#THE EMPLOYEES ARE MISERABLE AND I AM EMBARRASSED

[simplyghosting]

How to lovingly strangle your family. In love.

[oceisastar]

Skott x male reader with belly bulge? Imagine a reader that is much taller than him and larger in size, I want to see how Skott accepts the reader while he lightly presses on the resulting bulge 🤤

MDNI (male!reader x skott; skott is an IPC employee & reader is his superior, skott is drunk and mouthy, petplay, spanking, minor belly bulge, mention of breeding, very brief feminization ("cunt"), brief moment where skott says "no" but not seriously, they have a safe move and he does not use it)

do not repost / translate / re-use my work in any shape or form. this is strictly for entertainment purposes/fiction and is not intended to support or endorse these power dynamics irl!

*** Skott is quite the pain in your ass. Insolent, two-timing, and a whiny brat at that.

Still, he has his redeeming perks. you first noticed him when Caelus made him get on his knees and bark in front of everyone at Aurum Alley.

That certainly caught your attention. He’s rather cute, even though he makes your life a living headache. His loyalty to the IPC is never in question, though his methods are often crass.

You remember having to bail him out when he got caught with a bunch of IPC mechs at the Xianzhou Luofu docks. He was making all sorts of fuss at first—until you helped him get out of being thrown in prison for suspicious cargo counts.

He tried to explain, stutter and justify until finally he mumbled out a, “Thank you,” bright red with embarrassment.

It was nice, to see him so obedient. like a dog.

One night, Skott approaches you, obviously drunk. “You… hey! Yeah, you!”

You incline your head. This is certainly not the way an IPC employee speaks to his superior.

“You think you’re so much better than the rest of us, ‘cause you’re so big and smart and hot and… hot!” He jabs a finger in your direction.

You catch his wrist, lifting his arm up.

“I would watch your tone, Skott. Someone else might misconstrue this as you trying to come onto me. And that would be an HR violation, wouldn’t it?”

Skott’s cheeks go bright red. “You’re insane! You have no idea what you’re talking about! I’m just pointing out how unfair it is that you’re getting preferential treatment.”

“Am I?" You tower over him, your shadow looming over him. "I would call it observant. I see how you look at me, Skott.”

His eyes go wide. "What are you talking about?"

“I even caught you sniffing one of my jackets the other day. But I let it go, because I’m a kind man who cares about my subordinates.”

Skott looks like he wants to melt into the earth.

“I know what you get up to, Skott.” You press your lips to the shell of his ear. “Nothing you do gets by me.”

He shudders, letting out a broken whine in response.

“I—that wasn’t me. It was a-someone else.”

“Was it?" Your fingers skirt his collarbone, tugging at the chain around his neck. "I distinctly remember seeing your dog tag when I was walking away.”

To your surprise, Skott shifts, trying to hide the growing bulge in his pants. You smile licentiously.

“Skott… don’t you know it’s bad to lie to your superiors?”

Your hand slides down to grab at his waist. It’s so small, fitting perfectly against the curve of your palm.

“N-now, wait a minute! What do you think you’re—”

“I think you deserve to be punished.” Your hand slides down to knead at his ass. He jolts forward, chest pressing up against the broad planes of your chest.

"P-punished?! Now you're just talking nons--ah!" he moans unintentionally, turning bright red as he squirms.

"You stole my jacket. That's IPC property. And we don't take lightly to theft."

“It... just happened. I—I didn’t mean to.” He says miserably, looking into your eyes. His eyes are watery, wide and repentant.

“I know you didn’t. You just need someone to teach you better. To show you how to take it like a good boy. Or should I say, a good dog?” You smile at him.

His cock strains against his pants, now unmistakably visible.

“What do you say, Skott? Are you in the mood for some training?”

There’s a long silence before he swallows, cheeks blushing.

“Yes… sir. Please punish me.”

________________________________

Skott is on all fours, ass up in the air as he yelps, your hand coming down swiftly to smack him over and over.

“T-thirty one… thirty… ah!”

“Ah, ah, Skott. You lost count. Such a bad boy.”

“D-don’t make me do it again, please! This is the… third time!” He hiccups. He’s nearly soiled his pants through with how aroused he is, glasses slipping down his nose.

“I would make you go again, but since it’s our first time, I can grant a little reprieve. That poor cock of yours needs a little mercy, hm?”

Your hand slips unapologetically below his boxers and cups his aching cock.

“Ah—oh! Sir!” He calls out, jolting forward. You begin to jerk him off, shoving off his pants until he’s about to burst.

“W-why’d you stop?” He says pathetically.

“Because I’m going to fuck you.”

________________________________

After painstakingly stretching him, his cock dripping all over the floor, his nipples hard from all the attention, you slowly press your cock against his, sliding between his thighs.

“Tell me how badly you want it.”

“I… huh… g-give it to me.”

“That’s no way to ask. I’ll give you one more chance. Try again.”

“I, mmhm, want your c-cock, sir. Please put it in my fat hole.”

“Show me.”

Skott is burning up inside, his hands coming to spread his cheeks for you, showing off the pretty pink treat inside.

“Very good.”

Without another word, you slide inside. Skott wails, clenching endlessly around you.

“You’re so, hrgh, fucking tight.” You grit out, rolling your hips as you try to get used to him.

“Oh god!” Skott claws at the floor, back arching inadvertently as your weight presses down onto him.

“Haven’t been fucked by a cock this big?” You ask, slowly grinding into him.

“N-no,” he sniffles, “you’re the b-biggest, sir.”

“What were you really doing with my jacket, Skott?”

“I…”

You stop moving. He clenches relentlessly, crying out at your stillness.

“Don’t stop! Don’t stop—”

“Answer my question.” Your hand pushes down on his back, forcing him to bow further.

“I masturbated to it, okay! I used it and I—I got off with it. But I took it for dry cleaning right after and I—ah!”

You already knew the answer—the strange stain when it came back. Dry cleaning is good, but not for that.

“Ruining a perfectly good jacket for your base fantasies.” Your hand smacks across his ass, watching his cheeks jiggle from the movement.

“Oh, fuck!” Skott cries out, tightening around you, squeezing your length.

You fuck him harder, pressing your full body weight onto him so he melts into the floor.

“Tell me, have you thought about this before? Me fucking you, taking your tight ass?”

“Yes..! Yes!” He slobbers all over the floor, drunk on your heated touch.

“Such a needy dog.” You growl.

Skott cries out, shuddering and shaking. You press your hips all the way, as deep as possible, and he cries out.

Your hand traces the thin lines of his stomach, feeling the bulge of your hardness pressing through.

“S-Sir…” he lets out a broken moan. You press harder, and Skott cries out. “Please! I—I can feel you so deep...”

“Just what I expected from someone like you. You live to take cock, don’t you?”

Skott sobs an incoherent answer. You press him down harder, pressing your balls up against his ass.

“Need a big strong man to breed you, huh?”

Skott claws at the floor, arching his back as you fuck him deeper.

“N-no, sir, too deep!”

Despite his words, there’s no taps on your arm, signaling he’s fine.

“Shut up. You’ll take it.”

You thrust harder, more aggressively, animalistically, taking everything you want from Skott laid bare at your feet.

“Such a good cunt. Made for me.”

Skott weeps, cumming all over himself as he feels you fill him over and over.

“And I’m going to show you how we reward good employees.”

[murdoc]

had the luxury of finding out one of my new coworkers is actually one of the most miserable people to be around.

she's an older crunchy white woman and she seems to resent that the people who are above her are younger and have to teach her how to perform her job/tell her what to do..?

she already didn't get along with one of my coworkers who is rlly nice and cool because of that, but then within about 30 minutes of overlap with her, she has decided that because i am the newest employee (with years of prior experience both at this company and outside of it though) that she will try to severely micro manage me

ive had shitty coworkers before, but i was not prepared for how immediate this woman's bad side would show. that 30 minutes felt like Years being around her. she even tried to have a standoff in front of a customer i was helping earlier????

the customer had two large pieces that she wanted help bringing in from her car. i had told her i'd be happy to help her on the phone and that when she came in to let me know in the shop and i'd go out to pick them up.

shortly before this, my coworker Demanded that i move the 50lb boxes of glass leaning against the wall (not in the way) to their storage place because it was in the way of Her. i am twice this woman's width and have been here for hours walking past it today and yesterday. i barely even noticed it.

she told me she couldn't move any of it because she was arthritic and had back issues, and that bcz i was younger i'd be fine. i had nicely told her i also have back issues, but if she really wanted i could totally try to put some away if i felt my back was safe enough to do so.

when the customer on the phone came up to the counter, she RAN out and helped her. i knew what the customer looked like so i went out to clarify that this was the same woman i had talked to on the phone, and what she wanted was help with carrying similarly heavy objects from her car. i thought i was being nice by not having this self admitted severely arthritic woman who can't even handle moving a single box of glass to a MUCH closer destination out... but she kept interrupting me when trying to clarify and giving me a rude glare like i was intruding on Her customer??

i ended up just letting her do it since apparently she had some newfound strength and she wouldn't even let me get a word in. i also wasn't going to sit there and make the customer uncomfortable like she clearly was fsr (foreshadowing). crazy how she was so open to admitting she wasn't as badly hurt as she claimed to be, and that she just wanted me to do the work she didn't want to.

anyway, two of the pieces that came in were pieces i worked on earlier that i didn't realize i forgot something on (the other two were pieces my manager accidentally did the same thing on, which felt nice to know i wasn't immediately embarrassing myself over). i had told my coworker that since they were my error, i was happy to fix them (not to mention, these pieces were the two bigger ones so i also wanted to make sure her back would be fine)

she said that's fine but then. kept telling me how work in the shop was done? and how certain framing things were done?

i had reassured her that this was just an oversight that both our boss and i made, and that i have half a decade of experience here. i think it accidentally just made her angrier :')

while all of this was happening, she was telling our other coworkers to go away because she was very busy with this.. this was now my first impression with some of my other coworkers.

hours here are very tight, so i ended up having to leave, and when i came back in the next day i had found out from my other coworker she had left two notes. one being a scathing note towards me, and the other being a more general note. my coworker immediately realized the first one was ridiculous and threw it out, and the other she left so that our boss could see how absurd our other coworker was being.

i also found out that she made that same customer wait HOURS in the store for her pieces. i had told this customer on the phone that she'd be best off dropping the pieces off and we'd call her to come and pick them back up because it would take a while. turns out my coworker made her stay until CLOSING? AND DIDNT EVEN GET ALL HER PIECES DONE!

when cleaning up the shop later in the day, i realized that part of that was because she tried to do the pieces i had told her i would handle, and REDID all the things i had done before leaving??? and made them significantly worse???

the wiring on the back was so poorly done that i worry in the very near future the other piece i had told her to leave for me to do will be back because it fell off the wall. i wish i was exaggerating with that, but this happened a few times with newer coworkers at my old location :') i'm just at a loss with how she thinks she has more experience over me by being at this location longer, and yet cant even do one of the most basic things you're taught at this job

it was quite literally the first thing i was taught at my shop, and the thing framers will leave their more inexperienced framers to do when they don't feel confident enough they can perform any other task

i forgot to mention that she was actually an hour late coming into work too lmao. im hoping i either get a better job or she gets fired, because i cannot handle this after the passing of my closest family member and having someone break my car's side mirror so i have to take ubers to and from work :'))) btw october has me scheduled for at most 10.5hrs each week. it literally wont even cover half my rent BEFORE the ubers.

if you read this long hi. not sure why you did but i hope your life isn't as horrible as this rn <3

[skatingbi]

Do you even get so consumed by an unlabeled emotion or feeling that is just physically hurts?

I was talking to this employee at a coffee place that just opened down the street. He asked me if I wanted a military discount since he saw my jacket. Its an old, borderline raggedy gray hoodie with the US Naval Academy logo on it. I told him no, laughing a bit while I deflect by saying my dad is in the Navy, though.

Close enough, he mentions with a smile. I get the discount. He says he joined the National Guard, and me being unable to filter myself (masking turns off my filter so i cant think before i speak) I mention I used to be in the National Guard too.

Then I had to explain I was discharged for my depression. It was embarrassing in a way that made me want to claw out my throat. I wanted to cry, scream, anything, but i just smiled.

I think either he understood because he met a guy like that in basic, or he was just nice enough to not judge. Regardless, the sheer amount of anguish, embarrassment, anger towards myself that I felt has made me utterly miserable.

I'm a loser, I think to myself as I get my drinks and drive home.

I'm a loser, I think to myself as I study before driving to work at my shitty restaurant job.

I'm a loser, I think as I clock in.

and god, I hate that feeling.

When I go to flip a tortilla with bare hands in confidence and end up burning my fingers. Or like going to take a test and thinking you're going to pass and getting a score of 50%. But it's different, like you know you're gonna get a 50% but doing nothing to change that. And still being pissed that you failed regardless.

The feeling is rage bubbling up inside and theres nowhere to release it, so your brain turns against you and you're left with fragments of what you were a second ago. Is it so hard to just laugh and brush off the embaressment of past career mistakes?

Or am I desperate to escape what it means to be a father's failure?

What would he think, that malicious and disgusting part of me asks, knowing that you destroyed yourself just to ensure you'll never end up miserable like him? Just so you can be your own kind of miserable?

