#Necessary Documents for Account Opening | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rafecameronssl4t · 3 months ago

Note

Ok, question, fem! forced marriage au - how would Rafe react/feel if she brought up ANYTHING about separating, weather that’s flat out divorce or doing it in secret - happy to the public but living in diff spaces/diff lives/maybe even having affairs(?)

Tied bonds || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: don't mind me going off slightly in the beginning when its talking about the legality side of it, i was literally studying trusts and estates law a couple days ago lol

Warnings: angst galore!

Word count: 2,801

MASTERLIST (forced marriage au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The heavy oak doors of the estate’s study shut behind you with a quiet but resolute thud, isolating you from the rest of the world. The room, with its high ceilings and ornate furnishings, exudes both the security and suffocation of wealth. The scent of polished mahogany and aged leather permeates the air, a sensory reminder of the legacy you're bound to uphold and the responsibilities weighing on your shoulders.

The dim light from the tall windows casts long shadows across the room, making it feel as though the walls themselves are closing in, urging you to act before time runs out. You sit across from your lawyer at the broad mahogany desk. He’s a man in his 50s, with silver-threaded hair and sharp, calculating eyes. His demeanour exudes quiet authority, the kind of calm that comes from handling the complex finances of wealthy families like yours for decades.

A briefcase sits open beside him, documents meticulously laid out in front of you. These aren’t just numbers and figures on a page—they represent your children’s future, your security, and the small corner of independence you’re desperately trying to carve out for yourself. “Now, given the scale of your family’s assets,” your lawyer begins, his voice smooth and professional, “it’s prudent to separate certain accounts. Some in your name, some under irrevocable trusts for the children. This will not only shield them from potential claims but also provide financial protection in the event of....unforeseen circumstances—marital or otherwise.”

You glance down at the papers, feeling a mixture of relief and apprehension. This was necessary, you remind yourself. You need some semblance of independence, some safeguard for your children. With Rafe’s unpredictable behaviour and the constant pressure from both families, you can’t afford to let everything slip from your control. Your lawyer pulls out another document, sliding it across the desk.

“We’re talking about setting up separate trusts for each of your children. These funds will be distributed to them upon reaching a certain age—18 or 21, depending on your preference. In the meantime, control of the trust can be vested in you alone, ensuring that no one else has access to or influence over these assets, including your husband.”

“And what about Rafe’s side of the family?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intended. “Would they have any legal claim?” The lawyer shakes his head firmly. “No. Not if everything is properly structured. The trusts would be irrevocable, meaning no one—not even your husband—could alter them once established. His family would have no legal right to interfere, regardless of any financial entanglements between the two of you.”

You take a breath, the enormity of it all settling in. This is exactly what you wanted—an impenetrable safeguard. A plan that ensures your children’s future remains under your control, untouched by the unpredictable tides of Rafe’s influence or the demands of your family. “Thank you,” you respond softly, your fingers tracing the edge of the document, the weight of your decision pressing heavily on your chest. “I want everything arranged quietly,” you say softly, your voice carrying the weight of your decision.

“No one else needs to know about this… especially my husband.” The lawyer gives a small, understanding nod. “Discretion is key, as always.” You sign where indicated, feeling a mixture of relief and unease as you watch your name inked onto the page. This is the right thing to do, you remind yourself. For your children, for their future. Yet as you rise from the desk and collect your things, a sense of foreboding lingers.

The heavy oak doors creak open as you step out, and the estate feels impossibly vast around you. Despite the careful planning, you can’t shake the feeling that keeping this from Rafe will lead to complications far greater than you anticipate. With every step you take, the sinking feeling grows. You only hope Rafe doesn’t find out before you’re ready to tell him.

The moment you step through the front door of your home, the tension in the air is palpable. You pause, your coat still in hand, as your eyes land on Rafe. He’s leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, an almost relaxed posture, but the intensity in his gaze betrays any notion of calm. His sharp blue eyes follow your every move, calculating, probing.

"You have a nice little meeting today?" His voice is cold, deceptively casual. But you can hear the edge in it—the suspicion lurking beneath the surface. Your heart skips a beat, anxiety pooling in your chest. Of course, he knows. Rafe always knows. You hang your coat on the rack, avoiding his gaze, trying to maintain some semblance of calm. "I had a few things to take care of. Where are the children?"

You answer nonchalantly, hoping to steer the conversation away from any confrontation. "With Astoria, they wanted to play with their cousins," Rafe answers, his gaze sharp as he pushes off the doorframe, taking a slow, deliberate step toward you, his presence overwhelming as always. "Answer my question," His tone hardens, suspicion fully creeping into his voice now. "I know you met with your lawyer. What are you up to?"

Your pulse quickens as you hold Rafe’s gaze, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. He’s already jumping to conclusions, constructing a narrative that fits his fears. You knew this confrontation was inevitable, but the reality of it still unsettles you, the tension in the room thick and suffocating. "It’s nothing that concerns you," you respond, keeping your tone as even as possible, despite the way your nerves fray under his scrutiny. "Just some family matters."

Rafe scoffs, the sound harsh and filled with disbelief. His jaw clenches as he steps even closer, his towering figure casting a shadow over you, blocking any hope of retreat. His presence is overbearing, the heat of his anger palpable in the air between you. "Family matters?" His voice is dripping with accusation, dark and biting. "Don’t play games with me. I heard enough to know this wasn’t just about your parents or your siblings."

His words cut deeper as his tone drops, low and dangerous. "You’re setting up trust funds. Inheritance management. Without telling me. What the hell are you planning?" His words slam into you, twisting your stomach in knots. His paranoia, the sharpness of his accusations, stings in a way you hadn’t fully prepared for. Of course, you knew he’d react like this, but hearing it out loud—his anger, his distrust—it’s worse than you imagined. You steady your breath, trying to keep your composure.

"It’s for the children, Rafe," you say, your voice soft but firm, though the tightness in your chest makes it difficult to breathe. "I want to make sure they’re taken care of, no matter what happens. That’s all this is." But even as you say it, you can see the suspicion lingering in his eyes, the doubt still gnawing at him, twisting this simple act of protection into something more sinister in his mind.

Rafe glares at you, his eyes dark and intense as they search your face for the slightest hint of deception. His presence feels overwhelming as he steps even closer, the space between you disappearing in an instant. Without breaking eye contact, his hand moves down deliberately, resting on the swell of your belly where your third child grows. His touch, firm and possessive, sends a chill through you.

"You don’t trust me with that?" His voice is low, almost a growl, laced with an edge of disbelief and wounded pride. "You think I wouldn’t look out for my own kids?" His words sting, but it's the subtle accusation in his tone that cuts deeper, as if he can’t comprehend why you would feel the need to act independently. Your frustration bubbles to the surface despite your best efforts to remain calm, your emotions swirling between anger and exhaustion.

"That’s not what this is about," you snap, your voice sharp as the tension between you flares. You're trying to hold it together, but the weight of his misunderstanding—of him always assuming the worst—pushes you to the brink. "I’m doing this to protect them. To protect us. You can’t control everything, Rafe." For a split second, something flickers in his eyes—hurt, maybe—but it vanishes quickly, replaced by his usual defensiveness. He steps closer, his voice lowering, cold and accusatory.

"You’re doing all of this behind my back," he growls. "And I’m supposed to believe it’s just for the kids? You don’t set up secret meetings with lawyers for something as simple as trust funds. It looks more like you’re preparing for something else. Like maybe you’re planning to escape this all." His breath is hot against your ear now, the venom in his words unmistakable. "Is that it? Are you getting ready to leave me?"

His accusation hits you hard, knocking the air from your lungs. The vulnerability behind it cuts deeper than you expected. It’s not just anger simmering in his voice—there’s fear too, buried beneath the suspicion, fear of losing control, of you slipping away. His jaw tightens, but his hand remains firmly pressed against the swell of your stomach, as if anchoring himself to you, to the life you’re carrying.

“And have our children without their father?” you ask, your voice sharp. There’s a flicker of something more beneath the surface—hurt, uncertainty. His eyes search yours, almost pleading. You blink, stunned by the weight of your own question. “Rafe…” you begin, your voice barely a whisper, incredulity lacing your words as you try to make sense of what you’ve just implied. “I’m not leaving you.”

The tension in the room feels suffocating, as if the walls themselves are closing in. You take a breath, steadying yourself, as you step closer, your gaze softening despite the frustration swirling inside you. "This isn’t about that,” you say gently, trying to reach him through the haze of his suspicions. “But I need some control over my life, Rafe. Some protection.” Your voice wavers slightly, but you press on. “I’m not just here to be controlled or managed. I need to know that I’m not just a piece in this game.”

You can feel his breath against your skin, heavy with unspoken fears, and for a brief moment, the façade of his strength cracks. The fear of losing control, of losing you, is palpable, and it clings to the space between you like a storm cloud ready to burst. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, pacing in frustration. "Control. Protection," he mutters under his breath, his movements sharp and agitated. "You think I’m the threat here? You think I wouldn’t protect you? Protect our family?"

You shake your head, stepping back slightly, trying to maintain some distance from the intensity of his emotions. "I never said that," you say, your voice softer now, trying to calm him. "But this is something I need to do. For me. For them." For a long moment, the two of you stand there, locked in a silent standoff. His breathing is heavy, and the anger in his eyes slowly shifts into something else—something more conflicted. He turns away from you, pacing a few steps before running his hands through his hair again.

"This isn’t how marriages are supposed to work," Rafe mutters, more to himself than to you. The words cut deep, piercing through the fragile layer of calm you’ve been clinging to. It’s a painful reminder of what your marriage has become—what it’s always been. The expectations, the compromises, the strain. This life… it’s not what either of you envisioned. You feel the urge to retort, to let loose the frustrations that have built up over the years, but you bite your tongue. Now isn’t the time for that argument.

"I know," you whisper, though you’re not sure if he hears you. The admission feels hollow in the tense silence that follows, the weight of your reality pressing down on both of you. The room feels unbearably heavy, the air thick with unsaid words. Rafe exhales, his broad shoulders sagging ever so slightly, as though some of the fire inside him has been extinguished. He turns his back to you, the physical distance a reflection of the emotional chasm that has been growing between you both.

For a brief moment, you consider stepping closer, reaching out, bridging that gap—but the weight of your decision, of everything you’ve been trying to secure for yourself and the children, holds you back. It’s a boundary you can’t afford to cross right now. "You should’ve told me," he finally says, his voice quieter, but still taut with lingering tension. There’s hurt there, beneath the anger, beneath his instinct to control everything around him.

Your throat tightens at his words, the soft accusation lingering in the space between you. "I didn’t want this to turn into a fight," you admit, your own voice subdued, drained from the confrontation. The fatigue in your bones echoes in your tone. "I just needed to make sure everything was in place. For the kids, for their future." You pause, the weight of your decisions settling on your chest. "I wasn’t trying to hide it from you."

Rafe turns back to face you, his expression a mixture of frustration, hurt, and something more vulnerable—something he rarely lets show. "It feels like you were," he mutters, the edge of accusation still present, though softer now. His blue eyes search yours, looking for answers, reassurance, something to ease the fear behind his suspicion. You hold his gaze, trying to convey the truth behind your words. "I need to feel like I have some control, Rafe," you say gently, your voice steady but laced with an underlying sadness.

"Our lives… they’re not easy. And I know you want to protect us, but I need to protect them too. In my own way." Your heart beats heavily in your chest, each word an attempt to bridge the gap between you, a gap that seems to widen with every conflict. Rafe’s gaze lingers on you, the tension between you both crackling in the air. You take a tentative step forward, closing the physical distance between you, hoping it will ease the emotional one. Just as you stop inches from him, his expression softens slightly.

He reaches for your hand, his grip firm yet tender, and before you can say anything, he brings it up to his lips. The moment feels suspended in time as he presses a kiss to your knuckles, the warmth of his breath brushing against your skin. It’s a gesture so gentle, so unlike the earlier confrontation, that it catches you off guard. The vulnerability in his eyes flickers, almost as if he’s silently asking for forgiveness or offering an unspoken truce.

You feel your heart ache, the gesture disarming you in a way his words couldn’t. It’s as though this kiss is his way of telling you that, despite his anger, despite his suspicions, there’s something deeper binding you together—a love neither of you can deny, even in moments like this. “I’m not the enemy, Y/n,” he repeats softly, his voice rough but sincere, the earlier accusation tempered by this quiet moment.

His lips linger on your skin for just a second longer before he lowers your hand, though he doesn’t let go. You swallow hard, your chest tight with emotion, your voice a whisper as you respond. "I know you're not." The air between you feels different now—quieter, softer, though still tinged with the weight of everything unresolved. For that fleeting moment, it feels as though the two of you are in sync again, even if just barely.

Rafe’s hand remains wrapped around yours, and though the tension between you hasn’t fully dissipated, it’s no longer suffocating. The kiss to your knuckles feels like a promise, fragile but meaningful. As he finally lets go and turns away, you watch him disappear down the hallway, the memory of his lips on your skin lingering long after he's gone. The weight of your choices still presses down on you, but somehow, in that brief exchange, it feels a little lighter.

You know this isn’t over. Rafe’s suspicions won’t vanish overnight, and your need for autonomy remains unresolved. But for now, the confrontation is over. The weight of your decisions, the strain on your already fragile relationship, presses down on you like a heavy cloak. You did the right thing, you remind yourself. This is about protecting your children, about securing a future for them. For now, all you can do is hope that, in time, he’ll come to understand why you did this. Why you needed to.

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nikkento-writes · 5 months ago

Text

Rub You the Right Way - Part 1

Part 2 | Part 3

Pairing: Choso x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Word Count: ~4.1k

cw: female reader, 2nd-person POV, explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut – oral sex (cunnilingus, fellatio), hand job, face-riding, face-fucking, use and mention of sex toys, cum eating

Summary: You've always been cordial with your shy next-door neighbor Choso. One day, you receive the package you've been expecting, finding out a little too late that it isn't your package at all; it's his. What you find inside makes you wonder that maybe your sweet and quiet neighbor has wild side, one you’re curious to see for yourself.

Author’s Notes: This is a repost from my old account! It's the first Choso fic I've ever written and I enjoyed it so much that I wrote a Part 2 and a Part 3 (coming soon)! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are not expected but always appreciated. Thanks for reading! Divider credit to @/fic-dumpster.

The trek home from the office is especially grueling today. Your backpack is heavy with a clunky work laptop that’s been due for an upgrade along with a pile of documents that need to be reviewed ASAP. One hand carries the dinner you bought at the station while the other hoists a heavy bag of groceries you picked up during lunch, thinking it would be productive to get as much of your errands done today before hunkering down for the weekend to do a job that doesn’t pay you enough to work overtime.

You eventually arrive to your apartment complex, making one more necessary pit stop to the mail room. Inside, you recognize the distinct pink-hair of the boy standing in front of the lockers. He’s your next-door neighbor’s younger brother who visits from time-to-time. “Hi Yuji!” you beam at him.

He turns to face you, eyes crinkling happily as he smiles. “Hey! How’s it going?”

You drop your bags to open your own locker. “I’m alright. Got a busy weekend working. And you?”

He kneels down towards the boxes in front of him. “Same, except studying for exams.”

“Are you picking up your brother’s packages?” It’s a well-known fact by now that Choso isn’t fond of leaving his apartment or interacting with people in general. It doesn’t bother you though; he’s a great neighbor who barely makes a peep. Never has he ever rubbed you the wrong way, despite his reclusive nature. Sometimes, through his brother, he’ll give you an offering of cookies from the batch he baked that week. On the days you’re working overtime, he’ll send Yuji to check in on you, making sure you’re not too stressed or overexerted. And on the rare occasion that the two of you meet face-to-face, either entering or leaving the apartment at the same time, your heart skips just the tiniest beat at how his face softens when you greet him with a smile. From these tiny gestures alone, you’ve determined that Choso Kamo is a sweetheart. Quiet, but most importantly, a sweetheart.

Yuji slides the stack out from Choso’s locker, answering you. “Yup. I also had some stuff delivered here, so I figured I’d just grab everything.”

You stare at the small package in your own locker, evaluating how you’re going to carry it to your room in one trip. There’s no space in any of the bags and you’re almost convinced that you can balance it on top of your head as if you actually possess the proper skills to do so (you don’t). “Need help?” Yuji chuckles. Before you answer, he grabs it, placing it on top of a box similar in size on his stack.

“Thank you so much!”

As the elevator rides to the third floor, you continue to chat casually with Yuji. The two of you walk to your neighboring rooms and when he reaches for his keys, the stack topples over, the boxes now strewn across on the hallway floor. He blushes, collecting them hastily back into a neat pile. “I’m sorry, I hope there isn’t anything fragile in there.” He quickly slides you a box, avoiding your gaze to hide his embarrassment.

It's new office supplies you ordered for your workstation at home, so you hardly care even if there is a bit of damage done. “Don’t worry about it, it’s all good,” you assure him, using your foot to push it towards your front door. “Thank you for your help, Yuji. Tell your brother I say hi.”

“Will do. Have a good night.”

Finally home, you drop all your belongings, letting out a relieved sigh. One-by-one, you put everything away: the groceries in their appropriate places, your lukewarm dinner in the microwave, and all your work junk on the dining table, where you’ll be sat at for most of this weekend starting tomorrow. You save the package for later, planning to refill your supplies tonight so you don’t have to worry about it the next morning.

