#best auction listings | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mulloey · 19 days ago

Text

hundred bands

student loans, a sugar daddy website, and johnny suh. three things you never thought would find you in quite this way.

part of my february festival

join my taglist

words: 8.4k

warnings: bdsm dynamics - dom!johnny x sub!reader, degradation, slight humiliation, discussion of pet play & master/slave play, slight corruption, titles (daddy/sir), paddling, face slapping, subspace, brief moment of insecurity, face fucking etc

—

You wonder if this is how it usually starts; a broke college student, an overeager friend and a last resort.

It’s not like you wanted or planned this; your final year of university and your tuition fees were piling up by the hour; your loan had already run out and all your applications for more money had been shot down about as delicately as a war plane. You’re pretty certain you’re on the loan office’s blocked callers list now.

It was your friend’s suggestion. You already knew she had a sugar daddy—a man named Mark who she never let you meet and seemed way too young to be doing this but, based on the flashy clothes she’d started wearing recently, clearly had enough money for it. And contrary to your expectations of sugaring as she called it, he actually seemed very nice; she was constantly gushing about how well he treated her and he appeared extremely respectful and affectionate towards her on the phone calls you’d been privy to. So fuck it, you thought, and you signed up for the website she’d given you as soon as you were drunk enough to bring yourself to do it.

While this was undoubtedly a sex-focused service, she’d emphasised to you the classy nature of the site; no lewd usernames, no nude pictures of any kind; just a clothed photo that showed your figure, basic information about you, and the type of arrangement you were looking for.

PLEASE SELECT ONE:

Sugar daddy/sugar baby

Straight/gay/bisexual

Top/bottom/vers

Dominant/submissive/switch/vanilla

Your blush ran deeper as you made your way down the list, arranging yourself into categories that felt a little like being sold at auction. Sugar baby. Straight. Bottom.

At the final question, you hesitated—you thought about putting ‘vanilla’, a little afraid of what these rich, anonymous men might expect to be able to pay for, but the words of your best friend rang out in your head. “Be honest with what you want,” she’d told you. “Just because you’re doing this for money doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get any fun from it.”

She was right, as usual. If you were going to get fucked for money, then you at least deserved to fucked well; even so, you had to close your eyes in shame as you clicked the little box titled ‘submissive’. That was a side of you that had only ever existed in your fantasies.

The rest of your profile was simple; you almost backed out when they asked for your ID, not wanting to give yourself away, but visions of loan sharks and withheld diplomas squashed those doubts pretty quickly—you were going to do this. You were going to get some rich man to pay your tuition, and that was the end of it. You had no other choice.

To be fair to the site, it was pretty well and, considering what it was for, non-pervertedly designed. You were matched with partners based on your preferences, but no one could message you until you’d liked their profile. You spent a few minutes clicking through the profiles, haphazardly liking or disliking as you felt like it, until one made you pause.

The picture was of a man in a suit, cropped at the neck to conceal his identity; but you didn’t really need to see his face to know that this man… well. He was certainly an option. Just from that one picture, taken from below, sleeves rolled up and linen straining against his chest, you felt authority emanating through the screen. Yeah, this could work very well.

You clicked nervously on his profile, hoping not to find anything crazy or gross in his bio to turn you off of him, but it was, well. Normal. For this place at least.

Sugar daddy. Straight. Top. Dominant. A good start—perfectly aligned with you.

From his bio you found out he was almost 30–a decent bit older than you but not over the line; he worked in the entertainment industry, and he valued discretion. Likewise, you thought.

You clicked like without a much more consideration.

The message came through an hour later, just as you were sitting down for dinner; you couldn’t help but grin when you got the notification, opening it nervously.

Hey. Hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but you’re nearby and I’d be interested in getting to know you. Would that be ok?

At first you were a little taken aback by how… polite the message was. How normal. Given the nature of the site you were half-expecting something perverted and disturbing, but this man was taking you by surprise already.

You typed your reply with your bottom lip held painfully between your teeth.

Hi :) that sounds great! I’m free next weekend if you are?

Great. Saturday evening? I’ll take you for dinner, if you like?

Perfect.

The nine days between then and your first meeting pass surprisingly quickly; you keep in regular contact with your faceless friend, you both having agreed to keep things anonymous for now, and though neither of you dance around the reason you’re both here, you find it easy to have normal, friendly conversations with him too. You tell him about your degree, and he gives you small details about his life and work—a singer, he says. He offers nothing more and you don’t press; from the way he talks about it you get the sense he may be some level of well-known, and you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. You’ll find out who he is on Saturday anyway.

On Monday night, just as you’re finishing up an assignment, your phone lights up with a new notification. You have his KakaoTalk now; it’s easier and more inconspicuous than the site and feels a lot less intimidating. The cartoon kitten on his profile picture makes you giggle as you open the message.

Now that we know each other a little better, would you be down to talk more about what our arrangement would look like, if it went ahead?

Yeah, of course. What are you thinking?

Can I call you?

Your stomach tightens and your palms tense nervously; you’ve called him before, but as you quickly found out, his voice makes it very difficult to concentrate on what he’s actually saying. You’re not exactly sure why; maybe it’s the deep, masculine lilt to it, but it sets your nerves on edge—still, you imagine this would be a better conversation to have on the phone, so you type your agreement with shaking hands.

Almost instantly the call comes through; “Hello?” You say softly.

“Hey, honey.” His voice is warm and familiar but still intimidating and the pet name he’s been using the past few days doesn’t make it any easier to keep a clear head. “How you feeling?”

“M’ good,” you mumble and he chuckles softly.

”Great. Well, I suppose we’ll just jump into it, yeah?” You make a noise of agreement and he continues. “Your profile said you’re a submissive. Can you tell me a little about that?”

You blank a little, already feeling out of your depth. You never thought this was a conversation you’d be having with someone, let alone a near stranger. “About that?” you echo. “Like, in what regard?”

“Well, do you have experience in that area?” His voice has a slightly deeper edge now; it’s focused and a little stern—clearly this is something he takes extremely seriously. “Have you submitted to someone before?”

“Um.” Your mind flashes with images of your previous partners; the varying experiences you’d had them but none of it seems to fit what you feel like he’s asking. “Not really.”

He hums. “So, if I had to guess,” he says, “you’ve been choked a few times, maybe spanked a little bit, and I’m assuming at least one of your partners wanted you to call him daddy?”

You can’t help but flush; that’s… exactly accurate. “Yeah,” you mumble. “How’d you know?”

“When people say ‘not really’, that’s usually what they mean.” You hear the smile in his voice and you wonder how many people he’s had this conversation with. You also wonder why the thought makes you a little bit jealous.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I assume you’ve gathered by now that I’m looking for more than that?”

Your stomach turns and you nod; it’s silent for a moment until you realise he can’t actually see you and you mumble a reply, embarrassed.

He laughs a little, seeming to realise what you’ve done before continuing. “There’s a lot I want to do with you, but I’m not going to dump it on you all at once, so we’ll start with what you’ve done already, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You said you’ve been choked,” he said. “So you’re comfortable having things on your neck.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’d certainly choke you during sex, if you’re comfortable. But I might use my arms rather than my hands. And at some point, I’d like to put a collar on you. How does that sound?”

“Um.” Fucking fantastic, you want to say, but you’re too embarrassed and still determined to play it at least a little bit cool. “It sounds nice.”

“Good. The next thing we mentioned is spanking, correct?”

You know you’re blushing now, shifting uncomfortably in your seat and trying to relieve some of the pressure between your legs. Something about the way he speaks so calmly and professionally about these things is really doing it for you, apparently. “Yeah,” you breathe.

“If I had to make a guess on that, I’d say they slapped your ass a few times during sex. Maybe a little foreplay, too. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, again, I’d do that too, but it’d be more than that. If you become my sugar baby, you become my submissive as well, which means you’d submit to my rules and discipline. Ya follow?”

It’s not a massive shock; he’d mentioned BDSM before, and you weren’t surprised given his profile—but hearing it out loud, in that voice, is a different feeling. “Yeah, I follow,” you say. “So you’d punish me? How?”

“Well if we’re talking about spanking…” He pauses for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I’ll give you an example. Say you broke a rule, like if you talked back to me or I caught you touching yourself when I’d told you not to, then I’d put you over my knee, pull your panties down and spank you til I feel like you’re sorry. How does that sound?”

“Oh.” There’s an undeniable pressure in your stomach and you try not to let the arousal seep into your voice. “That’s… wow.”

“Is that good or bad?” He asks. He’s laughing, but he sounds cautious too. It makes you feel safe, the way he’s genuinely concerned about your feelings on this; it’s the bare minimum, sure, but you expected worse from that website.

“Good,” you breathe. “Really good.”