I just shrug and clock into my job. I smile to my coworkers, and I push those thoughts to the farthest corner of my mind to be dealt with while I try to study tonight.

[jhara-ivez]

Qyra AU #2

Part 1 Dami's attention was drawn to the report on the table in front of her. In the last month, crime in the districts had risen by almost 20 %. As soon as the majority of the Civil Force was at the borders, pickpockets, burglars and fraudsters sprouted up like mushrooms.  Of course, everyone had complained about the lack of night patrols, but what could be done? Shape new guards out of clay? Ask the necromancers in their towers if they would lend the city some undead? Not that there weren't already some mages who preferred their undead guardians to the living ones of flesh and blood. "They should have planned ahead," she said, not able to banish the personal resentment from her voice. "All this could have been avoided." "Yes, Masā." "But the main issue is being willing to play war when you can't even protect your own people decently!" "Yes, Masā." "That idiot knows neither duty, nor diligence, nor effort! If I didn't constantly intervene on my own authority, surely even the forgers on Palm Avenue would still be around. Oh, what am I saying! They'd probably have taken on two more extra jobs. This miserable dilettante can do nothing but kiss the feet of the high and mighty and roll around in gold! He doesn't care at all if the city sinks into chaos!" "Sure, Masā."

Dami crossed her arms bitterly. "What's for dinner tonight, Illi?" The woman flinched at the sound of her name and looked questioningly in Dami's direction. Dami repeated the question. "Red bream with semolina and vegetables. To go with the red wine your brother brought over the other day." "Not from his 'winery', I hope?" Illi nodded, looking offended, as if she owed it to Dami's brother. "Why fish all the time, anyway! As often as there's been fish lately, you'd think all the chickens, sheep and all the game had died of the plague. Have I missed some food crisis, Illi?" The housekeeper made a movement with her hand that could mean anything and nothing. "Fish is healthy." Dami waited to see if she might get any further explanation, but the housekeeper remained icily silent and started cutting the vegetables. Actually, Dami didn't mind fish all that much, if she was honest. "Have you seen how busy Amar looks lately?" she asked in an attempt to smooth the waters again. "Has he hinted at anything to you? Do I need to worry about a new employee?" "Oh no, no. He's made friends with one of the guests. As far as I know, he used to bring him books in the afternoons." Dami raised her eyebrows. "Oh. Well that's... nice. Is there any other news of the two of them?" She tried to sound casual and only moderately interested, but Illi saw right through her. "I haven't observed anything suspicious yet, Agesi," she grinned and gave Dami a mischievous, yet at the same time accusing look. An abrupt knock on the front door ended any further conversation. A few moments later Illi returned with a man in uniform who was quite terribly out of breath. It was young Tirash. Illi offered him some water, but he declined. "Sha'Shayan Agesi, the body of a man has been found in the great fountain of the palace." "Was the park opened to visitors yet?" "Yes, unfortunately. One of the pedestrians has reported it. We closed after that, of course!" he nodded eagerly, fiddling with his uniform. Tirash had not been under her command long, but so far she had little to complain about. Sometime last month she had signed off on his initial assessment. Dutiful and not the brightest candle in the chandelier, but with his heart in the right place. Suddenly he looked embarrassed and visibly ducked his head. "Well... So..." he began. "Sha'Min said that since the crime took place in the Queen's gardens.... Er, well, he said that it was obviously within your jurisdiction and..." "Never mind..." Dami waved him off with an exasperated sigh. "It's not like there's much else to do at the moment, is there? And it wasn't an accident or suicide?" "No, Agesi, there are wounds on his upper body. We think he was attacked and then disposed of." "Well wonderful. What about a name? Do we know who we're dealing with?" "Not so far, I'm afraid, Agesi." Dami put on her shoes and patted Illi apologetically on the shoulder before leaving the house with the man.

**********

Where is Shahin?" Dami asked when she arrived at the scene of the crime and could not see any of her people. Shahin was the best tracker Dami knew, and she was proud to count this man among her best colleagues and friends. The young Tirash gave the men and women of the Civil Force a wicked look before replying. "Somewhere in the garden. He said he would write you a report by tonight," he explained. "When we got here these idiots were already everywhere, criss-crossing the grounds. Shahin said it'd be a miracle if he found anything useful, but he's doing his best." Dami closed her eyes for a moment and applied some pressure to the bridge of her nose with her fingers. Then she took three deep breaths, opened her eyes again and nodded. "Where is the person that found him?" she wanted to know. Tirash pointed to a corpulent, elderly man with hair that was already beginning to turn white. He was standing under a flowering tree, watching the people at work. Dami walked over to him. "I am Dami Sha'Shayan. Do you feel able to make a statement, Sheyri?" "I've already told your colleagues everything, haven't I?" "Sure. But I'd still like to hear it all again from your mouth. Second-hand testimony is like stale tea, don't you think? Do you feel up to it, or should I have you summoned?" The man snorted, but then nodded. "Tell me what exactly happened. From the beginning. And don't leave out anything, even though it may seem unimportant." For a while the man looked down at the tips of his shoes. "Well, I went for a walk, just like every day." "Can you remember when, approximately, you were here? At the entrance to the garden, I mean." The man pointed to a woman in a guard's uniform at the edge of the spectacle. She was noticeably paler than everyone else. Dami couldn't remember her name, but she had been assigned to the afternoon shift here at the garden for what felt like ages. "That one will be able to tell you that I come at the same time every day," the man said. "I always go the same way because of the Waterfowl. They only come out of the reeds after the midday heat. And then suddenly there was a piece of rag in the water and the water had a strange pink colour. At first I thought someone had thrown rubbish in, you know what people are like, but then I realised there were legs and arms and all." "Did you see at that point that..." "No. I only noticed that he was dead after I fished him out. Had to throw up after - ...disgusting thing that." Dami nodded sympathetically and looked at the body, now hidden under an oilcloth, lying on a transport stretcher. Hopefully they still had enough ice in stock. "And then you called for help, I suppose? Was the body unattended when you did that?" The man looked puzzled. "Well, he couldn't walk away any more, could he. I just went back to the entrance and called the next best of your colleagues over. I thought it would be quick and I could go back home, but instead I've been standing here for what feels like an eternity -" "Of course," Dami interrupted him immediately and raised her hands appeasingly, "you can go home right away. However, it could be that someone will have to question you again in some time." The man understandably did not leap for joy, but left his address, and then left the scene. Dami watched him for a moment, then turned to the corpse, which was now also approached by a medico. They greeted each other wordlessly. The medico, Diego Funèbre, tall and slender with dark hair, and just as friendly as the last time they met, looked over at Dami, but then concentrated on the remains of the stranger. Funèbre put on a pair of thin leather gloves and approached the corpse, but then stopped in front of it for a while. Dami knew from their last encounters that the medico possessed phasmalistic abilities and searched for remains of the soul around the scene of the crime. At first, she had thought he was praying for the soul in his silence and wishing it a peaceful journey into the afterlife. Sometime later, however, Funèbre had laughingly told her that after all he had seen in this world, he could no longer believe in the afterlife. When some time had passed, the medico lowered himself to one knee, bent over the dead man, reached for his wrist and, for the sake of order, felt for his pulse. Dami decided not to witness any more of the procedure and instead to take a closer look at the scene of the crime in its entirety. The fountain was located at the northern end of a long rectangle, the sides of which were defined by tall, accurately trimmed privies. There were three gates through which one could enter the artificial clearing. The witness must have come from the western gate, just like Dami and Tirash earlier. To the east, one could reach the waterfalls and the reed-covered shore of the artificial lake where the man had wanted to watch the Waterfowl. To the south one arrived at a grotto that was particularly popular with couples thanks to its many niches and cool temperatures. The culprit could have come from anywhere. At first glance, Dami could not see any dragging or cart tracks. Maybe the body had not been moved at all. Funèbre half straightened up, which drew Dami's attention back to him, took two bent steps and knelt down next to the corpse's head, which he turned slightly to the side to look at the back of the head and the spine. Then he had the body turned over by two helpers and continued his examination. Only after another five minutes did he get up and stood next to Dami. "So?" she wanted to know. "Someone stabbed him. Since there are both entry and exit wound, I would assume a sword or a long spear. He hasn't been in the water long, but it's impossible to say for sure. Maybe a few hours at most. But not longer than that." "Do you think he saw the attacker coming?" The medico shrugged his shoulders. "If so, he didn't fight back," he said, brushing off his gloves. He carefully layered them and slipped them back into a bag he had brought for the purpose. "The first stab was already fatal, and there are no other injuries to suggest anything else." "And were there... you know, remnants of the soul or something?" Funèbre looked at her doubtfully. Dami had watched for years how respectfully, even kindly, Funèbre treated the dead he had to examine. She had probably unwittingly offended three of the dead man's ancestors and two of his living aunts with her question. "I think this might help you more," the medico finally said in as indulgent a tone as possible, and pressed a small folder into her hand. It felt strangely waxy. When Dami opened it carefully, she saw several soggy pieces of paper stuck to the inside of the leather. Of the written words, however, hardly any were legible. "He was wearing the folder on his body when he died." "But apparently they were unimportant to the murderer, otherwise they would surely have been taken from him." "Hmm," was all the medico said. "Thanks anyway. I'll see if any of it can still be deciphered." "Do that, Agesi." Apparently that was the end of the conversation. The silence dragged on, but as Dami was about to leave to talk to Tirash again, the medico said, "I bet he fell for that waterproof ink trick too." Then he fumbled once more for his bag, nodded to Dami and left the scene.

***********

When Dami arrived in her office, Shahin's report was already on her desk. She sat down heavily on the chair, put her legs up and exchanged the dead man's folder for the hopefully more informative documentation. When she had read about half of it, there was a knock on her door. Dami called the person inside. It was Pari, one of her younger guardswomen. "Agesi! I am to tell you that remains of ectoplasm were found in the fountain water. However, it had already decomposed to a large extent," she reported, duly assuming her posture. "Extensively decomposed? You are gifted, aren't you, Pari?" asked Dami seriously. "That's right, Agesi." "And how long does it normally take for ectoplasm to decompose completely?" Pari thought about it for a moment. "About five hours, maybe. 'Maybe' wasn't good enough yet, unfortunately. Still, Dami smiled at her. "Please ask the mage circles if there are any accurate studies on this. If we can narrow down the time of the crime more precisely that way, we should give it a chance. I would also like someone to check with the local institutions to see if there are any people reported missing already who might fit our dead body. Perhaps we could also try infirmaries and local medici. I think tomorrow at noon would be a good time to report back." Pari saluted. "Of course, Agesi." "Then go home now. If you're quick, I'm sure you can still make it for dinner." The woman saluted again, but this time already with much more relaxed features and gave her superior a friendly look. Then she closed the door behind her with a "See you tomorrow, Agesi." Dami crossed her arms in front of her chest for a moment. Her stomach growled at the thought of the dinner she herself would probably miss. But it didn't help. Soon she was fully focused on Shahin's findings again, but they only made one thing clearer: There was magic involved. Around the clearing there were no traces far and wide, so the dead man must have taken the obvious route through the main entrance before his demise. Nevertheless, no one could actively remember him. Of course, a skilled mage could have used a cloaking spell on him. As it were, he could have been moved by telekinesis. But wasn't that a nonsensical amount of effort? Moreover, the ectoplasm in the water and the lack of a murder weapon unsettled her. If the summoning coincided with the approximate time of the crime, it could mean that someone had used the summoned being to elegantly make all the evidence disappear. After all, if the conjuration dissolved, the weapon it carried also disappeared. Dami leaned far back, clasped her hands behind her head and looked out the window. From this angle, the setting sun was not visible, but the play of colours that turned the clouds into a huge inferno was. Carefully, she opened the folder. The paper inside had begun to get wavy, but the writing was still barely more than half legible. If she was lucky, she could make some of the missing words visible later with special ash. For that, however, the paper had to dry first, and preferably without getting even more wavy. By the time Dami had finished preparing the paper in this way, it was already dark outside.