You soon find out that something even better is waiting for you inside.

~~~

Choso is sprawled on the couch, too lazy to cook dinner. He ordered delivery from Yuji’s favorite pizza joint a few blocks away, which should be arriving any minute now, according to his calculations. When he hears the door open, he sits up, watching his brother enter with a tower of boxes in his hands. “I don’t remember ordering that much stuff,” he grumbles, standing up to help him.

“Most of these are mine. I think only this one is yours.” Yuji passes him a small box, which Choso quickly grabs to toss into his room, hoping to avoiding any questions about it. Truth be told, the contents of that box is way too embarrassing to explain to his precious baby brother. Inside is the sex toy he recently purchased online. It’s essentially a silicone cock sleeve, open on both ends for simple clean-up, made entirely of pliable material for ease and comfort. To put it simply, it’s a fleshlight. A state-of-the-art, new and improved fleshlight, he would like to emphasize. He’s been looking forward to using it all week and once Yuji leaves tonight, he’s going to give it a proper test run until he’s a puddle in the sheets.

It’s been a while since Choso’s been intimate with someone other than himself. A few bad breakups and past betrayals have led him to distrust most people outside of his intimate circle. The unpredictable nature of people, strangers, is frightening to him, so it’s better to avoid them completely. He has the luxury of working a job that’s fully remote, and aside from his brothers and the few colleagues he is forced to converse with periodically, it’s easy for him to remain a recluse, and he’s perfectly content with that. As for his sexual needs, he’s managed to make it this far in this drought thanks to sex toys and pornography. And while he’s aware that it’s not the most glamorous lifestyle, it works for him.

“By the way, your neighbor says hi,” Yuji mentions, opening his packages one-by-one. “She came into the mailroom.”

Choso says your name in the form of a question to clarify, though he’s certain of the answer. The only other human contact he has outside his circle is with you, his next-door neighbor. He doesn’t leave the house much, but on the occasion he does, he always hopes it’s you he runs into. He often worries that one day, you’ll realize what a pathetic loner he is and stop showing him that gorgeous smile of yours. So far, that hasn’t happened yet, so he cherishes those tiny moments every chance he gets. Something about that smile, something about you, makes him feel good. Safe.

“Yup,” Yuji confirms. “She had her hands full, so I helped her carry a package.”

Before Choso can inquire any further, there’s a knock on the door, signaling the arrival of their pizza. After thanking the delivery man, the two gather at the dining table, ready to dig into their dinner. Choso listens intently as Yuji laments on his weekly occurring university woes with a mouth full of pepperoni and sausage. As much as he adores his younger brother, he’s eager for his departure so he can have alone time to break in his new toy.

At eleven, without a crumb left of the pizza and the recycling bin filled with flattened cardboard boxes, Yuji finally announces that he’s leaving. He stuffs his newly delivered items, which includes textbooks, notepads, and a bunch of miscellaneous items, in his bag. “I’ll see you next week, bro. Take care of yourself,” he says, squeezing his big brother into a warm embrace. There’s always the smallest hint of concern in his voice whenever he leaves like this. Does he worry about him? For living a life of seclusion, constantly in fear of the outside world? Sure, it may sound lonely. In fact, it is lonely. But it’s easier to stay safe in the comfort of his own home than risk being hurt from the unknown. It’s better this way…isn’t it?

Choso muses on his brother’s parting words in the silence of his apartment for much longer than he intends to. He decides that the best way to keep him from spiraling further is a distraction, and that means fucking himself silly into temporary bliss until he knocks out for the night. Hidden away in various drawers of his bedroom are a plethora of options to choose from: vibrators, masturbators, cock rings, even the sex doll tucked deep in his closet. Tonight, however, is all about his shiny new toy. Pristine and untouched for him to ruin as much as he wants. He picks it up from the floor, ripping the tape off quickly, too impatient to inspect the exterior for any potential damage. When a stapler drops, almost hitting his feet, he stares down at it, confused. Thinking it’s a weird bonus item the sex shop has sent him, he chuckles nervously, still searching. Each item he uncovers leaves him more and more baffled: a container of paper clips, a wad of sticky notes, bundles of red pens, another fucking stapler. Finally, he checks the shipping label ripped partially from his haste, whatever color remaining on his face draining completely.

This isn’t his. It’s yours.

Which means…

By the way, your neighbor says hi. She came into the mailroom.

She had her hands full, so I helped her carry a package.

Oh fuck.

~~~

It’s near midnight when you’re ready to turn in for the night. You almost forget about the box sitting idly on the floor by your shoes, exactly where you left it a few hours ago. With your computer all set up for work tomorrow, you think it’s best to organize your new supplies before you actually do forget. At your desk, you open the package with a pair of scissors, excited for the new staplers you bought, a standard one and a heavy duty one. It’s surprising how neatly it’s wrapped, covered in tissue paper like some sort of gift. After removing all the extra layers, you finally get to the reveal, which renders you speechless.

Nestled neatly amongst more delicate tissue paper, the translucent material almost luminous against the dim glow from the lamplight, is a sex toy. Call it what you want: a penis stroker, a male masturbator, a pocket pussy. There’s absolutely no doubt in your mind what is before you. A fucking fleshlight.

Besides the obvious appearance, the dead giveaway is the user manual included with it, displaying in big, bold print “The Cock Stroker 3000 – New and Improved!”. Lifting the box up to inspect the shipping label, you notice that it says Choso’s name, not yours. If you weren’t so stunned by this unexpected discovery, you’d be giggling at the absurdity of it all. Instead, you’re gawking at the lewd gadget, unsure what to do next.

“Fuck!”

An intense shout from the other side of the wall snaps you out of it. That’s the loudest you’ve ever heard your neighbor, and you can only assume that he has also just realized this unfortunate mix-up. There’s no way the two of you can pretend this isn’t happening. Besides, the last thing you want is for Choso to think you have a bad impression of him after this. Because you don’t, not one bit. It’s perfectly normal for people to have sex toys. In fact, it’s healthy. Even the thought of him using it on himself intrigues you. The hungry expression on his face, tongue lolling out of his mouth, those usually pale cheeks blushing a deep red. The obscene squelch of the wet silicone surrounding his engorged cock, leaking with precum. Closer and closer to the edge, ready to burst any second with your lips near the tip, ready to swallow his load…

You almost curse out loud yourself, ashamed for having such lewd thoughts about your sweet, innocent next-door neighbor. But maybe he’s not as innocent as you think.

Ultimately, you decide the best way to move forward from this is to nip it in the bud. With the opened package in your hands, you walk over to his front door, knocking three times. You hear a faint, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” from within, then hurried footsteps growing louder. Without removing the chain lock, he answers, peering at you through the narrow crack, not saying anything.

Nervous, you greet him with the best smile you can muster. “Hi Choso. I think there was a little mix-up.”

He clears his throat before mumbling a short, “Yeah.”

You glance away from him, staring at the floor, too embarrassed to meet his gaze for this next part. “I opened it without checking the label first. I’m so sorry.”

He shuts the door suddenly, startling you. There’s the distinct rattle of the chain being fiddled with and the door swings open fully, Choso towering over you, a serious expression on his face. He shows you a box, revealing all the office supplies you ordered earlier in the week. Without saying another word, you do the exchange, anticipating that this will be the end of it.

It surprises you when he apologizes quietly, focused on the small space separating you. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” He hides it behind his back, as if doing so will erase the image of it from your memory. “You must think I’m disgusting.”

You shake your head, ignoring the instinct to step closer and comfort him with a hug. The last thing you want to do is cross even more lines tonight. “I don’t, not even the slightest. It’s okay, Choso. This is totally normal and totally fine.”

“You don’t have to say that – ”

“But I mean it! I really do! There’s nothing wrong with it!” Desperate for him to believe you, you confess, “I have sex toys too, plenty of them!”

This time, he actually looks at you with a mixture of intrigue and skepticism. “You don’t have to lie for my sake.”

“I’m not lying!” you urge him.

He retreats inside his apartment, speaking once again through the crack. “I appreciate you trying to make this better, but I think it’s best that we never speak again. Goodnight.”

With that, he shuts the door, leaving you with a lump in your throat, devastated. In your frenzied attempt to fix this, you return to your room, searching your bedside drawer for your favorite vibrator. If words aren’t enough to convince him, then maybe actual proof will. Without taking a moment to reconsider the hole you’re digging yourself deeper and deeper into, you pound on his door, the sex toy clasped in your other hand.

When he answers, you shove it in his face, vindicated that you can prove your point with physical evidence. “See? I told you! I have toys too, so there’s nothing for you to be ashamed about.”

He squints at the vibrator squeezed in your fist as if inspecting it like a foreign object. “That’s it?”

You glare at him, offended by his response. “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head to examine it at another angle. “There’s only one button.”

“One button is all I need,” you argue, defensive about your favorite being criticized. “Sure, it’s small, but that’s what I like about it. It fits comfortably in my hand and with just a single push of the button, I can experience three different levels of intensity. What more do I need?!”

He smirks, amused at your rambling. “I just don’t see how something this simple can be useful, that’s all.” It’s the closest to a smile you’ve seen from him; it has your belly fluttering.

You hold back a laugh. “I bet it packs more of a punch than that Cock Sucker 2000 or whatever.”

“3000,” he corrects, grinning, causing your heart to race. “I haven’t tried it yet, but it’s the best on the market right now.” He hesitates, his next words coming out of his mouth slowly, testing the waters. “Maybe you can show me what your little toy can do. Prove me wrong.”