“Oh?” He’s teasing now; you practically see the grin on his face despite the fact you don’t actually know what that face looks like. “Does someone want to be spanked?”

“I think… yeah.”

“That’s good,” he laughs. “I bet you’ll look really cute kicking and squirming over my lap. Don’t you think?”

“Hopefully,” you mumble.

“I’m sure. And the last thing we mentioned. You’ve called someone daddy before, you said. Did you like it?”

“Yeah.” You answer quickly; you figure there’s no point in shame now.

“I see.” He pauses again. “I usually prefer sir, but I’m not opposed to daddy, either.”

“Oh.”

“Speaking of.” There’s a playfulness to his voice now; a teasing lilt that makes you bite back a laugh. “You should get to bed, young lady. Why are you even up?”

“Assignments,” you say. “And what’s your excuse, sir?”

You hear the sharp intake of breath through the phone; the soft, strangled sound that dies in his throat and you feel a twinge of satisfaction. Yeah. I can play this game too.

He clears his throat, releasing an exasperated sigh and there’s a rustling sound before he speaks, voice dipping slightly. “My excuse,” he says, “is that I’ve nowhere to be tomorrow. Unlike a certain little brat.”

The final word is drawn out, teasing and warning at the same time and your chest tightens in excitement and a million other things. You don’t even know what this guy looks like, but fuck, he’s so good. You want to push his buttons and obey his every word simultaneously.

“True,” you mumble. “Okay, I’ll sleep.”

“Good girl.” The satisfied smile is audible in his voice. “See you Saturday, pretty.”

—

This man is gorgeous.

That’s your first thought when you see him Saturday evening; he’s waiting for you when your car pulls up, calling your name with a smile and wrapping an arm around your waist as he helps you out. He introduces himself as Johnny, and his voice sounds even better in person.

Your second thought follows not long after; you recognise him. You’d figured by now that he was probably some level of famous, but you weren’t interested enough in the whole idol culture to have recognised him from his voice alone; in fact it’s only when he tells you his name that you finally place him. You wait until you’re seated, in a private room you’d rather not know the cost of, before asking.

“I don’t wanna be too weird,” you say, “but you’re an idol, right?”

He laughs, nodding with a soft smile. “I am. Do you know me?”

“I’ve heard of you,” you mumble; you’re not sure why you’re so embarrassed to know who he is—that’s the whole point of celebrities, after all. You chuckle dryly, trying to ease the weight of the awkwardness you feel in your chest. “I recognised your face but I couldn’t figure out where I knew you from til you told me your name.”

“Ah.” His posture is relaxed, tone jovial but you see a surety and intensity in his eyes that makes you cower instinctively. “Heard any of my music?” He asks, and you can tell from his voice that he’s teasing you again.

“Maybe. I wouldn’t know.” You shrug. “I mean, I’m not really into that stuff but like, I’m obviously gonna look you up when I’m home now.”

“I figured,” he laughs. “Shoot me a text once you’ve decided I’m your favourite.”

“If I decide that,” you say, and he laughs louder. You feel yourself relaxing a little; his open, friendly demeanour could make anyone ease up and you can’t help but feel comfortable in his presence. Only his dark eyes, which scarcely leave you but to call over the waiter and order, keep you on edge.

You don’t know what any of the words on the menu mean, so you let him order for you—he seems to like that; choosing for you, making small, simple decisions on your behalf. You see it on his face.

As it turns out he’s very good at choosing, too; the beef dish they bring out is something your friend had told you about, when you’d mentioned coming to this restaurant and she realised she’d been there with her own sugar daddy. It tastes amazing and the champagne that flows with it is even better.

“Food good?” He asks with a smile.

“Yeah,” you say. “Is yours?”

“Perfect,” he says. The weight of his gaze on you is unavoidable and you twirl the spaghetti around your fork nervously, just wanting something to do to avoid his eyes.

“So, um.” You clear your throat, trying to think of something to fill the silence but nothing comes. Johnny watches you with a small smirk; all-knowing.

“Don’t be nervous,” he says finally. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You hold back a laugh, biting your lip and he notices. “Well, I mean…”

“Yeah, okay, I am going to hurt you a bit.” He’s grinning, and you realise he chose his words intentionally; though whether to ease the tension or tighten it further you don’t know. “But I do want you to be comfortable with me.”

“Yeah. I am, I think.”

“Great. May I ask you something?”

You motion for him to speak and he smiles; you think you see the first hint of trepidation in his eyes before it quickly dims into the usual cool intensity.

“Obviously it hasn’t been long enough to make a firm decision,” he says, “but just so I have an idea, are you open to the idea of coming home with me tonight?”

You swallow; your stomach tightens at the proposition and the visions it provokes and your response is whispered like a scandalous secret. “Like… to play with you?”

“Yes,” he says. “It doesn’t have to mean the start of a dynamic, and we won’t have sex; just think of it as a taster session.”

That doesn’t seem so bad, you think. And he’s careful, not rushing you into a dynamic or even pressuring you at all; that’s a good sign, right? “So what— um. What would we do?”

“Depends on your behaviour.” He winks teasingly at you from behind the glass in his hand and your head is in overdrive with the images he’d given you on the phone a few days ago; of being choked and collared and spanked by those impossibly large hands resting so tantalisingly close to yours.

You clench your thighs, swallowing dryly. “Yeah. I��m… open to the idea.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

The evening passes surprisingly quickly; the tension in the air has all but dissipated, but for the subtle movements he makes every now and then just to see your reaction; a quirk of an eyebrow, a knowing smile, a perfectly timed touch that sends electricity rushing through your veins.

You know he’s toying with you, studying your natural responses to small hints of dominance so you react with similarly small, playful acts of submission in return; cowering under his gaze, bowing your head—allowing him the first taste of the control you may soon surrender completely to him.

“So,” he says, once the waiters have removed the last of your dessert plates. “Would you like to come home with me?”

—

Five million won lands in your bank account as you’re taking the elevator up to his apartment. You make a noise of shock, staring dumbfoundedly between him and the notification, but he says nothing; just smirks ever so slightly as he guides you out of the elevator with a hand on your lower back.

Johnny’s apartment is pretty much as you pictured it; everything a successful man on the cusp of his thirties would go for—black, white and grey themes, a large TV, low, atmospheric lighting and a stunning view of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows that loom over you when you step inside. He removes your jacket for you, pausing to take in the outfit you’ve chosen once again before helping you remove your heels. He’s careful and gentlemanly, touches feather-light on your legs as he slides your shoes off. You’re not sure if the image of him on his knees in front of you like this contrasts or enhances the feeling of his dominance over you. You think it’s the latter, somehow.

When he stands up you see that without the few inches your heels provided you, he’s even more imposing—and in his own house, on his territory, you feel smaller than you ever have before.

“Come,” he smiles. He’s removed his suit jacket now, but the dress shirt, slacks and shoes are still on; the soles click against the floor as he guides you down the hallway by the hand.

You stop at the end of the hall, hovering outside a varnished wooden door. For a moment you stand there silently and his demeanour seems to shift a little; he stands a little taller and his face takes on a new solemnity as he looks you up and down. You feel like you’re being inspected, scrutinised; studied.

Your gaze flickers towards the door—is this where he does it? Where he… dominates people? Dominates you? Are you about to walk into a room full of whips and gags and contraptions you’ve never heard of?

“Hey.” Johnny’s voice is calm and soft and stops your spiraling in its tracks. His lips quirk in an amused smile. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s not a red room.”

“Oh.” You don’t know why you’re so embarrassed—anyone would have assumed that, given the circumstances; still, you avert your eyes awkwardly, face heating up. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says. “I’m not offended. It's reasonable to assume I’d have one. But it’s just my bedroom, nothing too scary.”

“Oh. So you don’t… um.”

“I don’t have a red room?” You nod a little ashamedly and he chuckles. “No. I don’t need one. D’you know why?”

“Why?”

A large hand clasps around your wrist, making you shiver. “Because if we do this, you don’t submit to a room. You submit to me. Wherever we are, whenever I tell you to.”

You flush. “Oh.”

“Mhm.” His voice drops, veins bulging against his neck and he cuts a more and more intimidating figure by the second. You’re so ready.

”Do you remember the conversation we had about safewords?”

Of course you do; it was the first one you had once the pleasantries were over. “Red for stop, yellow for slow, green for go.”

He makes a noise of satisfaction and there’s a ghost of a proud smile on his lips. “Excellent.”

You watch as his hand grasps the door handle, pushing it down but not opening it. He pauses for a moment, gaze flickering back to you and you tense, nerves multiplying by the minute.

“Couple things you should know,” he says. His voice is calm and collected and it makes your head rush. “First thing. When you play with me, you’re on your knees, on the floor. You don’t stand or walk or do anything I do because we’re not on the same level here. Understand?”