************

Finally arriving at her house, she found what she was looking for: Warmth, the smell of freshly peeled oranges and the certainty that her son was already sweetly dreaming in bed. She left all her work clothes and equipment by the door and went into the kitchen. There, to her surprise, one of the guests of her house, the elder one, was sitting at the table, holding an opened book in one hand while popping pieces of orange into his mouth with the other. He looked up as she entered, gave her a wry smile and held out a piece to her. "Dal'Varek?" "Jespar. I don't care much for titles." Dami nodded. And took the piece of orange. It was rare for any of the guests to show their faces near this part of the house. And therefore it had to mean something. She quickly glanced at the title of the book, but the name didn't ring a bell. "The kitchen doesn't seem like the best place to read," she said cautiously. Dal'Varek shook his head. "It isn't. Usually." A brief pause followed, Dal'Varek sighed (quite a bit theatrically, if Dami was honest) and popped another piece of orange into his mouth. "Honestly, I need to discuss something with you," he then said. "Don't get it wrong, the house is quite wonderful and the stay so far hasn't been half as bad as I feared it would be when that greasy man at the palace said we'd be under house arrest. It's also less of a problem for me and more for my friend." Dami decided to sit down opposite the man. She had not really expected any complaints. Maybe she should have. Maybe her way of running the house wasn't befitting their status after all and she'd been wrong. Maybe it was the food. Dal'Varek gave her a look of... exhaustion. Now that Dami looked at him more closely, the man seemed strangely tired indeed. "Is there something wrong with the beds?" Dal'Varek blinked. "What?" Then another thought occurred to her. "It's because of the centipedes, isn't it? I know they often sit in the blankets by mistake. You don't have to be afraid of them, though. They're actually quite useful animals and -" "No. No, it's not that," the man interrupted her, now visibly confused. "I give you my word that nothing in this house is causing any problems. Really. It's just...  My friend is, how shall I say, ... He's not used to spending so much time indoors, or in one place in general." Again a short silence, in which he started to look visibly more frustrated. "To be honest, I would love to strangle him at the moment whenever I see him." Dami had nothing to say to that. But at least she could understand this desire; She herself had considered 'calming' her ex-husband with a pillow a thousand times while he slept. Fortunately, the problem had taken care of itself later. Suddenly Dal'Varek looked directly at her. "You are a high-ranking officer in the Guard, aren't you," he began, voice suddenly suave. "Jhara is an excellent fighter, he can do a bit of magic too, and if all that doesn't help, I'm sure he can be useful to you in some other way. Just please take him with you where ever that may be. He certainly wouldn't be in your way either, I'll stake my life on that." "Now, wait a minute," Dami said, caught off guard. "I can't just have civilians snooping around in top secret Guard business." "The whole thing can't be that top secret," the mischievous looking man declared. "The kitchen lady told me earlier that there had been a murder. Jhara has experience in solving murders. From back in Enderal. He has a special gift that lets him see echoes from the past. I'm sure that would be very useful for solving the case." Dami cursed Illi and her blabbermouth. She pursed her lips, stubborn and unwilling to let this Enderalean brat wrap her around his finger. "I already had a phasmalist on the scene today and that wasn't much help." "The echo is not like regular phasmalism. It's -" A knock on the door and the subsequent opening interrupted the discussion. It was Illi, already dressed in her nightgown, and a worried-looking Medico Funèbre. "Agesi, two more bodies were brought into my examination rooms by the Civil Force shortly after I returned to the Institute. Almost identical injuries, and both were carrying beeswax folders. I would strongly encourage you to take another look for yourself in the morning." Dami cast a scowl at her guest, who was still sitting across the table from her, listening with interest, then looked at the medico, who was blind in one eye and may not have realised there was another stranger in the kitchen. "I will," she finally said, tone dead. "Surely you won't mind if I bring someone else with me, will you, Diego?" The medico replied in the negative and Dal'Varek could barely hide his still mischievous smile.

********************

The following morning, it was only after some knocking that the door in the other wing of her own house was finally opened for Dami. By Jhara Ivez. The blond one. His hair looked strangely dishevelled. Apart from dangerously low-hanging trousers and a frowny expression he wore nothing else on his body. Not even a dressing gown. When he blinked at Dami, she decided that he had either just gotten out of bed or was about to go to sleep. Both unusual at this hour. "Is it something important?" Rude. "Depends on whether you consider investigating a murder case 'important' or not," Dami countered. The only reaction she got was that the guy eyed her silently for a while. Dami was obliging enough to interpret this as speechless surprise as he ran a quick hand through his hair and shook his head. Mumbling some seemingly incoherent sentences, he took a small step to the side. "Hold on. I'll get dressed." It took only a few minutes before the man joined her, by now additionally dressed in a loose top and a red-patterned shesh. "Does this happen often? That the Guard wants to work with civilians?" he wanted to know, catching Dami's eye. He sounded neither excited nor emphatically nonchalant, but rather.... bored. When he noticed her annoyed look, however, he had to grin. "Don't worry, I'll help, of course."

[themetalcorefan]

So I gave three lectures this semester, one was an embarrassment, one was mediocre, and the last one was great. It all depends on the class you're working with. The kids really engaged with the lecture I was happy with, and honestly that's the reason I enjoyed it. For the first one, it was a pretty rough cohort who didn't want to be there, and in particular, didn't really like me (I was the classroom manager and already had a bad rapport). I remember talking to the teacher who covered the period before me and saying how disappointed I was that I couldn't inspire the class. He said sometimes you just get assigned a tough group.

But anyways I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't really enjoy working with kids who are just being forced to take advanced courses by their parents. So many of them have their days filled with one academic thing after another and they seem so... sad. Don't get me wrong, I was miserable when I was their age but I was struggling with mental illness. There wasn't any implication that I was a failure just for being a kid.

Part of it is the job. My work provides advanced math courses to some of the most privileged students in the area. These kids have parents who are world class academics, lawyers, and employees of top companies. I ask for 100$/hr to tutor and they don't bat an eye. What these people do to their kids kinda horrifies me. Despite my awful relationship with my parents, they never saw me as their trophy. I just hope some of these folks turn out okay.

My previous work was providing no-cost academic support to at-risk students at my community college. It is easily the most meaningful work I've ever done. I felt like every second of that job mattered.

I've seen my homeschooled peers struggle to escape their upbringing through education, drop out, and end up on the streets. That drives me. The person I am today exists because people put themselves between me and my ignorance, never letting me give up on myself. They fought for me while getting miserable pay and little recognition. But it changed EVERYTHING. All I can do is hope to support someone else the way I have been. Joining students in their struggle is what makes my life meaningful, and I'm not in the trenches like I used to be. I miss it.

[robinine-blog]

I stumbled across the Flash movie today.

I thought it would be fun, dimension jumping Flash, multiple batman... from a basic summary, it sounds like my kind of movie.

So we get a random guy complaining to the coffee shop employee that the usual Girl usually has his order waiting for him. I was thinking, huh, odd way to introduce a villain but okay, Harley Quinn sang raptures over that breakfast bap, maybe this is a thing now.

Except no, that's the hero, that's the Flash. The whiny entitled doshbag making problems for coffee shop employees.

>.> The Flash?

I mean, Barry and Wally are the nicest guys you will ever meet in the comics. They are friendly, cheerful, have good relationships with the police , the public and even their rogue gallery.

Then we get Alfred calling up for help, and wait a moment, when did the Bats call for help?

Nope, the Flash is on clean up duty because Batman has left a mess without securing the scene because there's somewhere else he's rushing off towards.

And all this time Flash has a little countdown to starvation on his wrist reminding him that he hasn't eaten. Seriously Bats, couldn't you ensure there was pockets and an energy bar or 200 in the Flash's new costume? Don't you know to pay the clean up crew?

Then there's an explosion, and the newborn babies we keep cutting to go flying out the windows.

Dead babies. Disbelief, because wtf! Who thought this was a good idea? There's suspension of Disbelief, but nope, those babies are Dead.

Only not dead because superhero magic.

I'm sorry, but room exploding = dead babies. Newborns probably would have been practically dead before they went out the window. Mortally injured, do the writers not know how fragile newborns are?

So then we get the expected, look how fast I am, everything is in slow mo. Fine.

And the Flash breaks into a vending machine, tops up his food belly, and puts all the babies in a line so... they can land on a hospital bed?

Yeah... the babies are dead like 20 times over at this point.

Entirely stupid scene but I suppose they wanted to top the Quicksilver saves everyone from the Mansion exploding scene. They failed miserably but I guess they were going to try.

Then we get the utterly stupid teenage boyish thoughts as the Lasso of Truth gets wrapped around Bats, Villain and Flash.

I mean, it's the Lasso of Truth! Do they have no respect? I am fuming at the writers. It's not a toy to force your teammates into revealing sensitive information about themselves.

It's meant to be comedic. The joke was lost of me, all I saw were immature men embarrassing themselves.

At which point I decided enough and walked away.

10 minutes in and I hated the movie

I didn't even make it to the dimension jump

The Flash is meant to be the nice guy!

Batman is meant to be a veteran hero!

I saw nothing of my heroes in those 10 minutes.

At least Aquaman 2 was half decent. Watchable at least even if I facepalmed a few times

[rottinghouseplants]

Made For Mercy: Chapter 1: Part 2: Devil Town

(warning: this story does contain sensitive topics)

That night somewhere in Uptown San Myshuno, in one of the highrises...

Feng cracked his knuckles with a loud pop before resting his hands on his lap. He smiled, a malicious glint in his eye, while scanning the faces of his "employees" in front of him, lined up like cattle. "Hello. I'm assuming you have an idea why I called this meeting here tonight. I have a very important assignment for you that I need handled immediately." His voice echoed off the walls of the office as he paused, his eyes meeting Akira's. They held a stern gaze for a moment. "Akira, I am to understand that you have obtained some information from the son of the target. Yet, I've heard nothing. I'd love for you to explain that to me."

Akira gulped an audible swallow that seemed to echo in the tense silence. "Listen, boss, I just..Johnny, he's a good guy, and I know that his family is trouble, but...can we solve this some other way?" There was a moment of silence that seemed to last for an eternity packed into only a few seconds.

Feng's face contorted with rage as he slammed his fist against the glass desk in front of him, throwing himself up from his chair. "Are you questioning how I handle my business, Akira? I think you forget your place here! We will solve this, however the hell I decide we solve it." He towered over Akira, his menacing presence filling the room. With a scornful growl, he spat into Akira's face, "You will do well to remember your place, you miserable street rat." He grabbed Akira's hand and squeezed it as tightly as he could while bending the fingers backwards. A sharp pain shot through Akira's arm as Feng spat, "And the next time you forget it, I'll break every finger on your damn hands." He threw Akira's hand down, and stepped back to his desk with a satisfied smirk.

Akira balled his fists, his rage and embarrassment boiling and threatening to overflow. He held himself back, gritting his teeth and clenching his jaw. All the while, Feng held his gaze, ready to deliver a deadly blow. Darling, stepped out of the lineup, gently put their hand up to intervene, diverting Feng's attention. "Boss, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I want to assure you we can handle this," Darling said, their voice low and laced with sincerity.

Feng's venomous scowl softened into a gentle smile as he shifted his gaze towards them. Akira watched from the corner of his eye, his hatred and spite palpable in the air. "Oh, Darling, trust me I am well aware you and Miko can handle this. As for Akira, failure is not an option. One more disappointment, and he will leave this office in a body bag," Feng said, his voice as hard as iron. He turned back to Akira, his face twisted in disgust.

Darling nodded, their posture straightening. "Not a problem, sir. Understood. We're ready to hear the assignment," they said, determination and strength echoing in their voice. Feng took a deep breath and brushed his sleeves off, before turning towards all of them.

Feng's eyes narrowed, smoldering with seething rage. He leaned forward, his voice a menacing hiss as he spoke. "I want you to take Langraab out for good. And if you come back empty handed, you are all dead." The air was thick with tension, like a tightrope stretched over a pit of lava. You could almost feel the heat emanating off of Feng's body. "I've had enough of him and his audacious family getting in the way of my affairs. This is my last message: the next time they meddle, they will all be lost to the Mirage Canyon." Feng exhaled deeply and straightened his suit jacket, his gaze icy and unforgiving as he sauntered back to his desk. Lily followed him, her movements graceful and delicate as she pulled out the chair for him and gently caressed his shoulder before stepping back into her place. "Do not fail this assignment. I'm nothing but good for my word."

Lily stepped forward, her voice low and commanding, as she dismissed the group. "I presume you can see yourselves out."

Darling and Akira stared in horrified awe at the broken figure of Geoffrey Landgraab cowering in the corner, barely recognizable from the face on the billboard. Tears streamed from his eyes as he pleaded for his life, his hands trembling and bloodied from his wounds. "Please.. please! I'll give you whatever you want! Just tell me what you want! I have kids. Two sons! What will they do without a father?" His voice was raw with desperation, each syllable a desperate plea for mercy.

Darling slowly shook their head, and exchanged a deep, sorrowful glance with Akira. "We don't want anything Mr. Landgraab, unfortunately, you have alot of powerful enemies. And your time has just run out." Their voices were cold, but still filled with sympathy.

Akira stepped forward, feeling his insides churn as he saw the terror in Geoffrey's eyes. "Sorry about this, Mr. Landgraab. It's you or me." He could feel the tears pricking his own eyes, feeling the weight of the situation like a heavy stone in his chest. He had no choice in this, and the sorrow of that truth was almost too much to bear.

Two days later in the Art District of San Myshuno...

Rain thrashed against the windows, obliterating the picturesque view of the brightly lit downtown. The TV blared with a breaking news announcement tone, illuminating the otherwise dark apartment living room. Iris sunk into the couch, her discomfort intensifying with each passing moment. "I wonder what's going on.."

Suddenly, a gorgeous redheaded news anchor in a suit jacket filled the screen. The side of the screen read 'Breaking News'. "This is Angela Pleasant from Sim City News with a breaking news story from Oasis Springs. Candidate for Governor, Geoffrey Landgraab has been found dead in the springs of Mirage Canyon. Police are still determining the cause of death, we will keep you updated as we get new information. This is truly a tragedy and we at Sim City News extend our condolences to the family." The reporter closed her eyes and looked down in solemn silence for a moment, "Stay safe out there." The TV cut to a commercial for a new show on SBN.

Iris felt her heart sink into her stomach. Pixel jumped up into her lap, sensing her distress. "What a scary world," Iris whispered, her voice filled with anguish.