You never expected this from him, but that’s what makes this exciting. All you can think of in this moment is showing him just how wet you can get. “Fine,” you agree, stepping towards him. “But only if you show me what your little toy can do, too.”

~~~

Never in a million years did Choso predict that this would be the outcome of your bizarre mix-up. You, his next-door neighbor, on his bed, naked from the waist down. Your t-shirt riding up your stomach with your legs split apart, the cute vibrator you love so much pressed to your clit. He kneels in front of you, too transfixed at the erotic sight before him to give attention to the erection strained in his sweatpants.

“You’re next,” you say, glancing at his lap.

He nods, all the confidence he had just a few minutes ago when he initially proposed this idea thrown out the window. Now, he’s back to being his nervous self, afraid to be vulnerable with someone he barely knows.

You set the vibrator beside you, closing your legs. “Are you okay?”

He’s frozen, tempted to call the whole thing off. Go back to being neighbors and nothing more. Go back to being lonely Choso and pathetic Choso, who’s scared of everyone and everything and –

“Hey.” It’s only now he realizes that the two of you are face-to-face, foreheads pressed, noses touching. Your voice is gentle, your palms soft on his cheeks. You smile at him, full of warmth and compassion. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve been with someone,” he admits. “I’m nervous.” A myriad of what-ifs play out in his head. What if he’s bad? What if you don’t like it? What if this ruins whatever sliver of hope the two of you have at being friends? At being anything more?

“We’ll go slow then,” you assure him, brushing your lips to his. That genuine smile of yours is enough to convince him that it’s worth the risk. That, and how fucking good it feels to have your mouth on his. He closes his eyes, leaning into the kiss, relishing the warmth of your breath. He finds himself gradually losing control of his inhibitions, his carnal instincts taking over, hungry for more of you. He slips his tongue inside, swirling around yours, kisses growing frantic and sloppy. You tug at the collar of his shirt, pulling him towards you. His heart pounds in his chest as he roams your body, fingers grazing your perked nipples from outside your top. You whisper his name, so luscious and sweet in your voice. He’d be lying if he said he’s never imagined it before. How you’d sound whimpering from his touch. How you’d feel between his massive hands. How you’d look with his cock filling you up to the brim.

He can’t stand it anymore. He’s aching, begging for release from the confines of his pants. Quickly, he removes them, freeing his throbbing erection. You gasp, marveling at the size of it. “Oh fuck, Choso. You’re so big.”

“Yeah?” he breathes out, fumbling for the Cock Sucker 3000 beside him. He slathers a generous amount of lube on his shaft and inside the toy. Foreheads pressed together once more, you both focus on his lap, watching it sink smoothly down his dick. The coldness of the lube and rubbery flexibility of the silicone surrounding him is familiar, though having someone spectate makes this all the more titillating.

“Fuck,” you swear, amazed at how it covers his entire length. You ogle at him as he starts slowly, eventually increasing to a steady pace. Your pussy flutters, incredibly aroused to see this man pumping his cock in front of you. For you.

“Do it with me.” His gaze flickers to the vibrator beside you. “You should feel good too.”

You spread your legs, displaying your cunt to him, already sopping wet with arousal. His eyes follow your every move as you tease the tip slowly up and down your pussy lips. Finding the right spot on your clit, you place your finger on the button of the toy, bracing yourself for what’s to come. As soon as you press it, the vibrations from level one alone are enough to send you wild. Knees shaking, feet flexing, moans pouring out of your open mouth. He continues to watch you, restraining his grunts as he strokes himself faster. Desperate for more, you click the button twice, increasing the vibrations to the max level. Within seconds, you’re coming, back arched and head thrown into the pillows behind you. Tossing the vibrator aside, you stare up at the ceiling, dizzy and disoriented from your ecstatic high, pussy shiny with your orgasm. Choso’s voice is so faint, you don’t understand him at first. You sit up to face him, waiting for him to repeat himself.

“Can you ride my face?” he asks meekly.

More than willing to accept his request, you nod in response, grinning. His expression relaxes and when you lean nearer to him, palm pressed flat on his chest, he even cracks a smile as he’s lies down on the bed, eager to have you like this. You straddle him, facing away from the headboard while his head rests at the foot of the bed. Carefully, you lower yourself until his mouth is pressed to your pussy. His tongue circles your clit slowly and he releases his grip from his toy to hold onto your ass, squeezing the soft flesh firmly. You don’t take your eyes off each other as you rub yourself across his face, his mouth open, swallowing every drop of you. When you reach your second orgasm, you’re practically bouncing on him as he smothers himself deeper, humming in satisfaction as he sucks hard on your clit, flicking it with his tongue.

You lift yourself off him, spent and completely wrecked. Still, you want to touch him, treat him as well as he treated you, make him come as hard as you did. You position yourself between his thighs, admiring the silicone sleeve hugging his dick. “Your turn.”

Sitting up on his elbows, he watches as you grab hold of the toy, stroking him with it. He moans, tongue hanging of his mouth, drool leaking from the corners of his lips, eyes half-lidded. His moans turn into whimpers when you start cradling his balls with your other hand, his body twitching from the sensation. The tip peeks out from the other end, a thick wad of precum collecting at the slit, so enticing that you’re salivating for a taste.

“Your mouth,” he stammers, barely able to speak.

“What?” you ask breathily, inching closer and closer.

“Want your mouth.” He swallows hard, voice trembling. “Please.”

Excited, you remove the toy from him, in awe at the way his fat cock flops heavily against his abdomen. You take him in your fist, loving how hot and throbbing he is in your grip. He’s coated in lube and precum, so slippery with your fingers wrapped around his girth. Unable to resist any longer, you bow your head, licking the pearl off the tip, savoring the taste. He shudders, letting out a loud, “Fuck!”

It’s so much better than a toy. The wet heat of your mouth surrounding him is better than any masturbator, fleshlight, pocket pussy, whatever silly contraption he uses to get by. The swirl of your tongue gliding along the shaft, the vibrations of your moans as you take him all the way to the back of your throat, the view of your pretty head bobbing up and down his lap. Nothing in his collection compares to this. This is real. You are real.

He fucks your throat, unable to resist bucking his hips against you, timing his thrusts to meet yours. It doesn’t take much longer for him to be pushed over the edge. You pull off for a brief moment to smile at him, pumping him fast. “Come for me, Choso. Come in my mouth.”

At this, he completely loses himself, muffling his incessant moans into his forearm, too shy to watch you guzzle down his entire load until he’s milked of every last drop. You scatter delicate kisses along the entire length of him, even down to his balls. Too sensitive now, he pats you gently on the head, making you look up at him, a warm smile on your face. He smiles back, caressing your cheek, thumb grazing your soft skin. You lie beside him, nuzzling into his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow to a steady, relaxed pace. He slides his arm around you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Thank you.”

This world is a terrifying place for Choso Kamo. But with you in his arms, he feels a bit braver. He’s safe with you.

#choso kamo #choso x reader #choso x you #choso smut #choso fluff #choso kamo smut #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo x you #jjk smut

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sayruq · 3 months ago

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Dear Friends, My family has faced an unimaginable tragedy over the past four months, subjected to a genocide that has taken away our loved ones and the roof over our heads. My sister, now residing in Rafah camp, is enduring conditions no human should ever have to face, especially after recently giving birth. Alongside her husband and three children, they are caught in a relentless cycle of sickness, starvation, and the terror of ongoing bombardment. Their home in North Gaza was destroyed, and despite our best efforts, accessing basic necessities remains a daunting challenge due to the brutal situation in the Gaza Strip. I am reaching out to you in desperate need of your support to rescue my family from this relentless nightmare and ensure their safe evacuation before it's too late. Your contribution could be the lifeline they desperately need. We are seeking funds solely for the purpose of their safe passage through the Egyptian border. The financial barrier is steep, with costs exceeding $5,000 per person, but your generosity could make all the difference in their world. Please, consider extending a helping hand to my family in this critical hour. Your donation could be the key to their survival. Thank you for your compassion and support.

Reham has managed to escape to Egypt but now faces a new daunting challenge

Dear friends, Thank you for checking my campaign. Whether you're a previous donor or new to our cause, your kindness has brought us closer to safety and reunification. I'm reaching out today to provide an important update and to ask for your continued support as we face the next critical steps in our journey. I am working to raise the necessary funds to help my sister and her family reunite with the rest of my family in Belgium. After the generous and inspiring support, you showed in funding her evacuation, she now lives in Cairo, away from the genocide committed against our people in Gaza. Reham is one of 100,000 Gazans who have crossed into Egypt, where they lack the necessary papers to enroll their children in schools, open businesses or bank accounts, travel, or access health insurance. In addition to that, the Egyptian government has recently increased the fee for refugees to $2,000 USD, making matters worse. Her family has been asked to seek asylum in another country, but we have exhausted all avenues to get them to countries that grant Palestinians asylum and a chance to restart their lives. We are currently exploring possible routes for her family to reach Belgium or Oman. It is urgent that we raise the necessary funds for travel expenses, including visa fees, flight tickets, and basic living expenses during the initial days of transitioning to a new home country as refugees. We urgently need some relief to help them get through the next 4-6 months required to finalize their travels. We are asking for $16,800 as essential relief for the five-member family, who have lost their income, their home, and belongings and depleted their savings during the brutal war. Your help will make a tremendous difference in ensuring their well-being now and in the near future. We understand that the funds might seem steep, so here is a breakdown of everything we would need it for: $4500 towards housing (750 per month). $2000 towards flight tickets. $7000 towards travel documents such as visas and other government-mandated paperwork from various ministries, including financial proofs and statements.$800 for GFM fees. $2500 essential living expenses. Your support is crucial in helping Reham and her family find safety and stability. Thank you for your kindness and generosity.

This GFM hasn't received a donation in 2 months. Please boost. Donate if you can

#yemen #jerusalem #tel aviv #current events #palestine #free palestine #gaza #free gaza #news on gaza #palestine news #news update #war news #war on gaza #palestine donation #palestinian donations #palestine fundraiser #palestine gfm #aid for gaza

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bbrattywise · 1 month ago

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𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 uncut footage: my personal diary documenting my life with the loa 💬

14 nov 2024: i’ve come back to the much needed conclusion that manifestation will always be as simple as pick a desire -> keep persisiting.

i’ve also simplified the loa into

- my imagination is PRESENT, my 3D is PAST ASSUMPTIONS. I get to determine how things play out so do so in my favour

- why persist? because persisting was always to remind me of what i already have?? “would i tell myself i didnt have money if i had a million $$$ in my bank account? no!” its an ongoing thing, not something i stop as soon as i 'get' ur desires (in the 3D)

- belief is not necessary, persistence is. My persisting will soon turn into belief also,t imagination wont ignore my desires just because i dont believe i have them (& its such a 3D ish concept aswell)

also, i’ve realised i lowk start to get anxious whenever i open loa tumblr because im scared i will fall back into the pattern of doomscrolling/overconsuming loa content (which left me confused as FAWK). & additionally to that also, i’ve been dealing with jealousy lately & feeling like im falling behind my peers (esp with uni application stress, etc) but i let those emotions pass & reminded myself that i already got all my offers (in the imagination which is my realer reality anyways) & that no matter what, i will get into my dream uni <33

but yea, i love how content i am with the loa now. I barely listen to subs, i js rely on exaggerated affirmations, visualising & really living in the imagination & i think its going alrr 💗

xoxo, brattywise

#loa blog #loa success #law of assumption #loa tumblr #shifting antis dni #loassblog #shifting blog #desired reality #bbrattywise #shifting community #uncut footage bbrattywise

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actual-changeling · 1 year ago

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i cannot resist a piece of good, painful angst, so have a little something inspired by this post by @quoththemaiden and the tags i left on it

Aziraphale returns to heaven in a haze of heartbreak and fear, his lips still tingling with Crowley's kiss, his fingers twitching with the urge to reach for him. The white sterility welcoming him only encourages his mind to drift further, allowing him to tune out the Metatron's words and focus on simply setting one foot in front of the other. If heaven has not changed in the last few thousand years, and he knows very well that it hasn't, there will be more than enough paperwork detailing anything and everything he is being told.

"Any questions, Aziraphale?"

They have stopped in the middle of a long, empty corridor, his eyes stinging with the bleach-dry air, and Aziraphale blinks, the smile on his face never wavering; it is a mask he knows he will not be able to drop for quite some time.

"Do I have an office?"

"You can make yourself one if you deem it necessary. I will leave you to it, then."

With a small flash of light, he is gone, and Aziraphale is alone. Right.

A few hours later, he has an office no miracle in the world could make cosy, enough paperwork to last him an eternity, and a persistent itch in his left hand. It is more irritating than bothersome, an anchor keeping him from floating away into the land of celestial regulations and legal frameworks, and he is trying (and failing) to keep himself from thinking about Crowley.

He needs him to deal with this, that much is clear without knowing anything at all about how exactly the second coming is going to transpire, but for the first time in six thousand years, Aziraphale finds himself wondering if Crowley will be waiting for him when he reaches out.

Absently, he scratches the back of his left hand, the itching seemingly working its way to the surface, and picks up the next folder.

'Re: The matter of opening a direct communication line between the Department of Miracle Accounting and the Department of Miracle Archiving.'

"You'd assume they'd done that ages ago," he murmurs, opening it with a sigh and squeezing his eyes shut when he sees the first document dates back to 3076 BC. A sudden wave of sympathy for Gabriel washes through him, which disappears rather quickly when he remembers he is probably having the time of his life on Alpha Centauri.

(Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo we can-- go off together.)

(Go off together?)

Aziraphale slams the folder shut and pushes it to the side, creating a new 'unimportant/for later' pile since the other one is already structurally unsound and he'd rather not have to reorganize it when it inevitably collapses under its own weight.

He scrubs a hand down his face (I could always rely on you) and forces himself to take a deep, steadying breath (You could always rely on me) before reaching for the next one, halting when a shimmer of gold draws his attention.

(And I would like to spend-)

On his left hand, in the exact spot where the itch is… was Aziraphale corrects himself, and in its place, curled around his ring finger and weaving its way towards his wrist, is a golden snake. No, not a snake, he slowly realizes, it's Crowley's snake in all its glory, uncurled and with wide open, unblinking eyes, staring up at him.

"Fuck," he breathes, his right hand rapidly furling and unfurling. After not spending more than an hour or two in heaven at a time for millennia, he had completely forgotten about his angelic markings, which had looked very different before Eden. The exact images are hazy, washed out by time and apparently a fundamental change in his essence, because the snake lazily sliding around his wrist and closing its eyes as if to nap is both new and strangely familiar.

(Listen. Do you hear that?)

Tremors run through his body, fine and yet strong enough to keep him from opening the file, from reading, thinking, planning, his mind filled with fire-red hair and golden eyes and the taste of love on his tongue.

(I don't hear anything.)

Aziraphale cradles his marked hand against his chest, pressing his knuckles to his lips and trying to recall the few seconds during which he had felt whole. Happy.

(That's the point. No nightingales.)

The snake hisses quietly, or maybe he is already starting to lose his sanity, and its glittering scales provide what little comfort he can access in heaven, missing the white noise of London, the dusty quiet of his bookshop, missing Crowley, Crowley, Crowley.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #supreme archangel aziraphale #angel markings #*gods voice* and they were soulmates #*satan's voice* oh my god they were SOULMATES

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lunaekalenda · 4 months ago

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warnings: mention of the word "kidnapper", mention of guns, suggestive (?) it's just crack tbh, i'll make proper fluff and a proper fic later! btw this cute separator is from @animatedglittergraphics-n-more so thank uuu <3

your workmate entered your office quickly, closing behind her with a strong and loud bang that made you take your eyes up from the documents you were reading. a pearl of sweat was sliding down her forehead and she seemed shocked. you stood up quickly and she took your shoulders, shaking you by them.

"all good? what happens? are you alright?" you ask her, but she's still catching air when she talks.

"gun. a gun. there's a-a guy with a gun, and he's waiting for you, you have to hide. we already called the cops, so there's no ne-"

you release yourself from her grip before getting close to the window near your chair, looking to the parking lot, were your boyfriend rests against his car, while he cleans his gun with a pink glasses cloth you lended him this morning when he dropped you to work.

"cops won't be necessary, it's just my partner." your workmate looks at you with surprise, before giving a look to were he is. Sylus takes his gaze up and finds you, before waving his fingers towards you. you answer his movement by copying him. "see?"

your friend nods energetically before speaking. "i thought it was way too strange for him to enter and be polite and patient while holding a gun. it didn't fit with the kidnapper trope." her curious eyes follow you around while you put all your stuff in the bag. you smile shyly to her, before opening the door.

"thanks for the concern, but it won't be necessary from now on. he's just... an agent. that's why he has a gun, yeah, totally legal. don't worry a ton about it." you leave quickly in direction to the parking lot, where he's still in the exact same position. as soon as he sees you, he slides the gun inside its case on his belt, before taking your hips automatically when you're close enough. his lips catch yours on a welcoming kiss.

"really, i love that you're more free now and i really appreciate that you wanna drop me and pick me up from work but, could you avoid taking... that out?"

Sylus looks at his belt with his red eyes glowing in fun. he raises a brow in your direction.

"didn't knew accounting made you that horny, sweetie. though, you never told me you were into that public thing." you feel your cheeks heating up and he giggles, pecking your lips again before opening the car door for you to sit, taking your shoulder strap and putting it on the backseats. he sits on the driver's seat and ties your seatbelt. he starts to drive, humming softly the song that plays.

"no, but really, avoid taking the gun outside in public. not everyone is used to them here." he nods a couple times, his hand sliding over the steering wheel so smoothly you find yourself staring at it. he takes his free hand to your thigh, squeezing it softly.

"i promise i won't. i was just making time, i'm not used to wait for someone out of work. a work with a schedule i don't control, of course." you laugh at his words and he turns left towards home. "though, you had to see her face when she saw the gun on the belt, i thought she was gonna faint in place."

"Sylus..." you sigh. he giggles again.

"sorry, love, sorry." he passes his tongue over his lips. "next time, i'll just bring a crossword book for the meantime, yes?"

"good." he parks masterfully before powering off the car. he unties your seatbelt before leaving, opening the door for you and taking both yours and his things. your hand is the next thing he holds as soon as he's next to you. you walk together towards your apartment. he speaks on the elevator, a malicious grin appearing on his lips.

"tell your friend i'm sorry for the gun. and that it will probably happen again."

#sylus x you #sylus x reader #sylus x y/n #love & deepspace x reader #lads x reader #lads x you #lads x y/n #lads sylus #lads fanfic #sylus fluff #lads fluff #love & deepspace fluff #love & deepspace x you

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bigmpregnm · 5 months ago

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Enjoy the Ride - Part 1

[Story Collection] | [●] [Part 2]

A knot tightened in my stomach while I waited for someone to call me into the office. I was extremely nervous because there were only two possible reasons to be there: I was either getting fired or receiving a raise. Although I was a good worker, I knew I hadn’t done anything remarkable to warrant a raise. To make matters worse, the man waiting for me wasn’t even my immediate boss; he was the boss of my boss’ boss, the freaking CEO of the company. I knew I was in big trouble. I tried to remain calm but couldn’t afford to lose my job. I needed it and was willing to do anything to keep it.