Your stomach flips, arousal gathering in your chest and your voice is strained when you squeak out a pathetic “Yes.”

“Good,” he says. He’s smiling knowingly, all too aware of the effect he’s having on you. “Second thing. It’s ‘yes, Sir.’”

Then the door is pushed open, and within a few seconds two things become abundantly clear; first, Johnny is true to his words—you don’t manage a single step inside his bedroom before you find yourself forced to your knees, kneeling with your head bowed beneath the pressure of his hand on the back of your neck. He holds you firmly in position but there’s little force behind his grip; there doesn’t need to be. He told you early on that he has no interest in subduing you or compelling you to submit—you’ll submit to him because you want to, and he’ll give you everything you need in return.

The second thing that becomes clear is that when Johnny said he didn’t have a red room, that was only technically the truth—because sure, it’s not a strictly-sex-only room, and it’s not red, but there’s absolutely no mistaking what happens here.

A glass cabinet displays an intimidating selection of toys; whips and paddles and dildos and things you couldn’t even begin to guess the use for; a bar is fixed to a lower portion of the ceiling, and the ropes hanging from it tell you he doesn’t use it for pull-ups; but most noticeably and unavoidably, there’s a large dog’s cage filled with blankets and soft pillows sitting directly at the end of his bed.

He catches your gaze lingering on the cage and laughs softly; the hand on your neck travels up to rest in your hair, caressing you gently and you hold your head exactly where he left it despite your desire to nuzzle into his touch. You have something to prove today, after all.

“You like my cage?” You hear the grin in his voice, feather-light touches tickling against your skin.

“Is it… for humans, sir?” The size of it makes the answer obvious but you need to hear it from him; the confirmation that this is really as batshit and delightfully insane as it seems.

He hums, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger. You feel his presence above you as he crouches down a little, voice dropping to just above a whisper. “It’s for very, very bad girls indeed,” he says. “But you’re not bad, are you, precious?”

“No, sir,” you mumble. “I’ll be good.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He stands back up, towering above you again before walking over to the bed. He takes a seat, staring at you for a moment before his he lifts his hand and beckons you towards him. “Come.”

You hesitate for a moment—are you really about to do this? Are you really going to crawl on your hands and knees towards this man whose face you’d never even seen before today?

Yeah. Apparently you are.

Your breathing stutters as you make the first movements; one hand in front of the other, then your leg, over and over until you’ve somehow made it, you’ve crawled across the room and settled on your knees at his feet. He looks elated.

For a moment, he says nothing; he stares you down with a calm, collected expression that screams control and you try desperately not to shrink under it. The first touch of his hand on your face is electric when he gently grips your jaw, stroking your skin with soft fingers. You feel—and are, to him at least—tiny.

“Sweet thing,” he mumbles. “I’m gonna have so much fun with you.”

You can’t help but mewl in response, every cell of your body reacting to him, nerves standing on their ends. It’s a completely new feeling and utterly overwhelming. You want it to last forever.

“Can I hit you, angel?” His voice is low, gentle, the opposite of the way his grip on you tightens with want.

You feel yourself throb, nodding dumbly. “Yes sir.”

He smiles for a moment before his face darkens; the impact of his palm against your cheek would be enough to knock you down were it not for his still firm grip on your jaw. You cry out at the sting, unable to stop yourself and he can’t help but smile. “So responsive,” he tuts. “I’m gonna love training you up.”

You bite your lip, holding back a grin. “I hope so, sir.”

“You know,” he says. “This is my favourite part of having a new sub. Figuring out what type they are.”

You pause. “Type, sir?”

He hums; a low, pleasing sound. “No two submissives are the same, but there are general categories you could fit most of them into. Some fit in all of them, in fact.”

“What are they?”

He tilts his head, eyes glinting and you see the way he settles further into his headspace, back straightening as he stares you down. Your lack of experience seems to do something to him—and that definitely does something to you.

“Well,” he says. He speaks slowly and carefully, every word chosen with thought. “You have your puppies. They like to be on their knees. They like to whine and bark. They like to hump.” His grip tightens on your chin, tilting your head upwards. His thumb pushes past your lips and into your mouth and you accept it greedily. “And if I told them to open their mouth for their master’s spit…” He parts your lips, pushing your mouth open; he hesitates for a moment, as though he’s waiting for you to object but you don’t; you just open wider. His lips twist into a smirk before you feel a wad of saliva land on your tongue. “They’d slack their jaw and swallow it like a good dog.”

He watches with a smile as you obey, letting the spit slide down your throat. Your head feels fuzzy and floaty and all the sensations in your body, from the feeling of the carpet against your shins to the arousal that twists painfully in your gut, feel distant and separate. The only thing that feels real and complete right now is Johnny.

“Seems you like pet play,” he chuckles. “I’ll have to get you some ears. A tail, too.” He strokes your cheek and you keen into his touch unconsciously. “Would you let me plug your ass with a little puppy tail, baby?”

“Yes sir.” The words are coming out on their own now, your body responding for you before your conscious can catch up. He smiles.

“You’d be a lovely kitten, too,” he says. “They’re not as much fun to play with as puppies, but they look oh so pretty in your lap. And sometimes it’s nice to have a pliant little thing that will let you use their holes without complaining.”

Oh, that does sound nice. You think you’d enjoy that sometimes, when you’re feeling softer and more fragile and just want to be cared for. And he’s so large and broad and warm that he’s practically custom made to have you in his lap. You’d fit perfectly and prettily and you sigh dreamily without realising. He laughs and you quickly regain yourself, blushing deeply.

“Sorry, sir,” you mumble. “Um. Were all your subs, like, pets?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve had a few slaves before as well,” he says. “They were lovely; obeyed me like it was second nature. Took all the pain and humiliation I inflicted on them and still wanted more. Almost made me rethink my policy on not drawing blood, but that’s not my sort of thing really; they took a whipping like nobody’s business though.”

You cower a little, gaze dropping downwards; this doesn’t seem like you. You’re more than happy to be hurt and humiliated by Johnny, but this just seems… too much. You’re not ready for that level of submission and you’re not even sure you want to be. You feel a faint pressure on your chest, a familiar feeling of having fallen short but you’re not sure why; you’re allowed to say no—when you signed up for the website you signed a contract which stated it explicitly, and Johnny himself has reiterated it to you multiple times. You don’t have to take everything he offers you and you don’t have to do or be or enjoy anything simply because he does.

So why does it feel like a shortcoming; like you’ve foundered and failed before you’ve ever started?

You’ve zoned out without realising, deep in thought; Johnny sees the gears turning in your head and clicks his tongue, nudging your jaw upwards again. His smile is warm and gentle when you finally meet his gaze and though his voice is still soft and patient, there’s a finality to it that wasn’t there before; a seriousness. “You don’t like the sound of that, that’s okay,” he assures you. “You should never, ever force yourself to do something just to please me, or to please anyone. Understand?”

“I understand, sir,” you whisper. The sternness in his voice tells you he’s not playing now; he needs you to know this and keep it with you.

“Good girl,” he praises. His voice lifts a little and you see the moment he changes tack, back to toying with you like he was before. “God, you’re pretty. I don’t think I could hurt a little thing like you that way even if you did want it.”

You whine without realising it; your mind is a complete fog now, control and awareness slipping away by the second but you manage to string the few words that come to you into a slow, stuttered sentence. “Are those, um… that’s all of it, sir?”

His laugh is fond and a little condescending, like you’ve said something adorably stupid. You feel warm. “Those are just some typical ones,” he says. “Ones I’ve played with before. You don’t have to assign yourself to any of them, it just helps me to see what you do and don’t like the sound of.“

“Right.”

“You seem to like being a puppy,” he continues. There’s a teasing edge to his voice and you hold back another whine. “I think you’d like being a kitten sometimes, too. Turning your brain off and just letting daddy use you, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

Your body reacts of its own accord to the title; you shudder in his hold, slumping slightly as a soft moan escapes your lips and it makes him laugh softly, fondly. “You really like the whole daddy thing, huh?”

You nod, a little embarrassed—it’s not even that you’re particularly into it on your own, in fact you only called your ex that because he wanted you to. Sure, you enjoyed it and it certainly made him fuck you harder and deeper and better, but you’ve never explored it of your own volition. You’ve never felt the need to.

But something about the way it sounds so sweet and natural on Johnny’s lips, like he’s acknowledging a reality rather than acting out a fantasy, makes it all seem so right—and so exciting. He certainly suits the name; so big and so strong and in complete control of you. Yeah, you’re definitely going to need to try this out.

You see in his face that his own thoughts are similar; his eyes are fogged with arousal and there’s a thick tension in his neck as he swallows. “You definitely make it work.” His hand moves from your jaw to cup your cheek and he lets you nuzzle against it greedily, a smile twitching on his lips. “Cute. God, there’s so much I could do to you.”

