#and they were like “no but you could get it tailored”

[marzipanandminutiae]

people don't realize how much stuff you used to be able to get locally

nowadays I might pay for rush shipping on sewing supplies if I need them for a project deadline. 100 years ago, I could just go to a store and buy silk thread, a zillion different types of braid in different fibers, cut glass or steel buttons, a tailor's ham for ironing, a needle board for ironing velvet, etc. there were entire stores just for ribbons, for faux foliage, for specialty sewing machine attachments, for individual varieties of fabric. and most of it was locally produced

especially since I live in Boston, Massachusetts, USA. if you told someone in 1924 that I couldn't find any newly-made glass buttons for sale in a city the size of BOSTON, they'd look at you like you were insane. doubly so if you told them that buttons, period, could only be purchased at like three stores in the area, from maybe two different brands

today I go to the craft store and it's. one brand of polyester thread. maybe seven colors of cotton thread, all dull or dark. one size and brand of snaps. one size and brand and type of ironing board. plastic buttons (MAYBE a few cards of wood or metal). flat polyester ribbon trim in a few sizes and colors. and that's pretty much it

you didn't NEED next-day shipping as much even as recently as 60-70 years ago, because more things were manufactured and sold closer to you

I don’t think you’re ready to have an adult conversation about politics until you’re able to admit that there are things you love and enjoy that would not and should not exist in a just world. $8 billion dollar budget movies every other month don’t exist in a just world. New 900 GB AAA video games every year don’t exist in a just world. Next day delivery doesn’t exist in a just world. 80 different soda brands don’t exist in a just world. 

All of those things come from exploitation on some level, and if you wouldn’t trade those for a world where everyone can eat and have a home no matter who they are or what they do, I don’t know what to tell you. 

[meelusinee]

HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH WITH YOU ★ R.B X J.P X READER

in which you and regulus escape to james' house after a failed house party (no thanks given to walaburga in this house <3)

pairing: regulus black x james potter x reader word count: 2.4k warnings: drunk reader at the end, but that's it

author's note: i wanted to get a quick one out there just for funsies, so I thought why not these two? thank's so much for the support to everyone who's liked and commented and followed too!!!

It's you, it's you, it's all for you Everything I do I tell you all the time Heaven is a place on earth with you Tell me all the things you wanna do I heard that you like the bad girls Honey, is that true?

HEAVEN IS A PLACE ON EARTH WITH YOU | REGULUS BLACK X JAMES POTTER X  READER

James Potter and Regulus Black were complete opposites.

Regulus Black was a prim and proper man. The second heir to the Black family, the most prestigious Pureblood family within the Sacred 28. An excellent seeker with an eye as sharp as a needle, easily able to pick a Snitch out of thin air. Neat and professional, always tailored to perfection no matter when or where you look at him. Quiet and calculated, able to do anything to someone all in the drop of a hat.

James Potter was a messy and muddy man. The only heir to the Potter household, a home full of love and warmth ever since it came together. An excellent Chaser able to throw Quaffles as easy as blinking his eyes. Cocky yet charming, jumbled in a way that was endearing to many no matter when or where you look at him. Loud in a friendly way, able to befriend anything all in the drop of a hat.

Even still, they had their faults.

That fault was always you.

Regulus found himself growing bolder within your presence, his journal full of scattered and obsessive thoughts about anything to do with you. The way your face shines in the sun, or the way it gets even brighter whenever you smile. He often found himself giving you small flower crowns or trinkets, like a worshipper worshiping its deity.

James, however, found himself growing calmer within your presence. His head was full of nothing whenever he was around you, nothing more than static he wished he always had running through his mind whenever he was out in public. He often found himself giving you more affection than anyone could think possible, like a sloth latching onto a tree branch for his nap.

Even though they were opposites, you brought out the best in both of them. And in return, they saw each other in a way they felt almost no one else could. Every kiss to you meant a kiss to Regulus for James. And every thought about you meant a thought about James to Regulus.

Which led them both to where they were right now, both with you in a way that made their hearts soar.

Regulus and you were both sitting in the backyard of the Potter Manor. Nobody else was home right now, but the both of you needed an escape from the party going on at Regulus’ house.

Which led you both here, listening to the car engine running through the streets and closer to you two. The sun was shining down on the backyard field, pollen and small dandelion fluffs running through the air and itching both of your noses.

Your heads turned as you heard the door of the car close, a small whistling tune ringing in your ears as whoever was driving got closer to you.

James. 

You chuckled softly as he dramatically turned around the corner, both of you watching as he ran up to the both of you much like a golden retriever.

“Reggie!” he smiled, leaning down dramatically and kissing his forehead before moving to yours. “Oh how I’ve missed you, my love. And you too, Y/N. I missed you as well, don’t you forget it.” 

“We won’t, Jamie.” you whispered, kissing his lips. “Do you have any beers?”

“If my dad doesn’t count his stash.” James said mischievously, his hand patting your head before he rushed off to get three cans. “I’ll be back!”

You and Regulus both giggled, his body scooting closer to yours as you watched James run off. Regulus’ hands moved to wrap around your waist, his fingers messing with the belt of your sundress. “You’re absolutely beautiful.”

“You’re an utter sap.” you giggled, your head resting on his shoulder.

Your lips rested on his cheek as his hands toyed with your belt, the both of you watching as James ran back out of the house with three beers and three swimsuits. 

“What on Earth is he doing?” Regulus asked incredulously, a small smile on his face.

“We should go to the pool!” he said, running up to you both out of breath. “We could go swimming, or we could maybe play a game. What do you say?”

You and Regulus turned to each other before giggling at James’ ridiculousness, the two of you getting up to walk to the pool.

The sun was shining down on the pool as Regulus and James sank into the water, James’  arms wrapping around Regulus to help him swim.

“It’s not that bad, baby.” he whispered, chuckling softly. “You can still stand even in the deep end!”

“It’s water!” he hissed slightly, the water freezing against his skin. “I could drown. Do you want me dead, James? Drowned and buried?” 

“You’re not going to drown.” James chuckled, his thumbs caressing his waist. “I’ve got you.”

Regulus was about to complain again before his eyes darted over to the entrance of the pool, his eyes widening slightly as he watched you walking towards the pool.

You still had your sundress on, a small tray of fruit in your hands as you put it at the edge of the pool. “Are you two having fun?”

“Massive fun.” James chuckled, placing a kiss on Regulus’ cheek. “Right?”

Regulus nodded, his hand rapidly slapping James’ back as you moved to take your dress off. Your fingers moved to untie the belt holding it up, the zip falling down as it fell off your body. Your hands grabbed your swimsuit as you put it on, a pattern similar to your sundress.

Regulus and James were both staring at you, eyes widened and jaws dropped down to the floor. 

Regulus absolutely loved the way you looked, at least 20 different poem lines or song lyrics running through his mind as he stared at you. Like you were a holy and divine being he worshiped.

And James was looking at you like a ray of sunshine or field of flowers. How could something like you exist in the same world as he did?

You turned around and chuckled softly at the look on their faces, your body moving to slowly wade into the pool. “Hey there, you two.”

“Hi.” Regulus whispered, clearing his throat before saying it again. “Hi, mon amour.” 

“Hi there, baby.” James whispered, letting Regulus stand in the water so they both could wade towards you and cover you in kisses. 

“You’re both the best.” you chuckled softly at them, wrapping yourself around James and leaning in for a kiss before doing the same for Regulus. “I love both of you, do you know that?”

“Yes, we do.” Regulus whispered, kissing your jaw as James’ buried his nose against your hair. “Meethee, are you wearing perfume?”

“Perfume?” you asked, before nodding. “That vanilla one you like. Do you still like it?”

“Oh, mon cœur. The woman that you are.” Regulus whispered softly at that, taking a small scent of the perfume before pulling your lips in for another kiss. “Merlin, I love you so much.” 

“I did it for you,” you whispered, giggling as you felt James kissing your neck. “That tickles!”

“All for us?” he whispered, looking up at you with a gaze so sweet you could melt it like molten candy. “You’re so good to us, you know?”

“Says you.” you giggled.

“What on Earth even happened at his parent’s house in the first place?” James asked you confusedly, looking over at Regulus who had drunken over three beers in twenty minutes. He was standing under the pool shower now, his hair dripping water as he stood in it.

“Lots of yelling and stuff.” you whispered, frowning softly at Regulus’ state. “Plus, Bellatrix was acting like, well, Bellatrix. You know how she is.” 

“Maybe he needs to drink it off?” James whispered, looking at you. Neither of you liked Regulus drinking, though you did know it was a way for him to cope. And until he could escape the hellhole he lived in, it was what worked for him.

“Muggle bar?” you asked him curiously.

“Muggle bar.” James nodded at you.

The both of you got out of the pool and walked over to Regulus, playing with the shower nozzle for a minute or two before drying everyone off.

“Do you want to head to a bar, Regulus?” James whispered, his fingers running through his hair.

“A muggle bar?” Regulus whispered, his eyes shining slightly as he looked up at him.

“Yeah.” James smiled.

Regulus sniffled dramatically, hugging James tight. “You love me so much, don’t you?”

“Both of us do.” you whispered, nails gently scratching at his back. “We love you, ‘kay? We’ll stay sober so you can get drunk, as long as you take a Wiggenweld Potion after we get home.”

“And a Sobering Potion too.” he promised, kissing your forehead lovingly. “Thank you, my love.” 

“Don’t thank us.” you whispered, helping the both of them walk up to James’ room so you could all get ready for the bar.

“Is James going to stay sober?” Regulus whispered softly to you, watching as James looked through his shirt collection. His eyes unabashedly traced the muscles of his back, smiling softly at the sight.

“I think so. He doesn’t like getting drunk, you know how he is.” you chuckled softly. “A big health nut he is, don’t you think?”

“Definitely.” Regulus whispered, turning to you with a curious expression. “Are you going to get drunk with me, pretty girl? I have extra potions if you need.”

“If I ask James, maybe.” you whispered, before pouting softly at Regulus. “As long as I don’t get the vodka you like. It burns.”

“Of course not.” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “I’ll get you all the drinks you love.” 

“I’m going to beat you!” yoh slurred, the pool stick in your hand swaying slightly as you angled it to the white ball. “Just you wait, Reggie.”

“You’re going to try, pretty.” he chuckled softly at you. He was holding his alcohol a lot better than you were. “And then you’re going to be sad when you lose, y’know that?”

“Nuh uh.” you said, giggling softly as James walked up behind you and helped you line the stick up.

“That’s cheating!” Regulus chuckled, leaning against the table. 

James chuckled softly as you started drunkenly bumbling, taking over the pool stick and hitting the ball against the others. “Look babes, you’re solid.”

“I’m solid?” you asked, looking up at him as you pulled him into a hug. “I think I’m starry.”

“Starry?” James asked, kissing your forehead as he watched Regulus shoot his shot. He shot about three in a row, impressive for how many drinks he had already. “How are you starry?”

“Because you’re giving me a hug, and it’s starry.” you whispered, giggling as you bounced over to Regulus. “You make me starry too!”

Regulus chuckled softly at your drunkenness, realizing rather quickly that you probably wouldn’t be able to play pool nor darts. He still didn’t mind entertaining you though. “Did you know my name is based off of a star?”

“It is?” you asked, clapping your hands together. “We’re stars together!”

“Yes we are, mon cœur.” he chuckled softly.

“And Jamie has to come with us too.” you whispered softly, looking over at James. “I don’t want him feeling left out, okay?”

“Of course he can come with us.” Regulus chuckled softly to you. “He’s like the sun.”

“The sun!” you giggled softly, before stumbling into Regulus’ arms. “Sorry Reggie.”

“It’s okay, just be careful next time pretty,” he whispered, smirking softly. “You wanna watch me beat James’ ass in pool?”

“Yeah!” you giggled.

James had been smiling the entire night, ever since he saw you two in his backyard.

You were wearing a different dress, one that was black and a bit puffier at the end of it. Regulus was wearing all black attire as well, a black silk shirt with black slacks and Doc Martens. Right now, the both of you were standing by the bar, sticking out like a sore thumb in a crowd of people who looked a little better than average.