My name is Adam Macci, and at 24 years old, the thought of such a terrifying meeting had me on the verge of tears, even before entering the office. Despite having worked at the company for a year, I knew I still had a lot to learn, which made me feel insecure about the reason for the meeting. Working in the accounting department was incredibly dull, and the pay could have been better, but I wanted to avoid facing unemployment.

As a young, single dad to my 5-year-old son, Marco, losing my job would mean homelessness for us. Marco’s mother left when he was only two months old, and my parents disowned me before he was born, leaving us to fend for ourselves. I was determined to keep my job and provide for my son, and I was ready to beg if it was necessary.

As I waited in the hallway, beads of sweat formed on my forehead, evidence of my extreme anxiety. When I heard the CEO’s secretary calling my name, my heart skipped a few beats. Her earnest gaze as I nervously stood up only made things worse. Each step I took made my legs feel like jelly, threatening to betray me at any moment. I was almost panting in fear.

The sense of horror intensified as I walked into the CEO’s office. The room was huge and luxurious, the kind of someone like me could never even dream of owning. I knew the man was a billionaire, but even then, the entire place made me feel tiny and worthless. The room was far bigger than my entire apartment, and considering I wasn’t that big at 5’8” and 154 pounds, I felt like a mouse entering the domain of a hungry cat.

I took a deep breath and took shaky steps toward a massive desk. Behind it was an enormous chair facing away from me and looking into the most breathtaking view of the city I had ever seen. Despite the chair’s considerable size, I could see the CEO’s strong shoulders popping at the sides, which made me feel even more nervous. I had heard rumors about him being a colossal man, but his frame was broader than I had ever expected. My knowledge of this man was limited, mainly consisting of mere office gossip. The only certainty I had was his last name, Griffin because it adorned the company’s name.

I wasn’t sure if I should sit down, so I remained silent, waiting for him to speak. I couldn’t find the words to express myself as I was on the verge of having a stroke when the chair started turning, and Mr. Griffin’s massive and imposing figure came into view. The man was truly enormous. Even sitting down, he looked tall, and his whole figure was so broad that I felt like a twink. I was terrified by his size, but simultaneously, it amazed me. He smiled at me, and my knees shook.

“Good morning, Adam. Please take a seat. We have some important matters to discuss,” Mr. Griffin said with such a powerful and commanding voice that my entire body trembled.

“T… Thanks, Mr. Griffin. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m…” I nervously started saying as I sat, but he interrupted me.

“You’ve been working for me for nearly a year, correct?” He asked, making me wonder whether I should respond. He then opened a folder and started reading some documents. “You appear to be a trustworthy young man. Your supervisor commends your responsibility and dedication, noting that you work extra hours without getting paid. You have a 5-year-old son who lives with you, yet your file doesn’t mention a partner, making these additional hours a significant sacrifice. You sound like an exemplary employee,” he said, looking at me expectantly.

“Thanks, Mr. Griffin. I always try my best and…” I managed to say before he interrupted me once again.

“The thing is, Adam, nobody is perfect. Everyone has something they hide. For example, Kyle, the guy in the cubicle next to yours, is secretly in a relationship with Jenny, the receptionist. And just so you know, he’s married, and Jenny is unaware of it. Karen, the woman who brought you to my office, has undergone 14 plastic surgeries to look how she looks. Despite her claims that it is natural, I know her surgeon. Have you seen Greg, the janitor? He’s young, and his muscles are bigger than a world class bodybuilder. I suspect he may have serious issues with steroid abuse, although he insists he’s natural. I could continue with more examples because I am well-informed about everyone in this company. That’s why I asked Karen to bring you here, Adam. I wanted you to share your secret with me,” he said, leaning forward on his desk and his voice growing even more intense. Fear gripped me, and I swallowed hard.

“I-I don’t know, Mr. Griffin. Since I started working here, I’ve been honest about everything. Also, you seem to have my file, and everything is there,” I said with a shaky voice, sweating like a pig.

“Okay. I wanted you to tell me the truth without reading it, but as you mentioned, I have your file,” Mr. Griffin said with a smile. I knew he was up to something mean, but I had no idea what it was. “Three months ago, you didn’t come to work for a whole week. You had to deliver some important tax papers that week, and the delay cost me almost a million dollars. Taxes, surcharges, you know how that is. What I need to know here is what was so important that you made me lose almost a million dollars?” he said, and I turned pale. I knew what he was talking about, so I knew I was screwed.

“I was sick, Mr. Griffin. I called my supervisor and explained what was happening. I’m sorry you lost so much money, but I thought they would take care of my pending work,” I explained, almost crying.

“You told him you were sick, but you didn’t explain what it was and didn’t tell him you needed the whole week off. Weeks later, you presented a document where a doctor explained why you needed the whole week off, but I’m confused here, and since I lost money because of it, I need you to explain this to me,” he said, sounding serious and I just wanted to run away.

“It’s… it’s a medical condition, and it’s hard to explain. I honestly don’t like talking about it, but…” I was struggling to talk, and he interrupted me once again.

“Okay. I’ll explain it to you. Your doctor sent a long letter, but I’ll focus on two fascinating details. First, he mentioned you are one of the few known cases of men who have a womb. He detailed some technical stuff, but I understand it’s connected to your rectum and fully functional, which made me wonder about your boy’s mom. I mean, does he even have a mom or?” He looked at my midsection, and I panicked.

“What? No, no. Mr. Griffin, Marco has a mom. She just ran away. I never…” I tried to explain, but he kept talking.

“The other thing that caught my attention was the reason why you took the week off. The doctor said you had intense bleeding caused by a hormonal imbalance during your menstruation. He said this is uncommon because men don’t menstruate that much, but it’s not unheard of. He said this is unlikely to happen again, so you’re perfectly healthy now. Lucky you.” He closed the folder and leaned back on his massive chair, looking devilish. “This whole thing has me very confused. I mean, I lost money because you, a man, had your period?” he said, sounding angry.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Griffin. I didn’t even know I had this condition until the bleeding started, and I never thought you’d lose so much money…” I was almost crying, and he laughed. Somehow, he looked like he was enjoying my fear.

“What matters to me is that you made me lose money, and now I want you to pay it. You will pay for the money you made me lose, one way or another. I could fire you, but that wouldn’t be fun. I could make you work for me without pay until you’ve paid off your debt, but that wouldn’t be fun, either. So, I have an offer for you. I can forget about the money I lost, and you can keep your job and even earn some extra money. How does that sound?” He smiled at me, but it scared me even more because it sounded too good to be true.

He presented me with some papers and a pen. He wanted me to sign whatever those papers said. I realized he had everything planned out, which meant it couldn’t be good for me. I was at Mr. Griffin’s mercy because I couldn’t afford to pay back all that money, and losing my job was not an option. I was willing to do anything to keep my job, and the extra money sounded appealing, but I was afraid because I knew that man had some sinister intentions.

Mr. Griffin explained that he had been looking for the right person to provide him with heirs. The word “heirs” sent shivers down my spine as I understood what Mr. Griffin had in mind. He said that, despite being 40 years old and able to attract any woman he desired, he lacked the time for a committed relationship. Consequently, he decided to have children through surrogacy.

As he handed me the documents, my face turned pale upon seeing the words “Surrogacy Contract” at the top of the page. I glanced up at him, only to be met with the most sinister smile I had ever witnessed. I knew his actions violated numerous labor laws, but he held immense power as a millionaire, while I, a young single father, stood no chance against a man like him.

He said he had done some research about my condition, and upon learning about it, he found out male pregnancy had a 99% chance of producing boys. He proceeded to tell me about several cases of men who had become pregnant before, all of whom had multiple births, which aligned perfectly with his desires. His anger seemed to have dissipated, replaced by excitement. He said I seemed the perfect vessel to carry his heirs, leaving me speechless.

I desperately wanted to escape, but the shock rendered me immobile. Struggling to process Mr. Griffin’s words, I met his gaze as he awaited my response. I was at a loss for what to do. After some hesitation, I placed the contract back on the desk and pushed it away from me. Instead of becoming angry, a broad smile spread across his face, causing a wave of horror to wash over me as I gulped nervously.

He leaned back in his chair again and warned me that if I refused to sign the contract, he would take legal action against me for the million dollars he claimed I had cost him and any additional expenses resulting from my mistake. I froze as he continued telling me how he would make me lose everything if I didn’t sign the contract.

With no other options available, I reluctantly pulled the contract closer and picked up the pen. I knew the situation was illegal, but legality held no weight for someone like Mr. Griffin. He was rich enough to buy the entire city, so I knew I couldn’t beat him in court. I was screwed. Attempting to gain some semblance of control, I tried to read through the extensive ten-page contract. However, fear consumed me so much that I couldn’t comprehend a single word. I was too terrified even to recall my own name.

Mr. Griffin helped me fill out and sign the contract while I tried to hold back my tears. He assured me that he would cover all expenses for Marco and me for the next few months, and he promised that if I fulfilled my part of the agreement, our lives would never be the same. Although confused and frightened, I knew I had to do what was best for Marco, even if I had to carry Mr. Griffin’s children.

Once we had filled out and signed the contract, Mr. Griffin rose from his chair, revealing his full height. Standing approximately 6’6” tall, he towered over me by more than a foot, and I was sure he outweighed me by at least 100 pounds, all of it composed of pure muscle. As he slowly walked around the desk, positioning himself directly before me, I couldn’t take my eyes off his impressive physique.

Not only was he remarkably tall, but his formal dark suit strained against his well-built frame. His broad shoulders, defined chest, and bulging biceps seemed to stretch the fabric of his jacket to its limits. His waist was astonishingly narrow, while his lower body displayed strength. It was undeniably impressive, but what truly caught my attention was the enormous bulge that looked unrealistically full. A small part of me even wondered if he had stuffed something in his pants.

“I already have an appointment for us this coming Saturday. I knew you would sign the contract,” he said with a proud and sinister grin. “The doctor is a friend of mine, and I’m sure he’ll be more than willing to perform the insemination that same day. The sooner you get pregnant, the sooner you’ll pay your debt, and I’ll happily forget about the money. I could even give you a promotion if everything goes as planned,” he added. I absently smiled because that sounded good.

After he briefly explained the contract’s contact, I left Mr. Griffin’s office feeling incredibly confused. I couldn’t believe I had agreed to get pregnant. I was a man, and even though I knew there had been a few cases, people didn’t widely accept male pregnancy. Some people still thought it was a myth, but thanks to the bleeding and my medical appointments, I learned that it was possible.

For the remainder of the day, the impending pregnancy consumed my thoughts. Absent-mindedly, I found myself rubbing my abdomen, contemplating the idea of carrying one or even two babies within me, which made me feel pretty strange. Despite the fear and less-than-ideal circumstances, a part of me was curious about the experience of being pregnant. If I had no other option but to carry Mr. Griffin’s children, I decided to find some joy in the journey.

A few days later, on Saturday, as Mr. Griffin had instructed me, I found myself in the waiting room of a well-known fertility clinic. I had to leave Marco with his nanny, even though Saturdays were our special day together.

As I took a deep breath, I heard Mr. Griffin’s voice as he entered the clinic, and I couldn’t help but gasp at how great he looked. He wore a T-shirt that accentuated his muscles, making them look bigger. His tight-fitting jeans showcased his muscular legs, but his ass and bulge were simply out of this world. Despite knowing he was a bad guy, I felt my dick throbbing as Mr. Griffin approached and smiled at me.

The doctor called us a few minutes later, and I became even more nervous. The doctor already had a file with my detailed information and only conducted general exams on my body to confirm my good health. He palpated my abdomen to ensure I was ready for pregnancy and reassured me that everything looked good. Throughout the process, Mr. Griffin never stopped smiling. Evidently, he was pleased to see his plan unfolding just as he had hoped.

However, Mr. Griffin’s expression changed when the doctor explained that, despite everything being in place for him to inseminate me, he couldn’t do it right away. The doctor stated that I needed to follow his instructions for at least a week to increase the chances of conception on the first attempt. Mr. Griffin wasn’t pleased because he wanted me to get pregnant that day.

While I saw Mr. Griffin trying to convince the doctor to proceed with the procedure, I was in awe of his massive body again. As he grew visibly tense, the veins on his arms thickened, accentuating his size. I couldn’t take my eyes off his lower half, and a wild idea crossed my mind as the doctor continued to refuse.

Eventually, Mr. Griffin gave up and accepted that we would have to wait another week. The doctor left the room, and I noticed Mr. Griffin was mad at him. Since the doctor wouldn’t perform the insemination, the logical thing to do was for me to leave. Instead, I heard myself speaking without even realizing it.

“Mr. Griffin, I know the contract specifies artificial insemination, but… maybe we could do this… the natural way?” I asked, and he looked at me with evident excitement.

“Are you serious? Just to be clear, are you suggesting a change to the contract?” he asked. As I nodded, he smiled, making my dick throb again. “If that’s the case, let’s go to my place,” he happily added.

I willingly followed him to his car, feeling curious but aware that I might’ve been getting into trouble. Despite this, I still wanted to enjoy the ride.

...

#mpreg #mpreg story

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rosesloveletters · 1 year ago

Text

braids like a pattern.

Pairing: 1971 Willy Wonka x Reader

Word Count: 2,176

Warnings: none

Summary: Reader asks Wonka to braid their hair.

Author's Note: If it wasn't clear, I want him to braid my hair for me so that's why this fic exists. I hope you enjoy <3

Edited.

divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.

Willy Wonka sat at his desk inside his office. It was late and he was filling out some invoices, billing payments and other various paperwork. This, unlike what took place in the heart of the factory, wasn’t fantastical in the slightest, but as company founder and the only human employee of Wonka Industries it was his responsibility to have it completed.

He silently puffed on a cigar while he wrote. He knew you were not a fan of the pungent smell of cigar smoke, so he only would only light one when you were not around.

He had a feeling you’d be making an appearance sooner rather than later to check on him and pull him to bed for the night, so he was prepared to extinguish the cigar at a moment’s notice.

Willy was used to his own bizarre schedule.

He spent most of his workday in the inventing room and the business side, the ‘less fun’ side, was neglected.

He wasn’t a businessman; he was a creator. An inventor. An artist.

He did have to remind himself on occasion that half of running a successful business was maintaining said business through work done inside of an office. Otherwise, even though he had a solid business model and products that the public wanted to buy, he’d be harming his bottom line by not keeping up with payments, schedules, invoicing and other various clerical details and, ultimately, his business would fail due to his negligence.

So, he cut everything inside his office in half.

Everything.

It was a way to remind himself, if nothing else, that half of this business’s success was on his shoulders alone.

The Oompa Loompas helped him as much as possible and he was eternally grateful for their learned expertise, but they did not handle this side of his business. He had to hold himself accountable and would drag himself into his office late at night to focus on nothing but paperwork.

It was rather boring stuff, but it was necessary and if he wanted to keep making and selling his creations to the masses, then he would do it, plain as that.

He had already spent hours poring over pages upon pages of documents that needed his attention. He had a lot to catch up on that he’d been purposely putting off until the last minute and he wanted to do better, to bebetter, but when inspiration struck, he found himself inside the inventing room and nothing and no one else could pull him away.

Except maybe, you.

It was when his thoughts inevitably drifted to you did he finally hear his office door creak open.

A smile crept onto his face, brightening his soft features as he anticipated you crossing the room to get to him, your delicate hand upon his shoulder to gently get his attention without disrupting his work and the tender smile you’d give him as you checked up on him and asked him to bed.

He was getting tired, after all, and it would be nice to crawl into bed now that it wasn’t just a cold mattress waiting for him. Now, it was you who warmed his sheets and waited for him into the wee hours of the morning until he was ready to call it a night.

He owed you for that and, if you were counting, which he doubted, he suspected he’d always come up short.

As predicted, he could hear your quiet footsteps moving toward him and then, once they’d stopped, your warm hand landed on his shoulder.

He quickly put out his cigar in the ashtray and turned, unable to pretend to still be working, and grinned up at you, “Hello, my dear. Couldn’t sleep?”

You were already wearing your pajamas and your long hair hung elegantly down your back.

Willy admired the sight of you in such a relaxed state as your eyes traveled from him to the thin cloud of smoke wreathing up from the recently extinguished cigar in the tray. His expression turned apologetic when he realized you had noticed he’d been smoking; he was appreciative that you did not address it.

His gaze traveled down to what you had in your hands: a wooden comb and brush set.

You shrugged a bit at his question, “I haven’t tried to sleep yet,” you responded as you held out the comb and brush, wanting him to take them, “I was wondering if…you would please brush and braid my hair for me tonight?”

Willy’s smile grew as you asked the question and he nodded eagerly, delighted to help you with such a tender and domestic task.

He stood up and reached for the extra chair he’d brought in for you if you wanted a place to sit when you joined him in his office. Of course, it had to be sliced in half like his own, but that was nothing of consequence.

He brought the chair around his desk and had you sit on it sideways so that the chair back wouldn’t be in his way.

You quietly passed him the comb and brush before you sat down.

You were aware that Willy did not love the administrative aspect of running a business and that might have influenced your decision to ask him for help with your hair. He had been working diligently on paperwork for several hours and he was owed a break.

You did feel a bit guilty for asking this of him, only because it was late and he must have been tired.

Sometimes Willy seemed like less of a man and more of a dream, but in an odd moment you saw the raw humanity in him, the deeply ingrained mortality that governed all his decisions.

You’d sink or swim in those clear blue eyes of his, pools of liquid starlight that could drown you with a single glace. He had every bit of imagination on his side to make him seem too good to be true and perhaps he was.

He cared for you and nothing would stop him from staying up late to have a bit more time with you, not even sleep.

He gently dragged the comb through your hair, admiring the silken shine to it as he pulled the comb from your scalp down to the ends.

He was slightly regretful that his own hair could not be cared for in the same way and therefore your reciprocation was more for the simple aspect of reciprocation than actual haircare.

His frizzy strawberry blonde curls were wild and unruly and behaved as if they had a mind of their own. He styled his hair the best that he could (he knew better than to brush it) and contained it, albeit poorly, with his hat.

Willy’s hair was the physical manifestation of his good-natured zaniness and idiosyncratic behavior while yours represented your level head and mild-mannered way of thinking.

He smiled to himself as he combed through your hair, “Thank you for coming down here.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied as you relaxed into the gentle caress of his fingers pulling the comb through your hair, “I wanted to check on you. It seems like you get busier and busier each day.”

Willy chuckled lightly at the comment, “respectfully, I’d say that is true. However, what is disrespectful is that work has gotten in the way of my spending time with you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, “you haven’t got to spend every second with me, Willy,” you reminded him in a playful tone of voice.

“Of course not,” he agreed, mild-mannered as always, “but you wouldn’t begrudge me the effort to try.”

The seriousness with which he said that made you laugh. You chose not to respond as he switched out the comb for your brush. His movements were more direct, a heavier hand to make sure the bristles penetrated your thick hair and brushed evenly, smoothing out the finer strands.

