dedicated. Near the end of the event, the maids put on a dance performance. It was a good performance. I overheard one of the maids saying to one of their friends that she put a lot of effort into making her maid costume. 

I saw a lot of otaku culture at this convention through the repossession of fiction through cosplaying and fan derivatives. I saw the dedication of the cosplayers. They made elaborate costumes and cosplayed through the pain. 

Hopefully, I can experience more of the otaku culture at a bigger anime convention that I planned to attend with my sister.

These are the stickers that I decide to buy at the small obsession booth!

[mycupofteamaidcafe-blog]

Do you have a favorite type of maid? 💖 Leave a comment and let us know who are your faves! Did you also know you can request a specific type when you come to visit? 😊

Shout out to the lovely maids who illustrated this! They were inspired by the artist OtakuPup.

[verseandrhyme]

When Mitama had first heard of the maid cafe, she wondered why anyone would want to eat in a place full of people like Felicia or Jakob. It sounded awfully dangerous. Then, she considered that there may be some Floras, or perhaps some Dwyers, and it sounded a lot less worse.

The...cat ears? Were a strange addition. She half expected to see Selkie or Velouria come waltzing out from the kitchen at any moment. Despite that, no deeply familiar faces caught her attention, only newly familiar faces such as that red haired professor she spoke to at the ball that seemed oddly popular for a client. Overbearing, brightly decorated, and somewhat gaudy, the purpose of such an establishment made little sense to her.

But there were sweets. There was quite a bit Mitama was willing to sit through for sweets.

Mitama's eye flick up as she is greeted by her server. Another unfamiliar, but not unpleasant face smiles as she politely lists off all the possible titles Mitama might chose from. "Ah, whatever is standard for your clients will do, there is no need to over-complicate for my sake." What funny circumstances for her to gain herself any kind of title from.

"The wait is well worth it when I am gifted such lovely company." Is the point to find yourself left flustered by the maids, she wonders, or do smaller egos so badly need to be soothed that even paid for compliments will do? A mystery to ponder as the tea set is placed before her. Mitama reaches for her tea cup.

She pauses, blinking at the set in surprise. She...well, she could lift it, if she put the effort in, but that seemed contradictory... "Is it..." Mitama pinches the edge of the saucer and pulls. It barely moves, but the sound of it dragging against the tray is ungodly. "Is it intended to be so heavy?"

teatime training

mission board: anniversary / any skill prompt. ( for @verseandrhyme )

[spicy-doodles]

I had so much fun with this commission!! Thank you https://www.facebook.com/emily.weech for ordering with me!!

[moemoemammon]

may i request hcs for a poly mc?

Poly!MC with the Demon Brothers!

(GN!MC as always✌️)

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Lucifer

He will never get over the fact that he's got to share you with his annoying ass brothers. But as the most patient(?) of the seven, he's learned to compromise

And by 'compromise' I mean literally making a schedule for how much time everyone gets with you, to avoid unnecessary fights. They all get you for an entire day, on a respective day of the week in chronological order. (Lucifer on Sunday, Mammon Monday, etc)

Though... we all know he abuses the system by making excuses like "MC, I need you in my office for a moment. I'd like to discuss your grades." and "Come with me for a moment, MC. I'd like you to explain something to me."

Basically he fools everyone by making it sound like you're in trouble, when he literally just wants to hang out with you some more. Maybe he can convince you that all you really need is him..? Jk he respects your decision even if it eats him alive because why his brothers of all people-

"As much as I don't understand your choice, I've lived with those six long enough to know how to deal with them. That being said... I also know how to keep them at bay. We'll have plenty of time to ourselves, hm?"

Mammon

The only brother that can see through Lucifer's ruse, but he can't say anything about it because... come on, it's Lucifer we're talking about.

But that's not stopping him from arguing about that dumb schedule! Why's he got to wait until MONDAY, which is a SCHOOL DAY, just to hang out with you?? Why does he have to go second when he was your FIRST???