You were both absolutely beautiful. And absolutely wasted.

“I think this is going to be your final drink.” he whispered softly, grabbing you by the waist when you sat next to him.

“What?” you whined, looking over at Regulus. “Why is he cutting us off?”

Regulus shrugged, taking a sip of his drink as he looked at James with puppy eyes.

“Nope, not falling for it.” James muttered, dramatically tossing his head to the ceiling. “We’re going to get you two your potions and then we’re going to head home, no ifs, ands, or buts.”

“On the contrary to the message you are trying to spread,” Regulus slurred out, hiccuping at the end. “I believe we should be able to consume alcoholic beverages however long we want.”

“And I believe that I don’t want you sick tomorrow.” James said, looking down at Regulus. “Don’t make me do it.”

“You won’t!” you gasped audibly.

“I would.” he said sternly, putting as serious of an expression he could on. “Don’t test me.”

“No, no!” Regulus said. “We’ll go.”

“Good.” James said, chuckling softly as the both of you stumbled to put your glasses back at the bar. Oh how he loved you two.

“Okay, who’s in bed first?” James asked, looking at both you and Regulus in matching pajamas.

“I believe that it’s your turn for mutual cuddles.” you mumbled sleepily, patting the bed down for James to get in. “Go on Jamie.”

“Oh,” James nodded, looking down at the bed before smiling. “My turn it is.”

“Your turn it is.” Regulus hummed, crawling in and wrapping his arms around James. You were much more uncivilized, wrapping your entire being around him contently. 

The lights turned of magically as you all got comfortable in the bed, small sighs escaping your mouths as your eyes closed. Regulus’ grip tightened ever so slightly, his hand grasping yours in his sleep. Your body stayed wrapped around James, though your calf somewhat covered Regulus��� leg.

And James was content laying in the middle and spread like a starfish, smiling as he listened to the both of your breathing gently. James wouldn’t have this any other way. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE

RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH POST OF THE CENTURY (really its not) i'm waiting for my amazing poll votes to come through, so i'm currently just posting up whatever on earth feels like posting before i head out for the day. thank you guys so much for the support it geniunely means so much!!!

AS ALWAYS please like and comment and reblog and all of that snazzy snaz snaz, and i hope you have an excellent day!

[kzrosa-writes]

・︶꒦꒷ ˚ ₊ ✦ LOVE WAR ; dottore & pantalone x reader

two smitten harbingers fighting for your love and your heart, how do they try to win you over? ; love triangle between dottore and pantalone

likes, reblogs n follows are appreciated! <3

Attracting the attention of a Fatui Harbinger would be considered an accomplishment on its own. But two? That was much more than a miracle. But were you really lucky for attracting the attention of both the Ninth and Second Fatui Harbingers?

Pantalone believes that the best way of expressing love is through tangibility and quantity. As the Harbinger in charge of handling the Northland Bank's operations, he inevitably would have access to a vast amount of wealth. From exquisite jewels and necklaces to luxurious clothing specially tailored for you, Pantalone would provide you with all the splendour Teyvat has to provide. He believes that with each gift, he would be able to express his heartfelt feelings for you. You would often be greeted with a bouquet of flowers by your doorstep when you arrive back at your residence. Whenever you confront him about it, he would tell you that each bouquet is a profound declaration of his love, with each embedded a message an ardent reminder that he would always be there for you.

Dottore, on the other hand, believes that gifts are meaningless if the sender doesn't truly mean their actions. A gift could be so luxurious, but what use is it if the sender lacks sincerity? That's why he believes that the best way of expressing his love towards you is through his actions. Albeit small and subtle, it's the little things he does and the genuine effort he puts in that builds and strengthens your relationship and connection. Dottore isn't materialistic by any means, he prefers to make his love known through his deeds and actions. Are you struggling with your work? He would bring you your favourite drink to encourage you, and perhaps he would try his best to help you out, regardless of his lack of knowledge and skills in that field. Being the Fatui's lead scientist would mean that he has a good memory, and he would use it to remember everything about you. He picks up on the smallest things that you would mention during your conversations, and he would surprise you with simple acts that can easily bring a smile to your face. You would often be shocked, and mostly touched that he would remember such a miniscule detail about yourself. Dottore believes that actions speak louder than words, and therefore does his best to show you just how much you mean to him.

Unlike Dottore, Pantalone believes that words can be just as powerful and impactful as actions are. To him, words hold deep meanings to him. In the past, Pantalone had prayed endlessly to the gods, desperately seeking comfort and answers to his misery. He had never received the answers he had been longing for, and that was what caused him to believe that words are indeed equally important as actions. He had always craved reassurance, comfort and solace from the gods, looking for a sign that everything will be alright. But it never came. Pantalone uses this pain as a means of healing his own past, by offering you reassurance and words of comfort. Pantalone believes that words have the power to make or break people's spirits. Even a simple encouragement can lift spirits, even if it's just a little. Without a little push, some may not even move at all. That's why Pantalone loves to shower you with affectionate words. Hearing his smooth, soothing voice comforting you with sweet words will never fail to make your heart flutter. It's all part of Pantalone's charm. Whenever he notices a slight shift in your mood, he would ask you about it and try to make you feel better. Pantalone would never fail to make you feel special; he will always provide you with the comfort you need.

Dottore is not a sentimental person by any means. He's very closed about his true feelings and doesn't let people get close to him. But with you? It's different. There's just something about you so lovable that even the cold and apathetic Doctor can melt from your warm smiles. As Dottore struggles to explain his emotions through words, he prefers to spend his time with you to show you his feelings. He would always be there for you when you needed him. Despite his busy schedule, he would make time for you, enjoying your presence and basking in the comfort of your touch. Whenever confronted by you, Dottore would use the excuse of taking a break from work to spend time with you. But if he is really busy, you would receive attention from one of his Segments. His Segments are equally as enamoured by you, and they would be more than happy to spend time with you. Dottore says it's the least he could do if he can't be there for you when you need him.

At the end of the day, you would be showered by their affections and attention regardless. Both of them have their ways of showing you their appreciation and love. It's only a matter of who wins your heart at the end of the day. Would actions really speak louder than words? Or will the temptations of sweet words and opulent riches win you over? In the end, the choice would be yours to make.

— masterlist ・ navi ・ request rules

[hookhausenschips]

Whispered Intentions

Ch.1 of The Game Of Seduction

Navigation

Summary: At a glamorous charity gala, mob boss Lando Norris encounters Y/N, a captivating and enigmatic woman who disrupts his control with her fearless charm. Their meeting sets the stage for a dangerous game of power, seduction, and hidden motives.

Warnings: Manipulation, Deception, Power Dynamics, Sexual Tension, Psychological Tension, Mature Themes

WC: 2.1k

17+

Taglists

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

The charity gala was a spectacle of wealth and shadowed power. Beneath the golden glow of crystal chandeliers, the elite mingled—mob bosses masquerading as philanthropists, business tycoons laundering their riches, and politicians exchanging favors with quiet handshakes. Conversations were murmurs of veiled threats and promises, the kind of deals that could move markets or topple governments.

At the center of it all stood Lando Norris, the newly crowned leader of the McLaren Mob Family.

Lando carried himself with a calm authority that demanded respect. His midnight-blue suit was immaculately tailored, its sharp lines emphasizing his slim but commanding build. The soft curls of his infamous mullet rested casually along the nape of his neck, a style that shouldn’t have worked but somehow added to his mystique. With a crystal tumbler of bourbon in hand, he exuded an effortless magnetism, his every move calculated yet unhurried.

The room was his, and he knew it.

But when she walked in, even Lando couldn’t deny the shift in the atmosphere.

---

Lando’s POV

I didn’t see her at first.

The room was filled with the usual crowd—men trying to act more powerful than they were, women hoping to catch the eye of someone important. All of them, predictable. Forgettable.

Then she walked in.

I caught a glimpse of green first, a flash of emerald against the subdued tones of tuxedos and evening gowns. The dress clung to her curves like it was made for her, shimmering with every subtle sway of her hips. Her skin, rich and smooth like polished mahogany, glowed under the chandeliers, and her hair—jet-black curls swept to one side—framed her face perfectly.

I couldn’t look away.

Who the hell is that?

My grip on my glass tightened as I watched her glide through the crowd. She was unlike anyone else in the room. Where the other women fawned and flitted, their presence ornamental at best, she was electric. Every step she took seemed deliberate, her gaze calculated.

She didn’t belong here—or maybe that was the point.

It wasn’t just her beauty, though that was impossible to ignore. It was the way she carried herself as if the world bent around her will. The other men in the room noticed her too, their attention blatant, but she dismissed them with the slightest tilt of her chin. I had seen countless women try to get his attention, but this one wasn’t trying at all.

And yet, she had it entirely.

She didn’t scan the room like most people, trying to figure out who mattered and who didn’t. No, she moved like she already knew she was the most important person here. And the way people turned to watch her... they might have agreed.

Then her eyes met mine.

Dark, piercing, and unreadable. She didn’t smile right away. Instead, she studied me like she was deciding something.

I tipped my glass to my lips to cover the flicker of unease that ran through me. For a split second, I felt like I was the one being observed.

Then she smiled, slow and deliberate, and started walking toward me.

---

Y/N’s POV

The room was a stage, and every player was already in character.

I spotted Lando immediately. He wasn’t hard to find. He stood near the bar, effortlessly commanding the room with his presence. The pictures I’d seen of him didn’t capture the full picture—the sharpness of his jawline, the casual confidence in the way he held himself. And the infamous curly mullet? Somehow, it worked. It shouldn’t have, but it did.

I let my gaze linger on him for a moment longer, just enough to make sure he noticed. Men like him loved being noticed, but they hated feeling studied. It was a balance, one I’d perfected.

The emerald gown was a weapon, just like the bold red lipstick and the diamond cuff that glittered on my wrist. I’d chosen it all with precision. Tonight, I wasn’t just here to seduce Lando Norris. I was here to dismantle him.

I began moving toward him, my steps slow, deliberate. The crowd parted without me needing to ask, their gazes trailing me like whispers. I didn’t acknowledge them. My focus was entirely on the man watching me with a sharp, unreadable expression.

“Mr. Norris,” I said when I reached him, extending my hand. My voice was smooth, velvety, as though this was the most natural moment in the world.

His eyes flicked to my hand, then back to my face. For a moment, he didn’t move, and I wondered if he would refuse. Then he reached out, his grip firm and warm against my skin.

“Y/N,” I offered, letting my name roll off my tongue like a secret.

“Y/N...” he repeated, his voice low, almost testing the name. “And your last name?”

“Just Y/N,” I replied, my lips curving into a faint smile.

His brow arched slightly, the first crack in his otherwise unreadable expression. “Intriguing.”

“Not as intriguing as you,” I said lightly, releasing his hand but not the tension between us.

---

Lando’s POV

She was fearless. Most people, even the bold ones, had some tell—nervous hands, a flicker in their gaze, something. But not her. She was poised, calm, like this was her gala and not mine.

“What brings you here?” I asked, keeping my tone polite but cool.

“Curiosity,” she said. Her lips quirked into a faint smile, the kind that didn’t reach her eyes. “And the promise of an unforgettable host. I must say, you don’t disappoint.”

Flattery, but not the usual kind. It wasn’t heavy-handed or desperate. If anything, she said it like she didn’t care whether I believed her or not.

I leaned in slightly, enough to close the distance but not enough to touch her. “You don’t seem like the type to come to an event like this just for curiosity.”

She didn’t flinch. Instead, her smile widened, and she tilted her head as if considering me. “No, I suppose I don’t.”

It was maddening. Every question I asked, she answered without actually giving anything away.

“Are you always this forward?” I asked, my voice dropping lower.

“Only when it’s worth it,” she replied smoothly, her gaze locking with mine.

I felt a flicker of something I hadn’t felt in years—unease. She was too calm, too composed. But damn if I didn’t want to know more.

Before I could press her further, she stepped back, her curls brushing against her bare shoulder as she turned. “It was lovely meeting you, Mr. Norris. Perhaps we’ll speak again.”