“Do it,” you breathe. “Please, sir.”

“Such good manners,” he croons. “You need it so bad, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you whine. You don’t even know what ‘it’ is, but you know he’s right; you’re desperate, feverish for it. For anything, as long as it comes from him.

“Ask me nicely,” he whispers. “Ask me for what you want, baby, and I’ll give it to you.”

“You,” you say. “You, sir.”

In a moment of desperation—or stupidity, perhaps—you reach for him, hands curling into the material of his shirt and grazing against what feels like a full set of abs beneath it. Wrong move.

He lifts you by the hair, dragging you to your feet and throwing you over his knee. Your heart pounds with expectation but he doesn’t hit you as you expect him to; instead he flips you over so you’re lying on your back, head resting on the sheets; your hair falls prettily around your face and you make the perfect picture of innocence. You want him to ruin it.

The feeling of his hand on your throat is electric; the other roams across your torso, groping your tits with a detached interest. He’s in no hurry, after all.

“Who told you to touch me, huh?” His words are growled, arousal filled as he grabs one of your tits and squeezes hard enough to make you whimper. “Here I thought you were gonna be good for me.”

“I am,” you whine. “Sir, I’m sorry. I’ll be good, I will.”

He’s silent for a moment, staring you down like he’s figuring out whether he believes you before sitting you up so you’re perched on his knee. He grabs your wrists and moves them behind you, folded over each other and resting against your lower back. “Keep those there,” he says. “This is your first lesson. You don’t touch what’s not yours and you don’t move a muscle without my permission. Understand?”

You nod dumbly and he slaps your face just this side of painfully. “Words, my girl.”

My girl. Why does that feel so delicious and warm in your chest? “Yes, sir,” you mewl. “I understand.”

“Good.”

And then his lips are on yours, colliding desperately and almost painfully as if he’s been waiting for this his entire life. His hands are in your hair, tugging your head backwards to allow him to place a trail of wet kisses down your face and neck. His mouth latches onto your collarbone, sucking harshly at the skin and you know it’ll be purple when he pulls away. It stings in the best way and a string of curses tumble out in a rush as you ride the high of pleasure. He bites down a little, making you yelp. “Manners,” he grumbles against your skin but he doesn’t let go, so you figure he’s letting you off with that one.

When he finally pulls away his eyes are dark and feral; all pupil and all control. His hands roam up and down the sides of your torso and he looks ready to tear you apart. “Where’d you get this dress, pretty girl?”

You pause, caught off guard. He was sucking a bruise into your skin a moment ago and now he wants fashion tips? “Um… a mall, I think.”

“Is it special to you at all?”

“Not really.”

“Good.”

With both hands he grabs at the fabric on your chest and yanks it apart; the material rips easily, crumbling in his hands and there’s a million sensations in your body as he yanks the remaining fabric off of you. The sight of your lacy black lingerie makes him smile and he fingers gently at the soft fabric of your bra. “How about these?” He asks.

“They’re not special,” you mumble. “But it’s my nicest set.”

“I’ll get you nicer.” The bra and panties put up little fight against him, and soon you’re completely naked and dripping on his lap. He pinches your stomach, just above your pussy and you whine. “Don’t ever wanna see you in cheap shit like that,” he mutters. “My girl wears the best, you understand me?”

“Yes sir,” you whisper. “Wanna be pretty for you.”

“Always are,” he grunts. He stills for a moment, stroking your thigh before he clicks his fingers, pointing at the floor in front of him. “Down.”

You obey wordlessly; you’ve adjusted surprisingly quickly to the automatic obedience he seems to expect—your body is already following his orders of its own accord even while your mind fades away into subspace and he seems profoundly pleased by it. You settle on your knees, staring up at him with wide eyes.

His lips quirk. Seconds feel like minutes until he finally speaks.

“Give me your hands.”

—

Your friend has been silent for two entire minutes. That’s how long it’s been since you finished recounting the events of the night before and looked up to see her staring at you with an open mouth. She looks… well, you don’t know exactly, but she definitely wasn’t expecting this. That much is very clear.

“Dude.” You force an awkward laugh, trying to break the silence that seems to judge you as much as you fear she is too. “You good?”

Finally she recovers herself and nods, raising the coffee mug to her lips and taking a long sip. She puts it down and you see a small smile pulling at her lips. “Yeah,” she says. “I just. Wow, girl.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t expect… that from you. I thought you were vanilla?”

You frown; you’re not sure you’d categorise your exploits with your exes as strictly vanilla, but to someone like her, who’s more than versed in the world of dominance and submission and had only ended up as a sugar baby later on, you suppose it would be. “I thought so too. Mostly.” You shrug. “But he’s really good.”

“You don’t say,” she snorts. Her eyes are wide and you recognise the faintest hint of arousal in her expression—recognize it at as the same one you’d worn last night when Johnny tied you to a chair in front of his floor length mirror and forced you to watch as he fucked you with a vibrator until you came all over his hands.

You can’t help but rub your thighs together slightly at the memory. You clear your throat. “Yeah.”

“Fuck, I can’t believe he paddled you, girl.” She sounds impressed. “I still can’t convince mine to do that.”

You definitely didn’t have to convince Johnny; when he bent you over the bed and ran the black leather paddle across your ass, all he needed was the word ‘green’ tumbling from your lips and he was convinced and ready to go. You bite back a laugh at the thought. “Yeah,” you say.

“Did it hurt?”

“Kind of.”

You’d expected it to be worse, honestly; the paddle was fairly large and he wielded it in his hands like an executioner’s sword but as he explained to you, pain wasn’t the point of this one. It hurt, sure, but it was a slight sting and then a dull ache that was pretty bearable once the first rush subsided. But that was exactly what he wanted; the leather paddle was for play, designed for sensation rather than punishment—punishment, he told you, would come in the form of a larger wooden paddle you hope never to meet.

“Jealous,” she huffs. “And he sent you even more after?”

You nod. The transfer of ten million won as you stepped out of the taxi nearly made you collapse.

Good girl, the note said. You could almost see the smug smile as he typed it out.

“You got a good one, babe,” your friend says. “Hope he keeps it up.”

So do you.

—

The position you’re in is becoming familiar now; on your knees in front of him, naked and bound by ropes that snake down your back and loop under your thighs. What’s not familiar is the silicone plug sitting snugly in your ass and vibrating on a low, constant frequency; not enough to stimulate or satisfy you in any way, but enough to keep you needy and on edge.

Johnny is slouched slightly, lounging in his large, leather armchair and tapping his foot against the floor. His gaze is firm and authoritative but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips. He taps your cheek with his finger.

“What to do with you?” It comes out as a purr and you see his bulge beginning to strain against his slacks. Your breath hitches slightly, lips pursing and he notices, because of course he does; the grin that stretches over his lips is sly and scheming.

“You like my cock, huh?” He asks. “Haven’t even seen it yet, desperate girl.”

Your eyes flicker between his crotch and those dark, piercing eyes, unsure which is affecting you more. “Sir…”

“I’m right here,” he says. “You want it?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Please, sir. Want it.”

He leans back, adjusting himself slightly. “Take it out, then. Do your job.”

You nod; you can do that. You really fucking want to do that, actually. It’s been over a week of this and you still haven’t seen his cock—he, meanwhile, has seen and touched and marked every naked inch of you.

“Yes sir.” Your hands are shaking when you undo his slacks; you falter slightly when the zip comes down and you realise he’s not wearing underwear and he cocks a questioning eyebrow. “Is there a problem?”

You shake your head, blushing slightly. “No sir.”

“Good. Pull it out.”

His cock springs up when you release it from the slacks and it’s just as big as you expected-slash-feared-slash-hoped it would be. It’s thick and veiny too, already leaking from the tip and you know your eyes are wide and desperate but you don’t care. You’ve never seen something more appetising.

“You like it, huh?” There’s amusement in his voice, layered beneath the husk of arousal. “Good. I’m gonna train you to take it every day, make you a total cockwhore for me. Hold still now.”

He pulls you towards him, holding your head steady as he pushes into your mouth. He’s not exactly rough with it, but he’s clearly not too concerned with your comfort right now; any attempt to stop you from gagging or coughing up on it is for his own sake, not yours. He guides it down into your throat and you feel yourself tearing up at the intrusion. You splutter slightly, unable to avoid choking and he tuts, yanking you back by the hair to give you a moment to breathe before pushing you back down.

“Have to train that out of you,” he mutters. “Gonna teach you to keep your throat open for me.”

He holds you still, cock resting in your throat until you settle around it, adjusting to the stretch and the feeling. “Good girl,” he grunts. “Take it like that, all the way.”