Keeps trying to convince you to skip classes with him so you can sneak away and spend the day together. Nobody's got to know, okay?

The whole once-a-week thing teaches Mammon the importance of time management, so he's making the most of the time he's got when you're all his. He's taking you on all sorts of dates and there's no way he'll take no for an answer, got it??

"Oi! What did I tell ya about makin' those goo goo eyes at Levi, huh?! Only look at ME like that, understand? Just you wait, I'll take ya on a date so great, you'll only be able to think about THE Great Mammon! ....Huh? Y-yeah, I want ya to hold my hand."

Levi

Tuesday has officially become his favorite day, for reasons that have nothing to do with the upcoming Ruri-chan themed maid cafe event going on soon-

Tuesday's actually used to be his raid days, when he’d get online with his rpg buddies and do dungeon runs until dawn. But now? He's sacrificed all of that just so he can take the time to enjoy being with you

He may not know much about traditional dating, but don't underestimate the power of an otaku with centuries of dating sim knowledge under his belt-! He'll show you so much moe, your head will pop!!

Just be patient with him, okay? He's seriously trying to be romantic here, even if the thought of holding your hand is enough to make his palms sweaty. But he's not passing up an entire day filled with MC-! Not even his inferiority complex will get in his way!

"Eheheh... I've spent all night coming up with the perfect plan of action! First! We're going to have a TSL marathon of all your favorite episodes! Second! We'll speedrun that game you wanted to play, because I bought it! Third! We'll make a TSL-themed dinner to enjoy in my room! Then, we- ..Huh? What do you mean there won't be enough time? S-seriously?!"

Satan

Wednesday... well, that's right in the middle of the week, so it gives him plenty of time to carefully plan what he wants to do with you when it's his turn to have you. (He also does everything in his power to ruin Lucifer's dates oop-)

We all know Satan's gonna write a whole ass dating journal filled with all sorts of romantic ideas he wants to try out on you.

It's a literal date planner, and he's got things meticulously scheduled just to ensure he makes the most out of your day. You'll have to tell him that you prefer to go with the flow, or he might get a little overzealous-

But having a chance to settle down and realize that it's alright to relax once in a while is a relief. He can't help but feel annoyed when he sees you with the others, and it makes him want to cram even more of himself into your thoughts, so a breather is definitely needed.

"You know, I've been reading more books of the romance genre lately, and it's been giving me ideas for how to spend my time with you. I know you said I shouldn't take live advice from a novel, but... when I read the stories, I can't help but picture the two of us. Shall we read some of them together?"

Asmo

Thursday?? Why couldn't he have a weekend??? Everyone knows there's nothing fun happening on a Thursday night... That being said, Asmo has to get creative!

He's no stranger to improvised romance, so this boy pulls out all the stops and always delivers?? Somehow???? He can plan the perfect date in under thirty minutes-

And the time away from you makes him realize that he actually has to consider the depth of those dates. He finds he's not satisfied with cheap, devilgrammable dates anymore. He wants substance!

So he's taken to staying home with you, carefully and quietly getting to know you, and sharing himself with you. He loves it best when the date leaves him craving more and thinking of nothing but your smile. He hopes you can say the same, too.

"...Aaand that's how you do a cross stitch! Levi taught me that one, and it's saved my life a dozen times! It was a great idea that we should make matching wallets, huh? I'm just FULL of ideas like that! Go ahead and praise me all you want~!❤️"

Beel

Madame Screams does a discount on their sweets every other Friday, when they rotate their stock. He couldn't be happier! Though, he’d be fine with any day of the week tbh-

That doesn't mean he doesn't value his time with you, though. It being close to the weekend means he gets to stay up late with you, the two of you sneaking into the kitchen at night to smuggle away a mountain of snacks

Or he'll take you out into the mountains for a picnic, hoping the view of the surrounding scenery and your face will curb his appetite.