And just like that, she was gone.

---

Y/N’s POV

I felt his eyes on me as I walked away, burning into my back like a physical weight. I kept my movements steady, controlled, but my pulse thrummed beneath my skin.

This was the first step—a small victory in a much larger game. But I couldn’t deny the flicker of something unexpected. He was sharp. Sharper than I anticipated. And the intensity of his gaze, the way he seemed to see more than he let on, had left me unsettled.

I hated it.

The mission came first. It always came first. But the way he looked at me, like he was unraveling me even as I tried to unravel him... it made me want to play this game a little longer than I should.

---

Lando’s POV

She’s dangerous.

That was my first thought as I watched her disappear into the crowd. I didn’t know who she was or what she wanted, but I knew this much—she wasn’t here by chance.

There was something about her. The way she carried herself, the way her eyes held mine like a challenge. She wasn’t scared of me, and that was rare.

I didn’t trust her. I couldn’t.

But as I tipped my glass back and let the bourbon burn down my throat, I couldn’t deny the other thought running through my head.

I wanted to see her again.

The bourbon didn’t do a damn thing to settle the unease she’d left behind.

I was used to people playing games around me. Men schemed to gain favor, women fawned to get closer, and everyone always wanted something. It came with the job. Hell, it came with the name. But her? She didn’t fit into any of those boxes.

She didn’t want my approval. She didn’t need my validation. And somehow, that made her the most dangerous person in the room.

I leaned against the bar, pretending to survey the crowd, but my attention kept drifting to her. She was moving through the gala like she owned it, smiling at strangers, exchanging words I couldn’t hear. She laughed once, a soft sound that seemed effortless but made my chest tighten.

What was her game?

She’d disarmed me with that dress, that smile, those damn red lips that still lingered in my mind. But it wasn’t just the surface—she was clever. Too clever. The way she parried my questions, the subtle way she prodded at my defenses... it felt like I’d walked into a trap and hadn’t even realized it.

No one had made me feel like that in years.

I set my glass down harder than I intended, the sound drawing the bartender’s attention. I waved him off, keeping my eyes on her. She was talking to a group now, her hand resting lightly on the arm of some wealthy politician I didn’t care to remember. Her body language was relaxed, her smile easy.

She was working them. Just like she was working me.

---

Lando’s jaw tightened as he watched her. To anyone else, she seemed nothing more than an enchanting stranger. But he knew better. He had to.

Her calculated movements, the way she had studied him during their conversation—it wasn’t just casual curiosity. She was too deliberate. Too perfect.

But that was the problem.

Despite all the warning bells ringing in his head, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her confidence, her quick wit, the way she stood toe-to-toe with him without so much as flinching. For the first time in a long time, someone had gotten under his skin.

He hated it. And yet, he couldn’t look away.

---

Y/N’s POV

I could feel his eyes on me again, as sharp and heavy as the blade hidden under my dress.

Good.

This was the part of the game I thrived in—the tension, the dance of pushing and pulling without revealing too much. Lando Norris wasn’t the first powerful man I’d faced, but he was the first to make me second-guess myself.

I hated that.

I’d done my research. He was smart, careful, calculated. A man like him didn’t get to where he was by being easy to manipulate. And yet, there was something about him that surprised me.

He didn’t act the way I expected. He didn’t flaunt his power, didn’t preen like most mob bosses. Instead, he carried it quietly, like it was woven into his very being. It was... unsettling.

And worse, it was intriguing.

I forced myself to focus, to push past the little voice in the back of my mind whispering that this was dangerous. That he was dangerous.

I couldn’t afford distractions. Not now. Not when I was so close to the first step in unraveling him.

---

Lando’s POV

There was something else about her. Something I couldn’t shake.

It wasn’t just the way she moved, though that was enough to drive any man insane. It was the way she looked at me. Like she already knew every secret I’d ever tried to bury.

No one looked at me like that.

I should’ve been angry. Hell, I should’ve had someone follow her out of the gala to see who she really was. But I couldn’t bring myself to act. Not yet.

Because for the first time, I wasn’t sure I was the one holding all the cards.

And that terrified me.

---

As the night wore on, Lando found himself returning to the same questions over and over again.

Who was she?

What did she want?

And why the hell did it feel like she was toying with him when it should’ve been the other way around?

From across the room, Y/N caught his eye again. Her lips curved into a small, knowing smile before she turned away, leaving him with nothing but the taste of his own uncertainty.

It was a game, no doubt about it. But as Lando stood there, watching her disappear into the crowd like smoke, one thought gnawed at the edges of his mind.

What if he was the one being played?

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Series Taglist: @laptime-deleted

LN4 Taglist: @esserenorris, @tallrock35, @yourbane, @lightdragonrayne, @really-fucking-tired, @evie-119, @ilivbullyingjeongin, @ggaslyp1, @icecoldtires, @cmleitora, @cheyennep3107, @d3kstar, @fadingcloudballoon-blog, @same1995, @hinamesgigantica, @laptime-deleted

[bodybeyondstories]

story prompt: A tailor has the power to enchant clothes to change the wearers body and does so when clients have unreasonable asks. like a guy with a flat butt ask for pants that flatter his rear so the tailor inflates his butt out of proportion…that kind of thing

My first thought with this was what if there was some sort of less than ethical business model based on forming a runaway positive feedback loop where someone had to keep coming back to have clothes altered and then ended up altered in some way, which would be fun to write eventually. Here I riffed on some classic careful-what-you-wish-for ass expansion.

1313 words

_____________

"You might have to adjust the seat a little, I've been hitting leg day pretty hard." Danny glanced down at me with an expectant smirk as I ran the measuring tape across his backside.

"Whatever you say, Cake Boss," I said, pretending the number wasn't exactly what it always was. "I might need to run and get a few more yards of fabric for this dump truck."

"Big butts are in style and I need to show off these gains." He swung his hips back toward the mirror to check himself out, eyes focusing expectantly on an unremarkable backside.

Are the gains in the room with us now? I thought, chuckling out loud.

Danny and I were good friends, and as such, he occasionally took advantage of the very generous friends and family discount for my tailoring services. This time, he wanted to get his suit refitted for the upcoming commitment ceremony of our mutual friends and favorite throuple, Jean, Gene, and Jerome, who were officially, begrudgingly, tying the three way knot. He had been through my shop no less than six times in the past several months, begging for an adjustment of this or that pair of trousers in anticipation of whatever new workout routine he had jumped into. He was obsessed with his ass, specifically--tragically--its undeniable flatness. I was a damn good tailor, but I could only do so much. News I had to break to him on a regular basis.

"Can't you like, work your magic or something?" he asked, winking down at me.

I thought for a long moment and relented, feet taking me toward the back of the shop. "I can try."

I reached behind my desk and pulled out a well worn notebook, decorated by decades of page folding, sticky noting, coffee staining, and annotating. It was one of many strange, sentimental pieces of inheritance I received from my mother, a practitioner of the craft who disappeared with her coven years ago. I was left with half memories of their gatherings, what little training I had paid attention to growing up, and of course, this notebook, my own annotations slowly forming a cross-generational palimpsest.

Occasionally, especially with my more tedious clients, I'll let my hobby cross into the tailoring business, enchanting the fabric with whatever magical push the wearing needs to feel their best self.

I pulled out a container of ink--hand made from ingredients foraged sustainably under the light of a full moon--and drew out what I hoped was the right mix of sigils for illusion and manifestation, sprinkled with a little bit of chaos, to give Danny the booty of his dreams. I stitched the small slip of paper into the waistband of his pants and handed them back to try on.

He slipped each leg in and pulled them up his toned quads, gasping as he stopped suddenly at the top of his hamstrings. What usually slipped on with minimal effort was now blocked by a perky bubble butt perched behind him.

"Nice!" he exclaimed, giving his newly hefty ass a jiggle. "I knew you could do it."

---

I rolled into the ceremony just as it was starting and posted up in one of the empty rows towards the back. As I passed the gaggle of bridesmates, gentlethems, attendants and henchmen (they all got to pick their own terms), Danny gave me a wink and a thumbs up, adjusting his waistline as the procession began.

As they walked down the aisle, I got a better look at my handiwork, and apparently so did everyone else. When he had left my shop his ass had looked delectably round and perky, but the pair of cheeks fighting for space as he strutted towards the front were on another level. They looked big. Really big.

Maybe it was the light? I tried to convince myself with a twinge of worry. I kept my gaze as professional as possible as he stood at the front with the rest of the attendants with his shoulders squared and hands clasped firmly in front of him. As the ceremony progressed, he seemed increasingly uncomfortable, squirming in place as he shifted from one foot to the other, the tails of his suit jacket riding up over his meaty buns.

Those cheeks were definitely bigger than they were during the fitting. In fact, they were bigger than they were twenty minutes ago. The sheen of sweat on his forehead and small winces of discomfort confirmed what I--and likely others--had picked up on. His ass was inflating imperceptibly but undeniably.

Something must have gone wrong with the spell. Or maybe something went too right? I don't know. I hoped I could intervene before things got out of hand, but time was quickly running out on that plan. The attendant behind him took a step back as his ass slowly ballooned from his otherwise slim frame, straining the fabric of his pants to their limit.

Even a magically enhanced pair of trousers can only take so much. When Jean, Gene, and Jerome were two thirds of the way through the sharing of vows, the seat of Danny's pants finally gave way, revealing his now basketball sized buns spilling into the open air clad in a pair of plaid bikini briefs.

A shockwave of gasps and murmurs spread through the crowd. "Ooo girl," "Need his leg routine," "The whole bakery..." could be heard among the general whispers of surprise and politely restrained chuckles. Danny, face a flush of embarrassment, tried to hold what remained of the seat of his pants together as he slunk away, the attendant behind him quickly taking his place before the soon to be betrothed could notice the commotion or his wildly jiggling buns disappearing out of sight.

I found him behind the reception tent, clutching my handbag full of emergency repair materials for just this situation. But I quickly came to realize that some heavy duty thread and patches wouldn't be enough.

"Dude, it won't stop!" he exclaimed, trying and failing to cover the globes of his ass. "What do we do?!"

"Okay, um," I said, grasping wildly for solutions, "I have my notebook, I can try and figure something out on the fly. Just take your pants off and the growth should stop."

"...I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I mean I can't!" he snapped, turning to show me the waistband stuck just below his hips, unbuttoned and stretched to the limit yet still woefully incapable of making it over his massive--and still slowly expanding--posterior.

"Okay, Plan B," I said, reaching into my bag. I brandished a seam ripper as I turned him around and traced the waistband of his pants until I found where I had installed the sigil. "Wow," I muttered, marveling at a pair of globular, gravity defying glutes that were nothing short of a work of art.

"What's up?" he asked, panic rising in his voice.

"Nothing, nothing, it's just...it's a lot..."

"Yeah I think we've all figured that out. Can we address this crisis while I still have any hope of wearing normal clothes?"

"Right." I snapped back into focus, searching along the seams for my signature stitch. "Found it!" I beamed, slicing through with one deft cut and yanking the sigil from the fabric.

"Thank fuck," he whispered. "Can you stitch this back up before the reception?"

"Yeah, I should have everything here, just let me--"

I was cut off by the unmistakable soft staccato of seams tearing. With the spell broken, and the pants returned to their mundane state, the overstressed fabric no longer stood a chance against the melons ballooning from Danny's lower back. Seams split one after the other as what was left of his pants fluttered apart, revealing every extensive curve of his beyond bodacious butt.

"Okay," I said. "I might have some spandex in the car."

[solavita]

headlock (gojo satoru) — chapter four

pairing ; satoru gojo x fem!reader

words ; 6.0k

warning(s) ; mentions of corruption, enslavement, reader gets slapped, espionage

author's note ; this work will include dark themes like violence, enslavement, character death, psychological trauma, and references to torture. sexual content is also included. reader discretion is advised.

masterlist can be found here !