He pulls you back again and you gasp for breath, spluttering slightly but even as you regain your composure you’re still suckling eagerly at his tip like it’s the only thing you know how to do. You feel the shudder that runs through him as it reaches his cock, throbbing on your tongue. “You’re too good at this,” he mutters. “Learning so quickly. Who taught you to take a cock like that?”

“No one, sir.” Your voice is muffled around his cock, drool dripping down onto your lap.

“Shit, baby, you were really made for this. You need a reward.”

The feeling of his shoe nudging against your knees makes you jolt. “Open,” he says.

When you spread your legs you feel the stickiness of your thighs as they separate and your face burns—you’re leaking like a fucking bitch. Johnny’s smile is the widest you’ve ever seen it. “Oh, baby,” he tuts. “Dripping all over my floor like that. You in heat, honey?” His voice is teasing, gaze sharp and he doesn’t miss the shudder that rushes through you.

Still being in the early stages of your arrangement, you haven’t yet had a chance to explore the different dynamics Johnny had explained to you the first time you kneeled for him; to feel what it’s like to be his puppy or kitten whatever he wants you to be that day. For now, you’re his straightforward submissive and though you’ve certainly fucked yourself a few times to the thought of him pulling you around on a leash, you haven’t felt in a particular rush to pursue it just yet.

But those words. That tone.

You in heat?

You remember your neighbour in high school who bred dogs; how she’d sit at the table with your mother discussing puppies and litters and heats. It’s a distinctively… canine word to you; to hear yourself, your behaviour described in that way is thrilling. He knows it.

His foot moves forwards until it’s in front of your pussy and you don’t even hesitate for a second when he tells you to mount it. He watches you with a calm, pleased expression. “Look at me.”

He’s biting his lip when you meet his eyes, clearly as afflicted as you. “You remember your first lesson?”

“Yes sir.”

“What was it?”

“Don’t touch, sir,” you whisper. “Don’t touch, or— or move without permission.”

“Good,” he nods. “Remember that. You don’t move unless I tell you to. And you certainly don’t hump. Yeah?”

“Yes sir.”

He curls a stray hair behind your ear and a smile flickers over his lips. “You’re gonna tie that up next time,” he says. He tugs lightly at your hair to illustrate his point and you moan softly. “I don’t want you looking like a stray in here. I keep my toys clean.”

Fuck, you love the way he talks to you; insulting and demeaning yet tickling all the right parts of your brain to make you melt even deeper into submission.

He pulls you towards him. “Keep that mouth open.”

That’s the only thing you get that even resembles a warning before he’s shoving himself into you again and there’s no pretence of gentleness or caution this time as he forces his way into your throat. He holds your head down on it and pushes two thumbs into the top of your jaw so you can’t close your mouth even if you want to—all you can do is gag and choke and take it until he’s finished with you.

You’re faintly aware of tears streaming down your face, but by the time they land on your chest they’re mixed with the door that pours from your mouth as he fucks in and out. You’re so overwhelmed that you scarcely notice the feeling of your dripping pussy rubbing agonisingly against his shoe and trying desperately not to move; all the sensations have blurred into one now and everything is the same, everything is too much. You want more.

When he pulls out you can’t help but whine, feeling the loss and he chuckles. “Never met someone so desperate for cock,” he says. “Born for it, weren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Your gaze shifts to the cock in his hands, still hard and leaking and your tongue swipes over your bottom lip, practically salivating. You shoot him a pleading look and he clicks his tongue. “No, sweet thing. You’ve had enough of that. Besides, I don’t think you’ve earned my cum in your throat yet. Push your tits out for me.”

You obey begrudgingly, disappointed at the denial but still eager to please; he rewards you with a slight nudge of his foot against your pussy and you buck against it, falling against his shin and he laughs and pulls you back by the hair so he can see you properly.

“So easy,” he groans. His hand slides up and down his dick with increasing vigour and he throws his head back in pleasure. “Fuck.”

The tightening of his grip in your hair tells you when he’s about to cum and you push your tits out further to catch it. He grunts and moans through his orgasm and your chest and thighs are a mess of drool and spit and cum by the time he picks you up and takes you into his lap.

His rough hands are tender and careful now as he runs a warm wet cloth across your skin, gathering the mess you made together. His fingers are rubbing soothing patterns on your neck as he‘a mumbling something you can’t quite make out. Doesn’t really matter, though; his hold is warm and familiar and the low vibrations in his chest as he speaks are strangely comforting against the flushed skin of your face.

Maybe it’s the endorphins or the headrush that always follows your scenes with him, but you swear you’ve never felt safer.

The money’s not bad either.

—

nct taglist: @bbdeongi @yabbadabbatuh @fancypeacepersona

requests open.

#nct smut #nct 127 smut #johnny smut #johnny suh smut #nct johnny smut #kpop smut #mulloey writes

587 notes · View notes

muffinlance · 9 days ago

Text

Fandom Trumps Hate Charity Auction: MuffinLance Edition

Hello, MuffinLance here. Author of Salvage and some other stuff ("some other stuff" best viewed while logged into AO3.)

The FTH Charity Auction is upon us again! Bidding opens on 2/25/25; winners donate directly to the organization they choose, and I proceed to Write The Thing they asked for. I've got three auctions up for grabs this year. One is relatively affordable, two are "I double dog dare someone to bid".

Auction 1: Bidder's Choice

Minimum Bid: $30 This auction is for either: an original prompt OR the next chapter in an existing fic OR one of the stories from my "want to write but haven't found the time" list, which I shall gladly share with any interested winner. The minimum word count you'd get is 300; the max is 20k; the actual length will depend on what you pick and how excited I am to write it. In 2024, the winner of this bid chose "the next Dark Night in Ba Sing Se chapter please," and got a completed fic with 5 chapters and 18k words. We'll work through email to bounce ideas and settle on something that we're both excited for! I look forward to working with you, and thank you for supporting one of the many good causes in this auction. >>>Auction 1 Link<<<

Auction 2: Kindling AU Part 3

Minimum Bid: $100 This auction is for the next Kindling AU installment; it's the equivalent of the Blue Spirit episode in that "Aang got caught" is the premise, but it is INCREDIBLY AU YOU HAVE NO IDEA. I've got this fully outlined and partially written, but as it's going to be somewhere between 8k-20k once I'm fully done fleshing it out, I haven't had time to actually sit down and write it. If you feel like donating lots of money to get my butt in the chair, please do. Working title is "Snow in the Fire Nation", and it's going to get into how the Water Tribe POWs are treated in this AU. Expect lots of screen time for Katara, Sokka, and of course Zuko. Can't say more without spoiling major things.

>>>Auction 2 Link<<<

(Kindling series link, for those unfamiliar.)

Auction 3: Finish the Current Book of Towards the Sun You Stupid Author

Minimum Bid: $500 This is the "MuffinLance sit your butt down and finish the current book of Towards the Sun" auction. It costs lots of money because that will take lots of work and I'm double-dog-daring someone to call my bluff (it's going to be approximately 9-30k words to finish depending on how verbose I get). If someone wants to donate $500 to make this happen, I will get it done, so help me. To be clear, this is finishing the current book (NOT finishing the entire story); this will get us out of "Zuko stuck in the Northern Water Tribe prison" limbo and to a really satisfying turning point in the story. We will also see dragons. Tiny squiggly baby noodle dragons. You know you want them. >>>Auction 3 Link<<< (Towards the Sun link, for those unfamiliar.)

Do I expect anyone to bid on those last two? No. If someone does, will I stare them in the eyes while I vindictively type-type-type? Absolutely.

Happy Fandom-Trumping-Hate, everyone!

@fandomtrumpshate

#fandom trumps hate #charity #avatar the last airbender #atla #zuko #sokka #katara #aang #the gaang #aroace #fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #ao3 author #ao3 writer

433 notes · View notes

grandline-fics · 5 days ago

Note

Cupid’s arrow with law please!!! Have a great day luv u fr

DESCRIPTION: Cupid's Arrow- Could it be love at first sight?

WARNINGS: a little bit of angst (maybe?)

CHARACTERS: Law

WORDS: 1,311

A/N: Thank you anon for this prompt that was also requested by @evieebear. I hope you both enjoy what I came up with this one and that it's to your liking. Sets place during the Sabaody Arc

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI | VALENTINES EVENT MASTERLIST

———————

Sabaody was the final hurdle before entering the New World of the Grandline, the definitive proof that the crew you were on was strong enough to brave the waters. Proof all pirates that made it here were to be taken seriously. That they were worth their bounties given, if not worthy of more. Law couldn’t help but walk with his head a little higher. He’d overheard from some of the local chatter that he wasn’t the only member of the Worst Generation to be here. In fact all of the eleven Supernova’s and their crews had docked on the Archipelago so he had to ensure he set himself apart from the rest, to be the picture of everything the said about the Surgeon of Death. While he wasn’t intentionally seeking any of the others out, he had to be ready for anything and everything, especially a confrontation with them or the Marines.