[danikavasile]

hanxjun​:

ᕙ(^▿^-ᕙ)

Following the soft instructions, Minjun forced air into his lungs, making ragged, pitiful noises as he continued to swallow the sterile air. It did nothing to comfort or aid him in any way, but again, he did not want to disappoint Danika further. He had already embarrassed himself enough, and whatever inkling he’d had that he was somehow winning this appointment flew out the window. He was failing. Miserably, at that.

He couldn’t even perceive the shock of cold that hit him as the rag touched his heated skin. He felt like a ghost in his own body, staring at the doctor without truly being able to look at her.

And yet, the moment the marble is placed back in his hand, Minjun feels a sense of calm wash over him, and his base, most feral instincts settle back and away until he’s just Minjun. Unassuming, unperturbed Minjun who continues to flush a bright red and can’t make eye contact with his doctor out of shame.

Yes, he hadn’t been able to help it, but he wished he hadn’t acted like a cornered animal. He had lived too long to feel such fear, but that fear had been what kept him safe for all his time existing.

It was hard to put into words just how empty he had felt the moment he had been parted from the bead. The thing didn’t have a drop of energy left in it, and yet it still made him feel more whole. Maybe it was a panacea, or a placebo, or his mother’s memory.

He didn’t want to address her acknowledgment of his condition because it felt too personal. Which was basically the whole point of him being here, but still. He wasn’t quite ready to come to terms with that fact just yet.

"I should be the one apologizing, you did nothing wrong. I do sincerely apologize for my behavior. I was just… alarmed.”

A startled laugh erupted from him, because of course she was used to dealing with the dead. And it was all so ironic, a doctor who made her living in death, just to turn around and prolong the lives of those who already lived forever. If he wasn’t so scared of her, he would try to make a joke about that.

“And that—” at the mention of the marble, he fidgeted with it in his hand for a moment. If he had any sort of sense, he would swallow the thing right back up, but for a multitude of reasons, he could not find it in himself to do so just yet. “Is correct… but it should be a non-issue, right? I mean… I’m still one of your patients that’s alive… after all…?”

⋆♱✮♱⋆

Danika waves away his apology. The over-six-hundred-year-old vampire has seen so much gory death and gruesome disease that nothing bothers her anymore. His outburst piques her interest more than it disturbs her. He's presented her with a mystery, a medical one, and she finds it hard to let go. 

"It appears that we disagree on what constitutes a 'non-issue.' However, I am an epidemiologist, not a therapist, and my role as the Guan's physician is limited to ensuring its employees are able to perform their duties. That being said, I am concerned that whatever is happening to you will eventually render you unable to work. Or live.” She stares at him. “In my professional opinion, Mr. Han, this will only get worse." 

She propels her stool backward with the toe of her high heel, rolling to the computer. "This incident will be noted on your record.” She scrolls down his chart. “Do not fret. It will have no real consequence. Its primary purpose is to serve as insurance claim evidence in case you decide to order additional tests or consult with a specialist. But of course, you are in charge of your healthcare and have the right to refuse further treatment." She turns to look at him once more. Her face is serious. "The choice is yours. You have a blood test scheduled for today, so I will collect a sample for lab analysis, but otherwise, you are free to go. Please let me know how to proceed. If you are indeed determined to make this a 'non-issue,' I will take the blood sample and not say anything further about your condition.”

Her expression softens moderately. “However, I have a sense that you must be genuinely concerned about whatever is happening to you; otherwise, you would not have reached out to me."

[never-a-stranger]

Inspired by one of kaspuur, frostlowe, alienorganzz, kitty_dorodoro 's drawings of Max & @em-doods 's coloring style

Drew Max in outfits he wears for his side jobs whenever there isn't a case from the commissioner for awhile

There's a story that you can now read below related to Sam finding out Max's secret with a lil bit of angst and a sweet ending~

Credits to my friend @peachypeach666 for helping me write the story!

CW // SUGGESTIVE OUTFITS AND POSES BELOW

In the story, they have a big fight and after that, Sam gets in a really bad slump. (Slump- sit, lean, or fall heavily and limply, especially with a bent back)

There's stubble on his face and his tie is loose, he's walking around town on how he messed things up with max and gets really low on his luck.

He wasn't passionate about his work anymore 'caus all he can think about is Max so he swallows his pride and goes to the best strip bar in town.

He's always seen it but never dared to go in there but right now he just wants to take his mind off of it.

He gets in there feeling out of his element, he thinks to himself "What am I even doing here?", as he looks over all the crowd and the half-naked employees.

He gave his coat over his shoulder and his hand in his pocket as he walks towards the bar, he gets a drink and downs it.

He didn't want to get back to his habit of drinking alcohol but he didn't care at the moment, he downed it with the taste of regret and despair then he hears the overhead speaker calls out "Lagonymph", the crowd cheers for the show.

Sam turns around to see what the commotion was and sees that someone's coming out on stage, Sam's ears perk up in surprise to see the familiar white lagomorph's face.

Max walks down the stage and does the usual routine dance that he does every other night, he takes off a piece of clothing while he slowly walks towards the front of the stage.

Sam gets up from his seat and moves towards the front of the cheering crowd, he looks at Max's seductive show as Sam finally makes it to the tables and the people gathering in chairs in front of the stage.

Sam was shocked that he has never seen this side of Max.

He felt confused, he felt like he was violating something, he felt happy to see his face again and he felt a lot of things but he just sat down and stared in awe.

Max would have dollars thrown at him as people whistled and stood up to throw the money on stage but they would all sit back down as they know what would happen next but Sam didn't know what would happen next.

As part of Max's signature performance, he would pick a person from the front row and give them their own personal show.

Max looked at the crowd and scanned the front row for a perfect candidate but instead locked eyes with a wide-eyed Sam that hasn't looked away from Max since he saw him.

Max's heart dropped as he stared at Sam.

He had a million questions, why was he here? How did he find him? It's been so hard to try and forget the work partner and best friend he shared so many good times with and now he had come to see him.

Fine, if he wanted a show then he'll give him one, Max was all for petty revenge as he kept his professionalism.

He swayed his hips as the spotlight followed him, Sam on the other hand had no idea why Max was approaching him and sat stiffly on the chair while gripping the armrests.

Sam began to wonder what the hell Max was thinking by dragging him into his show, Max gave him a smirk as he sat on Sam's lap.

Max was furious that after all that Sam has said to him, he would follow Max to where he works and scout him out.

That was a new low even for his ex-boyfriend.

Max continued to dance, making sure to put more effort to make Sam regret following him and invading his personal life.

Sam gripped the chair tighter as he almost jumped out of his seat, he had been drinking all night and tried to get his thoughts together.

He whispered "What the hell are you doing Max?!", he said in more of a statement than a question.

"Don't try pinning this on me, partner, you're the one scooping me out and finding me to work.", spitting venom at Sam (Spitting Venom- to be extremely angry) using all his anger to fuel himself by finishing the dance.

Retro's Note: Sam is hiding the fact that he likes the dance while still arguing with Max

The crowd cheers around them and it snaps Sam out of his thoughts with Max.

Sam is hurt, angry, and drunk, Max wraps his arms around Sam's neck to pull him in closer.

He tries to calm himself down and tries to ignore the fact that Max is on his lap right now.

He takes a deep breath and looks at a very smug-looking Max "I didn't follow you, knucklehead.", Sam stopped at that, not wanting to tell Max the real reason why he was there.

Max snorted and got up from Sam's lap to finish his dance, swaying his hips and finishing it with a split as he walks back on stage.

Sam was left confused and walked out of the club, he grabbed his motorcycle and waited for Max to get off of his shift.

He had so many thoughts swirling through his head but guilt ate at him and figured now would be the best time to talk to him.

He had wanted to ask one of the employees when Max's shift ended but for obvious safety reasons, he knew that wasn't gonna cut it, and instead he saved his luck bad waited out front.

He looked at the mirror of his motorcycle and saw how disheveled he looked.

He hadn't thought about shaving and didn't have the strength to put effort into looking his best, he knew he had to make things right, if not, it would probably kill him.

Max was distracted all night and even messed up a couple of times, he was in the back room with the other people that weren't on shift counting their money.

Max chatted them up and waved goodbye to his coworkers for their amazing performance. He stepped out of the back entrance confused and thinking about the night with Sam.

What was he supposed to think after his best friend and work partner comes to see him at his secret side job, he shakes his head as he makes his way home.

A roaring of a motorcycle pulls up beside him and Max turns around already knowing what to expect.

Sam steps out seeming soberer and put together than he did when he was inside.

Sam reacted with cheap beer and spilled vodka, Max wasn't surprised that Sam picked up his old habits.

"Max," Sam called out, Max didn't even want him to give him the time of day, Sam runs up to catch up with him.

Max keeps his head held high.

He didn't want to hear Sam's petty attempts to win him back, Max had more self-respect than to let someone back in his life hurt him.

With everyone who has ever known Max, has always betrayed and/or left him, he wasn't gonna be a fool to let another person do that to him again.

"Max would you just look at me." Sam realized the desperation in his voice at the thought of his friend that has always had a snarky comment to make is now not even looking at him.

"I'm not stupid Sam," Max said while turning the corner.

Unfortunate for him, Sam is larger than him and could easily keep up with Max's long strides.

"I just want to talk to you." Sam said, it seemed to have pushed something within Max 'cause he stopped and turned towards Sam, "You don't get to decide who talks, I decide who talks and if you want to keep this conversation going then I suggest you make it quick!"

It seemed weird having Sam's partner so serious like this, it must have hurt Max a lot when Sam had said those things to him. "I'm sorry, I just want us to talk."

Max sighs and knows it would hurt him as much as it hurts Sam but Max was far from showing it.

Max can smell the alcohol, he can see how miserable Sam looks and it's weird, Sam has always put so much care into how he presents himself.

"How about we stop home and talk then.", Max said while crossing his arms.

They went back to the motorcycle that was still near Max's workplace and headed home.

Afterward, they're at Sam's home.

Inside, Sam tells Max how he just found a random strip bar club which Max works at as coincidence by accident, Max realizes that he assumed the worst of why Sam is in there then felt embarrassed and guilty of how he treated Sam during his performance but Sam reassures him and understands Max's perspective on it

Sam then admits that he liked Max's dance, and supports whatever Max does in his side job.

Max appreciates his best friend supporting him even after what he did to Sam then feels a lot better now that he and his partner in crime finally made up.

THE END~

Thank you so much for reading! And if you want to make fanart, make sure to add #never a stranger sm , and mention this account or my main account @retrocandyfloss 💕

[definitelyseven]

hurts so good | six

summary: growing up with Park Jinyoung was never easy and things are about to get worse when you’ve been asked to marry him

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve - final |

“Y/N!”

You turned to the left to see a familiar face. “Taeyong,” you called, surprised to see him. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?” you asked, worried.

He chuckles lightly before taking a seat next to you on the bench. “You’re the one in the hospital gown,” he reminded you. You laughed lightly. “I’m fine. I’m here with my niece.”

“Is she okay?” 

“Yeah she’s fine,” he smiled. There was an awkward silence between you two. After what you did to him, you thought he would hate you but here he was greeting you first. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” you lied. How could you tell him that you were miserable and that choosing to marry Jinyoung might have been the biggest mistake of your life? You quickly covered your left hand, slowly moving it behind your back. “How are you?”

“I’m doing well,” he answered. You didn’t want him to see your ring and ask about your marriage, ask how life was after leaving him for Jinyoung. You twirled the ring on your finger, attempting to take it off but it was stuck. “You okay?” he looks at you funny. You chuckled nervously before pulling the ring off. It slips off your hand and rolls onto the grass.

“Fuck...” you mumbled. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Taeyong asked, concerned.

“Yes I’m fine,” you assured him while looking around to find your ring. 

“Did you drop something?” he asked.

“I think she dropped this,” a familiar voice said. You watched the man bend over to pick up your ring off the grass. It was Jinyoung. You bit your lip, nervously. 

Taeyong glances over at Jinyoung before chuckling bitterly. “It was nice seeing you, Y/N. My number’s the same,” he said, reaching over your shoulder and squeezing it lightly. 

“Care to explain?” Jinyoung said angrily. You rolled your eyes at him before walking past him. You didn’t owe him an explanation. “Y/N!” he calls again. 

“What?” you responded as you climbed onto your bed. 

“What the hell do you think you were doing?” he continued to interrogate. 

“You have no right to question me,” you spatted. 

“I’m your husband!” Jinyoung shouted. 

“Oh all of a sudden you’re my husband. That’s bullshit and you fucking know it!” you screamed at him. You tried to bite your tongue and not talk back but he had no right to interrogate you when he’s fooling around with every women that comes along.

“How long have you been seeing him??”

“Seeing him? Are you listening to yourself?!” you refuted. 

“You’re still thinking about him?” he asked, tone softening. You chuckle at his words, shaking your head in disbelief. “Answer me! I know you saw him the other day!” he shouted.

“I have been nothing but loyal to you since the day I married you,” you started to whimper. “But I can’t say the same for you.” He looks at you, dead in the eyes. He stays silent and at this point, you can only scoff at him “Get out of my room.”

Jinyoung slams your ring on the table. “You’re my wife. Don’t you ever forget that. I know everything and I have eyes everywhere.” You turned your back on him, not wanting to continue the conversation. 