Willy lost himself in the way he took care of you. He treated you with the utmost respect, handling you as though you were made of glass.

He reasoned that you should feel safe in the hands of a lover and he wanted to provide you with that sanctity if he could help it. Otherwise, what was all of this for? There was no point in working as he did if there was no one to reap the benefits with him. He had thought he’d found solace in solitude, but he didn’t feel as if he had given anything up to have you.

He hadn’t had to change himself or become a better version of himself, you’d taken him as he was. You elevated him, enlightened him and molded yourself to fit into his world. The very least he could do was find ways to give you the same courtesy.

He wanted you to feel like he was as much a part of your life as you were of his.

He set the brush down on his desk next to your comb and began sectioning your hair to split it into two braids.

You focused on the movement of his hands as his fingers carded through your locks.

Every pull of his fingers was tender and done so gently as to not cause any pain.

You thrived on his touch, the tender way he seemed almost hesitant to put his hands on you. At certain points, you had to wonder if he was still there because he was being so careful that you could hardly feel what he was doing.

You let out a soft groan as his index finger caught a knot in one of your strands and pulled.

“Sorry, darling,” he mumbled, then leaned in and kissed the back of your head in apology.

Your chest swelled with giddiness at his affection and you wanted to turn around and pull him in for a cuddle, but you didn’t want to mess up his rhythm. You could feel his nimble fingers weaving one section of hair into a braid and trying to turn around in this position might end with him accidentally pulling on it a bit too tight.

You would wait for your chance to hug him, which would come, you knew all too well.

You pulled one of your black scrunchies off your wrist and passed it back to him over your shoulder. He took it wordlessly and secured the ends of your braid with it.

Following the same pattern, he switched to the other section of hair and began braiding it. You were ready and waiting for him to finish as you passed him the other scrunchie to secure your second braid.

How many times you had had him braid your hair for you were you uncertain, but it had been enough for him to learn to do it quickly.

Willy was good with his hands, in more ways than one.

“All done, little dear,” he grinned as you moved on the chair so you were face to face with him.

You pulled both braids over your shoulders and felt them for comfort, “thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he responded, his eyes following your movements closely as he leaned in to watch you.

You glanced up and met his gaze, making him smile when you caught him looking.

Your love for him enveloped you, blanketed you with every ounce of your devotion and now your wants were satisfied because he had finished with your hair and you were free to scoop him into your arms.

You reached for him, forearms sliding over his shoulders and around the back of his neck as you sat up in your chair and hugged him.

He knew what you wanted as his arms encircled your waist.

He didn’t want you to fall off your chair in your haste to get to him and he steadied you, holding on tight as you practically sank in against his solid body.

His own exhaustion had been forgotten up until this point and as he held you against him, he let his eyes slip closed. Suddenly, the harsh lighting was getting to him. His chair was too hard on his lower back. His feet were aching, his head swimming and his eyes were red. He needed sleep and the caress of a lover.

He inhaled your sweet scent and drew you in close. His lips attached to your neck as he delivered several kisses and loving nips to your delicate skin.

“Willy, come to bed with me.”

You didn’t have to ask him twice.

He was out of his chair fast enough to make your head spin. After you grabbed your comb and brush, he flicked off the lights and took you by the hand, guiding you out of his office.

His bed called to him; sleep was a siren’s song.

His paperwork would be there waiting for him come morning.

The only thing he had on his mind was falling into bed as hard and as fast as he fell in love with you.

#willy wonka #willy wonka and the chocolate factory #willy wonka 1971 #wilder!wonka #willy wonka imagine #willy wonka x reader #willy wonka and the chocolate factory imagine #gene wilder #biblio :: 📖

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ysmtttty · 3 months ago

Text

Again

Chapter 2 Read on AO3 or below || Chapter 1 Chapter 3 Lawyer AU where Eris and Nesta used to be rivals before she got married and decided to leave the field. But now she is divorced and determined to return to the legal field, even if it means working with Eris, not against him.

Over the next two months, Nesta completed all the necessary courses, which meant that she could ask for an associate position. But doing so was difficult because catching Eris in the office was far harder than it seemed at first glance. Either his assistant wouldn’t let anyone see him, or he was in court, or there was always something else. In short, she managed to catch him for a conversation only by the end of the week.

"Excellent grades, it’s good to know that your academic abilities are clearly not something that can be lost even after a decade," Eris commented when she finally told him.

"And?" Nesta urged him to continue.

"And you’ll be able to take on new cases," Eris continued, but before she could rejoice, he stopped her with a gesture. "Later. For now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to personally ensure whom I’m giving the senior associate position to, so you’ll close the first few cases with me."

Nesta looked at him as if he had two heads.

"I don’t need your help," she said sternly and coldly. Two months. She had spent two months here, helping only with paperwork, talking to clients, and just acting like a stupid student intern. But now, when she had given him every possible result, Eris had the nerve to think she wasn’t ready?

"But I need yours," he shrugged, completely unaffected by her tone. "One pretty head is good, but two are even better."

"You need my help?" Nesta repeated in disbelief. "I thought you didn’t ask for help."

"Well, you didn’t either until recently," Eris clicked his tongue. "I’m working on the Kallias case. It’s pro bono, but the case is delicate. It would be easier for me to work with someone who’s got a good head on their shoulders and whom I can trust without a doubt."

Nesta stayed silent. The case of the Kallias orphanage children had been in the news for a long time, yet the company involved still denied responsibility and refused to be held accountable.

"Won’t your employees be offended to find out you trust me more than them, who’ve worked here for years?" she asked instead, raising an eyebrow. Eris just scoffed.

"I could give you dozens of compliments about how great a lawyer you are and how much I trust you, but you already know that. Your involvement in this case will help me confirm your restored abilities, restore your name since the case is high-profile, and simply give me an excuse to see your face more often."

Nesta couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his light flirting. Eris smirked, handing her a folder, which she understood contained the details of the case.

"Your homework," he said. "By Tuesday, I expect an assessment of the facts, the legal basis of the case, and a few possible legal strategies we’ll use. Don’t get bored."

"Why not by Monday?" she couldn’t help but ask.

"I thought you spent weekends with your kids," Eris simply replied. "But if you feel like working while little demons run around, be my guest. Just make sure no extra liquids end up on the documents." He grimaced, and Nesta couldn’t help but smirk. Eris never liked other people’s children.

"Everything will be ready by Tuesday," she nodded and took the folder.

"Have a good weekend, Nesta," Eris said as she headed for the door. She threw a quick "You too" and left.

Her weekend wasn’t as free as she would’ve liked, considering Astrid suddenly had a toothache and had to get a filling, and Callista constantly clung to her leg, complaining about how much she missed her during the week. So she only managed to open the case on Sunday evening when the two girls had already fallen asleep, curled up on either side of her.

The lead poisoning of over a hundred children, students of an elementary school near an orphanage, caused by a battery factory that had been built nearby. The factory hadn’t adhered to proper safety measures, leading to many children now suffering from severe illnesses and complications.

Nesta found the necessary contacts of the orphanage staff, whom she planned to speak with on Monday to get their testimonies and the medical reports on the children’s conditions. In addition, she studied the documents Eris had provided. There weren’t many—a couple of public petitions and appeals from outraged local residents, upset after the media had reported the situation, and a few statements from environmental activists investigating the ecological state of the area around the factory.

The rest of the information had been requested but hadn’t been provided yet, so all Nesta could do was search for similar cases from recent years, study the company, and leave everything else for Monday. That was when Callista woke up from the sound of her typing and asked Nesta to just lie down with them, which Nesta couldn’t refuse.

On Monday morning, Cassian arrived to pick up the girls. Nesta greeted him dryly, and he only nodded in response. Callista was too sleepy to notice her parents glaring at each other, and Astrid frowned and grumbled that they were both mean, adjusting her school backpack.

After that, Nesta drove to the office, hoping not to be late and cursing every possible traffic jam on the way. If there was anything she didn’t miss during maternity leave, it was traffic. A dreadful part of life. Awfully unfair and time-wasting.

She rushed into the office at exactly nine o’clock, not a minute late, for which she was grateful. At that moment, Eris stepped out of the second elevator, sipping coffee and clearly in no hurry, noticing her rush to pass through the turnstile.

"Oh no, I was just about to fine you," he said mockingly, smiling.

"Terrible office location," Nesta grumbled.

"But great view, and everything is within walking distance," Eris shrugged. "And maybe I just chose the building closest to my apartment."

"Did they send you the results of the factory’s sanitary inspections?" Nesta changed the subject. Eris just shook his head, sipping his coffee.

"Not yet, but my best senior associate is ready to call them and threaten that if they don’t send them by lunch, we’ll file a lawsuit for violating the right to access information because time is running out," Eris smiled.

"Of course," Nesta muttered, realizing she’d be handling that.

"If you go to interview the experts and orphanage staff today, don’t bother notifying me. Don’t waste time; go as soon as you can."

With those words, Eris left her alone, heading to his office. Nesta spent half the day arguing on the phone with the factory owners’ clearly feigning ignorance lawyer and the other half rushing around the city, talking to several more people.

On Tuesday morning, she and Eris sat in his office, discussing the information she had gathered and how they could use it to get the maximum compensation from the factory.

"One hundred thousand isn’t even money," Nesta frowned when Eris told her that the factory had offered the victims one hundred thousand dollars per child. "How can you value a child’s life at that sum?"

"We can make them cover medical expenses, but Kallias said that wouldn’t be enough," Eris sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Of course, it’s not enough," Nesta nodded in agreement. Perhaps it was her maternal instinct speaking, but if anything had happened to her children, she would’ve gone to any lengths to not only secure compensation but also to make sure all those responsible were imprisoned for life, no matter how much effort and time it took.

"They’re still refusing to give us the documents on sanitary measures, citing that they have the right to submit them by the end of next week."

"The hearing is the day after their deadline, it’s obviously intentional," Nesta sighed. Eris understood this too, which is why they were trying in every way to find loopholes that would pressure the factory into sending the documents earlier. "We can request a postponement of the hearing. It’s impossible to plan a strategy when we don’t even have the basic documents."

"The problem is we requested the documents too late," Eris explained. "I didn’t take this case until Kallias personally asked me to. Before that, they had some government lawyer helping them, who seemed like he learned how to read yesterday, let alone knew the basic procedures."

Nesta chuckled, and Eris exhaled in frustration. They were both nervous about the case. It wasn’t about their careers. Nesta felt that, like her, Eris didn’t want to leave those responsible for so many broken lives unpunished; they wanted to achieve greater compensation and harsher penalties.

"What about the soil analysis?" Nesta asked, thinking that if they couldn’t get the sanitary measures, at least they could receive the results of independent tests immediately.

"They’re still in the queue at the lab," Eris replied. "You remember how slow they are with that."

Nesta scoffed, remembering it all too well. Once, it almost cost her a major case because the lab delayed the test results, and they couldn’t bring them to court on time, forcing her to manage without them. Back then, she handled it, but she had other evidence. Now, everything was different.

The entire week, Nesta spent in Eris’ office. Sometimes they just worked in silence, each shuffling papers or typing, busy with their own tasks, and occasionally one of them would get up to fetch coffee, bringing back two cups. Other times, they discussed the case, the details, the information they found, the articles and laws they could use.

In the evenings, Nesta had been glad to stay in the office longer. At home, a cold and empty apartment awaited her, which came to life only on weekends. She had household chores waiting for her and thoughts about how much she hated her life. The latter was dramatic, sometimes exaggerated, but Nesta was still left alone with her thoughts, and that was dangerous.

Here, though, she wasn’t alone. Eris was here… Well, a couple of months ago, she wouldn’t have called his company pleasant, but he had become more tolerable. Still the same sarcastic jerk at times, but it was clear that he had matured and no longer lashed out at everyone with biting and hurtful remarks.

Instead, they sometimes shared stories from their lives. Nesta talked about the girls, the nightmare of the housing market that led to their mortgage having a hellish interest rate, and how often she now had to visit amusement parks. Eris talked about his company, younger brothers, and his dogs.

"No, you’re lying to me," Nesta exclaimed with clear disbelief, her eyes wide open.

"Simple math, Archeron," Eris rolled his eyes, laughing. "He’s already twenty-three."

"He can’t be twenty-three! I remember him as a little kid at our graduation!" Nesta shook her head as they discussed how old Lucien was now. It couldn’t be that he had grown up so much.

"Sorry, but how long ago was our graduation?" Eris snorted.

"No need to remind me how old we are," Nesta snorted back, causing him to laugh.

"You're anything but old, Nesta. Though with your memory of the law, I’m starting to have doubts about that."

Nesta threw a paper manual at him in response. Eris dodged and chuckled.

The following Saturday, somehow, Eris ended up in her apartment.

Okay, not just magically and out of nowhere. They had agreed to go through all the documents together before he went to negotiations with the factory's lawyers. However, those jerks scheduled the talks for the weekend, citing their busy schedules.

So, that morning, Eris arrived at her apartment, delighting Astrid and Callista with a bag full of all kinds of candy.

"It wouldn’t be polite to show up empty-handed," he explained while Nesta gave him a disapproving look. Her daughters were already ready to fight over the bag if not for the guest's presence.

"You went overboard," Nesta shook her head. "But thank you, anyway."

She looked at the girls expectantly, and Astrid was the first to catch the hint.

"Thank you," she smiled with her toothless grin—she had just recently lost almost all her front teeth.

"Thank you," Callista echoed, using the moment when her sister was distracted to grab the bag and run toward the kitchen.

"Hey!" Astrid shouted after her and ran off in pursuit. The sounds of their scuffle were muffled by the kitchen door closing behind them.

"Well, this is way more interesting than court sessions," Eris said, watching Nesta's daughters with interest.

"It's a constant mess," she said. "Let’s go, we don’t have much time."

After sending the girls to their room and asking them to be quiet, Nesta and Eris sat at the table and began sorting through the documents, arguing about the order in which to use them to achieve the best results. The goal was to bluff the lawyers into thinking they had a lot of evidence against them and that they would win in court anyway, hoping that the factory owners would agree to the demands, understanding that it would save them at least on legal fees.

"Don't you want to go to the negotiations yourself?" Eris asked as Nesta skimmed through the medical report of one of the affected children, a report she had memorized by now.

"I have no one to leave the kids with," she said. "Besides, with your reputation, you’ll scare them more."

"My reputation causes more problems than benefits," Eris grumbled. "They know I’m doing this on a charitable basis, so they think I don’t care and won’t try too hard, which means..."

"They won’t believe your bluff about having all the reports," Nesta finished his thought. "They’ll see through the bluff for the wrong reasons."

"But in your case, they’ll know that as a 'newcomer,' you’ll try to get the maximum compensation. I can find a sitter for your daughters in fifteen minutes. The negotiations won’t take long, maybe two hours tops, before you scare those unsuspecting idiots to death."

"I don’t want to leave the kids with a stranger I’m not sure about."

"If you agree to go, I could personally watch your brats," Eris said in a very serious tone, surprising her greatly. "I’m not a stranger, and it’s not in my interest to harm your kids. I’ll put on some cartoons and make sure they don’t overeat the sweets. Easy."

"Why do you want me to go to the negotiations so badly?" Nesta frowned, still trying to figure out the catch. Eris-I-hate-kids-they’re-all-awful-Vanserra couldn’t just offer to babysit her daughters so she could go scare off some lawyers.

"Aside from the already mentioned reasons, because you’re my best senior associate, and I want to pawn off my work on someone else," Eris smiled at her, as unserious as ever.

After thinking it over for a moment, Nesta agreed. She understood this was one of the steps toward restoring her career reputation. Being actively involved in cases, and the fact that Eris was helping her with this, confused her greatly, but she was still grateful.

After getting ready and warning Astrid that Eris would watch them, Nesta headed to the negotiations.

Perhaps he had been too hasty when he said watching kids was easy. As it turned out, their attention span was far too short to just put on the TV and wait for Nesta to return.

"What do you do for work?" the older monster continued her interrogation, asking the fifth or sixth question.

"I’m a lawyer," Eris replied, trying not to sound annoyed.

"Just like Mom, you’re colleagues?"

"Yes."

"Do you have a car?"

"Three."

"Why so many?"

And so on. Eris thought he was going to lose his mind, but then the smaller monster appeared. And things got worse.

"Where’s Mom?" the girl asked, clearly upset by Nesta’s absence. Eris’s expression softened a bit at her tone.

"She’ll be back soon," he said, not giving an exact time because he didn’t really know how long everything would take, and he wasn’t sure the concept of time made sense to a four-year-old. Or however old she was.

"I miss Mom," the girl said, pouting and giving him puppy-dog eyes. "I want Mom!"

"Your mom will be back very soon," Eris said gently, trying to calm her down, but the girl just got more upset.

"Oh no," the older monster commented. Eris looked at her questioningly. "Callista’s about to cry."

Eris regretted starting all this. Of course, he wanted to help Nesta with rebuilding her career, and he was sure she’d handle the task perfectly, but her kids were clearly more difficult than simple negotiations.

"Make hot chocolate," Astrid told him. "Callista calms down from that."

Internally, he knew the monster was probably tricking him and just trying to get more sweets. On the other hand, Eris had exactly zero ideas about how to take care of kids who weren’t his younger brothers, whom he first gave a thump on the head and then hugged and promised all kinds of tall tales. That tactic wouldn’t work here for several reasons.

Swearing silently, he pulled out his phone, looking for the nearest coffee shop and delivery.

"What are you doing?" Astrid frowned. Eris raised an eyebrow in confusion, not understanding her question.

"Ordering hot chocolate?"

"Mom always makes it herself," the girl frowned even more. "What if they add too much chocolate, and Callista gets a rash?"

Meanwhile, Callista kept complaining about missing Nesta, and Eris felt a headache coming on. So, picking up the little monster and listening to the instructions of the older one, he headed to the kitchen to make them hot chocolate.

Astrid asked more questions, and Callista got distracted by the magnets on the fridge, which made her stop crying. After burning his fingers a little, Eris finally managed to finish and set two mugs on the table.

As it turned out, it wasn’t over yet, and each monster had their own special mug with a specific princess, and they refused to drink from any other.

Finally, when the mugs were right, monsters happily drank their hot chocolate, Eris sighed in relief, hoping it was over. Apparently, it was not.

"Do you have a dog?"

When Nesta returned, she was afraid she would find the apartment in chaos. Despite her newfound respect for Eris, which had developed just a couple of months ago, watching over children didn't seem like his strong suit. However, when she entered the apartment, everything was calm.

She walked into the living room and found Callista curled up peacefully asleep next to Eris, while Astrid sat on his other side, watching something on his phone with an admiring expression. They were even whispering to each other.

"Look who’s here," Eris said quietly, glancing towards Nesta. Astrid looked up from his phone, where she had been admiring pictures of various dogs, and ran over to Nesta, who immediately hugged her.

"Mom! Did you know Eris has six dogs?" she said with awe. "Six! Can we get a puppy too? Please?"

After explaining to Astrid why they couldn't get a puppy, Nesta thanked Eris for watching her children. He merely waved it off and headed toward the hallway.

"How did it go?" he asked while putting on his coat.

"Worse than I thought," Nesta replied, biting her lip. "For some reason, they figured out that we don’t have the test results yet. They were willing to offer two hundred thousand in compensation, but I refused."