With time to kill on the relatively calm island he decided to first check the shops before heading to the auction house. He couldn’t deny that when he’d heard there was one here, he was interested and had made it a point to investigate it at some stage while he was here. But it wasn’t going anywhere just yet. Taking relaxed strides he inspected the shop fronts before finally having his attention grabbed by a bookshop. Stepping inside he began to curiously appraise the shelves, not particularly in search for anything in particular but given the size of the shop and variety of books he was sure he wasn’t going to leave empty handed.

Then buried in the wrong section was a medical tome he had been searching for. It was rare and not letting the chance go to waste he reached for it only for another hand to grab it too. Law’s grip tightened possessively, ready to do whatever was necessary to ensure he got this book. He hoped just by making it known he was a pirate would be enough to intimidate this person and get what he wanted. Looking down with a fierce glare he froze to see you looking up at him with equal determination for the book. For a moment Law felt shaken, his goal momentarily forgotten.

He’d seen your picture at a glance in your bounty poster but hadn’t paid it much attention, more interested in the trouble your Strawhat Captain was getting himself and the rest of you into. In person though? It was so different. Law was never one to be thrown by superficial things like looks-not including cute things- but he couldn’t stop staring at your face, pulled in by the sharp gleam in your eyes and purse of your lips as you were readying yourself for the same fight he had been before setting eyes on your face. Quickly he was snapped out of his daze when you pulled the book out of the shelf and he regained his grip on it. “I grabbed it first.”

“No you didn’t.” You argued, refusing to back down. “I need this book, for my crewmate.”

“If they're a skilled enough Doctor then they won’t need it.” Law stated, trying to come up with some sort of argument in the hopes to convince you to let it go but instead you smirked at him.

“Is this your way of saying you’re a bad doctor?” Law was taken aback and felt heat prickle up the back of his neck at both your comment and at how your playful smile made his heart skip slightly. “Do you need the book for more training?”

“I don’t need training.”

“So you’re a skilled doctor?” You smiled, eyes glinting.

“One of the best.” Law affirmed but felt nervous at that when you stepped closer, you hold staying firm on the book.

“So you don’t need the book?” You posed the question sweetly and Law cursed himself for getting backed into a corner from the stupid argument he made. He had to get this stupid infatuation that blindsided him from nowhere under control. All this time he considered your Captain the biggest troublemaker but now he wasn’t so sure the more he stared at you, and he wanted to keep staring at you.

He was about to speak when from behind him a couple kids ran by excited to get to the section beyond you both were all the books and comics suited for their ages sat. The brief second was enough distraction for Law as he moved to avoid getting knocked into by the kids and you managed to slip the book out of his hold. With a hum of satisfaction you immediately wasted no time in moving towards the register to pay. Only to get stopped a few steps away by Law’s hand on your arm. You glanced at the tattooed hand, silently impressed by the strength in his grip. You looked up at his serious expression and smiled before giving a sigh. As fun as it was you had to meet up with the others soon. Law stared down at you, conflicted; annoyingly so. Why did he not want to fight you about the book he’d been searching years for? His fingers twitched against your arm, telling himself to be rational and ignore how his heart was beating at a pace faster than usual. Quickly he dropped his hand. “I…I hope your doctor appreciates how valuable that book is.”

“What’s the catch?” You asked with a curious smile. “Planning to steal it after I buy it?”

“What? No. I just…I saw it here didn’t I? I’m confident I’ll come across it again.” Law explained tightly.

“Aww, you’re a romantic at heart. Believing in fate, even if it is about a book, it’s unexpected but cute.” Cute? Law’s face froze once more as he tried to deny the accusation. Why did you make his so flustered and tongue-tied? He didn’t even know you. Thankfully you didn’t press further and turned away to buy the book, allowing him to make his exit and go to the auction house, assured you most likely wouldn’t go there.

How wrong he was. That exchange in the bookshop seemed like a pocket of calm compared to the hell that broke loose just a couple hours later. Law had stayed out of the fight you and your crew had gotten themselves into with Kuma and Kizaru and while he knew it would be best to get as far away as possible he couldn't look away. When you were hit hard and thrown backwards across the battlefield he tensed. Then one by one the Strawhats were disposed of by Kuma’s strange ability, literally vanishing. Law had his gaze on you, watching you too weak to force the power into your legs to try and escape as Luffy screamed at those remaining. When Kuma’s hand was about to make contact with your body, Law acted. Using his own ability he used his room to swap you over. He grabbed you as you slipped in and out of consciousness and hurried as fast as he could, knowing the Warlord would be aware someone intervened.

When Law had you safely in the medical room of the Polar Tang he couldn’t help but look at your face as you slept. Why had he saved you? His body just reacted before his mind could stop him. But that pang of fear he felt when he saw you-someone he only knew for a matter of seconds- get hurt and be at risk of disappearing was real. The relief he felt when you were safe in his arms was real too. It was deep and from a place that something as small of a crush couldn’t explain. Was it foolish to consider that maybe it was fate? Perhaps but that didn’t make it any less real.

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya , @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu , @appalost , @dindjarins1ut , @irumawife , @laidenbreecatchall , @redwolfxx , @jevoislesbrasdemer , @schanwow , @pao198391 , @glitchtricks94 , @nina-ya , @48daisies , @sagyunaro , @artemis162534 , @rosemary-lungs , @thecraftywriter , @rorozorolover , @yagirlsmuchelle , @engenemoazen , @sukunasstomachtongue , @nico-ith

218 notes · View notes

a3therc0r3 · 20 days ago

Text

Boiling Blood

co-creator: @dragonspoems

summary: you wrote poetry during your time on Philos in your and Sylus’ own language; the poems found their way onto Earth and are now highly sought after, working to be decoded and being sold in auctions for billions. When Sylus learns about the poems, he immediately knows who wrote them, recognizing their language instantly. He has now made it his goal to hunt down as many of these poems as he can while simultaneously searching for you.

content: sylus x f!reader, angst, past-relationship, pre-relationship, poetry, spoilers for sylus' myth

word count: 2,261

a/n: this is my first ever time posting on tumblr so i hope you enjoy!! i have some more fics coming in the near future(fluff, i promise-) also HUGE thank you to my amazing friend and collaborator @dragonspoems who not only wrote the poem in this fic but also gave me the idea for this fic!! go show them some love! this fic was also posted on ao3

first part is from sylus' POV

Appearances can be deceiving. For example, on the outside, one may see a violent lion, while on the inside, there is simply a shaking kitten. On the outside, one may see a calm, collected, well-kept man who sips occasionally on the venue-provided wine; swirling it around his glass in boredom. On the inside, his mind is racing, his eyes scanning the crowd and glancing back down to the list of goods. His knee bouncing as each item is sold off in a painstakingly long manner. Couldn’t they just get to what was important? What everyone was truly here for? Of course they couldn’t, you have to save the best things for last.

Sylus watched as other guests whispered to one another, sharing rumors about the ancient writing that everyone was anticipating. They would lazily raise their paddles to pass the time, betting on a much less interesting artifact. A protocore here, a painting there, all while mumbling to their friends about the bits of this writing that had been released to the public. Hushed voices muttering about the beauty, the romance of the words. His beloved’s words. His. No one else’s. They didn’t deserve to read her literature, didn’t deserve to even attempt to translate their language. They didn’t watch from far away when she scribbled in a notebook. They didn’t know how her hands would smell of ink when she touched his face. They didn’t know anything and they never should.

Sylus’ grip on the list had tightened unconsciously to the point that his nails pierced through the paper. It had practically crumpled in on itself, his chest heaving as thoughts spun out of control. The masked twins beside him glanced at one another before leaning in slightly and whispering,

“Boss? Are you alright?”

Sylus snapped out of his haze, clearing his throat and taking another sip of wine. The twins righted themselves and nodded, knowing to leave well enough alone. They knew better than anyone in here that hell was about to break loose the minute the poem was brought out. There was a high probability that it would end in bloodshed, considering how important this was to their boss; then again, there was always a possibility things could end in bloodshed with Sylus.

After what felt like hours of waiting, the auctioneer finally grinned and leaned toward the microphone,

“Now, ladies and gentlemen is the product that I have a feeling the majority of you are here to see. The antique poem is thought to have been preserved all the way from Philos,” guests leaned forward, their interests piqued, “Very few of these pages have been found, and even fewer have been translated from their original language. However, from what we can tell, these poems seem to be the story of beauty, tragic romance, the tale literally as old as time.” The man chuckled to himself, resting his weight on his hands placed on the edges of the podium, “Your faces tell me that many of you are already interested. Since these are so rare, I expect that there will be quite the competition, though we must ask that you all maintain your composure. Now, let’s start the bidding at fifteen million.”