You didn’t wait for Jinyoung to pick you up the next day from the hospital. You didn’t think he was going to after your argument. So you left yourself, went home, changed and went straight to the office. 

If he was monitoring you, you had to let him know you knew his secrets too. 

“Sorry I’m late,” you said entering the conference room where Jaebum, Jinyoung, Chaewon and a bunch of employees were holding a meeting. 

“Y/N,” Jaebum calls out. “What are you doing here? You should be in the hospital,” he asked, concerned. 

“You didn’t call me to pick you up,” Jinyoung said.

“I’m fine. What did I miss?” you asked. You didn’t really care about this meeting but you had to be here today. There was something important you had to do. 

“Okay dismiss,” Jaebum said. You watched as the employees got up one by one. You waited till it was just the five of you - Jaebum, Jinyoung, Chaewon, and Nayeon.

“There’s something I want to say,” you announced. 

“What is it, Y/N?” Jaebum asked. 

“I want her fired,” you said pointing at Nayeon. 

“What?” Nayeon and Jinyoung said at the same time. 

“What nonsense are you talking about?” Jinyoung said angrily. You scoffed at him.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Nayeon said, pretending to be innocent. “You have no right.”

“I’m one of your bosses,” you said through your teeth. “I can do anything I want with you, especially if you’re sleeping with my husband,” you finally revealed. You looked over at Jinyoung who was shocked that you knew. “Don’t be so surprised, Jinyoung. You should be more careful about fooling around in the office. The walls are thin,” you teased angrily. 

“Jinyoung,” Nayeon called. 

“You can’t,” Jinyoung defends, standing up. You followed immediately, standing up with them. 

“And why can’t I? I’m her boss-”

“And I’m your boss,” Jinyoung interrupts. “She’s mine and you can’t touch her,” he continues to defend. 

He said she was mine. He has never said that about you. He has never defended you like he defended her. 

You see Nayeon smirk at the corner of your eyes. You swallow your tears and quickly turn to Jaebum and then back at Jinyoung. “Well just my luck then - Jae’s your boss.”

“Don’t get in between this,” he warned Jaebum. 

You turn to Jaebum and Chaewon who was sitting awkwardly, waiting for this argument to blow over. “Jae, please...” you begged. “Jae,” you called again.

You knew Jaebum was on your side. He was always on your side. 

“She’s right. I am your boss,” Jaebum said standing up. “She’s fired,” he announces. “And next time, leave your personal life out of the office. It’s messy and not classy,” he smirked, walking away.

“You’re my husband. Don’t you ever forget that,” you spatted at Jinyoung. He glares at you before walking away with Nayeon. 

You made your way over to Jaebum’s office. “Jae,” you called before opening the door. 

He looks up at you before sighing. “Could you at least give me a warning next time?”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled. “I had too.”

“You usually ignore these kinds of things. What made you speak up today?”

You let out a light scoff as you shook your head. “Did you know he has someone watching me?” He shakes his head just as surprised as you. “I couldn’t let him be the only one with secrets.”

“As happy as I am that you’re finally sticking up for yourself, how many secrets are you planning to expose? You know father would hear about this mess,” he kindly warned. 

“Let him find out. See who’s more embarrassed.” Jaebum shakes his head lightly. “Do you have any plans tonight?

“Why?” he asked looking up from his file. 

“You still owe me a date,” you reminded him of the bid from the auction night. Jaebum was always nice to you which made using him ten times more difficult but you wanted Jinyoung to hurt. 

This was the only way you could hurt him as badly as he hurt you.

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

TW for ableism, looking for kindness and advice on how to cope. Hi. I've been having a tough time because my mom is disabled and can't walk and my grandma has Alzheimer's. Both had their conditions worsen very quickly over the past few years and it's been extremely upsetting. When I'm out places with my mom, people aren't understanding that she uses a wheelchair and has very limited mobility and she's much slower than other people. I try to help her as much as I can and try to make things quick like when we get groceries but there are always rude people in the stores who point at us or direct rude comments at us for not being as quick as the other customers. We've never had any employees stick up for us when other customers are being openly rude, because the employees see us as a burden too, and I feel so ashamed, I hate going anywhere anymore because other people make it such a bad and embarrassing experience. With my grandma, what bothers me is that a lot of people online use Alzheimer's as a joke or a meme and it just bothers me seeing how insensitive people are. I'm from the US and a lot of people who dislike the President here make Alzheimer's jokes about him. I was looking at an Alzheimer's awareness hashtag on Twitter to feel less alone about the situation I'm going through with my grandma and there were so many people using the hashtag to be rude and make things political. Overall I guess I'm just hurt and bothered by how ableist a lot of people are. I know that the world in general isn't exactly disability-friendly and it's not like my mom and grandma developed these conditions overnight, I've been dealing with ableist people and comments for years already, but it just feels like it's more common than before and that people are so openly heartless and mean, they don't even care about how they impact others. It hurts a lot, maybe none of these people have anybody in their lives with disabilities, or maybe they do and it's their way to cope or something, but personally this kind of stuff makes me so upset.

TW for death, hospitals, and elderly abuse

Hi again, this is the person who sent in an ask about dealing with my mom and grandma and ableism. I have another thing I want to talk about if that's okay, I am so sorry to be sending more than one ask about this but I just had a really rough day today and need to vent, as well as maybe get some advice on how to deal with this?

In my ask, I mentioned how my mom is really slow when we go out places and how it frustrates people around us. Today I was finding myself more frustrated with her than usual because I hadn't gotten much sleep, we left the house in the hurry and I was feeling tired and hungry, and it felt like I'd been non-stop helping her with stuff all day long. I was feeling very exhausted and impatient. Finally at one point she asked what was wrong with me and I said "Taking care of you is hard" and then she told me that if I didn't take care of her then I'd have no purpose in life. That comment REALLY messed me up and I've been thinking about it all day while feeling really miserable and upset.

In a sense it is kind of true though... I'm not able to work or go places on my own due to all the care she and my grandma require. So yeah it is true that my life revolves around taking care of them and I really don't have any other purpose. But at the same time the whole reason I'm not able to do other things is because of them. I can't even work from home because I can't do things without being interrupted. I don't socialize with people my age or do anything that's NOT for my mom. At one point we did try looking for a caretaker for my grandma but her case is really severe (the nurse they sent us said she wasn't able to handle her and stopped coming), doctors have said BOTH my mom and grandma really ought to be in a hospital where they can get 24/7 full-time professional health care, they need to be in-patient. But my mom doesn't want to go to the hospital because she's in denial about how bad her health is (even though she has to be in a wheelchair there are still times when she forces herself to try and walk and all she does is hurt herself). And in the case of my grandma, my mom thinks my grandma will die if she's put in a hospital or nursing home. One of our relatives with Alzheimer's was put in a nursing home and only lived for about 2 months there, and when we visited her we would sometimes take note of bad conditions (lack of hygiene) or catch the caretakers mistreating her (like ignoring her, or on one occasion putting a pillow over her face even though the person doing it said it was "just to get her attention"). It was pretty horrific, so I do understand where my mom is coming from, the options in our area suck and on top of that are expensive, BUT at the same time this is extremely draining for me to deal with on my own and like I mentioned before our case is considered too bad for normal caretakers to handle outside of a hospital setting. And no, I don't have other family members willing to step in.

Honestly the whole situation ruined my day today, I find myself only wanting to sleep as soon as I get home, I have literally no time for myself and it truly does feel like my whole life is just supposed to revolve around being a caretaker. - Hey there,

First of all, you are dealing with a lot. Recognize that and make sure you schedule self care into your day.

I'm sorry that so many people are ableist and don't understand your mom and grandmother's disabilities. That isn't right and it isn't your fault. I wish the world would be less ableist. It is a form of violence and clearly impacts people's lives greatly.

You all do not deserve to have to deal with the rude, disrespectful, ableist people, and ableist society. It's not fair at all that people are making you and your family feel unworthy and as a burden. You deserve to feel safe, comfortable, and accepted in any environment.

It's okay to feel how you're feeling. It's a tough situation and there are many unfair elements. Be compassionate to yourself.

It is never okay to assume someone has Alzheimer's, especially in order to make them seem bad. It's simply ableism when people say the president has Alzheimer's and doesn't help the situation at all. I'm so sorry you had to deal with seeing that, especially when you were trying to connect with your grandmother.

It is absolutely understandable to be hurt and bothered by ableism. It's not easy to navigate it all, nor is it easy to not internalize some of those beliefs and feel shame as a results. Please know that you don't deserve to feel ashamed about all of this. Regardless of how long you've been dealing with ableism and hatred, that doesn't mean you deserve it or should have to deal with it.

The fact of the matter is that everyone will become impaired in some way or other eventually, if they are lucky to live that long. Disabilities affect countless people and deserve respect and accommodations. Ideally, the world will be easier to navigate for disabled people.

It's okay to get frustrated. I'm so sorry you're in a situation where people make you feel ashamed and burdensome. Being tired and hungry can greatly impact one's ability to tolerate frustration, and injustice, such as ableism.

It's okay to admit that taking care of her is hard. Caregivers go through a lot. Your life isn't easy. Your task isn't easy. You deserve a place to express your thoughts and emotions and be validated. It's okay.

You have a purpose outside of taking care of her. I'm sorry she said that. It can hurt a lot to think that she thinks that of your life. It's okay to be hurt by that comment. It makes sense that you're thinking about it after the fact.

I'm going to past some of what I've said in this ask:

Some signs of caregiver burnout: - irritability - inability to take care of own basic needs (food, sleep, exercise, social time, personal hygiene) - feeling run down - depression, lack of motivation - inability to concentrate - anxiety - hopelessness - getting sick

Signs of compassion fatigue specifically: - feelings of resentment - anger/frustration toward the person you’re caring for - lack of satisfaction from caregiving - feeling overwhelmed - avoidance of or a desire to avoid caregiving duties and the person you’re caring for - decreased emotional regulation - lack of patience

Some things that might help are: - seeking out a support group of other caregivers (here is a forum) - journaling about your feelings, recognizing what you’re going through and allowing yourself to feel what you’re feeling - seeing a therapist - socialize with others

Coping skills: - Guided meditation (here, here, and here - Read (free online) - Grounding - Breathing exercises (here and here) - Self care box - and more coping skills

Here are burnout tips.

A self care workbook.

Self-compassion exercises.

Wishing you the best.

- Misa

[fangirlings-things]

First Costumer

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Arthur Shelby x female reader

Summary: you just got hired to do the job you always wanted and your first costumer, is no other but a Peaky Blinder

Word count: 2.1K

This is based on the moodboard below, made by my friend. You can find the original post here

A/N: I wrote this for @flowers-in-your-hayr 650 followers celebration. congratulations, love!! you're amazing, thank you for understanding my brazilian jokes lol and I hope you like this 💖

TAG LIST: @sophieshelby ; @charmingvalkyrie ; @inglourious-imagines ; @fairyofvoid ; @locke-writes ; @regalbanshee ; @captainshazamerica ; @lotsoffandomrecs ; @flowers-in-your-hayr ; @too-spoopy-to-be-frukd

You heard the doorbell ring and the sound filled the bookshop. Finally, a costumer. Your very first costumer. How exciting! 

You got down of the ladder you had previously climbed to fix some of the higher shelves and passed your hands through your brown simple dress, making sure it was proper and in order. Mr. Cuthbert had taken a long time to finally accept you as an employee in his establishment and now, you had to make him proud. 

You had always loved books. Since you were just a little girl, you mother had given you novels to read and you grew up living in many different ones from the reality you actually found yourself in. Books were your passion, your refugee, your ideal spot. To be able to work around them and make people happy by buying books, well, it sounded like perfection! 

The costumer took his time to walk through the shop, eyeing the shelves like they were unusual strangers in the street and then, he got to you at the back of the bookshop. Your first costumer was a man. 

He was tall. Not too tall, but just enoguh to make him able to look at some of the upward shelves without having to raise his head too much. His skin was white, giving a nice contrast with the black coat he wore. He had a moustache and you could only see a few strings of his brown hair, due to the cap he wore.

Then, you realized. After taking notice of the cap, the fine clothing made sense. No ordinary man in Birmingham had such fine clothes to wear, especially not in the middle of the week, during the lunch break time of the factories. Oh no, that man absolutely did not work in a factory. That man was a Peaky Blinder. His only bosses were the Shelbys and the Shelbys only. 

"May I help you, sir?" you asked him with a polite smile, pushing to the back of your mind the realization you had just come to. It didn't matter who he was outside Mr. Cuthbert's bookshop. He was a costumer. Who clearly, for the way his eyes were going from one shelf to the other, intended to buy a book. 

He focused his eyes on you and you saw that his stare wasn't harsh or the one of a demon, as many people said the Peaky Blinders were. His eyes were kind, even though there was an agitation in them that you couldn't quite comprehend. Maybe not even he could. "Yes" he said simply and as you kept staring at him, waiting for further information, the man looked even a bit disconcerted, like he wasn't used to having such attention upon him. "It is my sister's birthday this week and Ada, well, she really likes books, has a great shelf of them at her house. So I thought it would be a good idea to you know, give her a new book as a gift"  

You couldn't help but smile. That man, whomever he was, seemed so genuine in everything. You could see the care in his expression when he spoke of his sister. It was a nice thing to see. The stories you had heard about the Peaky Blinders seemed to be all wrong. He was a normal person. Not some crazy, openly violent man. 