"And you did the right thing," Eris said. "Even if we don’t have the necessary documents now, they’ll be ready by the time we go to court. Those idiots just delayed the inevitable by a few days."

"Are you going to send me to court in your place too?"

"If you want," Eris smirked. "Sorry for taking your weekend."

"For a good cause," Nesta shrugged. "Just don’t think I’ll let you take my weekends regularly. That’s not happening."

"I wouldn’t dare take your time away from these little gremlins."

Eris left, and Nesta was left with Astrid and the still-sleeping Callista, while the conversation about "getting a dog" continued. Damn Eris and his dogs.

On Monday, Eris told her she didn’t need to come to work as compensation for the Saturday. Nesta hadn’t expected that, but she also wasn’t going to turn down a paid day off. So, that morning, she calmly made breakfast for the girls, got Astrid ready for school and Callista for daycare, and drove them herself, telling Cassian not to come.

She didn’t particularly want to see him anyway.

"Is Eris going to live with us?" Astrid asked innocently as Nesta held back from cursing out the truck driver who was either blind or purposefully wanted to crash into her on the road.

The question caught her completely off guard once the meaning of Astrid’s words sank in. "No, of course not. Why do you think that?"

Astrid shrugged. "Dad’s friend sometimes lives with us."

Of course. Nesta rolled her eyes, trying to restrain another wave of anger. ‘Dad’s friend,’ who had always been a family friend. ‘Just a friend, Nesta, don’t overthink it.’ And she hadn’t. How did it all end? With her figuring everything out by herself.

There had been so many signs: the "late nights at work" that Azriel couldn’t confirm whenever Nesta asked him if Cassian was still at the gym; the stray blonde hairs on the floor and other surfaces; the women’s perfume on her husband's clothes, and so much more.

At first, she had believed him. She believed that Cassian wouldn’t deceive her, that he would never betray the trust she had placed in him. He was a good husband, a wonderful father to their daughters, so why should she worry? Because sometimes those hugs with Mor lasted just a little too long to be friendly? Or because they always had their own inside jokes that only the two of them understood? Or maybe she should’ve worried when Mor drunkenly mentioned at a family gathering that she sometimes dropped by the gym to have lunch with Cassian.

Yes, for the last two years or so of their marriage, they both understood that they no longer felt what they once did for each other. The spark was gone, the understanding was gone, and there was no longer a desire to be close. Still, Nesta believed they could make their relationship work, believing it would be better for their daughters.

One day, five-year-old Astrid approached her while she was sitting on the couch with an open book in her lap and asked why she wasn’t happy. Nesta had spent a long time wondering what had been so obvious about her that day that even her little daughter had noticed something was wrong.

And yet, even then, that didn’t give Cassian the right to cheat on her like that.

Nesta couldn’t describe the emotions she felt when the pieces of the puzzle finally came together in her mind. It was something that grew from the small seeds of doubt and insecurity, a thought she had dismissed and tried to push away for a long time. But when she confirmed it all, she realized she felt nothing but emptiness.

Her first thought after finding Morrigan's bracelet in their bedroom was, "I wish I had renewed my law license last year."

The second was anger. Not a hot, impulsive kind of anger. It was a quiet rage. Quiet and dangerous, which simmered in her mind throughout that fateful day. A rage that made her brain work actively, calculating every next step with terrifying precision, including maximum rationality.

Nesta Archeron had always considered herself a rational woman. So that day, she visited four rental apartments, then several more over the next two weeks, and finally, after finding one that suited her, she paid for it with the money Cassian had been saving for a gaming console for himself or whatever other useless shit he was going to buy.

On the day she signed the lease, she asked Feyre to watch the kids, to which her sister readily agreed. Nesta drew up the divorce papers and finally made the decision to take the last step: she packed up her things and left.

Cassian was met with an empty house, a wrecked car, and the next morning, a billboard on the way to his gym with his face on it, labeled, in short, that he was a cheater and a jerk.

What followed were divorce proceedings, dry arguments over who would get custody of the children, and eventually, they parted ways.

"Why won’t he live with us?" Astrid continued with her questions, frowning. "He’s nice."

"Honey," Nesta sighed softly, "Eris isn’t going to live with us because he already has his own place to live."

"Then can we live with him?" Astrid smiled brightly. "He has dogs, Mom!"

Nesta regretted ever letting Eris into her home. How on earth had just a few hours with him been enough for her daughter to start pleading for them to move in with Eris? Of course, it was all because of the damn dogs and candy with which Eris had bought her daughter’s trust—the scoundrel.

"I want a dog too," a sleepy Callista joined in from her car seat.

"No dogs," Nesta said firmly. "And no, Eris isn’t going to live with us."

"But he’ll visit, right?"

It was a long drive to school.

#eris vanserra #acotar #neris #nesta x eris #nesta archeron x eris vanserra #eris acotar #nesta archeron #nesta acotar #neris fanfiction

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missmeasured · 1 year ago

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Merry Rickmas everybody! I’d like to throw this in, even though I’m late for the prompt. Under the category of Restless Waiting I have a Hans Gruber/Reader smut for y’all.

You are a new lawyer who is being blackmailed by Hans Gruber and forced to work for him in the weeks leading up to his heist. Temporarily living together in a penthouse apartment that faces the Nakatomi Tower, you sometimes forget he’s a criminal. He prefers to remind you.

Rating: Explicit | Word Count: 2300 | Pairing: Hans Gruber/ You (Reader has breasts and a vagina)

Content Warning Tags: Blackmail, shoplifting, Heist planning, Non consensual touching, Fingering, Vaginal Sex

Read below the cut:

Restless Waiting - Rickmas 2023 - Hans Gruber

You had gotten used to being woken in the night with his requests. Working for Hans, living in this apartment while he worked on his plan, was an all hours kind of job. However, normally it was a sharp knock that stirred you, this time you did not wake at the soft opening of the door, or the lifting of the covers, but jolted into alertness as the weight settled into your bed.

“Sir?” You ask in a panic, please God let it be him and not some intruder.

“I require your assistance,” he used his normal answer and yet as he slunk across your bed the normalcy of the answer seemed not to matter.

“I’ll get some clothes,” you begin and try to leave from the other side, but his hands take your hips, clad only in some cotton underwear, and pull them back toward his own.

“That won’t be necessary. You are perfect as you are.” He answers calmly. Then his fingers start tracing patterns across the flesh of your shoulder blades above your camisole and you shiver to think what assistance he is asking for tonight.

You knew he was not a good man, in the moral way. He was not opposed to using violence to get what he wants. You yourself are here because he is blackmailing you. You would lose your law career if he told on you about your prolific shoplifting spree you went on after a bout of depression at the end of law school. How he knew about it, you were not sure. You had changed your name since then, covered your tracks as best you could. Yet the evidence remained, and with his folder of evidence your employers would also have no difficulty connecting the dots.

The fingers of a not morally good man swirling around the skin on one’s back, were complicated. On one hand, you were not an idiot, men like him often take what they want in this way. So your body tensed, too aware of being prey, all the nights you had slumbered here unmolested had lulled you into a false sense of security perhaps. On the other hand, he was a handsome man. Quite charming. Too many times you had felt yourself forget that he was a criminal, who was blackmailing you into helping him dot the i’s and cross the t’s on his plan. He planned on killing. You knew all of this explicitly and still there were moments.

Mornings of sharing cups of coffee, when he was not questioning you about the legal intricacies of different foreign bank accounts or corporate documents, sometimes he would just ask you questions about yourself and really listen to the answer. In those conversations you felt yourself forget who he really was. You cursed the little butterflies in your stomach and squashed them with the remembrance that he was your blackmailer.

“What do you want, Hans?” You ask, you need to be clear about what is happening here. To know what to expect. Are you being asked to pay the blackmailer with your body now?

“It’s funny… my plan… it’s all coming to fruition and now… all this waiting. It makes me unsettled.” He answers. It is not an answer.

“And… how can I help?” You ask the dark, his hand begins slipping up and down your waist and over your hip, on its way back he lets it go under your camisole. Your breath hitches but the hand stays near your waist, he doesn't move to grope you.

“The holiday… it makes me feel… lonesome. Funny how your childhood has a way of rearing its ugly head when you think you are so big and impervious to it all. So I find myself… seeking your company.”

“Christmas… is a strange time for a lot of people.” You whisper back, unsure what to say.

“Take off this top. I want to draw on your whole back.” He instructs in a whisper. His fingertips swirl again, under your shirt now. To say no, and be told it was mandatory felt too uncomfortable. You didn’t want to think of this as happening as part of your blackmail, so you lifted yourself up to slide out of the camisole without argument, telling yourself you wanted the handsome man to draw on your back anyway. You told yourself to pretend you had met him at a cafe. Come home with him of your own accord.

“So much…. Waiting… so much wanting… perhaps I am a child waiting for Saint Nicholas all over again. Only this time… I wait for a much bigger present. Freedom.” He muses as he maps out the planes of your bare back while you clutch the covers close to your chest. “Then again, I am sure you also… are restless… waiting for your own freedom. From me.”

“I was more restless in the beginning. Now I have accepted it. Just a few more days, and you’ll be somewhere in paradise and I’ll… go back to work,” you answer.

“Perhaps I shall send you a plane ticket… have you come so that I might do this in sun cream…” he muses.

“I’m sure there will be a lovely lady with a lovely back where you are going.” You try to shut this down, because just then your mind was too eager to jump at the chance. The idea of not working anymore was too pleasant. But you were too clever to jump at being the mistress of a criminal. You would live at his whim, feeling like he owned you. You would lose all the progress of your hard fought career, and what if one day he just called it off? Better not to dream at all.

“I’ve grown quite fond of you, this month.” His lips seem too close to your ear. “My clever girl. So helpful.”

“You are a very charming blackmailer.” You answer in a whisper, too excited about the change in his tone, the weight of his pressing hands, and how one has gone back to your waist and made the pilgrimage over your hip and down your thigh.

“Charming?” He did that laugh where he made a single grunt of chuckle in his throat and pushed air through his nose, it tickled your neck. “Charming enough… to ask for more? I confess, I came in here thinking if I can blackmail you to work for me, I can blackmail you to snuggle away the Christmas woe, the relentless waiting, and yet… I do confess I want more. But… I don’t want your body as blackmail. You’d have to give it of your own free will.” His fingers swirled over the fronts of your thighs, sending wanting to your core in their wake.

You did not know what to say, but the more his fingers made swirls of goosebumps as if they were the winter wind inside the warmth of your covers, the harder it was not to show your arousal inside your breath.

“Well… can I have my pretty lawyer for Christmas?” He was impatient, waiting for your answer, his fingers so close to touching your panties you were aching with the need of it. His beard scratched against your bare back, he was kissing you softly there between your shoulder blades.

“Yes.” You whispered. He ended your waiting, immediately. He cupped your sex and pulled you tighter against him, suddenly his hard cock pressed against you. Had it been there behind you the whole time, pointing, reaching, not touching?

You moaned. You were letting him, your blackmailer, do this to you. Where were your senses? His beard scratched you while his lips clamped down to suck on your neck. Pain twisting with pleasure, like what you should do, and should not do. You should not be excited by the man who has threatened your livelihood, not yearn for the stiffness that pressed against your ass.

His fingers wormed under your panties, feeling for your entrance and finding it quickly. He laughs into your ear from behind. “I didn’t know I was this charming,” he teases. “So wet…” he pushes in with two fingers, making you cry out. “Tell me… did your pussy get this wet when you were stealing?” He was bringing up a dark time, a bad memory, twisting it with your pleasure. There was no fighting how good his fingers felt inside you. “That’s why I chose you, you know. My little thief. I know that you know… the rush I am chasing.”

Your response was only sounds, wanton, craving sounds while he talked and plunged his fingers in and out, with every pass of them you felt yourself dripping around them, almost embarrassed by how eager your body was for him. “You try to be such a good girl now. Different name.. revised history… but I think helping me steal all this money…. Turns you on. I think you are excited.” He ground his excitement into you and you clenched around his fingers thinking about having it inside you.

He stopped, withdrew, and tossed back the covers, plunging you into the chilly night air. He sat up, pulled you over onto your back, eyes feasting on your breasts. “I’ve been wondering what’s under your clothes… what a beautiful canvas to shoplift on. I bet these nipples looked so pretty under stolen lace. I bet this…” He put his hand down to her core again and brushed a thumb over her mound “left lovely silky wetness right in the middle of every stolen pair of panties.” He hooked his fingers in and stole your last bit of clothing.

In the moonlight you saw he had on an open button down shirt on and a pair of navy blue boxers that tented in the middle. He saw you look, and smirked as he pulled the length from below the waistband, letting it go above, an eager rock hardness, bobbing up and down as he let the thing swing. He looked so good, so handsome, and partly undressed, that beautiful cock the cherry on top, you opened your legs for him.

He knelt between your legs and guided the tip into your folds, slipping it up and down, lubing himself in your excitement. Every time he rubbed your clit with it you couldn’t help but moan for him, making you sound whoreishly eager for his coming penetration. But you liked it when he smirked at your noises.

He lined up the tip and nestled it into your opening. He raised and lowered his hips with maddening slowness, easing the length of it inside you tiny bit by tiny bit, relishing in your gasps, your hips lifting, trying to take more of him than he would allow at once. “You are… a very…mmmm… good Christmas gift… my little thief… you are…. So wet… “ He slowly said while he fucked himself into you with such erotic slowness you thought you would explode when it reached his full girth.

“I bet when I’m long gone with all my money you will touch yourself to these memories. At your boring job. Your pussy will be throbbing around your fingers when you think about helping me steal all that money…” He told you, and you knew he was right. You had been enjoying helping him.

You were so swollen, so needy, every pass of his cock was scratching a desperate itch. You didn’t even know you needed it. Had wanted it. He put his hands under your knees and pushed your legs back, crunching your body up under him as he began fucking you faster. He must have sensed you were about to come, because he slowed to a stop with a mischievous look. “Let me catch up with you, naughty girl.” You moan at his teasing, as he goes slow again with a maddening rhythm .

“I like this.” He sighed over your face as casually fucks you, letting you stay on the edge. “Respectable girl with bad girl past still likes being fucked like a naughty girl, doesn’t she? Because that’s who you are… inside.” He has pegged you with deadly accuracy. It seems to give him pleasure to have caught out the truth about you. He speeds up again.

He’s too right, you haven’t felt so alive in months, and no man has felt as good inside you as this criminal mastermind does. It all washes over you. The feelings, the truths of it all, the pleasure more than anything. Then you are starting your climax and he is chasing his own, pushing harder and deeper into you.

It’s like being outside of yourself, watching him fuck you till he comes. How when he begins to feel his climax coming he abandoned his slow, talkative approach and tossed his head back in open mouthed pleasure as he slams himself in to the hilt over and over again. His breathy noises, his groans on the air, make your growing orgasm unbeleivably strong, your legs shake as he fucks you.

He pulls himself out only at the last possible second as his cock instantly explodes all over your curled up form beneath him. You enjoyed his grunts a little too much as he used his hand to spend the last himself across your breasts.

It was only after that you had your first kiss with the man. The damn butterflies came back. “I don’t think the waiting is going to be so hard anymore… with such a lovely distraction.” He smiled as he cleaned you. “Not with my little thief stealing my attention.” He teased.

As he tucked you into his arms for the night suddenly the few days before the heist seemed like they would be too short. Your impending freedom loomed too imminent. You would be restlessly trying not to think about how fast Christmas was coming, knowing it would mark the end of your time with him. Unless you accepted that plane ticket offer after all.

#rickmas2023 #fanfiction #smutty #smutty fanfiction #hans gruber #Hans Gruber/reader #hans Gruber x you #alan rickman #not SFW #miss measured

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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Naomi Kritzer's "Liberty's Daughter"

Tomorrow (November 22), I'll be joined by Vass Bednar at the Toronto Metro Reference Library for a talk about my new novel, The Lost Cause, a preapocalyptic tale of hope in the climate emergency.

There's so much sf about "competent men" running their families with entrepreneurial zeal, clarity of vision and a firm confident hand. But there's precious little fiction about how much being raised by a Heinlein dad would suuuck. But it would, and in Naomi Kritzer's Liberty's Daughter, we get a peek inside the nightmare:

https://fairwoodpress.com/store/p148/LIBERTY%27S_DAUGHTER.html

Beck Garrison is a seasteader, living on a floating platform built by libertarian cranks to get away from big government, taxes, and the idea that people owe each other care and consideration. Various kinds of market trufans have built their own fiefdoms: there's a sin city, a biotech free-for-all, a lawless Mad Max zone, and so on.

Beck's father, Paul, is some kind of local functionary. He's wealthy and respected, both a power-broker and a power in his own right. He pays for Beck to get private tutoring (no public schools – no public anything) and if she needs bailing out from some kind of sticky situation, he's got her on his account with Alpha Dogs, the toughest mercenaries on the sea (no police, either). An armed society is a polite society, after all.

Beck has a job, naturally (there ain't no such thing as a free lunch). She's a finder: for all that the steaders worship commerce as a sacrament consecrated to the holy Invisible Hand, there's not a lot of retail at sea. California – the nearest onshore neighbor – has lots of pesky taxes, and besides, it's a long ways off. Besides, space is at a premium on the stead, so people don't have attics and basements to fill with excess consumer junk.

Instead, when a steader needs something – a shoelace, a fashion accessory, or any other creature comfort – they hire a finder like Beck to clamber around between the decks of the aircraft carriers, scows, yachts and other vessels comprising the stead. It's a good way for Beck to earn spending money, and she's a natural at it. After all, she's been a steader since she was four, when her mother died in a drunk driving accident and her father took her to sea.

The story opens with a finding job. Beck wants a pair of sparkly shoes for her client, and the woman who owns them is an indentured servant whose sister has gone missing. Find the sister, get the shoes.

Indentured servant? Yeah, of course. Freedom of contract is the one freedom from which all the others flow, so you can sell yourself into bond labor. Hell, maybe you can earn enough to buy a share in the stead and become a co-owner/citizen.

This is the setup for Beck's adventure, which sees her liberating bond slaves tricked into fatal work details, getting involved in reality TV production, meeting illegal IWW organizers, and becoming embroiled in a pandemic that threatens the lives of all the steaders. It's a coming of age novel, told with the same straightforward, spunky zeal of Heinlein's juvies, but from the perspective of the daughter, not the dad.

Kritzer makes it clear that growing up under the thumb of a TANSTAAFL-worshipping, self-regarding, wealthy autocrat who worships selfishness as the necessary precondition for market clearing would be a goddamned nightmare. She also thinks through some of the important implications of life in one of these offshore libertarian archipelagos, like the fact that the wealthy residents would be overwhelming drawn from the ranks of corporate criminals and tax-cheats, and the underclass would be bail-skipping proles ensnared in the War on Drugs.

But Liberty's Daughter isn't a hymn to big government. Most of the steaders are escaping the US government, a state whose authoritarian and cruel proclivities are well-documented. Kritzer uses the labor dispute at the core of the novel to reveal market authoritarianism – the coercive power that hunger and poverty transfers from the have-nots to the haves. Think of Anatole France's wry observation that "the law, in its majestic equality, equally forbids the rich as well as the poor to sleep under bridges, to beg in the streets, and to steal bread."

If you're familiar with Kritzer's work, you won't be surprised to learn that she tells a zippy, fast moving tale that smuggles in sharp observations about the cleavage lines between solidarity and selfishness. Her story "So Much Cooking" – published years before the pandemic – captured life under lockdown with eerie prescience:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/17/pack-of-knaves/#so-much-cooking