Shortly after packing up her things, Yui left, with a brief kiss to your cheek as a means of good luck. There was no mirror in your room, but you could only assume that you looked out of place. You exhaled slowly, hands brushing over the fabric of the dress she had chosen just for you. The deep green velvet dress hugged your sides, the cut modest enough to avoid drawing unwanted attention, but elegant enough to demand notice, with moderately tall heels clicking as you grabbed the bedframe in order to steady yourself. You hated the way that the shoes made you feel taller, more visible, every movement amplified. 

You thought back to Hana’s words. How she said not to trust anyone here, not even herself, and in turn, that extended to Yui. Were you to trust what she said about this man Kento? Or was this another deviously left trap you were about to find yourself in? And yet, what choice did you have? You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being dressed for a funeral — the question was whether it would be yours or not. 

Looking out the window, you let out a huff. The evening stretched ahead of you, the unknowns piling higher with each passing moment. Your chest felt tight as you thought about the dinner, the people who would be there, the conversations you would have to navigate, the lies you would have to tell. 

And Satoru. 

His presence lingered in your mind like a shadow you couldn’t shake, a threat that was as intoxicating as it was terrifying. He would be watching you tonight. You could feel it in the pit of your stomach, that sense of being under a microscope, every word, every gesture dissected. He would know if you faltered. 

You open the door and stepped outside, the cool air of the hallway brushing against your skin, a sharp contrast to the suffocating warmth you had grown accustomed to from your room. You barely had time to adjust to the dim light before your eyes landed on him. 

Satoru Gojo stood a few steps away, leaning casually against the wall. His posture was deceptively relaxed, but there was an unmistakable sharpness to his gaze that sent a shiver down your spine. He was dressed in fine clothing, the kind that suited someone of his status — a tailored black suit with subtle silver detailing along the lapels, his shirt collar unbuttoned just enough to lend an air of defiance to his otherwise polished appearance. The dark fabric contrasted starkly with his shock of white hair, which looked as though he’d spent precisely two seconds running a hand through before deciding it was good enough. 

He was scanning you through his black blindfold, not even bothering to hide the smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips. “Well,” he said, his tone casual, like someone who was on some type of date. “Don’t you clean up nicely? Nice to see you in something a little less coated with blood.” 

You bristled at his words, at the way he looked at you like you were some shiny new toy. But you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, your hands gripping the folds of your dress to keep them from trembling with fear. 

He saw right through it. 

“You nervous?” He asked, his voice dropping slightly. “Big night and all. Lots of important people watching. You probably haven’t been around this many people since Japan was a thing, or, wait, how many people were in the cell you were in again?” 

You met his gaze, forcing yourself to hold it, even as the weight of his words, his attention pressed down on you. “Why would I be nervous?” You asked, the words steadier than you would ever feel in this type of situation. “It’s just dinner, right?” 

“Exactly. Just dinner. Keep that in mind, and you might just enjoy yourself.” 

He extended an arm, and as much as it made you internally cringe to grab it, you did so without so much as a rolled eye. You could feel your pulse pounding in your ears, then, with one last deep breath, you stepped forward, your heels clicking against the polished floor as you moved past him. The closer you got to the sounds of talking, laughing, and the clinking of glasses, the more you could feel a sense of dread wash over your entire being. The grand hall loomed ahead, its tall, arched doors already cracked open, revealing a sort of golden slow. It was a life that promised warmth, elegance, and luxury — everything that was so sickeningly out of place in the world you knew lied beyond these walls. You glanced at the gilded carvings that adorned the walls, the intricate chandeliers hanging high above. Everything screamed wealth, power, and indulgence. 

It made you sick. 

Millions had died — men, women, children. Lives snuffed out in the name of the Republic, in the name of order, all for the sake of a vision built on power and control. Those people were gone now, scattered to the winds, or buried in unmarked graves. And you were here, dressed up in a fine green dress, playing the part they wanted you to play, even though you hadn’t even been put up onto television yet. It felt like a betrayal — a betrayal to everyone who had died believing that there was a way out of this nightmare. 

“Thinking too much, sweetheart?” Gojo’s voice cut through your thoughts, his tone light, almost amused. He glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the tension in your expression. You forced yourself to take a breath, to unclench your jaw, to smooth out the lines that had formed between your brows. “Just admiring the decor,” you said, the words laced with sarcasm you didn’t bother to hide.

Gojo chuckled, his smile widening, though there was something darker behind it—something that said he knew exactly what you were thinking. “It is something, isn’t it?” he said, his voice carrying a note of mock appreciation. “All this opulence, all this grandeur. Makes you wonder what it’s all really for.” You didn’t respond, your gaze fixed ahead as you approached the grand hall’s entrance. The double doors stood tall and imposing, the gold accents shimmering in the light. You could hear the laughter more clearly now, the sounds of people enjoying themselves, unaware—or perhaps uncaring—of the suffering outside these walls.

Gojo’s hand brushed against your arm, a light touch meant to guide you, but it felt more like a reminder of who was in control. You looked up at him, his smirk still in place, and for a moment, you thought you saw something else in his eyes—something almost like understanding. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that same infuriating confidence.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice softening, though the challenge was still there, lingering just beneath the surface.

You nodded, though you weren’t sure if it was true. You weren’t ready. You would never be ready for this—this charade, this lie you had to live. But you didn’t have a choice. Not if you wanted to survive. Not if you wanted to help those who still believed in something better. 

Gojo pushed the doors open, the warm light spilling out into the corridor, washing over you in a wave of heat. The laughter grew louder, the voices merging into a cacophony that made your head spin. You took a deep breath, squaring your shoulders, forcing a smile that you knew didn’t reach your eyes. The grand hall welcomed you, the faces turning to look, the smiles widening, the laughter continuing.

The guests were exactly as you’d imagined them—men and women draped in finery, their laughter too loud, their smiles too wide. They sipped from crystal glasses filled with deep red wine, their conversations laced with arrogance and self-satisfaction. These were the people who thrived in this new world, who had taken everything and given nothing back. They were comfortable, complacent, and utterly oblivious to the blood that had paved their way here. Gojo slowed his pace as a man approached, his uniform adorned with medals that gleamed under the chandelier’s light. He greeted Gojo with a firm handshake, his voice booming as he praised the successes of the Republic.

“Satoru,” the man said, his smile wide. “Always a pleasure to see you. And this must be your guest for the evening?”

Gojo turned to you, his hand resting lightly on your lower back. The touch was subtle but firm, grounding you as much as it was a signal to stay in place. “Indeed,” he said smoothly, his tone light. “Allow me to introduce our new addition to the fold. She’s adjusting well.”

The man’s eyes swept over you, his gaze lingering a moment too long. You fought the urge to look away, forcing a polite smile that felt like a mask. “Welcome,” he said, his tone patronizing. “It’s good to see another face embracing the future we’ve built.”

You nodded, the bile rising in your throat. “Thank you,” you said, the words hollow but necessary. 

He turned back to Gojo, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “These newcomers don’t know how fortunate they are, do they? To be part of a new era, to witness the rise of true order. The Republic of Shōkan has brought us to heights we could only dream of before.” He gestured broadly, his eyes shining with enthusiasm. “Look at what we’ve accomplished! Peace, unity. The weak have been weeded out, and now only the strong remain. It’s survival of the fittest, the way it was always meant to be.” 

You swallowed hard, the words twisting like a knife in your gut. You wanted to scream at him, to tell him of the cost of their so-called peace—the blood, the suffering, the lives they had destroyed for their vision of power. But instead, you forced your lips to remain in that tight, polite smile, your gaze drifting to the floor as your nails dug into your palm

Gojo must have noticed the tension in your posture, because his grip on your back tightened just a fraction, his voice cutting in smoothly. “Minister Tanaka always knows how to put things into perspective,” he said, his tone lightly mocking, though it seemed to go unnoticed by the older man.

Tanaka beamed, clearly pleased with himself. “It’s true! And we’re just getting started. Once Japan is fully secured, we can begin expanding our influence even further. Imagine—a world united under the Republic’s vision!” He looked at you then, his smile widening. “You’re young. You’ll get to see it all—this world we’re building. The Republic will shape the future, and you should feel honored to be part of it.”

“Of course,” you said, the words like ash on your tongue. “It’s… an honor.”

Tanaka clapped a hand on Gojo’s shoulder, his laughter echoing through the grand hall. “You’ve got her well-trained, Gojo! It’s good to see the young ones understanding their place.” He gave you one last, lingering look before turning away, disappearing into the crowd, his laughter still ringing in your ears. 

You exhaled slowly, your chest tight, the smile slipping from your face as you turned to Gojo. His eyes were already on you, his expression unreadable, though his grip on you loosened slightly. “Good job,” he murmured, his voice so low only you could hear. “You played your part well.”

You didn’t respond, your gaze fixed ahead as you tried to steady your breathing.

Gojo’s hand slipped to your arm, his voice softening just slightly, almost as if he could sense your thoughts. “Not everyone here deserves your hatred, you know,” he said, his tone surprisingly sincere. “Some of them are just… doing what they think they need to do to survive.”

You looked at him, your eyes narrowing. “And what about you?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper. “Are you just trying to survive, too?”

He paused, his smile fading just slightly, his gaze meeting yours. For a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes—something almost like regret. But then he looked away, his smile returning, though it was colder now.

“Who knows?” he said, his tone dismissive. “Maybe I’m just here for the entertainment.”

—

The dinner stretched on, each passing moment feeling heavier than the last. Courses came and went, accompanied by wine that seemed to flow endlessly, dulling the edges of conversations that were sharper than they appeared. You picked at your plate, forcing yourself to eat just enough to avoid drawing attention, your senses heightened by the oppressive air of the room.

Gojo remained at your side, his presence an infuriating mix of comfort and threat. He engaged easily with the other guests, his words charming, his smile disarming. Yet, even as he bantered and laughed, you could feel his attention on you, like a predator keeping one eye on its prey. The sound of a fork gently tapping against a glass silenced the room, the hum of conversation dissipating in an instant. All eyes turned to Gojo, who rose from his seat, his smile as dazzling as the chandeliers overhead. The air shifted, the room’s energy focusing entirely on him.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice smooth, carrying just enough weight to command the room. “It seems our esteemed host, Suguru Geto, has been called away on urgent business. A pity, really—he was quite looking forward to this evening.”

A few murmurs rippled through the crowd, but Gojo raised a hand, his smile widening. “But fear not,” he continued, his tone light, almost playful. “I’ve been asked to step in and say a few words. And I think we all know I’m never one to pass up an opportunity to talk.” Laughter filled the room, the sound grating against your nerves as Gojo lifted his glass, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.

"We have come far, haven’t we? From the chaos of rebellion to the unity of true order. And it’s all thanks to the hard work, the dedication, and the loyalty of everyone in this room."

The guests murmured their agreement, a few lifting their glasses in response. Satoru’s eyes flicked to you then, his smile widening. "And speaking of dedication, I’d also like to introduce a very special guest tonight. Someone who has recently joined us, and who will, I’m sure, play a very important role in the Republic’s future." Your heart skipped a beat, your pulse quickening as every eye in the room turned to you. You forced yourself to keep your expression calm, a polite smile on your lips as Satoru placed a hand on your shoulder, his grip light but firm.

"This," he said, his voice carrying with an easy authority, "is our newest addition. A woman who, despite the circumstances of her arrival, has proven herself to be resilient, adaptable, and willing to work toward a brighter future for all of us." He paused, his eyes meeting yours for just a moment, a flicker of something dark passing behind them. "We are very lucky to have her." The applause that followed felt hollow, the smiles around you empty and false. You kept your own smile in place, your hands folded neatly in your lap, even as your heart pounded in your chest.

“And,” he added, his tone shifting slightly, “let’s not forget the people who make all of this possible. People like my good friend, Kento Nanami, whose tireless dedication to the Republic ensures that even our most ambitious plans run smoothly.”

Your stomach dropped.

The name hit you like a slap, your breath catching as you tried to process what you had just heard. Kento Nanami. It wasn’t just a name anymore—it was the name Yui had whispered to you, the person the rebellion had sent to this dinner. Your head spun as you tried to reconcile the quiet rebel spy with the man Satoru spoke of so casually, so confidently, as though Kento’s loyalty to the Republic was unquestionable.