He couldn't be happier to have you for an entire day. A whole day, where hunger is just an afterthought and all he cares about is making you laugh... It makes him happy. He's starting to love Fridays even more now.

"Are you sure you're not tired? We've been hiking for a while....Here, hop on my back. I don't mind it. It's nice when I get to be close to you like this....Hm? My face is red? I think it's the heat.. maybe."

Belphie

Saturday, huh? Perfect. He preps for the weekend by sleeping as much as possible on Friday, so he can stay up all Saturday with you.

And when night falls? That's when his plan really comes into play. He spends the entire day doing the things you want to do, making sure you're thoroughly worn out so when it's time for bed, he has no problem coaxing you into bed with him.

And he's exhausted at that point so once he wraps his arms around you and falls asleep, there's no escape. The longer you're stuck there, the less time he spends glaring at Lucifer for stealing you on Monday.

But really.. the highlight of it all is the big, goofy grin on your face when he watches you indulge in the things you love. Even if it might not be his cup of tea, he's just happy that you're happy. And if he can keep you away from Lucifer, it's a win win.

"If you keep smiling like that, it'll make it even harder to give you away tomorrow. But you know.. we could just run away for a day or two. We could go camping somewhere, and stare up at the stars all night long. It'll be our secret."

[aphroxditus]

ʜᴀɪᴋʏᴜᴜ ʙᴏʏs ʀᴇᴀᴄᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴍᴀɪᴅ ᴄᴀғᴇ (ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2)

ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs: ɪᴡᴀɪᴢᴜᴍɪ ʜᴀᴊɪᴍᴇ | ᴋᴜʀᴏᴏ ᴛᴇᴛᴜsᴜʀᴏ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢs: ɪᴡᴀɪᴢᴜᴍɪ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴋᴜʀᴏᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ | sᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ: ᴅᴇɢʀᴀᴅᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴄʜᴏᴋɪɴɢ, ʀɪᴅɪɴɢ, sᴘᴀɴᴋɪɴɢ, ʙʀᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ᴅᴀᴅᴅʏ ᴋɪɴᴋ, sɪʀ ᴋɪɴᴋ

ɪᴡᴀɪᴢᴜᴍɪ ʜᴀᴊɪᴍᴇ

Y/n, the employee in the maid cafe known for her clumsiness and Iwaizumi always came by, knowing which days she’d be in just for a small peak of her ass from her small skirt when she trips. It flies up, letting Iwaizumi catch a glimpse of the colour panties she’d wear that day. Small smirks would creep up his mouth as she’d fall right in front of him, face flushing, burning up.

Today was a busy day, which meant more mistakes would be made as she rushed through the cafe with drinks. Iwaizumi was stood by the door, leaning against the doorframe.

“Y/n! Customer at the door! Assist them to a table”, a woman yelled.

“Huh?”, y/n whipped her head around and saw Iwaizumi at the door, chuckling to himself. “Oh.”

Rushing to the door, she slipped on a tea spillage, making her fly forwards, in front of him, face down. Her skirt flung up, fully exposing her ass.

“Ah today you’re wearing red I see, princess”, he bent over and cupped her chin, making her look up at him. Her eyes were wide with innocence, not knowing he could see her ass on display. “Daddy knows you’re a slut for him but you can’t keep acting innocent like that… it’s so deceiving.”

“W-what?”, y/n stood up and brushed her skimpy skirt down, hiding her skin and panties.

“Oh my dumb, dumb slut”, he slurred into her ear.

“Iwaizumi~ People are looking”, she whimpered, feeling conscious as people looked around.

“Let them. You’ve shown me your pretty ass multiple times”. What difference does it make if others see you a bit embarrassed?”

“Iwai-eek”, he squeezed her ass before she could finish her sentence.

Small moans were elicited from her and Iwaizumi grunted at her pretty sounds. He embraced her, trying to make it look less suspicious and his hand cupped her pussy, pushing it up.