More recently, her "Better Living Through Algorithms" is a dazzling display of knifework that'll cut you a dozen times before you even notice that you're bleeding:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/02/wunderkammer/#jubillee

If you habitually read Kritzer's short fiction, Liberty's Daughter might be familiar to you, as it is adapted from a series of stories that originally ran in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. Kritzer's YA debut, Catfishing on the CatNet, was also adapted from a short story, "Cat Pictures Please," which won the Hugo Award in 2016:

https://boingboing.net/2019/11/19/setec-astronomy-kitteh.html

"Libertarian exit" – buying a country, or an archipelago, or just a luxury bunker – has been in the air lately. It's a major element of my new novel, The Lost Cause, which came out this month – anarchocapitalist wreckers try to sabotage the Green New Deal from the seastead they've moored to the tallest point in the drowned Grand Caymans and declared to be a sovereign nation:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865939/the-lost-cause

Kritzer is great at catching that zeitgeist. Seasteading is part of a long, bitter dream of a certain kind of selfish person to escape society, a tale told in lurid and fascinating detail in Raymond Craib's 2022 history Adventure Capitalism:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/14/this-way-to-the-egress/#terra-nullius

There's a longstanding joke to the effect that you can shut down any discussion of the merits of a libertarian exit by asking three questions about the brave new world:

Whether you can sell your organs;

Whether you can sell yourself into slavery; and

Whether there is any age of consent.

Kritzer tackles the first two, but tacks around the third. Instead, by giving us a young adult protagonist who has been raised in a rusting libertopia, she finds a decidedly less incendiary way to think about the role of autonomy in adolescents, and thus generates far more light than heat.

The result is a cracking read with a sting in its tail.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/21/podkaynes-dad-was-a-dick/#age-of-consent

#pluralistic

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karespocketboyfriends · 5 months ago

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𝙴𝚟𝚒𝚎’𝚜 𝙶𝚞𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚃𝚘 𝙱𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙰 𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝙰𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝

Sylus X Evie (OC)

Warnings -> 18+ NSFW (penetration/use of ‘sweetie, kitten, sir’/light power play/climax control/gentle hair pulling & teeth grazing) Sylus lowkey offs a guy, situationship dynamic

An original fan-fiction for Love and Deepspace. I appreciate reblogs but reposting to Tumblr or any other site is not okay with me.

𝒯𝒾𝓅 #1: 𝒜 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝑜𝓅 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝓊𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈

My head snaps up as the dining room doors swing open, a ridiculously tall man strolling through like he owns the place. Well, actually, he does own the place.

“Welcome back, Sir.” I greet him in a calm but upbeat manner. “Is any of that blood yours? Should I dig out the first aid kit?”

Sylus, the big bad boss of Onychinus and the devil parents use to scare their children into behaving, doesn’t glance my way. Instead, he makes the blood staining his figure vanish into black mist and heads for the back end of the large dining table. “No. Bring me some wine.”

Setting the documents in my hand down, I get up and move to his displayed collection. “Do you have a preference today?”

I hear a chair pull out, hear the rustling of his clothing as he sits down. “No.”

“Then you can have whatever I can reach.”

I think I hear him snicker, but don’t risk commenting on it. In no time at all, I have a glass filled and set on the table within his reach. Sylus picks up the glass and swirls the dark liquid around before taking a sip. He closes his eyes, either savouring the taste or taking a moment to rest.

I allow him that moment of peace. Then, I pop it like a bubble. “I know you just got back, Sir, but there is a matter we should discuss.”

Sylus cracks his eyes open and levels me with that intense crimson gaze of his. That look used to scare me, froze my body in a way that had me rooted to whatever spot I was standing in. “Is it necessary to discuss this now?”

“Well, no.” I hold my tongue just long enough for him to close his eyes and return to that restful state. “Unless you care that money is missing from the organization’s accounts with no explanation for it.”

Again, he opens his eyes. I fight back a smirk at the barely there change in his expression; the change between being annoyed at the situation and annoyed with me for interrupting his peace. Twice. “What is it?”

I leave his side to grab the evidence I need from the mess of paperwork scattered across the other side of the dining table. I have an my own office in his wing of the base, but sometimes I need a surface larger than my desk to organize everything, hence why everything is spread out in the dining room.

I place the most important documents containing my findings in front of him. “The accountants sent over the final income reports for this month. The revenue is lower than we usually see, about forty percent lower. I did some more digging,” Shifting my attention to a copy of a map, I pointed to a particular district outlined in a hot pink marker. “This seems to be the route where the loss is coming from. I asked Luke and Kieran to drop by the businesses that work with us and ask for the authentic copies of their transaction records. Every single one checks out. The businesses have paid what they owe for the month.”

Skimming over the reality of our partnership with the businesses in the N109 Zone is second nature now. Onychinus makes money in many ways, collecting protection money is just one of them. Normally, those who seek out the organization’s protection aren’t ballsy enough to play around with their debts, but it was still a possibility that needed to be looked into.

Sylus hummed, the sound rumbling deep in my ears like a mountain experiencing an earthquake. He gave the wine in his glass another swirl. “So, it’s an inside job.”

“That’s what the evidence is leading me to believe.” I cross my arms and pinch my chin. “Forty percent is big enough loss to notice right away. The accountants should have caught on immediately, unless-”

“They’re in on it.” He downs the rest of his glass. “Who was collecting debts for the area this month?”

I shrug. “No idea. It’s my job to catch these things, and it’s your job to solve them.” I glance at the clock and grin. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m stepping out for my lunch break. I’ll be back in an hour.”

His eyes are baring holes into my back, I can feel it as I practically skip towards the doors. “I want this mess cleaned up when you get back.”

“Yes, Sir!”

𝒯𝒾𝓅 #2: 𝒜 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀𝓈

𝒯𝒾𝓅 #3: 𝒜 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒, 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑜𝓈𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒

“That’s a lovely painting.” I say, gesturing towards a beautiful landscape hanging on the wall with the hand holding my glass. “May I ask who painted it?”

The man sitting across from me in the skyscraper’s boardroom looks less than pleased in my presence. He came across rather irate when we met in the lobby, immediately asking where Sylus was and grumbling the entire elevator ride up after learning he was running a bit late.

I had to bite my tongue to keep from warning him that stressing over this meeting would only make his wrinkles deepen.

Tapping his finger impatiently on the gilded handle of his walking stick, he tilts his chin towards the painting. “That is one of Rafayel’s masterpieces. The only one of its kind.”

“It’s lovely. Mr. Rafayel certainly knows his way around a colour palette.” I take a sip of the water. “I wonder what was going through his mind when he painted it. Any thoughts?”

“No.” He pulls a golden watch from his pocket, clicking his tongue at the time. “Are you sure Sylus is coming to this meeting? I certainly hope I’m not wasting my time entertaining a young lady with no real hand in Onychinus’ affairs.”

My smile widens. “Of course not. Mr. Sylus is a busy man, but he wouldn’t abandon a meeting without word. If you are unable to wait any longer, I can notify Mr. Sylus that we’ll have to reschedule - if he is willing to reschedule. It took a lot of convincing on your part to have him agree to meet with you, yes?”

I reach for my phone sitting on the edge of the table, but he holds up a hand to stop me. “It’s alright. I can wait.”

The door opens just then, and in comes the man we’ve been waiting for. Sylus looks as intimidating as ever, though to me he almost seems bored. His red eyes find me first, then shift silently to the man who has been nearly harassing our phone lines for the past week.

Smiling, I stand up and turn my body towards my boss, hands folded in front of me. “Glad to have you join us, Sir. Mr. Gallagher has been very eager to speak with you.”

Sylus’ lips curled into a sneer. “So, I’ve heard. Your proposal must be worth my while, considering all the trouble you’ve gone through to get me here.”

A bead of sweat rolls down Gallagher’s temple, but he wipes it away with a handkerchief as Sylus and I take our seats. “I appreciate your kindness in coming all the way here today, Mr. Sylus. Now, let us begin.”

Half an hour passes, and nothing comes from Gallagher’s ramblings. On and on he went about a research project he wanted his company to jump in on, spoke blatantly about just how much funding they would need. He has statistics and research papers from the past, before the age of technology we have today, but not once in has he mentioned Onychinus’ benefit in backing this project.

My hidden glances at Sylus revealed nothing of what he was thinking, and I had given up after the third attempt to read his mind. A year and a half I’ve been working under him, and his mind is still a mystery to me most of the time.

“Evie.” Sylus suddenly calls my name, interrupting Gallagher in the middle of his spiel.

Recognizing the cue, I close the notebook I have wasted an entire page of. “Yes, Sir?”

“How long has Mr. Gallagher been wasting our time for?”

I glance at the clock. “A little over thirty minutes, Sir.”

Sylus hums, but it sounds more like a growl. “Thirty minutes.” He taps his finger repeatedly against his temple. “Tell me, Mr. Gallagher, you’ve spoken a lot about what Onychinus can do for you, but what can your company offer me for this deliberate waste of time?”

The older man, with more bravery than someone with a receding hairline should have, points a finger at Sylus. “Now, you listen here, ya’ punk! You wasted an hour of my time making me wait on ya’! What are ya’ gonna do to compensate me for that, huh?!”

The temperature in the room suddenly drops. Sylus is as still as a predator, lying in wait to pounce when the prey least expects it. The room is so silent, I swear I can hear Gallagher’s heartbeat growing louder with each unsteady breath.

I lean to the side, bringing myself closer to Sylus. “I think your tardiness has offended him, Sir.”

Slowly, with both hands in his pockets, Sylus rises to his feet. With shaking hands, Gallagher draws a pistol from the inside of his coat and points the barrel at the large man’s chest.

“I-I’m warning ya’!” Gallagher explains, voice shaking almost as badly as his hands. “D-Don’tcha take another step towards me!”

The sinister grin on Sylus’ face, even though it isn’t directed at me, sends shivers down my spine. “Or what?”

The old man’s Adam’s apple bobs, eyes doubling in size. In the blink of an eye, the gun changes its aim from my boss to me.

That’s as far as he gets. Black and red mist swirl around his body, seizing his wrist and forcing him to drop the gun. It clatters to the ground as the mist yanks him off his feet, suspending him in the air.

Gallagher clutches his throat as if doing so would free him of the Evol’s hold, kicks his legs in a feeble attempt to escape. The more he thrashes, the more obvious his struggle to breathe becomes. By the time Sylus finally lets him go, Gallagher is nothing but a heap on the ground.

When the room falls quiet again, I stand up and gather my phone, notebook and pen. “I think we best take our leave now, Sir. There isn’t anything more to discuss.”

Sylus heads for the door. “Come. I will drop you off at the office.”

A spring found its way into my step as I chased after him, his strides much longer than mine. “Are we taking the motorcycle?”

“The car.”

My shoulders dropped. “Well, that’s not as fun.”

𝒯𝒾𝓅 #4: 𝒜 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒

𝒯𝒾𝓅 #5: 𝒜 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓅𝓊𝓉𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒, 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓈𝓀𝑒𝒹

A cup of warm honey tea in hand, I set the ceiling lights of my office to a dim lighting and stroll inside. The small office, neat and tidy and cozy, is irresistible at this hour of the night. It called to me like a siren’s song, its summons so strong I changed the taxi’s drop off address from my home to here.

I didn’t fight the urge much; I was looking for an excuse to avoid going home this late, anyway. Returning early from the club would open the door for my brothers to pry.

Mephisto swoops in through the ajar door, landing on a perch near the desk. His red eyes glow like a beacon in the shadows, watching me for a moment before opening his beak to caw.

“Shhh!” I hiss, scrambling for the bag of chopped peanuts I keep hidden in one of the drawers. “Don’t you dare disturb the boss.”

The odds of Sylus actually sleeping at night are low, but it’s not a risk I’m willing to take.

I dump a handful into the flat dish attached to the perch. Mephisto stops his ruckus to eat them, the treat keeping him distracted enough for me to get the fireplace going. He’s finished them by the time I settle into the leather chair on wheels.

“No more.” I sternly answer his silent, pleading look. “I will not be the one to get in trouble if you become too fat to fly.”

Mephisto, seemingly displeased, rustles his wings before taking off to do whatever it is mechanical crows do in their free time.

I get started on work the moment he leaves. It’s nothing complicated, just filing paper documents and sorting through digital ones on my laptop, organizing schedules and meetings for Sylus over the next few weeks. The smallest of the bookshelves keeps creeping into the corners of my vision, trying to tempt me to stop working and pick up one of the saucy novels instead. Definitely not work material, but with my brothers, it’s too risky to keep these kinds of books at home. Anything I want to hide from them, I have to hide it in here.

I hear the door click shut as I’m filing papers into the cabinet. Turning my head, I find Sylus, dressed in a red robe, approaching my desk. “Good evening, Sir.”

He picks up the top page from a stack of papers I have yet to sort through, and after looking it over, pinches the bridge of his nose. “Not only are you working overtime at this hour, but you’re doing so on a Friday night.”

I sneak a glance at the clock. “Technically, it’s Saturday morning, Sir.”

“You don’t work weekends; you made that clear when I agreed to hire you. My point still stands.” He turns his gaze to me and doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes mark my outfit. I, meanwhile, am struggling to keep my eyes off the ‘V’ his robe makes down his beautifully toned chest and stomach. “What happened, sweetie? Did you get so bored at the club, you decided to come work instead?”

Perhaps I should be concerned with how he knew where I have been, but Sylus has eyes and ears everywhere. Either Mephisto followed me, the twins said something about my plans for a girls night with my friends outside the organization, or he put the pieces together from my makeup and clothing alone. Impressive, if that’s the case - my low cut jeans and crop-top are more of a casual style that could be worn anywhere.

Instead of just standing there gawking, I moved back to the desk and started putting away the unfinished work. I’ll finish it another time. “It’s not that I was bored. I got kicked out.”

His chuckle had me looking up. “You got kicked out? What did you do, kitten? Scratch someone’s eyes out?”

When all the papers are safely tucked into the drawer, I lock it and put the key back in a smaller drawer. “Pretty much. Some men can’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” Recalling the satisfying crunch of his nose under my fist has me smirking. “Maybe he’ll remember tonight every time he looks in the mirror from now on.”

“Did you strike the way I showed you?”

Smirk growing, I nodded once. “Broke his nose.”

Sylus chuckles. “Good girl.”

My core pulls tight, thighs squeezing together at the rush of heat pooling between them. That sort of praise with the baritone voice he has is dangerous.

My reaction doesn’t go unnoticed. In fact, it flips a switch in him that turns his amusement into something almost predatory. The change in his eyes brings with it an electricity in the air, igniting a buzzing in my skin and a pounding in my heart.

“Are you… satisfied with the fun you’ve had tonight, sweetie?” Sylus asks, making his way around to my side of the desk with languid strides.

I turn with him, keeping my front to him, never taking my eyes off him. There’s no where to run to, and I have to tilt my head up and lean back against the desk just to keep eye contact as he gets closer. Sylus is pure dominance, towering over me and caging me in as he grips both sides of the desk.

Subconsciously, I lick my suddenly dry lips. “No.”

“No?” He lifts one hand and drags the pad of his thumb over my lips, then down and across my chin. “If you’re in the mood, would you like to play our special game?”

My blood runs hot, temptation whispering into my ear like a little devil on my shoulder. The skin where his thumb touched tingles, the taste of an addiction bubbling on my tongue. “A game sounds nice.”

Sylus hums and tilts his head a little. His thumb returns to my lips, parting them so he could tease the wet inside of my lower lip. “And what do we say when we want this game to stop?”

The cogs in my mind stopped at some point, and I have to kick them back into gear. “Crow.”

“Again.”

“Crow.” I repeat, much faster this time.

Sylus chuckles again, but this time, it comes out deeper and sends a wave of arousal through me. He lashes me with those lethal words of praise again. “Good girl.”

Then I’m being devoured by him, my lips and tongue under the command of his as he takes what he wants - what we both want. My moan comes out muffled, swallowed by him as I pathetically push my tongue against his. I’m not trying to force him out, that’s a battle I’ll never win; I just want to feel how strong he is, test how much control he has.

The answer is all of it, just the way I like it.

His massive hands sear my skin as he grips my bare waist, squeezing and pulling, dragging across my lower back and tracing the hem of my top. Mine can’t stay still either, moving quickly in their exploration of his chest. I have to grab fistfuls of his robe as a means of grounding myself when he suddenly grabs me beneath the thighs and lifts. A moment later, I’m being set down on the top of my desk.

One of my arms rests across the back of his neck and shoulders, the other extended behind me so I could brace my hand on the desk for extra support against the onslaught of Sylus’ kisses. One of his hands is planted on my thigh in a near bruising grip, the other busy with popping out the buttons of my top. When the last one comes undone, he halts his kisses to slide the sleeves down my arms and throw the unnecessary garment aside. He doesn’t treat my bra any much differently.

My breasts are exposed, nipples hardened from the foreplay, but Sylus doesn’t pounce right away. He’s too cunning for that, enjoys playing with my desires too much to pass up making me beg for it.

Instead, he buries his hand in my hair and, gently pulling on the roots, tilts my head back so my throat is bared to him. He drags his mouth over the sensitive skin, teasing me with tongue, teeth and kisses of varying pressure.

“Sylus.” I whine, giving his shoulder a squeeze. A pulse starts between my legs, one so intense it makes me want to clamp my thighs shut. I can’t, not with him standing between my knees. “Sylus, please.”

“Please’ what, kitten?” He nibbles my earlobe, blows a breath of air across it that has me gasping. “Use your words.”

“Please touch me.” I cave, breathless. “Please stop teasing me.”

Sylus breaths a chuckle against the side of my head. “You have such good manners, sweetie, but I’m afraid you’re not being specific. I am touching you.”

I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. “N-Not there.”

“No?” His fingers drag over my stomach, his touch featherlight. I’m so sensitive, my back arches beneath his attention. “Here, then?”

Again, I shake my head. My breasts feel heavy, aching so bad they almost hurt.

“Ah.” Sylus feigns realization, pretending as though he had no idea what I wanted before now. “I see. You must mean here.”

I cry out as his lips wrap around my left nipple, tongue and teeth toying with the hardened bud. Pain isn’t my thing, but the lightest teases of it such as gentle hair pulling and teeth grazing gets me off more than I want to admit it. Sylus knows my limits and has always maintained respect with my boundaries, even though this kind of play was something I didn’t know I liked until getting involved with him.

It’s only after giving equal attention to both breasts that Sylus advances, swiftly undoing the button and zipper of my jeans. With one arm wrapped around me, he hoists me up by the waist and uses the opposite hand to tug the waistband past my hips, bringing my underwear along with it. I squeal at the show of strength, but my attention is quickly redirected when he sets me down and yanks the remainder of my clothing down my legs, taking my shoes off with it. He tosses everything aside like they’re meaningless and steps back between my legs.

Excitement buzzes in my veins as he tilts my head back again. Then comes relief when he finally touches me.

His groan mixes with my moan and the cracking of the fireplace, lips brushing against my cheek as he speaks. “You’re so eager, sweetie. You enjoy this game as much as I do, don’t you?”

Another moan spills into the air. I can feel how slick I am, can hear it when he sinks a finger into me. My back momentarily arches at the much welcomed intrusion. “Yes, Sir.”

He releases my roots to cup the back of my head instead, adjusting its position so I’m looking at him instead of the ceiling. His eyes are narrowed, dominant but also painfully gentle in a commanding sort of way. “Did that man touch you?”

“Y-Yes.” I answer, slowly losing myself to the pleasure.

“Where?” It’s a non-negotiable question.

“He-” I have to take a breath to get my brain on track, but it’s a shaky one. What happened in the club again? It takes a second to come back to me. “H-He grabbed my hips and- ah- t-tried dancing behind me.” I should keep my mouth shut, but a certain thought has a weak, breathy giggle escaping. “Are you jealous, Sir?”