Paddles raised instantly, calling out higher numbers on top of each other. Sylus crossed his legs and let his head rest against the back of his booth, his fingers turning the paddle over in his hand. He’d let them have their fun, wait until the cost had gone up before chiming in.

“Fifty million from one forty-three, do I hear sixty? Sixty million anyone?”

Guests continue to holler out their bids, waving their paddles impatiently. The auctioneer spoke a million miles a minute, pointing to each guest as he acknowledged the prices. Sylus remained silent until the bids had risen into the hundred millions.

“One hundred and seventy million from Mr. Abrams, we are getting up there, ladies and gentlemen, do I hear eighty?”

Sylus raised his paddle, “Two hundred million.” His voice boomed above the others, a few turning to look at the unfamiliar vote.

“Two hundred million! From Mr…” the auctioneer moved to spot him through the sea of heads, taking the microphone with him, “Mr. Sylus! Such an honor to have you here, sir! Two hundred million from Mr. Sylus, do I hear two hundred and ten? Two-ten, anyone?”

A paddle was raised. So, they wanted to keep fighting? Bold move. The bidding continued, raising to two hundred and thirty million before Sylus spoke once more.

“Three hundred million.” The auctioneer practically laughed, “Three- three hundred million from Mr. Sylus! Another decent raise! Do I hear three-ten?”

Another paddle raised, “Three-fifty million,” the voice chimed out.

“Three hundred and fifty from this fine lady! Do I hear-”

The man didn’t get the chance to finish before Sylus cut in, “Four hundred million.” The woman who had placed the previous bet, turned from her seat to glare at Sylus, earning a smirk in response.

“Four hundred million! The heat is cranking up here! Do I hear four hundred and fifty million?” The man strolled to the edge of the auction block, grinning as he spoke.

A paddle raised.

“Four hundred and fifty million from Mr. Abrams! Do I hear five hundred?” At this rate, it would take an hour to get the poetry. All Sylus wanted was something to remember her by, anything from his past life to cling onto while he searched for his beloved. Something to keep him sane in the meantime. He’d indulged them for long enough and now his patience was wearing thin. Sylus raised his paddle once more.

“One billion.”

More guests turned their heads, whispering to themselves as to why the leader of Onychinus would want a piece of poetry so bad. The auctioneer clapped dramatically, trying to excite the room, even though he had asked for the opposite moments prior. “One billion! Now that is an offer of the century. It’s going to be hard to top that, folks.”

“One point two billion.” The man from earlier–Mr. Abrams–raised his paddle, eyeing Sylus as he did so.

Oh, so that’s how you want to play. Sylus held his paddle up before the auctioneer could even point to Abrams, “One point five.”

“One point seven.”

“Two billion.”

“Three.”

The auctioneer chuckled wearily to himself, “Gentlemen, please, wait a moment for me to-”

“Ten billion.” Sylus carefully put his gun on the table, pointing the barrel in Abrams as he crossed his arms. His right eye glowed with such intensity that it made Abrams shiver on the spot as if Sylus could kill him with a mere stare. He probably could. The twins unsheathed their weapons, a silent warning, and had the man closing his mouth before he could voice another offer. It was time to shut up. Mr. Abrams turned back to face the auctioneer, placing his paddle down with a hmph! His wife muttered something bitterly to him.

The auctioneer let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in, “Ten billion from Mr. Sylus! Do I hear any higher offers? Anyone? Ten billion, going once, going twice? Sold to Mr. Sylus for ten billion! Congratulations, my good sir!”

He continued moving on with the next item, but Sylus couldn't care less; he had gotten what he came here for. He rose, taking the last swig of his wine and placing his gun back into its holster. With a flick of his hand, the twins stepped back, allowing Sylus to walk towards the backstage area. A few guests stood to block his path, turning to him with pleading gazes.

“Mr. Sylus, surely I can offer you a much better deal to take the poem off your hands. I could even pay you back the ten billion you lost!” A man stepped forward, his hands clamped together as he spoke.

A woman beside him scoffed, “Please! You don’t even have half that amount,” she stepped towards Sylus, purposefully bumping her shoulder against the man’s before caressing the Onychinus leader’s arm, “I can give you money and a good time.”

Sylus grimaced in disgust, pulling his arm away as another guest behind him chimed in, “I’ll give you my first-born daughter! A-and any valuables you want!”

“I’ll give you my daughter and my wife!” a voice spoke from somewhere in the crowd, quickly followed by a slap and a woman yelling in a foreign language.

The first woman tugged at his sleeve again, “Mr. Sylus, please! Just reconsider and I’ll make it worth your time!”

Sylus pulled his arm away for a second time and glared at the crowd surrounding him, a red mist pushed through the mob, forcing them to make a path for him. “You’re all pathetic, you sit here and let people piss on you without even the courtesy of calling it rain,” he strode through the swarm of guests that were still whispering offers to him, the twins following close behind him. The auctioneer seemed to be frozen in awe, unsure of how to proceed with the event. When Sylus reached the curtain that separated the backstage from the rest of the room, he turned to his henchmen, “Make sure they don’t disturb us,” and with that, he disappeared behind the fabric.

The auctioneer let out a nervous chuckle, “Ladies and gentlemen, please return to your seats so we may continue with our schedule,” disappointed mumbles filling the silence as they complied.

Behind the curtain, Sylus had been led to a private sitting room, where he awaited for the staff member to bring him his winnings. The flickering glow from the chandelier cast warmth through the room, hugging him in a mellow embrace. He crossed his legs, tapping his foot impatiently against the carpet. He could be wrong, the poem may not be what he thought they were. It could all be just a coincidence, every ounce of his past life was truly lost to a wind he would never feel again. Sylus grit his teeth and glared down at the rug, thoughts racing.

A knock on the door interrupted his pondering, the woman that had escorted him stepped back into the room with a smile, “Your purchase, sir.” She handed him a leather binder with gloved hands and stepped back against the wall.

He waved a dismissive hand at her. She bowed, seemingly disappointed, “We thank you for your appearance,” and with that, he was left alone. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in, opening the binder with a shaky hand. A yellowed and faintly crinkled paper sat in a sheet protector. With careful fingers, Sylus pulled the paper from its film, rubbing his thumb over the familiar texture. He had recognized the handwriting immediately–it had been ingrained in his memory for as long as he could remember–the poem was exactly what he had hoped it was: one written by his beloved. Biting his lower lip, he read her scrawls,

It’s been years, and yet I still couldn’t explain the ache, from what I was, my very essence. It was painful to contain it.

It hurts so damn much, going through days knowing what fools I am surrounded by. They don’t know anything yet, born with silver spoons in their mouths, not a gem in their eyes.

I wished to be like them. Ignorance is bliss to the things I’ve seen, letting them take more–all they think they need.

Yet his voice, a devil’s call, to grow back my claws, to be the one he fell in love with, to be the one I am, the one I unforgivably was.

I knew that call. I knew that need–the need that claws inside of mine–to let the world be filled with traitors’ screams.

Killing what was mine, forcing my hands into the fire of unbeknownst burning in his chest.

I hated him, loathed him for it, for he knew who I was–a beast, a creature within that wanted their blood, wanted to dance on their graves for all the wrongs they have done.

Something in my mind telling me he was, he is mine, and mine alone. He belongs. I belong to no one but us, and the spirits of our own, souls of the same kind.

They banished and looked away, laughed and smiled, celebrated the unbecoming of something that was mine and mine alone.

Soon enough they will know. They will find what they have done, through my everlasting boiling blood.

I cannot blame him for what he did, for it is as well the doing of mine.

Sylus stared at the paper, biting his lip harder, blinking rapidly to banish the tears threatening to spill. He took another breath, cleared his throat, and looked down at the initials that sat at the bottom of the page. Your initials. Because it was always you, and it will only ever be. The only one he would spend billions on to read a few lines of poetry.

Sylus gripped the paper tighter as if it would disintegrate in his very fingers, the same way he once had, lifetimes ago on another world. He gazed up into the flickering light of the chandelier; his mind had been made up the moment the fragments of his soul had blown through that breeze so long ago. He was going to find you, no matter how long it took. He would wait centuries, traverse hellscapes, die as many times as he needed to, to find his way back into the arms of his beloved.

a/n: thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it

#love and deepspace #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #sylus x you #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lnds sylus #lnds luke and kieran #angst #fanfic

194 notes · View notes

singukieee · 8 months ago

Text

—my all time favourite bts fics (pt. 4) ᯓᡣ𐭩

consists of my personal favourite bts fics that I've read countless of times. including those from other platforms, such as Wattpad, AO3, and Patreon.

For some works that are cross-posted between tumblr and wp/ao3, I'd only link them to the latters bcs I find it easier to read and navigate the stories on those. but I also tagged all the authors I know are here and linked the rest so you can check their blogs out yourself!