“Such a dumb slut. I’m surprised you don’t know how much you’ve flashed your tits and ass at me.”

“Iwaizumi- ah~”, she moaned softly.

“Mmmmm, that’s daddy to you, understand?”

“Y-yes daddy”, she whimpered as she attempted to rub herself on his cupped hand.

“Want daddy to fuck this cute little cunt?”, he whispered into her ear, in a low tone of voice, deep and sultry.

Nodding, she whimpered, wanting more friction by the second. Iwaizumo smiled and motioned her to step outside. She followed after him, entering the dark night, leaving the bright cafe alone. Her heart beat fast as he led her to his car.

“You’re gonna ride daddy like the cock hungry slut you are yeah? This is what you wanted right?”

Nodding, she watched him slip into his seat and pull his sweatpants and boxers down, letting y/n see his erect length.

“All for you”, he smirked, his head thrown back.

Y/n climbed in and he shut the door. He riled her skirt up but yet again… What was there to rile up? It was already so skimpy and short that it would make little to no difference. He slipped her red panties off and hung them on the gearstick. Cupping her ass, he bit his bottom lip as he waited for her to come down on his length.

Her for eyes were wide with innocence, seeming totally deceiving. How could someone as cute and pure looking as her be such a dirty slut for him. Multiple times she’d bend over right in front of him to pick up a utensil that slipped from her hands. Multiple times she’d flash her tits from her dress when she placed something down, allowing Iwaizumi to get a peak from under her dress’s lacy top.

Y/n lined her entrance to his rip and slowly sunk in but hit the realisation he was big. Too big.

“Ha-Hajime…”

A slap met her ass and she yelped.

“D-daddy?”

“That’s it”, he slurred into her ear.

“Yo-You’re too big- How will I- fuck!”

Iwaizumi bucked his hips into her, making her cry out.

“Fuck! Hajime!”, she yelled, tears pricking in the corner of her eyes.

“Fucking hell, how many times do I need to tell you?”, he slapped her ass harshly, leaving a red mark on it. His other hand was wrapped around her neck, squeezing the sides tightly.

“Ride my cock, princess. Cmon”, he teased, watching her struggling to take him length in.

“Yes daddy”, she moaned, hips rocking back and forth, her head thrown back with the pleasure of being filled up so good.

“That’s it, princess. You belong to daddy isn’t that right?”

“Y-yes daddy! O-Only you”, she blurted out, eyes rolling back.

Squirming, she felt herself clenched when she rocked her hips back and forth. Small whimpers escaped her mouth but Iwaizumi was enjoying the show before him. The slutty employee that belonged to him.

“Fuck~”, he groaned, feeling his high coming. “Daddy’s gonna cum in this cute cunt of yours yeah? Give you a baby yeah?”

“Yes please- Please daddy”, she picked up her pace and bounced on his length, feeling his tip hit her cervix.

Iwaizumi grabbed her hips tightly and pulled her down, not allowing her to move back up. He was deep inside her. His cum ran into her, filling her up, painting her inside white. Throwing his head back, his jawline was in perfect view, his gold chain glinted in the warm light from the lamppost. Y/n clenched around him harshly, milking him and he grunted, feeling his cock tight in her cunt.

Falling forward, she buried her face into the crook of Iwaizumi’s neck.

“Always knew you wanted to belong to me princess”, he slurred into her ear, his voice raspy and sultry.

ᴋᴜʀᴏᴏ ᴛᴇᴛsᴜʀᴏ

Running across the cafe, y/n stopped at a table, where he was sitting with a few friends.

“Sir~”, she panted, placing the tray on the table then bent over, panting. “Here. Is. The. Food.”

“You didn’t need to belt it down the cafe sweetheart”, he chuckled in that low voice that always gave her butterflies.

Tilting his head, his eyes were half lidded staring at her.

“I-ah, I’m sorry sir”, she said feeling awkward.