Gojo continued, oblivious to your internal turmoil. “Kento is one of the most reliable people I know,” he said, lifting his glass again. “And I’m sure we can all agree that this world would be a lot messier without his steady hand guiding the way.” The room chuckled again, and you forced yourself to join in, your laugh hollow and strained. You glanced around the table, your eyes searching for Kento, and there he was—seated several places down, his face carefully neutral, his posture relaxed. He lifted his glass in a polite nod of acknowledgment, his expression giving nothing away.

You stared at him, your mind racing. Kento Nanami. He’s the spy. He has whatever the rebellion needs. But how were you supposed to get it from him? And what could it be? Yui had been vague, leaving you to piece together what you could from the fragments of information you’d been given. You didn’t know how, but you had to find a way to get close to him, to make the exchange without drawing attention. Gojo’s presence complicated things, his every word and movement a reminder of the fine line you were walking.

The grand hall began to empty, the hum of conversation shifting as guests drifted toward other rooms or the estate gardens. You watched carefully, waiting for the right moment, your heart pounding in your chest. Kento Nanami remained at the far end of the table, speaking quietly to a pair of men whose uniforms marked them as officers. He looked composed, unhurried, but you could see the subtle tension in his posture—the way his shoulders stayed just a little too straight, his gaze lingering on the men’s faces as though measuring each word. 

Gojo was distracted, caught in a conversation with an official who gestured animatedly as he spoke. You took your chance, slipping toward the edges of the room, weaving through the clusters of guests with a practiced air of nonchalance. Your breath came shallow as you approached Kento, every nerve on edge. He noticed you before you reached him, his sharp eyes meeting yours briefly. He gave no outward reaction, but his subtle shift in stance seemed almost like permission. The officers he’d been speaking to stepped away, leaving him momentarily alone near the farthest edge of the hall.

You stepped closer, keeping your movements casual, careful not to attract attention. When you were close enough, you spoke softly, your voice low enough that only he could hear. “Kento Nanami.”

His expression didn’t change, but his gaze flicked to you, sharp and assessing. “I wasn’t aware we were on a first-name basis,” he said quietly, his voice calm, measured. 

“I think we can dispense with formalities,” you replied, forcing an edge of calm into your own voice despite the way your heart was racing. “You know why I’m here.”

For the briefest moment, there was a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or calculation. He glanced around the room, his movements slow, deliberate, before returning his gaze to yours. “Do I?”

“Yui sent me,” you whispered. The name hung in the air between you like a test.

His lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze narrowing slightly. He exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “Reckless,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I told her not to involve anyone else.”

“Then you’ll understand that I don’t have much time,” you said, your voice firm but hushed. “Whatever it is you’re carrying, I need it.”

His eyes swept over you again, his expression unreadable. “And what makes you think you can handle it?” he asked, his tone cool. “This isn’t some message to pass along. What I have… it could change everything, but it’s useless in the wrong hands.”

Your chest tightened at his words. “I’m not here because I want to be,” you said, keeping your voice low but steady. “I’m here because I have to be. If you want to get this out of here, you’re going to need my help. They already watch me. No one will suspect I’m moving anything.” For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze searching yours as though weighing your every word, every breath. The room around you felt unbearably loud, the laughter and conversation like a mask hiding the precariousness of this moment.

Finally, he exhaled, a quiet sigh that carried the weight of resignation. “What Yui said about you… I hope she’s right.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket, his movements smooth, unhurried. When he withdrew his hand, it was clenched around a small, metallic object.

“What is it?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before slipping the object into your hand, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. “A flash drive,” he murmured. “Encrypted. Inside are documents—locations, plans, names.”

Your grip tightened around the drive, your mind racing. “And what am I supposed to do with this?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to stay composed.

“Keep it safe until you can move it,” he said, his tone clipped. “Don’t let anyone near it. And don’t trust anyone—not even the people who claim to be on your side.” 

You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of approaching footsteps cut you off. Your heart leapt into your throat as Gojo’s voice carried through the room, light and teasing.

“Nanami! Still lingering, are we?”

Kento’s expression didn’t falter, his demeanor as calm and collected as ever. “Just finishing a conversation,” he replied smoothly, his gaze flicking briefly to you before returning to Gojo. 

Gojo’s eyes slid to you, his smirk widening. “And what are you two chatting about? It must be fascinating if it’s keeping Nanami from his usual brooding.” He then shifted to face Nanami, giving you just enough time to slip the flash drive into the chest covering part of your dress, pretending that you were adjusting the fabric. It was so smooth that you would’ve thought you had been a spy in your past life. 

“Just getting to know each other,” Nanami said lightly. “It seems we’ll be seeing a lot of the same faces moving forward.”

Gojo chuckled, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than was comfortable. “Well, don’t let Nanami bore you too much,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “He’s not exactly the life of the party.”

Kento gave a faint nod, stepping back slightly. “I’ll leave you two to it,” he said, his tone polite but detached. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you alone with Gojo. Your pulse hammered in your ears as you forced yourself to stand still, to stay calm, even as you felt the weight of the flash drive hidden against your skin. 

As you walked toward the grand doors with Gojo beside you, the evening’s events swirled in your mind. The weight of the flash drive hidden against your skin pressed heavily with every step, the enormity of its contents threatening to overwhelm you. You forced yourself to stay calm, to keep your breathing steady, though your heart was still pounding in your ears.

The corridor leading out of the grand hall was crowded with officers and guests, their conversations blending into a low hum as they slowly dispersed. You maneuvered through the throng, your heels clicking against the polished marble, Gojo’s casual gait beside you a stark contrast to your careful steps.

But then, in a moment of distraction, your foot landed squarely on someone else’s. 

The man, an officer, his uniform immaculate and adorned with medals, let out a sharp hiss of pain, his head whipping around to glare at you. His face was flushed, his eyes bloodshot, the scent of wine lingering in the air around him. “You little ���” he growled, and before you could apologize or step back, his hand swung out.

The slap was fast, hard, and merciless. It struck you across the cheek with enough force to send you stumbling, your heels skidding against the smooth floor. You hit the ground, the cold marble biting against your palms and knees as pain blossomed across your face, hot and stinging. “Watch where you’re going,” the officer snapped, his voice sharp and filled with venom. “And remember your place. You’re here by their mercy, not because you belong.” The words cut deeper than the slap, but you refused to let him see the hurt. You clenched your teeth, the metallic taste of blood in your mouth. You wanted to scream at him, to lash out, but you knew better. You knew that any defiance would only make things worse. You gritted your teeth, your head spinning as you struggled to push yourself up, the sting in your cheek radiating with every movement. 

The room had gone quiet, the low hum of conversation silenced as all eyes turned toward the commotion. You could feel their stares, their judgment, the weight of their disdain pressing down on you like a lead blanket.

But then, before you could fully rise, a shadow loomed over you.

Satoru Gojo.

He stepped between you and the officer, his expression shifting in an instant from lazy amusement to something colder, sharper, and far more dangerous. His hand reached out, and for a moment, you thought he was going to help you up. Instead, he grabbed the officer by the front of his uniform, his grip deceptively casual as he pulled the man close. “I’m sorry,” Gojo said, his tone light but dripping with malice. “I must have missed the part where you thought it was acceptable to lay a hand on her.”

The officer swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the floor. “My apologies, sir,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

Gojo didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he extended a hand to you, his gaze meeting yours. There was something in his eyes—something cold, calculated, but also… protective. It made your stomach twist, your emotions tangling in confusion. 

You hesitated for only a moment before taking his hand. His grip was strong, and he pulled you to your feet effortlessly. You winced as you stood, the side of your face still throbbing from the impact, but you forced yourself to stand tall, refusing to let your fear or pain show. Gojo’s attention shifted back to the officer, his smile returning, though it was more of a smirk—dangerous and mocking. “You should go,” he said, his voice almost bored. “Before I decide you need a reminder of your place.”

The officer nodded quickly, stepping back, his eyes avoiding yours as he turned and hurried away. The guests who had witnessed the scene began to disperse, their murmurs filling the silence as they quickly turned their attention elsewhere, as though eager to pretend nothing had happened.

Gojo’s hand lingered on your arm, his touch just light enough to seem casual, but firm enough to keep you steady. He chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “They forget sometimes,” he said, his gaze drifting to where the officer had disappeared. “That some people are… off-limits.”

You forced a smile, nodding. “I’ll be more careful.”

He watched you for a moment longer, his gaze lingering on your face, on the mark that was already forming where you’d been struck. And then, as if deciding that the moment had passed, he turned, gesturing for you to follow.

“Come on,” he said, his tone casual once more. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

— 

Back in your room, you were quick to rid yourself of the dress. Your cheek throbbed where the officer’s hand had struck, the sting radiating through your jaw and down your neck. You moved to the small washbasin near the corner, splashing cold water on your face and watching as it dripped into the porcelain below.

The bruise was already beginning to form, faint but unmistakable, a reminder of your place in this fractured world. You stared at your reflection in the rising water for a long moment, the events of the evening swirling in your mind—the tension at the dinner, Kento’s warning, the weight of the flash drive hidden beneath a floorboard near the bed that you had found a few days ago when you were reading your file. 

You changed into the simple clothes that had been left for you—a soft cotton shirt and loose pants—before sinking down onto the edge of the bed. The silence of your room felt heavy, pressing down on you as you tried to process everything that had happened, everything that was yet to come. You let out a slow breath, your body aching, your mind spinning with thoughts of the rebellion and what might come next. But your thoughts wouldn’t quiet, replaying the events of the dinner, the officer’s strike, the way Gojo had looked at you—cold, calculating, but almost… protective. It made no sense. Nothing about him made sense. 

There was a soft knock at the door.

Your heart skipped a beat, fear and adrenaline rushing through you as you sat up. Before you could respond, the door opened, and Satoru Gojo stepped inside.

He moved with the same easy grace he always had, his gaze finding yours immediately. His expression was softer now, his eyes lacking the usual sharpness that made you feel like he was peeling away your layers. For a moment, he just stood there, looking at you, his mouth set in a line that was neither a smile nor a frown.

“You’re supposed to knock,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, your words carrying more exhaustion than actual reprimand.

He chuckled softly, closing the door behind him as he stepped into the room. “I did knock,” he said, his tone light. “You just didn’t answer.” He approached slowly, his gaze flickering to your cheek. He winced slightly, his smile fading as he took in the dark bruise that marred your skin. He moved closer, standing at the edge of your bed, his voice lowering. “Let me see.” You hesitated, your breath catching in your throat, but you nodded, turning your head slightly to give him a better view. He knelt beside the bed, his eyes narrowing as he studied the bruise, his expression softening in a way you weren’t used to.

“That bastard really got you, didn’t he?” he murmured, his fingers hovering near your cheek but not quite touching. There was something in his voice—something that almost sounded like regret. 

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “It’s not the worst thing that’s happened,” you said quietly.

Gojo’s gaze flicked up to yours, and for a moment, you saw something behind his eyes, something vulnerable, something almost kind. It was disarming, this glimpse of him that didn’t match the man you knew, the man who had been your captor, your tormentor.

“You shouldn’t have to put up with that,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

The words hung between you, and you found yourself wanting to believe him, wanting to see the sincerity in his eyes as real, as something that you could trust. For a brief, dangerous moment, you thought about the flash drive hidden beneath the floorboards. You thought about telling him — about sharing the weight of what you carried, about letting him in, trusting that maybe he would help you.

Your lips parted, your heart pounding, but then you remembered.

Don’t trust anyone. Yui’s words echoed in your mind, a stark reminder of the reality you lived in. The people in this place, Gojo included, played their own games, had their own agendas. Gojo was powerful, dangerous, and whatever kindness he showed you, it was only a part of the larger web of manipulation and control that bound you to this place.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head slightly, pushing the thought away. You couldn’t afford to trust him. Not now. Not ever. 

“It’s fine,” you said, your voice steady, the mask slipping back into place. “I’ll be fine.”