The addition of a second figure quickly shuts me up. Sylus curls them, nudging a spot that makes my muscles tighten and hands claw at his chest. “Unless you want to be treated like a brat, I suggest you watch your mouth.”

Tempting, but not what I want this time. “I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Good.”

His fingers disappear, and I whine at the loss. Sylus pulls the knot of his belt and shrugs off his robe, discarding it like he did with everything else. Pulling me off the desk by the hips, Sylus sets me on my feet and lifts one of my legs until he can get the crease of his elbow beneath my knee. To keep my balance, I hold onto his broad shoulder with one hand and grip the edge of the desk behind me with the other.

“Eyes on me.” Sylus commands, lightly tapping me beneath the chin to get my attention.

I look into his eyes, let those deep pools of red pull me in and strip me bare - more bare than I already am. I hold his gaze even as the tip of him nudges against my entrance. Hold it as he slowly sinks inside.

My jaw drops as he fills me, inch by delicious inch stretching me more than his fingers had. Sylus is big, and though my body is more accustomed to him now, he’s still kind enough to take this part slow.

“That’s it.” His voice is huskier now, thumbs massaging circles into my skin as he helps hold me steady. As he slowly pushes and pulls his hips. “Good girl. You can look where you want now.”

As soon as he releases the invisible leash, my eyes drop to where we’re connected. Combined with the pleasure of his building movements, it’s too much, too overwhelming. So instead I lift my gaze to his stomach, watching his abdominal muscles work as he starts to set his rhythm. A strong, steady rhythm that has gasps, cries and moans dancing on my tongue with each thrust.

“Fuck.” I whisper, feeling a familiar knot start to pull in the pit of my stomach. Every push of his hips into me makes it pull tighter and tighter, my breath climbing higher and higher. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

I realize my error instantly, but it’s still too late to correct myself. Sylus pulls out of me completely, and instead of crashing into the waters of euphoria, I fall flat onto a hard nothing.

Sylus clicks his tongue cups my cheek in his hand, tilting my head up until I’m looking at him. “Is that how we ask for things?”

I shake my head, parting my lips as he skims his thumb over them. “No, Sir.”

His lips curl into a cruel smirk. “Was it so good that you forgot the rules? Do we need to take a break so you can remember?”

Frantic, I shake my head. “No, Sir. I remember.”

Sylus hums and drops his hand from my face, lining himself back up. “Let’s try that again.”

In no time at all, I’m back to where I had been before my mistake. I can feel his eyes boring into me, watching, waiting to see if I’ll screw up again. I can almost sense the gears in his head turning, trying to decide what he’ll do if I fail.

But I don’t fail. The second that knot pulls dangerously tight, I’m looking into his eyes and asking. Pleading, more like. “Can I come, Sir? Please?”

“Better.” Sylus leans down and kisses me once. “You can come. Come for me, Evie.”

The band snaps at his approval. My cry is loud, body trying to arch yet curl in on itself at the same time. I’m not sure when my head goes blank, but when I start to recover, it’s to Sylus’ sexy voice in my ear and his deadly fingers drawing circles onto my clit, heightening the stimulation.

“Good girl.” He praises, carefully setting my leg down. He cups my face again and rests his forehead against mine. “See how much better it is when we ask nicely?”

I nod, whining at the aftershocks still working through my body. Sylus kisses me again before spinning me around, one hand pushing on my back until I’m bent over with my chest pressing against the cold surface of the desk. He moves my hair out of the way and attaches his lips to the back of my neck, alternating between open mouth kisses and teases of his teeth as he makes his way down my spine. I moan and scratch the wood with my nails, trying to be patient.

He reconnects with me when I least expect it, one hand planting itself on the desk near my head while the other grabs my wrist and pins it to my lower back. His grip is firm, not crushing, and he isn’t pulling on my arm either; is just holding it there. He immediately begins a brutal pace, his hips colliding with my ass at every inward thrust, his shaft hitting places deeper than before. It’s just so Sylus that I can’t help but throw my remaining caution to the wind. I wrap my free hand around his arm as a means of grounding myself, delighted by how solid his muscles are.

Tears begin to line my lashes from the intense pleasure. I turn my head, letting my cheek rest on the desk so I can peek at Sylus from the corner of my vision. He’s devastatingly beautiful, his jaw dropped a little as he watches the way he claims me. Beads of sweat catch the light of the fire as they roll down his skin, white hair falling with the way his head is titled. His heavy breaths wrap around me like a blanket and sink through my skin until they settle in my bones.

Unfair. Truly, this man is unfair.

The knot in my stomach comes back, the muscles between my thighs clamping down on him in anticipation of what’s on the horizon. He must feel it, because his eyes lift until they met my gaze. “Do you have something to ask me, sweetie?”

‘Not yet. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet.’ I mentally plead with myself. My thoughts are working faster than my voice, surprisingly. “May I come again, Sir?”

“Good girl.” He growls, the possessive tone in his voice sending shocks through my core. “Come.”

His command does me in. The sound that comes out of me is a high pitched squeal, my acrylic nails digging into his arm as white hot release burns through me. “Sylus!”

Suddenly, the wrist that was pinned to my lower back is set free. Sylus grabs me by the biceps and hauls me up so I’m no longer laying on the desk, one of his arms banding across my stomach to hold me up. The other dives between my thighs, finding my clit again. “One more.”

Choking on a sob, I claw at his arms. “I can’t!”

“You can.”

I don’t have a choice. No, I have a choice - one four letter word and this all stops. But I don’t want to use that word.

One more. I can take one more.

The third release robs me of my voice. I slump back against Sylus, boneless in his arms as he chases his end. It doesn’t take him much longer to find it.

“Fuck, Evie-” He groans against my neck, pulling out at the last second. He’s nearly crushing me against him, short bursts of tremors working their way through his body.

Managing to peel my eyes open, I wiggle out of his hold and slump over the desk, my arm as heavy as lead as I reach over to pull a small towel from one of the drawers. I toss it over my shoulder, waiting until Sylus has regained himself enough to take it and clean us up.

His fingers gently take the towel from mine. “You keep these in your desk?”

“Must I explain why?” I try to fire back, but I’m way too tired to sound the slightest bit sarcastic.

His hands are gentle as he works, but I still have to bite my lip when he attends to the more sensitive areas. “I’m almost done. Hang in there.”

I hum in response. It’s all I can manage.

The towel disappears from my skin a minute later. Sylus puts his robe back on and helps me redress, then places me in the chair while he puts out the fire. Once the embers have snuffed out, Sylus returns and lifts me into his arms, carrying me out of the office. He heads further down the wing to where his home is.

“Bath or shower?” He asks, keeping his gaze forward.

“Bath.” My response is quick. “I can’t trust myself to stay standing. Can I use your fancy soaps and stuff?”

One corner of his lips curl. “You can use whatever you’d like.”

“Oils, too?”

“Yes, kitten. Oils, too.”

𝒯𝒾𝓅 #6: 𝒜 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝑒𝓃𝑔𝒶𝑔𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓃 𝓊𝓃𝓅𝓇𝑜𝒻𝑒𝓈𝓈𝒾𝑜𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝓇𝑒𝓁𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓅 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑜𝓈𝓈… 𝒶𝓉 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝓃 𝒸𝓁𝑜𝒸𝓀 𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈

SFW Masterlist || NSFW Masterlist

Tag List:

@softlycandescent @goat-mama-breezie

#l&ds #l&ds smut #lnds #love and deepspace #lads #lnds smut #lads smut #love and deepspace smut #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #lads sylus #x oc

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cassiaslair · 12 days ago

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EMERGENCY COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!

hiiiii so my bank account is overdrawn, and i don't get paid until the 20th, so i'm opening a few commission slots!

please read through the TOS on my carrd before filling out an application, and i would recommend you joining my discord server so that i can find you easier! i will be reaching out via my business account to keep my orders organized.

i am opening two (2) custom carrd slots, and five (5) slots for other graphics. at this time, i am only taking requests for: banners, icon borders, and blog headers. all the prices are here!

i am also having a shop sale until january 1, 2025, for 25% off all items (use code CASSIADAYS at checkout). and while not at all necessary, i'm extremely grateful for any tips on ko-fi! if you do and you'd like something from my shop, please let me know and i'll get you set up 🥺

my commission form is here. please read everything CAREFULLY. i will not be accepting any commissions without a detailed google drive or document with all the information that i need! the form may look chaotic because i combined questions for both carrds + general graphics, so please bear with me 😭

thank you all in advance!

#rp resource #rph #rp template #rp resources #rp commissions #commissions open #rinaposting.

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writingquestionsanswered · 6 months ago

Note

Thank you for answering my question about sharing my writing on tumblr. If I may, I'd like to ask another more important question.

A bit of necessary information first. I don't have a computer. I do my writing on an app called Writer's Journal, and it has an export option. Are their publishers or sites where I could submit my work through this app? And if so, what format should I use? Unfortunately, I'm a bit lost when it comes to computer knowledge. The app offers a few methods for sending, but I have no idea which to use. I can do straight text to share on tumblr or Facebook, but do I submit to a publisher in this form?

Please help if you can

Submitting to a Publisher with No Computer Access

Submission guidelines vary from one publisher and agent to the next, so the first thing you need to do is visit the web site of whichever agent or publisher you're submitting to and read their submission guidelines, which will be posted on the web site.

Most agents and publishers accept electronic submissions via a form on their web site or via e-mail. If it's a web site form, once you have the properly formatted document on your phone, go to the web site, click on the form and follow directions. When it gives you the option to attach/upload your manuscript, you will select the document on your phone. If it's an e-mail submission, you will need to make sure you have access to e-mail on your phone. If you don't already have one, you can set up a free G-Mail account for this purpose. The submission guidelines will tell you what e-mail address to use and any other pertinent info. You would then compose the e-mail, attach the document from your phone, and e-mail it to the listed e-mail address.

If nothing else, if you have access to a local library, you can also use the computers there for free and ask a librarian to help you submit your manuscript. Community centers sometimes have computers you can use, and you can also see if a friend or family member with a computer can help you.

Best wishes!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

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voidbeau · 2 months ago

Text

!!!🌹Thorn and Mr. Flower🌿 tiiime!!!

And boy I will never not be so so enthusiastic about these guyz <333

I touched on the dynamics of their relationship in a previous post on my last account before it was terminated. But seeing as that post is lost at sea now, I'll do a bit of recap on that.

Just to have everything neatly in one post.

And then I gotta remember to save this post in a separate document or something in case something happens to this account...

Anyway, the boyz 🌹🌿

---

So, as I've mentioned previously, I've always pictured Mr. Flower and Thorn's relationship to have extremely rocky beginnings.

We're talking, tons of baggage on both sides.

Trust issues from one end and desperate clinging on the other in the form of big promises and what may or may not be tons of lip service.

Not to mention all the potential secret guarding.

Thorn has some form of charm, sure.

Enough that in the beginning he was able to garner interest from Mr. Flower.

"Sure, maybe we'll see where this goes..."

But as I've said before, my take on Mr. Flower is that he's a very closed off individual.

Getting him to open up is like trying to pry open iron doors with nothing but a couple of toothpicks.

Most people aren't likely to have known anything other than an idealized version of himself. The Mr. Flower he wants you to see.

And that version of Mr. Flower can certainly seem pleasant and easy to talk to, but when exposed to it long enough, it becomes obvious how very surface level it all is, but to Mr. Flower, it's preferable to how he knows he can be.

And if you manage to speak with him with his mask off, then you might find yourself wondering if maybe you prefer the performative version of Mr. Flower.

But that was the idea of course.

Give people a better, more palatable alternative.

There have been very few people who have found the real Mr. Flower tolerable to be around and as such, there have been very few people who have found any reason to stick around.

And that's sort of the expected outcome Mr. Flower has of any potential relationship he gets involved in, whether romantic or platonic or whatever else!

He's learned over the years that it's much easier to just to keep his expectations low and others an arm's length away.

And if anyone gets too close, it's best to retreat before things are liable to become painful.

And if for whatever reason, someone tries to persist when pulling away, it's good to remind that person why they thought to keep a distance in the first place, in whatever manner seems necessary in the moment.

Even if feelings are hurt.

Even if it ends the relationship in that moment.

Better to leave than to be left behind yet again.

"It was doomed to fail anyway..."

This man is walled in on all sides.

And yet despite this, Mr. Flower is plagued by the thinnest rays of troubling thoughts and emotions.

Hopefulness and desire for genuine, lasting companionship appear as annoying cracks in the walls Mr. Flower so carefully built up over the years, and despite the constant reminders why it's best not to leave his miserable fortress of self preservation, he often finds himself with one foot out the front gates far too often.

And that was exactly where Thorn found Mr. Flower, hovering just beyond his gates. Open enough to the world that he began his journey with Mr. Flower with a mask half off.

With a glimpse of a real person behind a carefully crafted persona.

Not enough to tell the whole story, but enough to want to uncover that story. To get the full picture.

How desperately Mr. Flower has tried to slip that mask of his back on as soon as he realizes whats been done.

Unfortunately...

"You should know better sweetheart, your tricks don't work on me."

Because Thorn's already gotten a glimpse, so what on earth is this funny little act you're putting on, Mr. Flower? This isn't the you I remember meeting on that rainy evening.

And while this has ignited the tiny embers of hope in Mr. Flower into a small flame, it's also bewildered and frustrated him.

Because Thorn insists on tugging on the edges of Mr. Flower's mask and unraveling his disguise thread by nervous thread. And it would seem that no amount of pulling away or lashing out is doing anything to dissuade this baffling rose man.

Not for long, at least.

And sure, they get into fights- frustrated back and fourths over each other's characters, and despite Mr. Flower thinking,

"This is it. This time for sure, it has to be. This time he's gone for good..."

Thorn always surprises Mr. Flower when he's the one to come back with an apology. When Thorn assumes he's done something to deserve Mr. Flower's ire. When Thorn goes on to admire those things Mr. Flower tries so hard to keep buried.

"I like that part of you. The real you, and how unapologetically you it is." He says through a toothy grin and an airy chuckle.

And Mr. Flower's stomach twists into knots.

"I love how fiery you are when you're not holding yourself back and I admire the honesty, even if it's a little hard to hear sometimes." Says Thorn.

"And though I wish you'd be just a bit more gentle, I also understand the world hasn't exactly been the most gentle with you."

And as Thorn reaches out to gingerly grab at Mr. Flower's hands, all Mr. Flower can do is swallow back the lump in his throat and watch while Thorn plants a soft kiss on those tense hands of his.

"I wouldn't change a thing about you." He says.

He insists.

"I don't understand you..." Says Mr. Flower, quiet and deadpan as he looks up, searching those half lidded, spiral eyes.

Thorn chuckles again, finding amusement over the concern and confusion on Mr. Flower's face, yet never missing the detail of those fanned out ear petals and how they twitch so enthusiastically every so often.

"It's easier to see the details close up." Thorn says, his thumbs caressing Mr. Flower's hands now. "Let me in and I promise it'll make sense."

A simple request, barely above a whisper and it sends Mr. Flower's heart racing and his mind screaming.

He's flooded with thoughts and emotions pulling him in every which direction.

Does he just let that happen? Or does he run as far and fast as his legs can take him?

He isn't sure, and he's frozen in place while Thorn waits patiently for an answer, until he realizes he may not get one in the moment.

"But-... if you're not ready that's okay. I can wait." Says Thorn now, gently letting those hands go as he takes a step back.

And Mr. Flower has to stamp out that desire to close the gap again.

The problem here is that Thorn is all Mr. Flower has left with in the moment.

Perhaps its not so much a problem as it is a solution?

But the idea of relying so heavily on someone is terrifying to Mr. Flower, especially when he knows so little about them.

And while Thorn continues to insist things will be okay and strives to convince Mr. Flower he can be trusted with the monumental task of getting to really know Mr. Flower.

Some things come up.

Something always comes up.

Time goes on and everytime Mr. Flower is at the threshold of his decision, something new comes to light about Thorn that leaves Mr. Flower second guessing everytime.

And everytime he considers that it might be best to leave this one in the dust with all the others, Thorn tugs Mr. Flower back into the same confusing cycle.

"C'mon, babe. It's not like that!"

"I promise it'll make sense, love just give it time."

"I know it sounds crazy, but..."

"I want to tell you, but...

And Mr. Flower is getting tired.

Tired of the secrets, the excuses the half truths. Tired of being talked up and let down every. single. time.

"You keep telling me to open up when I'm not even sure I've ever known who you are!"

And indeed, how can any man be expected to trust a stranger and to love someone you've hardly met?

And yet Mr. Flower is caught in the thickest part of a thorny bramble patch, unable to leave either by his own indecisiveness or because Thorn simply won't let him.

Because despite all the turmoil and uncertainty, there have been very real moments of that genuine connection Mr. Flower craved for so long.

Or at least, he thought there had been.

It's hard to say, and while Thorn insists that yes, of course they were genuine, it's difficult to take him at his word when he's constantly sneaking off late at night, constantly preoccupied with an old flame and always going off about these grand claims he swears are true, in place of the answers Mr. Flower so consistently pleads for.

"I don't understand you..."

"I know, sweetheart I know. Please give it some more time.

I promise it will all make sense."

A few things are for certain about Thorn that Mr. Flower has come to learn.

One is that he is a very busy and singularly minded man, and two is that there are very few things in the world that will come between Thorn and his many mysterious plans.

And the third, it would seem, is that Mr. Flower is not among the exceptions, no matter how much Thorn insists how important Mr. Flower is to him.

There are things that absolutely need changing, and while there are ways in which I could see the two working things out, they are not Without their trials.

Physically, mentally, emotionally, nobody is coming out unscathed. But sometimes you need to tear things apart in order to build anew.

A lot of Thorn's secretiveness is for valid reasons, though I won't go into too much detail cause I have fics planned- even if they take me YEARS to finish.

I will say, he is genuinely in love with Mr. Flower, and while he's not in the greatest place for him to be able to express it like he wants to, I've always imagined that Mr. Flower has a way of grounding Thorn when he gets all caught up in all his mystery work.

And boy howdy is it work.

But it's all worth it if it means securing a future where he can live in peace with his beloved Mr. Flower.

So long as they can weather the current storm.

The way I've seen it is that Thorn showed up around the time Mr. Flower and Mr. Plant began drifting, and since Mr. Flower doesn't have a lot of actual friends, losing the only one he felt he had was surprisingly hard for Mr. Flower to navigate.

He's been alone so long he thought he'd be fine. But thats the issue, Mr. Flower has been alone so long that he's not equipped with the proper tools for maintaining and fixing proper relationships.

Thorn has been a real conundrum for Mr. Flower on top of it all.

He's been as much of a learning experience in the department of communication as he has been a source of stress.

He's been an unlikely steadying hand and also another reason for Mr. Flower to be cautious.

He's heard and learned more about Thorn from others than he's ever learned from Thorn himself, except that Thorn is one large, walking, frustrating mystery to Mr. Flower.

There is definitely more to Thorn than meets the eye and as things progress and Mr. Flower is faced with terrifying revelations about Mr. Plant, Mr. Flower becomes more and more terrified about the things Thorn could actively be hiding.

They are just two performers on separate stages.

And they need to start learning how to get their act together because there's a lot more uncertainty and terrors on the horizon for these two.

----

And also @thatgirlwithasquid since you said you'd be interested in the read. ; v;

#twomp #the world of mr plant #mr flower twomp #twomp oc #cannon x oc #vbeau headcannons #vbeau rambles #lovebomb 🌹🌿#hnnngh i need to finish my fics!!!#theres so much more #id like to say #but i also dont wanna say #too much???#yet #🌹🌿#ashur gharavi #this is already super long anyway #but i also feel like i said a lot of nothing #im sorry orz

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