"Do you have any specific book in mind?" you asked him, hands joined in front of your body and excitement filling your body because that was apparently going to be a successful sell. The man just squeezed his lips on a thin line, eyes going to the floor  as if he was embarrassed. It got to you. "Don't worry, I am sure we can work something out. What kind of books does she like?" 

He watched as you moved around the place graciously. Clearly you knew every corner of that place, every shelf, every single book and where it was. You looked at a particular spot, frowned then moved on like there wasn't anything interesting for whatever you wanted him to take to Ada. "Well, she's a communist, so she does like politics" 

"Very well" you walked towards the politics shelf, searched the titles, but nothing particularly got your attention or seemed fitting. You turned back to the man. "Does she like classics that have to do with politics?" 

"I think so, what do you have?" he asked, seeming kinda excited for what you would come up with. He accompanied you as you went to shelf on the other side of the corridor and pulled out a book. "Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo. It's centered around the French Revolution" 

The man looked down at the floor again as a quite nervous laugh escaped his mouth. "I don't think that is a good idea. France does not give my family the best memories, you see" 

"You fought the war?" you asked, smile fading a bit because of the seriousness in his tone. Maybe that's where his agitation was from. Maybe, he never did get back from France at all. He only nodded in agreement, still not looking at you. "Thank you, for your service" 

He gave out a little smile, but you knew by the way the corner of his lips didn't rise too much that he was anxious to change the subject. Honestly, see the obvious hurt in him made you want to change it either. "Alright, no France. What about Bram Stoker's Dracula?" 

"Dracula?" he frowned, eyes meeting yours in utter confusion at such a strange name. 

The fact that he didn't knew about it made you smile as you began to describe que novel's story to him with a mysterious tone in your voice to cause suspense. "It's about an old man, Count Dracula, who lives in a castle and feeds on the blood of young women to survive. Sometimes he kills them so they can join him in the after life and also drink blood from innocent people" 

The man laughed due to your clearly forced misteirous tone and the way you raised your eyebrows at him while speaking, seeming to forget the previous sadness that had overwhelmed him with the memories of the war. You were glad for it. "That sounds bloody awful, love" 

You could not help but also laugh, trying to ignore the heat that took a hold of your face when he apparently without thinking, called you love. "It is, actually" then you shrugged, passing your hand through the said novel's cover at the shelf. "But is a fine horror book" you crossed your arms over your chest and squeezed your eyes in his direction. "Be honest with me now, will your sister like this one?" 

He squeezed his lips again, this time his features assumed a expression that clearly said 'sorry'. "I don't think so. Ada is a feminist. I think she would not like a story where a monster man kills women and faces no consequences" 

"That is a very good point" you said with a sight and then turned around, biting your lower lip as you thought and thought about more options. The challenge on your very first sell was being quite exciting and you could say, interesting. Much of it of course, was because of that man. Suddenly, an idea popped into your head and you turned back to the Peaky Blinder with a smile. "What about On the Origin of Species? It's a book about pure knowledge, scientific one, about evolution. No France, no monster that slaughters women" 

The man gave it a minute of thought and then returned your smile. "Knowledge and evolution. It does sounds like Ada" you both felt silent for a moment and then, he cleaned his throat and nodded towards the book you had just gotten into your hands. "I'll take it" 

"Very well" you motioned for him to follow you and then made your way towards the back of the shop again, placing it in the cashier. "You want it wrapped up as a gift?" he quickly agreed and you raised two options of gift wrap in the air. A green and a blue one. He chose the green one. "You can also add a small card if you want" 

"That is nice, thank you" he said and again, as you looked at him, the kindness in his eyes seemed to shine out from everything else. 

You grabbed a gift card from the inside of a box where they were kept and placed a black pen upon it. "You can write it or if you want, I can write it for you" 

"You should write it, I bet your handwriting is better than mine" he said and you chuckled, nodding as you agreed to his request. 

"What do you want it to say?" you waited as he clearly thought about the question, looking unsure. With one of his hands, he took off his cap and then passed the other one through his hair. When he claned his throat, you were ready to start writing. 

"Dear Ada, happy birthday" he looked at you as if that was it but then, seeing the expression on your face that clearly indicated you wished him to talk more, he thought for a second and then continued. " Since you like books so much, I hope you will like this one, that a very nice girl helped me pick" as you wrote with a smile on your face, you did your best not to raise your eyes to meet his. "I know I am not always a very good brother, but I love you. Happy birthday, Arthur" 

"That was beautiful" you told him, letting go of the pen and starting to wrap up the gift carefully, slowly, in no rush to let the Peaky Blinder go away. Arthur. His name was Arthur. It was a beautiful name. Suited him just fine. 

"Alright, then" his eyes went to the floor again, seeming now embarrassed because of your words. 

You finished to wrap the gift in silence, then when it was done, you sighted and looked at the man. "If you want us to deliver the gift at your sister's house, in case you're busy, we have a delivery boy for such" 

"That sounds good, I appreciate that" he replied. 

You nodded in agreement and got a piece of paper, to then grab the pen again. "Can you tell me her adress, please?" he did so, and you wrote it down so the boy Mr. Cuthbert had hired a little while before you could do his part of the job later. "He is supposed to look for Ada...?" you left the question in the air, waiting for him to answer, eyes still on the paper. 

"Ada Shelby" 

Your eyes snapped up on the very same instant. 

Shelby. 

His sister was Ada Shelby. 

He was Arthur Shelby. 

"Something wrong, love?" he asked, and he didn't seem harsh like you expected him to, for the way you not in the slightly hid just how astonished you were to know his identity. His eyes were still kind, but a part of the previous sadness had come back. 

"I'm sorry, that was rude of me" you wrote down Ada Shelby and then left the paper upon the gift, at the corner of the cashier. 

"I'm used to that kind of reaction by now" he said with a nervous laugh, that carried absolutely no humor at all in it. Even if he was indeed used to the said kind of reaction, he clearly did not like it. You felt guilt consume you. "How much do I owe you?" 

You told him the price, still lost in your thoughts and cursing yourself for being so stupid and rude. So rude. He gave you the money, you placed it in the due place. "Have a nice day" he told you and then turned around to leave, placing his cap back in his head and then his hands went to the pockets of his clothes. 

You watched him leaving with a intense feeling of exasperation, tried to think fastly enough to say something and then before you could even really process what you were actually going to do, the words left your mouth. "Mr. Shelby?" he turned back around as he heard you calling, a bit of gentleness in his features. "If you ever need to buy another book, I am sure I can help you find something good" 

His lips curled up in a smile, a pure one. A bit of the guilt you felt left your body like he had just taken it completely away, just by smiling again. "I'll remember that, love" 

And then, Arthur Shelby left the bookshop.

[jisungsplatforms]

Pairing: Lee Felix x gn! reader

Genre: fluff, small angst (in the beginning); non idol au, reincarnation au, kinda strangers to lovers (but not really? you’ll see)

Warnings: character deaths in the beginning (Salem witch style oops)

Tears streamed down their faces as they smiled lovingly to one another. The male leaned his forehead onto his lover’s own, holding each other as close as they can be. It was unfathomable, really, how lucky they were to find each other in this convoluted world. The amount of love they had for each other was suffocating; it was a love that was too good to last...

“Burn the devils!”

“Repent for your sins, you vile wenches!”

“May you suffer in the hands of your lord, filthy worshippers!”

The cries of the townspeople could not be heard over the sound of their synchronized heartbeats and declining breaths.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Flames of red and orange engulfed the couple’s forms. The man was terrified, not for himself but for his significant other. He silently prayed to the Lord to set them free; to guide them to the gates of paradise, where they can finally live peacefully together at last. “May we meet again in another life, my beloved,” his lover proposed with one final breath, letting the fiery madness swallow them whole. Only the wind could carry the last words of this bittersweet love story.

- 🕧 -

Felix jolted in cold sweat, the speed of which he sat up nearly gave him whiplash. He looked around to find he was just in the comfort of his bedroom. “Again?” he groaned as he hunched over, rubbing his face. Ever since he turned 18, he’s been having the same damned dream almost every night, leaving him with a heavy heart the next morning. It was driving him mad! All he wanted was for it to stop; though deep down, he also didn’t want to. He knew his conscience was trying to tell him something, rather, it was as if he needed to find someone. He flipped his phone over to read the time. ‘8:56am’ He sighed, getting up for the day.

“Do you believe in second chances?”

Everybody turned to Jisung in question, who was giving the 3 boys the purest look they have ever seen. “Like, if they did something bad?” Seungmin replied, “Yeah, I guess but it really depends on how grave the situation is.”

“No! No! Like, second lives and stuff like that!”

“Reincarnation?”

“Yeah! That’s the word,” Jisung smiled. Felix looked at him in interest, feeling antsy for some odd reason.

“Why?” Seungmin asked. “Is this from another one of those stories you read in that silly book?”

“Hey! Minho gave me that book! Respect it!”

Seungmin sighed as the other two boys laughed. “Hey, we should just be happy that he can even read, Seungmin,” Hyunjin laughed, earning a punch from Jisung.

“Come on, it’s not silly! I think it’s really cool,” Jisung pouted, everyone ignoring Hyunjin’s cries of help. “Hyunjin, You read it and thought it was cool too!”

Hyunjin stopped and scoffed, “Yeah, but it sounds a little...unrealistic? I think it is a cool concept but it can just never be true.”

“Agreed,” Seungmin chimed in. “Sounds too far fetched. You die? You die. That’s the end of it. No such thing as ‘second lives’.”

“Boohoo, you guys are such downers. Hope you guys stay dead when you die then,” Jisung jokes. “What about you, Lix? You never said anything.” The boys turned to the uncharacteristically quiet boy.

Felix hummed. “I think…” he draws out, “that it could happen? To me, it doesn’t sound that impossible”

“See! Felix is with me!” the chubby cheeked boy cheered. “He has a vision unlike you haters.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes sassily. “Okay, then what did the book say? Does it explain why reincarnation is a thing?”

“Yup! It said that reincarnation often happens when someone dies a tragic death or lived a miserable life. They are granted a second chance of one to make amends for their hardships, so that they can finally live the happy lives they deserve! And sometimes, people will still have memories from their past life.”

“Fake,” Hyunjin faux coughed. Jisung turns to him with a glare.

“Shut up. Don’t act as if you didn’t cry when you read the story.”

“Hey!” The two boys argued while Seungmin went on his phone to ignore the commotion. Meanwhile, Felix was lost in thought. So it is true...I was reincarnated. Those dreams really were memories of my past self! This is a sign!

“Hm,” Seungmin said to no one particularly, “I wonder when will anyone bring up that fact that Minho gave Jisung a literal children’s book?”

- 🕘 -

The boys left Hyunjin’s house after 5 hours. It was already the afternoon, and they were starving, seeing how they spent the whole time playing video games. Instead of ordering food, Seungmin suggested they go out to physically buy the food, much to Jisung and Hyunjin’s chagrin. Jisung and Hyunjin went to buy pizza, Seungmin was in charge with buying them food that’ll actually fill their stomachs, and Felix went to buy the drinks and desserts. Hyunjin went on about “eating like kings!” or something like that.

Felix was lining up in the ice cream shop, already carrying the bag of sodas for them. He was waiting for his turn when he heard a sweet voice from the line beside him; a voice that he has vaguely heard before. “Hello! Can I have-”

He turned his head to find the most breathtaking person he has ever seen. Felix felt his heart racing. It was as if his world stopped. Is that-? What’s happening? Is this it? he gulped. “Hello sir? Sir!”

He immediately snapped out of it, remembering he’s still in line. He looks back at the line to find that he’s next. “I am so sorry!” he bowed, quickly moving to the counter to place his order. Felix hastily spoke with the employee in hopes of speaking to the mystery beauty. He turned around to see his self-proclaimed soulmate already walking out the door. He cursed, ready to run out the door, when he heard his name being called. Felix hissed, snatching the bag of ice cream from the employee, with a quick ‘thank you’.

He sprinted out of the shop and into the direction he saw them leave. Either he ran that fast, or his soulmate was slow, he was able to catch up to them. “W-Wait!” he called out, breathlessly. His heart wanted to burst when he saw their form up close; when he saw you up close.

“Yes? May I help you?” you responded with a gentle smile. Felix had this strange urge to kiss your lips, fighting hard against it since you two are still technically strangers in this life.

“U-uhm,” he cleared his throat, “I’m sorry but- I think I’ve seen you in my dreams.”

Your eyes widened, caught off guard. Felix only now realized his blunder. “Crap- I’m sorry that was-”

He was cut off by the sound of your laughter, causing his face to burn even more. “Isn’t that a little cliché?” you giggled. Felix bit his lower lip in humiliation, looking down to the cement under his shoes. He wanted to run away. The situation was too embarrassing for him to handle. He felt your soft hands bring his face up.

“Hey hey, no need to be embarrassed. Don’t worry about it,” you smiled, “my beloved.”

Felix was stunned. Holy sh- I was right! It is you! he cheered mentally. He smiled as wide as he could, dropping his bags and bringing you into his arms. The two of you laughed in relief, happy that the two of you were together at last. You buried your face into his shoulder.