Gojo studied you for a moment longer, his eyes searching yours as if he could see the thoughts you were hiding, the things you weren’t saying. Then, slowly, he nodded, his gaze softening. He lingered for a moment, as if there was something else he wanted to say, but then he turned, moving toward the door. He paused with his hand on the handle, glancing back at you, his gaze lingering for just a beat too long before he left the room, the door clicking shut behind him, and you were alone again. The silence settled around you, the tension in your chest slowly easing as you let out a shaky breath. You pressed your hand to the floorboards, feeling the weight of the flash drive beneath it, the dangerous secret that could change everything.

—

The quiet crackle of the fire was the first thing you noticed when you stirred in the middle of the night. The room, bathed in a soft, flickering orange glow, felt warmer than it had before. You sat up slowly, your mind foggy with sleep, and saw Hana crouched by the fireplace, her back to you. She was stoking the flames, her movements efficient and quiet, as though she didn’t want to disturb you. You watched her for a moment, your heart slowing as you took in the scene. Snow was falling outside, visible through the frosted edges of the tall window. The flakes drifted lazily, blanketing the estate grounds in a pale, cold stillness. It was almost beautiful, in a way that made your chest ache.

Hana didn’t speak as she adjusted the fire, and when she was satisfied with her work, she stood, brushing the soot from her hands. She glanced at you briefly, her expression unreadable, before turning and leaving the room without a word. The door clicked softly shut behind her, and you were alone again.

You stared at the fire, its warmth reaching out toward you, chasing away the lingering chill in the room. The flames danced and flickered, alive and untamed, and something about them drew you in. You slipped out of bed, your bare feet making no sound as you moved toward the fireplace.

Your file sat on the nearby table, where you’d left it earlier. The neat stack of papers, bound together so methodically, was a record of everything you used to be. Every accomplishment, every failure, every detail of the person you had been before this nightmare began. It had been given to you like a weapon, a reminder of the life that had been stripped from you and the role you were now expected to play. You picked it up, your fingers brushing over the cover.

The fire crackled again, louder this time, and you looked at it, the flames reflecting in your eyes. Slowly, you moved closer, the file clutched tightly in your hands. You knelt by the fire, staring at the flames as they danced, alive and hungry. You opened the file, flipping through the pages one last time. The words blurred together, meaningless now, each line a ghost of a life you no longer recognized.

With trembling hands, you fed the first page into the fire. The flames caught it instantly, devouring it with a hiss, and you watched as the paper curled and blackened, the words disappearing into ash. One by one, you fed the pages to the fire, each one a small act of defiance, a quiet rebellion against the weight of the past.

When the last page was gone, you sat back, your hands empty, your chest heaving with the weight of what you’d done. The fire burned brighter now, the warmth spreading through the room, and you felt… lighter. Freer.

The snow continued to fall outside, the world beyond your window blanketed in white. You stared into the flames, the heat warming your skin, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself breathe. You weren’t the person in that file anymore. You didn’t know who you were, not yet. But you knew one thing for certain: You were still alive. And as long as you were alive, you still had the power to change things.

The woman in that file was dead. 

You were what remains. 

[tyranasaurusbec]

i am SICK and TIRED of not being able to find things available in my size

like i found the perfect knitting pattern and i was so excited to buy it & yarn for it and the smallest size is like a whole size too big

[lightgaswaterelectricityrent]

my mom used to get so mad because we were required to wear athletic shorts under our school uniform skirts. "who is checking for that??" she would say

[binders-and-beanies]

Pondering bottom surgery in the tags I mf guess

[medicinemane]

The world is set on prescriptivism and... it doesn't jive with me

[queenofzan]

I think Amanda fully believed she and Sarek were dating for weeks or months before he realized that she thought that.

Like, Sarek is thinking he's doing SUCH a good job in Human Diplomacy, he has made A Human Friend. They do activities together, consume meals together, communicate outside of work functions in an informal fashion. Amanda makes an effort to show him Human culture and landmarks that are more likely to appeal to a Vulcan and is considerate of his different physiology in a way most Humans usually forget to be. She doesn't touch him without warning but still somehow uses body language to convey to other Humans that they are together on their activities. She gives him lots of signs of Human comfort and intimacy without pushing too hard at his Vulcan boundaries. He's Succeeding at Human socializing!

Meanwhile Amanda has like. Introduced him to her parents. Taken him to friends' weddings. Done super obvious This Is A Date activities with him, only tailored to accomodate Vulcan preferences about physical contact and emotional displays. SHE thinks she is doing So Good at Wooing The Vulcan. Sometimes he willingly touches her when they are out in public, to like, keep them from getting separated, or pull her out of the path of danger or discomfort, which as far as she knows is like Vulcan First Base.

But also she is a Human woman they have been dating for months and taking it slow for her Vulcan beau is beginning to grow...somewhat frustrating! A little! Like she enjoys spending time with him but also! She would sure like to touch him more! Maybe kiss him! She would even settle for feeling up his hands the way Vulcans do because she has gotten so preoccupied with his hands since they've been dating, she feels like a 19th century maiden, it's insane.

So she casually broaches the subject of whether or not Vulcans engage in sexual activity outside of Pon Farr (when they're having a quiet evening alone in one of their apartments, obviously, you don't have a sex talk with your very shy boyfriend in public) and Sarek is like. Well that's a very intimate topic, Amanda, why do you ask? Is there a Vulcan you are interested in pursuing a romantic relationship with?

And she's just like What.

And he's like (gently condescending) That sort of question could imply a "come-on", as you Humans would say.

And she's like I SURE HOPE IT WOULD, SAREK, MY BOYFRIEND OF SIX MONTHS, WITH WHOM I WOULD LIKE TO BE PHYSICALLY INTIMATE

And Sarek is like WHAT.

[foldingfittedsheets]

Since everyone seems to love my sex shop stories, here’s another one.

Phone calls were literally a game for us. Not all phone calls, but there was a specific brand of call where guys would creep on us. 90% of the workforce at the sex shops was women. So we’d get dudes calling jacking off or trying to get their jollies from us.

The game: make them hang up. We could have hung up. On a few occasions I did, but for the most part we made a sport out of getting creeps to go flaccid. It really depended on a caller.

You couldn’t just go in for belittling them straight off- some guys wanted that. You had to tailor your strategy to the perv. Overall it was pretty fun and it turned an aspect of the job that could’ve become a major bummer into a fun sport. We’d get excited when the phones rang.

So one day the phone rings. I pick up and it was very clearly a young teen who was putting on a deep voice. I was utterly delighted, I’d never had a crank call before. He said, “I have a dildo emergency! Can you deliver 5 boxes of dildos to my home?!”

It took everything in me not to crack in that moment. It was so funny. It was like three kids had walked through the door in a trench coat and the phrase “dildo emergency” was one of the funniest things I’d ever heard.

But I kept it together. In smooth customer service tones I replied, “Oh, I’m sorry to hear you’re having an emergency, but due to the nature of our product we do require people to come pick it up themselves.”

The caller audibly deflated. Some of the deep voice he was putting on bled away when he said plaintively, “But it’s an emergency…”

“I’m sorry, sir, rules are rules.”

He hung up. I burst out laughing and told my coworker what had happened. She said, “I will buy you lunch if you call back and pretend you can deliver something.”

This sounded like an all around win for me, and the kid hadn’t used anything to block his number. So I called back.

“Hello!” This was before caller ID was common for home phones and so he picked up in his totally normal voice, several octaves higher than before.

“Hello, I’m calling regarding your dildo emergency?”

“Oh! Hem hem,” he coughed, getting his voice back into character for me. “Yes! The emergency!”

“Well I’ve spoken to my manager and it’s your lucky day. We’ll be able to make a delivery after all. Five boxes you said? We can swing it by later, we’ll just need your name, address, and credit card number.”

He was thrown by needing to provide info and was silent for a moment then said, “Well how much is it for five boxes?”

“About five hundred dollars, sir.”

He slipped out of his character voice to exclaim, “Five hundred dollars?! What kind of dildos are they?!”

“Just standard six inches with balls, sir.”

This was his breaking point. He started wheezing with laughter trying to repeat the phrase “six inches with balls” incoherently.

“So your address and card info?”

He hung up and I broke down laughing too. We both got a kick out of it, and I won the game twice in one day.

[sukunas-wife]

Being Sukuna’s Pregnant Wife and being worshipped as a diety because you were able to conceive the four armed hulking cursed child, you must have the blessing of fertility

Having a shrine erected in your name because barren women believed you’d bless them with fertility despite your legacy starting with the child of the curse that torments them all

Telling your hand maids “Don’t bring me my clothes, bring me one of the kings robes.” The hand maids flinching and wanting to protest out of fear of taking the King of Curses robes

The poor naive young hand maid that had grown a crush on the king excitedly rushing if it meant she could enter the private bed chambers,

Scoffing with a malicious smile to your loyal maids when they shook their heads with Sympathy, they learned long before at such a request it would be foolish to go alone, at least 2 or 3 of them would need to go in your name, preferably the ones your husband recognized to be by your side the longest. But you didn’t like this new girl, she was too enthusiastic to work at the palace only to have a complete change in character when she learned she was assigned to work for you

“It’ll serve that poor girl right” you looked away from the door when your loyal hand maids brought out a wooden box with one of Sukuna’s folded Kimono’s they helped you dress your swollen belly accentuated by the belt the kimono tailored to fit your husband left you with extra space and length, it was far more comfortable then the Kimono’s and robes you were, the lingering smell of your husband with comforting as your rubbed your belly hands barely peeking from the massive sleeves

“Let’s go see my husband.” Was all you said as you started your walk, the maids followed close as you made it to the bed chambers, the door was open, you looked in, Sukuna sneering down at the girl laying in a pool of blood, Uraume was making quick work of the mess

Sukuna’s snapped to you and his arm’s opening in an unusual display of affection, you walked around the mess to reach him, he pulled you into his left side, one hand on your waist the other making you face him, bring his right hand up he rested his hand on your stomach “Some of your maids need a lesson on how to speak to their king,” he looked away from your face to your stomach as he started to move his hands in circles “So swollen with my child, it’s no wonder you send your maids to steal my robes.”

You smack his shoulder with a playful smile and he chuckled “Don’t say it like that you make me feel bigger than i am.”

“Now,” he looked up at your face again, “why are you here.”

You tilted your head to the side, “I started contractions this morning, I’ve been in pain all day and I’m barely standing, my new maid wouldn’t stop speaking so highly of my husband accomplishing having a child when I was at my worst pain level getting ready to push out YOUR child that I HAD to carry. Anyhow I came to get you because he is ready to come.”

Sukuna stared down at you confused “How do you know it’s a boy?”

“I’m his mother,” he watched as you placed your hand over his stilling his rubbing of your stomach, “I knew he was a boy from the day your seed took.”

Sukuna smirked “Is that so? Then let’s see this boy.”

🖤❤️❤️❤️🖤❤️❤️❤️🖤❤️❤️❤️🖤❤️❤️❤️🖤

After an hour of fighting the doctor tending to your birth you gave birth to your lively son, born screaming without needing stimulation to cry form the doctor. Your husband couldn’t help but laugh when he saw his child in his full glory, he was a boy indeed.

The help immediately gave you your son and you cooed at him when he took to your breast, your husband taking blankets from the maids and covered your son also covering you in the process as you struggled a bit to pass what came next. Your son a spitting image of his father, your breathy laugh caught Sukuna’s attention as he came back to your bed side stroking your hair and rubbing your stomach the way the help had been doing.

“What amuses you?” He watched his son slowly close his eyes as you coddled him closer.

“I’m the one who had to carry him for so long, and the ingrate took nothing from me.” You smiled and shook your head before looking up at Sukuna.

Soon the doctor left after clearing you of any possible issues and checking your son. “His name?” You looked at Sukuna and he sighed “Yuji”

The look of adoration in your eyes was something Sukuna would’ve wanted to capture forever if he could express the sentiment. However for now he’d settle for memorizing every detail of today. His wife birthing his first heir, the name she had chosen he permitted.