“Call me Kuroo.”

Nodding, y/n’s face was burning.

“Come have a little sit with us. This cafe seems pretty empty. I don’t think anyone needs your help right now.” He leaned towards her then whispered into her ear. “Except my cock of course~ Have a seat”, he patted his lap.

Gulping, y/n nodded, watching Kuroo pull his chair back, letting her sit right on his lap. Getting comfortable, she wriggled her ass around, making Kuroo grunt. Y/n felt her face burn up and she2as embarrassed to be sitting on Kuroo’s lap. Eyes were glued onto her from his friends, preying on her. She felt so vulnerable.

Something poked against her ass and she wriggled around, feeling uncomfortable.

“Fuck~ You move around a lot don’t you princess?”, Kuroo grunted, feeling his pants get tighter by the second.

Eyes widening, y/n realised that it was his cock.

“K-Kuroo, what-”

“Shhhhh”, he moved her back and forth on his lap, letting her grind against his cock that continuously rubbed against her ass. Small breathy moans escaped her mouth.

“Fuck~ Kuroo”, she hissed. “People will see.”

“Let them”, he held her hips down and moved them back and forth, letting her feel how hard he was. She could feel a damp spot spread in her panties. Fuck.

Kuroo cupped her cunt from the front and continued talking as if nothing was wrong. He felt her damp panties and he pursed his lips, controlling himself from dragging her to the bathroom and fucking her.

“Kuroo~ Please”, she whined into his ear, squirming in his lap.

“Fuck- I can’t do this anymore”, he grunted. Clearing his throat, he turned to his friends. “I’ll go pay then go to the toilet. Be right back.”

Y/n got up and Kuroo did so too. Grabbing her wrist, he led her to a little corridor and slammed her up against the wall, kissing her with passion and he was being harsh, knocking the air out her lungs. Adrenaline rushed through her veins as she kissed him back. Lacing her fingers into his obsidian locks, her arms were thrown around his neck. Shoving his tongue in, y/n moaned softly and let him taste her. He pulled away from the kiss, a saliva strand forming from both their mouths. Heavy breathing could be heard as both their breaths were fanning the others face with warm air.

“You taste so fucking good princess. Can’t wait to fuck this pussy”, he said in a low raspy voice into her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

She could smell his strong mint-like cologne assaulting her nose. His leg was shoved in between hers, pushing up against her cunt, her skimpy skirt riling up.

“You talk to much, sir~”, y/n slurred into his ear. “Why don’t you just fuck me in that bathroom over there, huh?”, her eyes were locked onto the boys bathroom. “There are cubicles, don’t worry.”

Kuroo’s mouth dropped.

“Oh? You want to live a bit dangerous don’t you? Gotta stay silent though baby, alright?”

“Mmmm, only with you, baby~”

“Fuck- I thought you’d be a bit sheepish but I like my girls horny anyway so…”

Grabbing her wrist, he led her into the - thankfully - empty bathroom. Sneaking into a cubicle, he locked it and quickly took his pants and boxers off while y/n bit her bottom lip, seeing his length. Her breath hitched, knowing that it’ll be deep inside her soon.

“Fuck me sir”, she said in a breathy voice.

Turning her around, he unzipped her dress, letting it pool down. He paused his lips, seeing her only in a black bra and panties. She slipped her panties off, leaving her only with one piece of clothing. He pushed her against the cubicle door and kissed her, tapping on her thigh. Throwing her legs around his wrist, he pushed her up against the door to keep her in place. Looking down, he lined himself up with her cunt, legs spread out for him. Smirking, he stared up at her then back down. Y/n raised her brow then realised. Fuck.

Ramming into her, she cried out, feeling his cock’s tip hit her cervix. He thrusted in and out, each time when he drilled in, he made y/n hit the door.

“Anyone could walk in anytime and hear how much of a dirty slut you are~”, he slurred into her ear.

That’s what makes it exciting.