“I’ve missed you, Felix.”

“I’ve missed you too, Y/n,” he sighed, kissing the top of your head.

You looked up with tears in your eyes. You whispered, “I told you we shall meet again in our next life...my beloved.”

🕛 End 🕛

[mandoinevarro]

NO REFUNDS

Words: 5.1k :))

Rating: E, baby

Warnings: Smut (surprise surprise), bad words :0, masturbation, a biiiit of praise kink, face fucking, cumplay? let me know on the comments, etc. etc. 

a/n: Happy Star Wars day!! The first few lines of this are an attempt at dumb comedy, but humor me a little and you’ll get a reward (smut) along the yellow-brick road

Finally, the lanky kid behind the counter stops air drumming with two chicken bones gnawed dry and trails his dopey eyes from the gloved fist on the table, up a bracer, and along a flexed arm, until they settle on the Mandalorian helmet staring him down and waiting for an answer. The employee removes the music bandeau from around his ears and settles it down, its noise so loud Mando can hear it from where it lays. The kid scratches the whiskers of facial hair growing patchy on his cheeks and thoughtfully nibbles on one of the bones, trying to figure out what one does when a client shows up.

“Uh, what?”

“I need to speak to the owner,” the Mandalorian repeats slowly.

“Oh, uh.” Mouth gaping like a fish too stupid to know it should fear hooks, the kid calmly turns his attention to the four walls of the hardware store, searching for guidance in the fluorescent signs hanging around the room and dictating the store’s rules like they’re ancient scriptures:

NO CHILDREN

WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE

NO IMPS

NO REPUBLIC OFFICIALS

NO REFUNDS

NO APPOINTMENT, NO MEETING

“You, uh,” the kid continues, lingering on that last stanza and flicking open a dusty agenda that probably hasn’t been touched since the war ended, “you got an appointment, uh, sir?” He drags a greasy finger down the planner, squinting at nothing and pretending to read the page that Mando can clearly see is empty.

The bounty hunter sighs, holding on to the last reserves of patience that hang precariously on the cliff of his self-restraint, threatening to let go and leave him to his own anger. “No. But she’ll see me.” You better. You better fucking see him. “I was sold equipment here a few days ago, some of it faulty. I need to speak to her.”

The navigator. The fucking navigator. Of all the bunch of overpriced, black market scraps you’d somehow convinced the Mandalorian to buy from you last time, it just had to be the navigator. He still has his old blasters. Pumps are cheap. Even the deflector shields he could’ve done without for a couple of months. But the fucking navigator. The lack of droids on the Crest means that Mando relies solely on the navigator to set coordinates. Without it, he wouldn’t be able to find his way out of a system, let alone make hyperjumps. Even worse, the model is so old, its glitching isn’t recognized by the control panel, so he had to hover around the atmosphere of this damned planet for three days before figuring out what it was, throwing off his schedule and losing track of two bounties in the process. All because you sold him a damaged version of the one part he can’t do without.

But your gaping-mouthed kid worker seems too unused to visitors to really care about Mando’s request, too entertained nibbling on a bare bone and eyeing the costumer in front of him as a knowing smirk cracks his lips and he says, “I dig it.”

“You…you ‘dig it’? I don’t…”

“The whole, y’know.” He draws circles in the air with the bone, signaling the beskar armor while he wipes the sauce around his mouth with a sleeve. “The, uh, Mondolarian vibe you’ve got going on. Very retro, dude. I dig it.”  

Mondo…? Bewilderment overshadows irritation for a second, and Mando focuses all his energy into searching the kid’s vacant eyes for a sign of intelligent life. “I…I am a Mandalorian.”

Fucking stars above, it’s never easy with you. If not your endless teasing, it’s the exorbitant prices, your unwillingness to compromise, or your scurrying around so he’s forced to play cat and mouse with you. Your latest impossible challenge for him to tackle is, apparently, getting a straight answer from the obtuse employee you must have handpicked from a catalogue of idiots to torture Mando. Maker, he’s surprised your store hasn’t gone bankrupt yet. He can’t imagine anyone else in the galaxy putting up with your whims. And he only does it because…well, because…

After dedicating a couple of seconds to crafting the perfect response for what appears to be his very first client, the kid muses, “Well, shit, what do I know.” He flashes a toothy smile as he rereads the dogmas on the walls. “Says nothing about Mondolarians here, but, uh—”  

“—Look,” Mando bargains with your gatekeeper, trying to level the exasperation escaping the vocoder, “I only have one faulty part. Let me talk to the owner, and—”

“—Shit. I bet it was the microvalves.” Your staff of one hangs his tuff of hair in shame, swaying it limply from side to side, before staring straight at the visor apologetically. “My bad, dude, I’ve been trying to get them right, but I always fuck them up. It’s hard, y’know? Red with red, white with white. Why not red with white? Or—”

“—No. What? No. Listen to me. You sold me a busted—”

“—I sold you?” the kid scoffs, his eyes suddenly snapping wide and offended, ignoring Mando’s clenching fists, which usually make normal people cower. “Excuse me, mister Mondolarian sir, but I don’t, uh, don’t recall selling you shit, in fact—”

“—Not—not you personally, the store, look, just—”

“—in fact, I’ve never even met a Mondolarian before and you’ve, uh, no right—no right— to judge my microvalves that I worked hard on—”

“Let him in.” Your voice carries its usual amusement as it cuts between the Mandalorian and the kid, breaking off the bickering from both ends and drawing their attention to the melody’s source. You lean on the doorframe leading to your workshop, holding a pair of pliers in one hand and a wrench in the other. Grease is smeared on your face, where teeth bite down on a playful smirk and the twinkle in your eyes speaks of terrible intentions—like always. You tilt your head back to the room behind you. “C’mon, Mando. Let my receptionist work.”

With a sigh, the hunter moves towards the separate room, not before glancing back at the receptionist, who throws him one last disapproving look and wraps the bandeau that never stopped blasting music around his ears.

“Why do you keep him here?” the Mandalorian grunts as you push yourself off the doorframe to move inside your studio.

You shrug. “It’s him or droids.”  

Mando trails after you inside the cramped workshop, filled to the brim with piles and piles of sensors and motors and all the other scraps from dubious origins you collect, fix, and resell. He closes the door behind him and pushes a large tube hanging from the roof to the side to walk closer to you.

Facing him, you plummet on your wheeled chair with a sigh, your arms dangling off the armrests, still holding the wrench and the pliers, like you’re the monarch of your little kingdom of junk granting him an audience.

There, Mando finally gets a good look at you, and—much to his annoyance—you’re as lovely as always. Glistening and greasy, you’re still beautiful with oil stains on your skin and fat droplets of sweat trailing your temple. You beam at him from your squeaky throne with that faint grin that attracts nothing but trouble. Maker, no wonder you always manage to talk circles around him. But not this time. This time he won’t fall for your little games. He won’t, he won’t, he won’t. Tonight he’s walking out of here with all of his money, no matter how much you bat your pretty eyelashes at him.

The Mandalorian squares his stance and straightens his back in a futile attempt to intimidate you, strutting ahead firmly and pointing an accusing finger at your face.

“You sold me a—”

“—a busted navigator.”  You roll your eyes and push yourself to your legs abruptly before the hunter can get any closer. He stops dead on his tracks. You wave the wrench and the pliers in the air like the conductor of an orchestra. “I sold you a busted navigator.” The vowels are dragged out with an exaggerated tune to make fun of him. “Yeah, I heard you the first four thousand times, Mando.”

Without looking, you drop the pliers to the side. They land dead center on an open storage box. Perfectly. Almost rehearsed. Something clicks. The Mandalorian suddenly finds the missing piece of a puzzle he didn’t know needed solving, and he feels his shoulders deflate and release some of the anger that drove him to your store in the first place.

You peacock closer to him, one foot in front of the other and swaying your hips as you look down to the wrench in your hand. “But, you should know by now,” you murmur once you find yourself only inches away from the beskar, your voice morphing its earlier mock exasperation into the tone you only use whenever you two aren’t talking business. You look up at him, failing miserably at masking the mischief in your eyes. “I don’t do refunds.” You lift the wrench and grin as it taps the beskar breastplate lightly with a tink.

And before you can blink, Mando’s hand flies to your wrist to clutch it roughly, squeezing without hurting you, but with enough strength to force your fist open. Just like he knows you like it. The wrench falls to the floor with a bang that makes you jump. It’s Mando’s turn to smile when he pulls you by the wrist to press you closer against him. The cocky glint in your eyes dulls into confusion.

“I never said it was the navigator,” he informs you lowly.

You tense under his grasp and shift your jaw. “You knew I’d come back,” he continues, encouraged by your grimace. Staring at your feet, you half-heartedly try to wriggle away from his grasp, but he grabs your other wrist instead and holds you flush against the cold beskar. “Okay. I’m back. Now give me my money.”

But his satisfaction is short-lived, because if there’s anyone in the universe who knows no shame, that’s you. So you simply bite your lower lip and move your head from side to side to shake hair and embarrassment off your face. When you look up at the visor again it’s with that brazen insolence that secretly gets the Mandalorian going like nothing else in the galaxy.

“A girl gets lonely in here,” you purr. Your wrists relax, and make no attempt to pull away. “Can you blame me for wanting you back a little earlier?” Your plush lips curl into the perverse smile of someone who’s holding all the cards, making heat rush involuntarily to his crotch. And it drives him fucking insane. He could have you tied, shackled, or bent over, and you would still sneer at him like you had him wrapped around your finger.

At his silence, you wedge a leg tightly between his thighs and massage it against the bulge between. Your gasp in fake surprise when his length hardens at the first hint of a brush, too unused to any sort of physical contact to remain neutral to your bold caresses. He bites down hard on his lip to suppress a moan. He won’t give you the satisfaction.

Mando’s learnt, though, that his restraint only feeds your audacity. Only makes you taunt him more. His lack of response spurs you on, and you crane your neck forward to lick a slow line along the beskar of the chest. You blink at him playfully as you go, stuffing your tongue back into your mouth once you reach the top edge of the breastplate.

You must find it funny. How his ribs expand and contract in anticipation. How he tends to roll and unroll his fists in an attempt to suppress the instinct to throw you on top of the table so crowded by clutter that he can barely see the surface beneath and fuck the smirks off your face. How he always gives in. How he stiffens both scandalized and impossibly aroused every time you introduce him to some newer, filthier act. You must think it’s so fucking funny.

And as much as the bounty hunter wants to shove you back against your crumbling wheeled chair, he knows you’ll only enjoy it more. So he simply lets go of your wrists and steps back.

“I’m only here for my money,” he lies.

The vicious grin grows wider. “Oh, so you’re making me work for it tonight.” You step back and lean against a table with your arms crossed over your chest, purposefully pushing your tits against the cleavage. Mando shifts in his place. Licking your lips until they glisten, you give him a once-over. You study him inch by inch, and an uncomfortable rope knots in his stomach when he realizes that this is how his bounties must feel when he watches them wordlessly.

Your eyes settle on his visor, and a decision seems to cross them as you walk over to sit on your creaking chair. “Or maybe you just want to hear me beg.” You part your legs wide and clutch the armrest with one hand while the other disappears under the waist of your pants. The contour of your hand shifts up and down slowly inside the crotch of your trousers, and your lips crook into a full O as they release a deep, foul moan. “Is that it?” Your eyes are glossy and malignant, trained on his visor. “You want me to beg for your cock?”

His leather gloves ball into fists, trying to coax blood into his head and away from his…well, his other head.

Yet you hold him in place with that sinful stare and the lewd whimpers that you know get him off, and yes, fuck yes, he wants to hear you beg and sob for him all night as much as he wants to clog your throat with his shaft and make you swallow your teasing.

But he can’t let you win. You can’t scam five thousand credits out of him and expect him to throw himself into your arms no questions asked. He wants to put an end to your little tyrannical rule on his cock. And he wants his fucking money back.

So the powerful Mandalorian watches helplessly as your hand quickens under your clothing and you throw your head back in ecstasy. That fucking smirk doesn’t leave you, though. Even less so when your palm picks up some speed and you hear his breath hitch involuntarily at the visual, loud enough to override the vocoder.

“C-come on, Mando, don’t—” Your hand sinks deeper into your pants and you hum at the adjustment. “Don’t you wanna teach me what—what proper cos-costumer service looks like? Huh?”

His cock jumps in his pants when you say his name in a wanton gasp, and Mando can see you’re sweating and moving your hips faster against your palm. He’s so hard it hurts.

Your smile falters and you frown impatiently as the pent-up tension threatens to snap in your body.

“Don’t cum,” Mando blurts before he can stop himself.

“Or what?”

“Or I won’t give you what you want.”

Your movements halt on command, and the hunter almost envies the control you have over your own body to be able to backtrack on the very edge of your release. You hold your hands up in triumphant surrender as you watch the Mandalorian approach and stop just a breath away from your body. He stands tall before you, crowding you with his size and turning down the volume on the nagging voice that reminds him that he’s letting you win.