Maybe just maybe this world wasn’t so bad

[atoltia]

Promise of Wealth

Sylus gave you access to the entirety of his fortune, and yet you keep using it... on him?

In which the MC doesn't really care about his money so much.

Sylus and fem!MC fluff

Disclaimer: I've only been playing the game for less than two weeks so apologies for any mistakes.

---

To obtain power, one must have it.

It was a natural truth, one that he diligently followed. It took discipline to hone his instincts, experience to ensure success in his ventures, a raw, natural brutality that served to enhance his ideals and further his reputation not just as the leader of Onychinus, but as a conqueror known throughout the galaxy.

The simple utterance of his name invoked fear. The visage of him exuded wealth, so much so that he could buy himself a decent-sized country if he so wanted.

Sylus was perplexed.

He had all the wealth that he could possibly covet, is still planning to acquire. He owned several multi-million enterprises, resorts, hotels, villas and manors - all the material gains that one could only dream to have and made sure you had access to every single thing the moment the two of you made your relationship official.

He trusted you with his card, he's opened up your own bank account already filled with millions, acquired property and assets in your name. You could get anything that you'd want and he wouldn't bat an eye.

And yet the only purchase you made for yourself in the several months you've been together was a book that costed no more than twelve credits.

His brows furrowed when he saw the credit card reports. There were purchases made by you. Several, even. But the amounts of the transactions were unimpressive, with a few sizable purchases here and there. And he knew, of course he knew, exactly what those big purchases were.

The new leather coat the you had tailor made for him was hanging over his office sofa. The jeweled cuff links that you got for him twinkled prettily against the light of his desk lamp. You replaced his gun holster, saying that his other one was already worn.

He was sure that the twins were sporting new jackets with bulletproof lining seeing as the last ones got torn to shreds in a gun fight two months ago. Even Mephisto's perch in the living room was brand new.

The refrigerator was always stocked with a variety of ingredients that previously weren't in the usual lists, and after a conversation with the chef and the staff, he knew that they weren't the ones getting the groceries in the last six months.

It's not like it upset him that you didn't use his wealth. It was just rather confusing and amusing to a degree. Was this you being stubborn, perhaps? Or was this your way of keeping your independence? Hm, it wasn't like he was preventing you from doing your work. Not at all.

He thought about looking at the purchases from your own card, but then thought against it. From the time you've spent together, he doubted that the results would be any different.

But he could ask.

You weren't difficult to find. At this time of day he could often find you in the living room, curled up on the couch with a book or fiddling with your phone, and today wasn't any different.

Soft music played from the record player next to the sofa as the curtains near the air conditioner rustled. You hand was outstretched, resting on nothing but air as you slept, the book that you were so diligently reading was strewn on the ground.

Sylus breathed out a chuckle as he leaned against the doorframe, just watching the steady rise and fall of your chest, shushing Mephisto when the mechanical companion fluttered his wings a little too hard.

But your training as a hunter wasn't for nothing. Heightened senses, even when asleep, was part of the package Sylus had to accept and fully expected when both of you moved past simply lovers to an official couple.

The flutter of your eyelashes was slight, but there was an alertness to your gaze the moment you awoke, quickly scanning the room without so much as budging any part of your body, and immediately calmed when you realized where you are and who was in the room.

"Mm."

"Hello, sweetie."

From beneath the covers you raised your other arm, reaching towards him when he strode towards you. It would be so easy for him to engulf you in his entirety. It wasn't lost on him that his physicality was so much bigger than you, but it was one of the things that you loved about him - loved at how easy it was for him to just pick you up and hold you, envelop you into his embrace.

"Sylus."

He loved the way you purred out his name, loved the way you just molded in his arms like warmed putty, soft and pliable as you positioned yourself in a more comfortable spot on his lap. He picked up the book from the floor.

"This is the book you bought."

"Yes."

"Why didn't you buy the others?"

You shrugged, pulled the book that hung loosely from his fingers before showing him the cover. "How would I know if the series is good if I don't buy the book first? It's a waste if it sucks."

He looked at you quizzically, smirked. Ruffled your hair.

"Oh, are you afraid to waste my money, sweetie? Fifty credits isn't a sum to be concerned about."

"Still," you pressed, drilling a finger into the spot that you know was ticklish, laughing when he grabbed your arm and bit your finger. "I'm not wasting shit on a mediocre book."

With your hand still in his grasp, he maneuvered you enough to have you be on top of his chest as he took your position on the couch, those long, long fingers of his kneading the dip between your hips. "Is it mediocre?"

"No. It's pretty good, actually."

"Then buy the rest of it."

"What if the third one sucks?"

"Sweetie," he took your chin, had you look into the deep scarlet of his eyes as amusement danced in it. "Just buy it or I'll buy it for you."

The look in your eye was indescribable to him. It was as if you were searching something that she couldn't quite grasp, couldn't quite find. He lightly bit the lip that you jutted out when you pouted.

"Do you not like spending my money?"

"I spend your money."

"Yes, but you spend it on us. Not on you."

Your brows furrowed. "So?"

"Darling," there was resignation on his voice as he flicked your forehead.

You frowned as you sat up, straddled him, your hands splayed on his wide chest. "I don't need anything. You already buy me things."

"And you need not more?"

"Sylus," you dipped down, cupped his cheeks. Kissed the tip of his nose. "I don't buy anything else because you already get me the things I could possibly need and more. So much more."

Those scarlet eyes regarded you as his fingertips ran up and down your back. You knew all too well how cold those eyes could get, how dangerous his hands could be. You knew all to well how easy it would be for him to snap you like a twig. You've seen it many times before, after all.

And yet he looked at you with such warmth right now that if you were a stranger, you would never be able to tell that this was Sylus, leader of Onychinus.

"I'll get you the entire universe if you so wish it."

And you knew, deep in your heart you know, that it was the truth. His truth.

So you told him your truth as well.

You straightened your position on his lap, careful to not... excite any other part of him as you reached from under your shirt, pulled out the necklace that he gave you all those months ago.

It was a simple little thing. A sizable ruby lovingly enveloped by two crow's wings made of polished silver. It was one of the first things he gave you when you accepted him, when you accepted his love and his force of will. When you wore it, you showed him that you accepted all of him, including his shadows, including his pain, including the violence that followed him wherever he went.

No matter how much glitter he decided to get you, all the shiny things he draped on you, you always came back to this necklace. It was a promise to him, as much as it was a promise to you.

"You gave me stability," you said to him as you rubbed circles on his muscled torso. "I won't have to worry about making rent anymore or if I'll have enough money to buy food for the next week. You gave me a home, you gave me companionship, you gave me warmth." And with every single gift of his, you tapped his lips. "Do you drive me insane? Yeah, you do." A kiss to his cheek, his lips. "But I'm sure I drive you insane much, much more."

Stillness descended upon you both, the music from the gramophone the only thing to indicate that time did not, in fact, stop.

"You gave me family, Sy."

Those large hands of his moved, prying your fingers from his chest as he slipped them between your fingertips before pulling you closer, gently, every so gently, peppering your neck with tiny little nips. He sighed.

"You will be my undoing."

You smiled, nuzzled into the crook of his neck. "As you will be mine."

So there you two laid, heartbeats and breaths syncing, his one hand stroking your back as he lulled you back to sleep.

And thought it probably wasn't the time to tell you that he bought a tropical island in your name.

---

still trying to grasp how I wanna write him so it might take a bit more practice haha I do have more sylus fluff planned. feel free to send ideas tho (preferably angst, hurt/comfort, fluff. i don't really like writing smut that much)

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

Orcs who can’t reproduce on their own as they’re a mono-sex species. There’s no real concept of gender in an orc village, and how humans, elves, and minotaur have different gender expectations baffles them. There’s work to be done! Who cares what’s in your pants when there’s chores that need doing!

Reproductively speaking, it does mean that in order to have kids orcs need people from other species will to carry their kids.

Usually this manifests in two ways. 1) members of a village go out into the world, explore, fall in love, and bring their spouse back to their village to start a family (though some won’t return to their village and will just start their family with their new spouse whenever they are). 2) it’s pretty common for a village to offer someone an easy life of being doted on an pampered in return for bearing the next generation of kids with them.

In these villages kids are raised communally, orcs maybe have a guess which kids might share their blood, but it doesn’t matter, all kids are theirs.

It’s a soft free use sort of set up. If you say no or not now it’ll be respected, though you really will be disappointing all those orcs who just want to spoil you and love you and see you round with their kids. Gently being passed around, fawned over, some days your feet never even touch the ground because they insist on just carrying you anywhere you want to go.

You never have to life a finger, constantly attended to, though they’re also so happy to teach you any skills you want! Always wanted to learn to sew clothes? There’s a tailor teaching you and fawning over your messy stitches like it’s the most beautiful thing ever created? The potter shows off the terrible plate you made with pride, just happy that you wanted them to teach you? Blacksmithing? Hunting? Anything you want.

A pampered life where you’re so deeply loved and treasured.

It takes a little time to get used to all the fucking though. They do their best to let you have time to yourself and enjoy being spoiled, but you did promise that they could have you whenever they want. You don’t know the last time you had a night where you weren’t fucked to sleep, taking load after load in your cunt, ass, and mouth from whoever wanted to fuck you until you were so sleepy you couldn’t keep your eyes open. Your last partner still hard inside you and pumping a few more loads while you rested and then cockwarming them all night. Gently being woken up in the morning because they just couldn’t wait any longer and needed to fuck you again or a new partner sliding into easily as you’re still slick with cum and your own juices.

Walking through the village to be tossed over someone’s shoulder and brought home for them to fuck, or if they’re impatient just being bent over the nearest surface and being fucked in the middle of the village.

You’re rarely with one partner at a time. If you’re being fucked publicly several other orcs quickly join in. Even if you’re in your own home or behind closed doors at someone else’s you’re always quickly overheard and more join in.

You’re always kissed and snuggled after, and usually during. They’re very affectionate and just adore everything about you!

Short fic based on this

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Infernal Shadows

Synopsis: Being one of the most powerful overlords in Hell, you like to keep up with colonies and overlord plans. Recently with the new extermination date out, you hold your annual gala sooner than usual. You hadn’t expected to get in the middle of the already heated feud between the Radio Demon and the head of Vox Tech.

Warnings: She/Her pronouns used for the reader, mentions of blood, voodoo?, Angel Dust being a horn-bag, Reader is referred too as Madame to the public. Vox and Alastor feud because I live for it.

Song for this chapter: The world we knew by Frank Sinatra.

A/N: I wanna make this a three part short story, so if anyone is interested in being tagged in the second part just let me know!! I hope you enjoy!!

Word count: 2655

Navigation!! // Masterlist!!! // Serendipity Writes (event) // Part two

Getting an invite to the annual crimson ball, hosted by yours truly, was nothing but an honor. Every overlord and every sinner in the pride ring waited anxiously for a letter. A black card with white letter in a cursive font stating ‘You have been personally invited by Hells biggest designer. The list of the gala was simple. The usual overlords, Zestial, Carmilla Carmine and her daughters, Zeezie, Rosie, Fredrick Von Eldritch and Bethesda von Eldritch. Alastor who had came back after seven years of hiding god knows where, and by special request, the three vee’s who had never attended the gala before. Then it becomes a bit more political.

Next on the list was the Goetia family, inviting the recently divorced prince with his daughter. Inviting Lucifer and Lilith, though they only ever came when everyone was gone. Then was their daughter Charlotte, who got a plus one as a special perk of being the princess of hell. Husk because he had been an old friend of yours before his status of Overlord was taken from him by none other than Alastor. He was also given a plus one, though he usually never brought anyone extra. Sir Pentious was a candidate, but ultimately scrapped from your list of invites as you felt he was too childish.

The gala was tonight and everything was going smoothly. Preparations were almost done, the foyer was spotless just the way you liked it, and everything seemed to be falling into place. You stared at yourself in the mirror. You had spent months designing your perfect dress for tonight. Everyone attending the gala knew there was only ever one color off limits, because you always wore it best. The color black always suited you perfectly. No one could wear it better than you.