Eyes on the prize ahead of you, you lick your lips and snake a hand beneath your sit. You pull a lever and the chair plummets a few inches until your mouth is directly in front of the rigid tent growing in his pants. Expert fingers undo his belt and lower his fly, but, stars, nothing is fast enough when Mando already feels the veins of his cock growing thicker and thicker. Skipping all formalities, your hand sneaks inside, cups his balls, and pulls all of him outside. He groans when you grab his shaft and squeeze hard from base to tip, your bare palm catching awkwardly on his equally dry skin. Mando melts into the sensation all the same, but you seem displeased with your palm’s lack of fluidity.

“Fuck. Hold on.” A pair of fingers disappear into your mouth and down your throat as far as they’ll go. You choke on them dramatically and your eyes water slightly, but they shine when the two small intruders drag outside your mouth, pulling a thick string of elastic spit with them and dropping it on his shaft, pulsing with anticipation. You lean forward and look up through your lashes as you unroll your tongue slowly and more gooey saliva dangles from it. It’s too dense to spill onto its target, so you pluck the heavy ropes from your mouth and smear it manually on his cock, while a thread of it hangs on your chin.

“Fuck.” Your tiny clenched fist wakes up every nerve in his body as it drags up and down his shaft, obscene and perfectly lubricated. Mando’s hips buck into its grasp involuntarily, so suddenly that you flinch at the unexpected jolt. It’s a small comfort for him, to see that he can also surprise you. But then you’re giggling again, locking him in place by grabbing the buck of his belt with your free hand.

“Eager,” you remark. You lean forward and place a chaste kiss on the tip that digs into his spine. Maker, it was barely anything, but he’s so hard and your mouth is so close. “Aren’t Mandalorians,” you tease, “supposed to have self-restraint?”

Mando’s only answer is a low groan and a gloved hand that tangles on your hair and pushes you forward. You resist, though, instead wrapping a fist around his base and dragging your hot tongue up his underside, stopping just before the tip. A tortured whimper echoes around the helmet, and the Mandalorian is not sure if you could hear it because his muscles pull tighter, drawing his attention to his cock and your mouth and the fact that the latter is not wrapped around him for some reason. As if you could read his mind, you suddenly engulf him whole. Spit gathers on the edge of your lips as you suck on his length, swallowing around the tip and swirling your tongue around his girth.

“Fuck, you’re so—so fucking g-good at this.” You hum in response, sending vibrations through his shaft that make his knees buckle. He always forgets how good it feels with you. He forgets that you take him perfectly like all your holes were made for him to fuck. That you make his blood run hot with every swing of your tongue and every spasm of your cunt and every insolent remark that escapes your lovely mouth, now busy pleasuring him.

You settle on his head and suck on the bulb, hollowing your cheeks to let him feel the delicious inside of your mouth. Mando grabs handfuls of your hair with both hands, still trying to extinguish little whimpers before they leave his throat. And you can tell. He knows you can tell because determination clouds your eyes as you yank him closer by the belt. You drag your tongue in a circle around the ridge of the head, before dipping into the slit on the tip and finally earning a punched out groan and some beads of precum as a reward. Somehow, you moan and chuckle at the same time, opening your mouth as strings of spit fall to the floor.

“You’re hard, Mando,” you coo, pumping his length while you rub it on the side of your face, “throbbing and so, so hard. You should’ve come to me sooner, baby. You’re desperate.” You suck on the head again, and the Mandalorian’s grip on your hair turns to steel, pulling you into him and no longer asking. Moaning, you let him, taking him as far as you can and wrapping a fist where you can’t reach. Your other hand releases his belt and snakes down to your lap, fumbling with the waistband of your pants.

Somewhere in the swamp of sensations drowning his thoughts, an idea flashes in Mando’s head, and he holds on to it before you can suck it out of his tip. One glove lets go of your hair and quickly grans the hand lowering into your heat to resume touching yourself. His cock still in your mouth, you look up at him with furrowed eyebrows and a silent question.

“You can’t c-cum,” he explains, forcing words out of a throat that right now only wants to moan, “un-until you give me my—my refund.”

You groan and roll your eyes, taking your mouth off him with a pop. “Fuck no,” you breathe as you pump him faster and harder, almost making Mando lose his resolve. Almost. His hold on your wrist tightens. “It’s store policy.”

“Y-yeah?” You continue sliding your fist along his shaft, as you lean forward and lower your face to start lightly licking his balls. The room spins around Mando, and his grip on your hair pushes you into him until you suck on one ball gently. “Is—is it store p-policy to—ngh—to f-fuck your clients?”

You chuckle against his taint. Your head straightens to set your attention back on his tip, where he’s leaking an almost embarrassing amount of precum. A thumb brushes over his slit, gathering the pearls and bringing them into your mouth to taste him. The way you rub your core slightly against the chair is sneaky enough, but the Mandalorian catches the movements and tugs your hand and hair tighter as a warning. Your shoulders slump.  “I’ll give you half,” you offer.

Mando guides your hand lower and curls it around his swollen cock, silently begging for your attention. His hand wraps over yours as he squeezes your fist and drags it along his shaft at a pace of his liking that sets his insides ablaze. “Eighty.” The helmet falls back as he revels in the wet sounds of your hand sliding back and forth his cock and giving him a nice enough memory for when he inevitably goes back to the Crest and is forced to take care of his needs himself.

You let him guide you, cupping his balls with your other hand and swirling your tongue around his darkening tip. Mando’s chest trembles with a long moan at the toe-curling feeling of your warm spit and your clenched fist working so hard for him, until you drop him from your mouth and answer, “Seventy.”

“N-no, I—”

“—Seventy,” you repeat and twist your hand away from his grasp, leaving his seeping cock throbbing and abandoned, “or you don’t cum.”

Fuck, he was close. He was so fucking close, before you turned the tables. Like fucking always. A part of him cradles his already bruised pride, shaming him for—yet again—not being able to hold it together around you. But his cock tugs harder. More insistently. It pulls every fiber in his body and screams at him to give you whatever the fuck you want.

“Fine.” He nods his head once, before his better sense can convince him otherwise. “Seventy.”

A full, beautiful smile that almost makes Mando forget he’s getting scammed graces your plump lips. You waste no time shoving your hand inside your underwear again and moving your arm frantically as you give him a couple of throaty whines. You open your mouth as wide as it’ll go and blink up at him, inviting him to take you however he so pleases. He tangles his fingers on your hair and shoves you against him as you wrap your lips around his cock and muffle your mewls on it.

The Mandalorian starts fucking your face, getting his money’s worth as he moves you back and forth. Your eyes water and you gag with every shove, but you work earnestly for him, hollowing your cheeks and moving your tongue and pulling just about every trick on your toolbox to make Mando’s eyes roll to the back of his head.

And stars, even through your pants and his helmet, he can still smell your arousal. He hears the wet squelching of your fingers working your pussy fast and if he could only get a look. One look is all he needs to cum, he’s sure, one fucking look at your clenching cunt and he’s done.

“F-fuck, l-let me see,” he pants, “let—let me s-see you—see your p-pussy cum, just—fuck—just a mo-moment, please, j-just…”

Tears from all the gagging fall out of your pretty eyes as you open your mouth and stand up, taking your trembling hand outside to fumble with your trousers. Your thumbs are hooked under their waistband and push down slightly before you suddenly stop and stare at the Mandalorian gulping all the oxygen he can get and waiting for you. “Sixty,” you say carefully.

Too intoxicated with you and too focused on the blood beating hard on his cock, Mando couldn’t care less. He doesn’t give a shit about percentages or money or parts or whatever half-forgotten excuse he had to come here tonight. All that matters and all that’s real is whatever he needs to climax, and if it means letting you win, so be it. “S-sixty. Yes. Whatever. Just—just take your fucking pants off.”

One swift movement and your pants and underwear pool around your ankles. Yanking hard on the hem, you manage to pull the right leg off your boot. You don’t bother with the other one, letting it hang on your left leg as you climb back on the chair, spreading your legs and hooking one thigh over the armrest to offer him the best view possible.

Mando’s cock threatens to spill at the sight. You’re fucking soaked. Your folds are blushed and slick and swollen with all the blood accumulated on your cunt. Three fingers rub your aching clit and everything around it with messy strokes, as you stare at the bounty hunter with raw lust and moan for him loud and clear, and this. This is worth the fucking navigator.

As soon as his shaft ghost over your face you lean into it and reach for him with your mouth. Mando takes your head between his hands and resumes his previous brutal pace, his eyesight now directed at the way your cunt spasms and seeps more juices with every circle you press against your lips. And, fuck, you’re taking him like you’re hungry for his cock. Pushing harder and further and faster despite the gagging, you’re making Mando see blotches cloud his vision and feel how his muscles turn into hot, thick magma. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he can’t hold it in anymore. His balls start pulling up as a warning and you’re sucking harder and mewling around him.

“I—I…I’m gonna—I—”

Mando can’t find enough words to put together for the life of him, but you nod and manage a chocked “Mhmm” and bob your head to the pace of your quickening fingers and stars oh fuck—

The wave of his climax hits him hard on his back and makes him curl around you. He braces himself against the top of your chair and the change in position makes his cock slip outside of your mouth, but his vision goes completely black and all he can feel is the rush of pleasure crushing his bones into dust. Maybe your name is falling from his lips, but he can’t be sure. The never-ending spurts of cum falling somewhere hoard most of his attention, and he focuses on that thick and heavy release, so rare for him that he puts his mind into savoring every second.

It’s not until the echoes around his ears dissipate that the Mandalorian hears you’re still whimpering. Hunched over you, he opens his eyes just in time to see you gather some of the seed that he spilled on your neck and bring it down to smear it over your bundle of nerves, rubbing it one, two, three, four times, before you’re sobbing long and loud. Your hole tightens around nothing, your forehead resting on his cuisse, and Mando thinks he could get hard again just from the image.

You both stay like that for a while, curled into each other and panting in turns, until Mando gathers all the energy left in his system to pull himself upright and shove his softening shaft back into his pants. It’s only then that he sees just how much of a mess he made: Cum landed everywhere. It hangs thick all over your face, on your neck, on your hair, on your clothes. He blushes darkly and he’s about to open his mouth to apologize, but you sense it. Somehow. You wink and brush off his shame with a smile and a wave of your hand, standing up to get dressed. But Mando’s quicker. He kneels in front of you and gently raises your underwear until it hugs your hips, wishing for a fleeting second he could press a kiss on the supple flesh there. You grab his pauldron for balance to sneak your foot into the pantleg that Mando holds open for you.

For once, it’s he who breaks the silence. “I…I do want my sixty percent, you know.”

“Of course.” You smile sweetly at him, reaching back to your work table to grab a clean rag, rubbing it against your face and neck. “I’ll even throw in some free microvalves for good measure.”

—

Taglist of two so you can keep each other company :) : @rosetophighlander​ @hellomothermoon

[livebloggingmydescentintomadness]

hi ashley, hope you are doing well. i am writing you this because i need a third party perspective.

so i work at a grocery store and have since october. i used to work there in high school but left for university and came back because i needed a job in the pandemic. i have a coworker, claire who worked there when i was in high school and still works there now and since i came back we have become great friends. we get along super well and i love hanging out with her outside of work.

the trouble started when they asked me to become a supervisor. i had only been there two months and claire had expressed to me in the past that she feels like she’s been looked over to become a supervisor and it’s always everyone except her, so when they asked me i felt really guilty. i was only offered because i have the most open availability to be a supervisor and claire had even taken a month leave at that time. she assured me that she was happy for me and that it wasn’t a problem. well i feel like it’s become a problem. every time i am her supervisor she constantly questions every decision i make. if i want to do garbages early, she questions why i’m starting them so early. if i want to do breaks later, it’s a question. she really makes it seem like a never know what i’m doing. and the worst part is is that she barely talks to me at work. i’ve jokingly brought it up to her before and she’s always just said that it’s because she’s so miserable there (it’s true the place sucks), but i seriously doubt that as she is always so chatty with everyone else and barely says two words to me. it’s starting to make me feel like i’m in the 6th grade and i’m being left out on the playground. it’s getting to the point i hate working with her and i feel so embarrassed.

i know i’m probably not explaining myself great but the reason i’m writing is to know if i’m being dramatic. is it really that deep or am i just being overly sensitive? thank you for listening and i hope you are doing well ♥️

hello, dear! i'm sorry you're having to deal with all this.

i don't think you're being dramatic. while i'm of course generally a "fuck capitalism, fuck your boss" sort of person, it's very unprofessional for your friend to behave like this when you're her superior.

it's not your fault that claire hasn't been promoted while you have, and she shouldn't take her resentment or frustration out on you. it's one thing to complain or commiserate while you're equals hanging out, but while you're working it's not right for her to disrespect you like this, especially in front of other employees. you're not in the wrong for wanting her to just be fucking professional while you're on the clock.

i know confrontation is awful, but it sounds to me like at some point you're going to have to put your foot down somehow and tell her this behavior needs to stop. if this is how she acts then no wonder she's been passed over for a promotion, and quite honestly, she's behaving like a shitty friend.

like, if you have a problem with your friend, you go to them about it, you don't just be passive aggressive and try to mess up their job. you don't blame them for your problems, or just stop speaking because you're mad the bosses have treated them better than they have you. she's behaving childishly.

i can't tell you exactly what to do, but i think you should value your self-respect over a shitty friend and not cave to guilt over things that aren't your fault. i think it's probably time to stand up for yourself.