Back at the hotel, Charlie felt guilty for using her authority as princess to have people help her get ready for this gala. Based on what Alastor had told her, there would be a lot of political powers and fellow overlords there. She wanted to look her best if she was going to pitch the hotel to them. She needed more people on board with the project, maybe someone who didn’t think it was complete and utterly ridiculous joke like Alastor did.

“How do I look?” Charlie asked as the makeup and hair artists stepped away from her. Charlie stepped out, allowing Vaggie to get a better look at her in a tailored charcoal gray suit, a departure from her usual vibrant red attire. The jacket, adorned with subtle pinstripes, accentuated her frame, while the crisp, white silk shirt underneath added a touch of formality. Completing the ensemble, she wore a black tie with a discreet pattern that hinted at both elegance and authority. The ensemble was a strategic choice, projecting confidence and a readiness to engage with the political powers present at the gala for the sake of her hotel. Vaggie smiled and hugged Charlie deeply, their embrace making Charlie feel a little less nervous about the whole ordeal.

“Charlie you look amazing. What happened to the red?” Vaggie asked, before Charlie just chuckled.

“Well, I wanted a change for tonight. I’m always in red, and I feel like they’ll take me more serious if I’m not walking in there with my usual attire. Besides, you read the invitation, ‘formal attire, look your best’.” Charlie said. Vaggie nodded, and Charlie pulled back from the hug to admire Vaggie in her dress. She was wearing a sleek and modern grey dress that gracefully embraced the formal occasion. The dress, with its tailored fit and subtle shimmer, exuded class. The knee-length hemline added a contemporary touch, and Vaggie had decided to pair it with black heels to complete the ensemble. The choice of grey complemented Charlie’s charcoal gray suit, creating a coordinated yet distinct look that would surely make an impression at the gala. Charlie felt her cheeks heat up taking in her appearance, her long hair gently pinned back, the loose pieces of hair framing her face.

“Aww, Vaggie you look so pretty!!” Charlie said excitedly. Vaggie just smiled, ignoring the way her cheeks heated up at Charlies compliment.

“I agree, you look good vagina.” Angel said mockingly, causing Vaggie to glare at him. Charlie just gushed.

“Angel be nice. This is really important for the hotel.” Charlie explained. He just nodded, tilting his head back and downing a bottle of liquor. The staff however was interrupted by Angel making a purring sound at Husk, who was dressed in a nice white suave dinner jacket, with perfect cutouts for his wings, along with some sleek black trousers and some black dress shoes. The match, he had a black silk lapel.

“I can think of another place that suit would look.” Angel said, leaning onto Husk. He rolls his eyes, bottle in hand.

“Do I even wanna know?” He asks, and Angel just grins.

“On my bedroom floo-“ Angel doesn’t get to finish, being shrugged off by Husk who just walks away with a shake of his head.

“Oh my gosh! Husk you look amazing!” Charlie squealed in delight. Husk just smiled softly before setting his drink on the bar counter.

“It appears everyone is ready.” Alastor said, the focus of the room shifting to him. Niffty was at his side studying his outfit from head to toe.

Alastor emerged in an ensemble that deviated from his usual eccentricity, opting for a more formal yet captivating look. A deep red velvet tailcoat adorned his frame, its luxurious texture catching the light. Dark-red lapels, meticulously piped with gold, added a touch of opulence. Underneath, he wore a perfectly tailored crimson dress shirt, the power emitting off of him. Suddenly, the room grew just a tad bit darker, the shadows of the room stretching just a bit. Complementing the ensemble, he chose a pair of well-fitted black dress pants, allowing the bold red hue to take center stage on his appearance. His choice of footwear shifted to polished black oxford shoes, a departure from his usual pointed-toe boots. The finishing touches of the outfit included a matching red silk bowtie, neatly knotted at his throat, and black leather gloves that added a refined edge. Alastor’s presence was commanding, radiating an air of formality while retaining the distinctive charm that defined him. The room was captivated by the Radio Demon’s unexpected transformation into a vision of refined class and style.

“You took forever for that?” Niffty said, before Angel Dust tossed a pillow at her.

“Shut it you. We, we are keeping,” Angel said, hands waving around Alastor, “to whatever this is.”

“Style.” Alastor said confidently. Vaggie just face palmed while Charlie clapped her hands together excitedly.

“Okay, I think everyone’s ready. Should we head out?” Charlie asked. Vaggie nodded, before Alastor dug the invitation out of his coat pocket. Standing near a wall, he traced the symbol on the back of the card on the wall. “Uh, Al? What are you doing?” Charlie asked. He grinned, putting his hand flat on the wall. The symbol began to glow green, before it opened a portal. On the other side, was a large house. The grand Victorian mansion stood as a testament to opulence, its imposing facade adorned with intricate wrought-iron black railings and embellished balconies with hints of chains. Tall, arched windows with stained glass panels framed the exterior, allowing glimpses of the soft glow emanating from within. The entrance, marked by a sweeping staircase, welcomed guests with ornate, carved intricate detailed doors. Charlie, Vaggie and Husk followed Alastor through the portal, Charlie waving goodbye to Niffty, and Angel. Sir Pentious was most likely hiding out in a room somewhere with his egg boys.

As guests approached, they marveled at the meticulous details of the architecture – elaborate moldings, corbels, and friezes adorned every corner. Ivy-clad walls added a touch of nature’s grace, intertwining with wrought-iron lampposts that cast a warm ambiance over the meticulously landscaped gardens.Inside, the grand foyer unfolded, revealing a sweeping staircase adorned with a rich, mahogany handrail. Crystal chandeliers hung from soaring ceilings, their light refracted by ornate mirrors that lined the walls. Plush Victorian-era furnishings, upholstered in rich fabrics, adorned the parlor rooms, creating intimate spaces for guests to gather and converse.Every room whispered of a bygone era – intricately patterned wallpaper, gilded frames displaying classical art, and the faint fragrance of aged wood and lavender.

The air was infused with a sense of refinement, transporting guests to a time when elegance reigned supreme. The Victorian mansion, a splendid backdrop for the gala, promised an evening steeped in grandeur and charm. In the middle of the exterior grounds, a grand fountain of blood took center stage. Its sculpted marble figures spouted blood into the air, catching the moonlight in a dance of liquid elegance. The fountain, surrounded by manicured gardens and flowering shrubs, became a focal point for guests as they strolled through the outdoor spaces, the gentle sound of cascading blood adding a serene touch to the gala’s errie atmosphere.

The overlords arrival made the event much more real. Alastor hums to himself as he walks around the outside grounds. There are servants of all kinds walking around with glasses of champagne. Rosie is sitting on a bench, plucking thorns off a rose. Alastor smiles to himself, happy to see a familiar face he know he can confide in.

“Rosie dear! So nice to see you.” Alastor said with a smile. She smiles at him, teeth razor sharp.

“Do you think you’ll be getting a seat tonight?” She asks, snapping the rose off its stem and tossing it to the side.

“Well of course I will. It’d be a mistake if I wasn’t.” Alastor said with a smile, crossing his legs as he sat down next to her. Sinners from all over the pride ring were socializing outside of the large mansion. He knew you were inside finalizing preparations and possibly screaming your head off. Overall, the air was chilled with a comfortable atmosphere. Well, it had been comfortable, until a loud noisy vehicle stopped at the front gates. Everyone’s heads were turning, Rosie and Alastor looking at each other with strained smiles. Stepping out of the large limousine were the three vee’s, vulgar music blaring from the vehicles speakers as the three made their way through the now open gates. Reporters lined the edges of the gates, trying desperately to see the overlords inside and to try and sneak into the gala, which was starting soon.

“Mr.Vox! Mr.Vox!” News reporters shouted. Velvet was busy taking selfies of her and her outfit, her assistant following close behind her. Valentino was busy looking down at everyone, smoking his usual, while taking his long strides next to Vox, who was in the middle of the three.

On Vox’s right was Valentino, who donned a captivating look for the gala. His tailored white suit boasted a jacket that reached just above the knee, a subtle departure from his usual floor-length coat. The crimson silk lining peeked through, adding a luxurious touch to the outfit. The coat, reminiscent of his extravagant style, also had a vivid-red hue with his signature white fur trim at the wrists. The black and white striped fur trim along the center-front added a distinctive flair. A gold chain and love-heart-shaped broach fastenings adorned the coat, creating an opulent yet alluring look. Finally, he wore polished black heeled boots, maintaining the sleek and captivating allure that defined Valentino’s presence. The familiar color scheme remained intact, blending sophistication with a hint of provocative charm for the grand gala.

On Vox’s left was Velvet, who had spent months perfecting her outfit for the gala, in hopes she’d be invited of course. She had begged the boys to keep a good public appearance, in hopes they’d be recognized and invited to the crimson gala. Velvette, deciding to ditch her usual style, embraced a lavish and over-the-top look that represented her brand. Dressed in a knee-length dress, the garment had a striking blend of black and red hues. The dress, fitted at the waist, flowed into a voluminous skirt, creating a sense of extravagance. The bodice of the dress featured intricate lace detailing. A white collar adorned with a velvet bow added a playful yet mature flair. The sleeves, a fusion of burgundy and white patterns, contributed to the overall lavish aesthetic she had been going for. Her accessories took on a more refined form. Velvet gloves, adorned with delicate lace, graced her hands, and a pearl necklace adorned her neck, adding a classic touch, completed with maroon heels, each step resonating with a sense of grandeur. Velvet’s transformation into this upscale attire reflected her desire to make a statement at the Crimson Gala.

In the middle, and the brains of the three vee’s, was none other than the head of Vox Tech, Vox himself. He wore a sleek and modern dark blue tuxedo, tailored with precision. Of course he could only have the best. The suit featured subtle futuristic patterns that enhanced his ‘perfect’ sense of style. To complement his high-tech vibe, Vox wore a light blue undershirt with an upside-down broadcast symbol. Vox's gala attire seamlessly blended power and control with his technological edge, creating a memorable look in shades of dark blue, which in his opinion, was the best color.

Upon seeing Alastor, Vox’s eye twitched noticeably. The gates shut behind the three vee’s, closing off the gala to the public. The overlords begin to get closer together unknowingly, Zestial finding a comfortable corner to watch things play out. Carmilla and Zeezie stand close together, whispering to one another as both Rosie and Alastor stand from the bench. Vox, Valentino and Velvet make their way to the Radio Demon and his colleagues.

“I see the grandpa’s were invited.” Velvet says with a scoff, scrolling through her phone.

“So disrespectful.” Carmilla says under her breath, looking away from the three vee’s.

“Hm, interesting, and I was beginning to think the only interesting thing tonight would be the dinner.” Bethesda said, her brother nodding.

“Well, it seems the children brought their play date to the public then.” Zeezie says. The other overlords laugh and Valentino sneers at her.

“Well an idiota like you would think so. Then again, don’t you all do the same with your diapers?” He asked, puffing the smoke into her face. She growls at him, fists clenching at her side, but Carmilla stops her.

“Didn’t they say this was an adult only gala?” Carmilla asked, Rosie chuckling at her words.

“Oh can it grandma.” Velvete said. But Vox remained silent, having his own personal staring match with Alastor, whose smile was stretched ear to ear, teeth on full display.

“I thought this gala was meant for real talent?” Vox asked, stepping closer to Alastor.

“Well it was until you showed up.” Alastor said with a smile. “There’s no originality in copying someone else.” He tuts. Vox narrows his eyes, face twisting with anger as he steps closer to Alastor again.

“You wanna tell me something, you old piece of-“ Vox is stopped, the lights to the exterior of the mansion dimming. The lights behind the large front doors opening slowly. Two tall black shadowy figures stepped from the door, smoke at their feet.

“Thank you all for your attendance. As we know, the annual Crimson Gala is held every year, and this year is no different. With the new extermination date, important decisions must be made. Tonight, ten individuals will be selected to sit at Madame’s table where she will discuss private plans on how to move forward.” The two said in unison. Everyone fell silent as more shadows appeared, each one sitting on the sides of the steps. Lights around the staircases began to light up, and people began making their way up the stairs.

“Well~ this should be fun.”