I'll also separate this list into several parts simply because there's too many... So it'd be easier for you guys to navigate!

red means unfinished

blue means finished

🗯️ curator's note

(sorted by alphabetical order)

Stay by OT7oramI

Y/N and her hybrid best friend, Jin, have known each other since Jin was eight years old and came to live with Y/N and her family. Throughout the years, Y/N and Jin have grown closer but there is one major secret between them. When an injured hybrid comes into Cherry Blossom Sanctuary where they both work, the secret is revealed. What will become of the friendship between Y/N and Jin when others are added to it?

Storms of Fate by SumiSG7

A darkly forbidden Auction in the veils of night catering to the morbid appetites of the wealthy in a world of legalized slave hybrids. Results in A melody of storm uniting the fates of a powerful Heiress with 7 mysteriously seductive & deadly hybrids The dark spiralling descent into the fever of passion & longing entwining their hungers while being targeted by an unknown enemy. What will be the result of the lethal games to Anya & the hybrids caught in a velvety prison of their own cravings for each other. But slowly, the realization trickled in… All was not normal as it should be, the love they forged, was a test of devotion that was still withstanding the time since before time began…

🗯️ too freaking good... but also really dark and sometimes sweet. I don't think I've ever read an ff as well-written as this one. plot's insane too. (this is actually a whole universe with side stories that you would be told to read along the way to understand the lore, so good it's crazy that it's free)

Sweet as Honey by sugakookie98

In a time where omegas are increasingly rare, others constantly question your resistance to find a mate. No one seemed to understand that you were content to stay in your comfort zone, focusing solely on your job. However, a series of unexpected events set your quiet world into motion, making you question your outlook on life and on mating bonds.

🗯️ another Idk what to say but it's really good

The Butterfly Effect by themonsterteddy

Easily attached hybrids get adopted into a family. Lei, the protagonist, is the quietest member of the family. Follow them to explore the lovely bond developing between them.

🗯️ a super warm read <3

The Butterseries by @minniepetals

Their names alone had every men and women turning their heads and falling at their feet. successful, prestigious, handsome, rich, and untouchable to anyone that looked their way. and you? you were just an employee who worked for them. who would’ve known you meant so much more to them than you could ever imagine?

The Byeoljali series by LittleShyGirl

❶ Finding A Place

As an isolated, lonely omega raised by humans, you have little understanding of how other wolves live. When you take a promotion to become a member of the BTS staff, your world collides with the Bangtan Pack and you realise you have a lot to learn.

❷ Making A Home

Now that she's found where she belongs, follow Y/N as she learns how to truly be a part of the Bangtan Pack.

The Companion by MoonChild791

After being fired, the job of a lifetime lands in your lap. You up root your life and moved to Seoul, only to find out you'll be working with your favorite group, BTS. Slowly, you start to develop feelings for them. But that's crazy, right? You can't have feelings for all seven of them, it would never work out.....would it?

The Contract by namjuicyy

Your life is turned upside down when a contract is pushed your way. But what happens if you sign it?

The Last Lycans by RoxNotRocks

Sometimes, a fateful encounter takes the form of a bullet through the head… After years of living as a wolf, alone in the wild, Yu has no memory of her past and no idea what her true nature is. As she attempts to begin anew and discovers that her fate doesn't have to be a lonely one, her lost secret comes back to haunt her. When your past comes back with a vengeance, should you flee, or fight?

The Line Between Love and War by @purpleyoonn

Your experiences told you that soulmates were something you would never have the pleasure of having; something not given to you because of who you are, despite the soulmark that resides on your inner left wrist. During your solo trip to Los Angeles, you find out that you are more than capable, that your soulmates had been waiting for you for a long time, and would not be letting you go anytime soon.

The Little Fox by @purpleyoonn

“The idea of being free was a foreign concept. Being free meant having choices, having opportunities. Being a hybrid meant never being free.” Just as you escaped the Little Fox, a bidding house, you find yourself at war with your thoughts, not wanting to go to another shelter. You didn’t expect yourself to find a home anywhere, especially not with the men who found you, and their pack.

The Pictures That Talk by @imnotlauriane

In a world where everyone has a special ability, mine is giving life to pictures. It allows me to see what happened behind the camera, reliving the moment when it was taken, as the subject. It's something I really cherish, but it can also come with great pain, so it's to be used carefully. I look at my finger, rings of fate black and cold. And I wonder, will I ever meet my soulmates?

The Seven by chewymilkyoda

When a young 17 year old girl and her friend went to an empty mansion that is reported as 'haunted', she never knew that her life would changed when she accidentally woke up 7 dangerous vampires that has been asleep for centuries. And boy is she in for a long-ass ride of fantasy shit that she never even knew about.

The Seven Princes by wassap_its_hunter

Being known as Nyx, you never had an easy life. With the expectations of being the world's best-renowned assassin and hunter, protector of your people, and a babysitter of five children, you can't really expect to have time in your hands to relax, the world being run by werewolves, witches, vampires, mermaids and more. But now, another role has been added. After hearing the princes of the biggest empire in the world, the Asian Kingdom, say the word "mate", you're scared for what is about to come. But then again you're Nyx, one of the very few humans that survived and became known, you could take a challenge like that.

🗯️ mc is so cool and the boys are whipped. my favourite.

The Seven Red Flags of HAKON University by tinyeyecat / emi ree

Born in the hell hole of Space Port 69, Rue’s a human Omega desperate to leave the alien whore house she calls home. Defying all odds, she masquerades as an Alpha and obtains a scholarship to the Ivy League of all space institutions. HAKON University is an all-male school that trains the cream of the crop—future leaders of the galaxies. Rue's just here to graduate, pretend to have a dick and then flee into the workforce, that is until the legendary Bangtan pack sets their eyes on her. They’re the future emperors—aliens with godlike abilities that make them rulers of their species. But with excessive power comes the price of testosterone-fuelled insanity that cannot be soothed. An esper will always need his guide. They’ve been searching for a final member to quell their raging soul-an eighth to complete their pack. Millions have tried for a taste of the peak, but none have succeeded, and thousands die from their power unable to withstand the bond. Bangtan doesn’t chase their prey, they don’t have to, but this time the seven Alphas want Rue.

🗯️ it's emi ree so it's gonna be insane!

The Siren's Song by PurpleQueenie

Modern day Seoul and myths don't go along hand in hand as easily as one might think. When for centuries (Y/N) has been bound to the Ocean, serving her duty as a siren- waiting for the day when it'll finally end, who knew stumbling across seven different souls would've been the reasons she needed to start living again, feeling again- even if it meant losing herself in the process.

🗯️ this might be my ultimate fave among queenie's stories. it's just soo good. mc who became the best version of herself after meeting the boys who support her despite the villain's constant torture. also, mc is just so full of life despite the ... it's amazing, go read it!

Through Her Eyes series by Gigi_Luv_4u

❶ Through Her Eyes

In the world of soulmates, perhaps Daun is the only one who does not expect for any soulmate to come. She doesn't have the soul marks that everyone supposed to have. Not one ink on her skin, no time marks on her wrists, no glowing red strings... but why does one day, seven gorgeous men claims to be her soulmate? And these seven are none other than the greatest boy band in the world?

❷ Through Her Eyes: Eternal

Multiples puffing out to the open has been on the news, but not as often as Daun with her seven. Now, more than ever, people have made their lives more than just a curious entertainment. Snippets of their married lives have become great treasures of inspirations that the entire world would simultaneously coo. No one can't blame them with how adorable they have cultivated their marriage to an inspiring one. Not to mention with the new additional members that surely adds more life to their already dynamic universe. Or… How does a family of Multiples go through their lives?

To Be, Or Not To Be Your Omega by Anonymous

Which would be harder? To be an Omega in an Alpha's world, or to have to play Omega to a pack of Alpha's that's known across the WHOLE world? As if disguising your gender truth isn't hard enough, how many omegas can say they have seven alphas that want to claim them? That went to the trouble of drafting up an overly generous contract just to have you as their omega? Oh, why did they have to find out your truth? Maybe it won't be so bad to be theirs, even if it's only by contract? After all, they're all so handsome, and smell so good, and— Is it wrong to have your inner omega cooing at the idea that this could become more than just your Omega status being taken advantage of like it's been all over the world?

To Be, or Not To Be Your Omega REBOOT by Anonymous

What would you do if you suddenly found yourself playing Omega to not just one, but seven world-renowned Alphas? Your struggle to conceal your true gender pales in comparison to this new challenge. These Alphas want to claim you. They've gone so far as to draft an outrageously generous contract just to have you as their Omega. But as your scent betrays your truth, you're left wondering: why did they have to find out? As you contemplate your fate, you can't help but think – maybe being theirs wouldn't be so bad, even if it's just by contract? After all, they're devastatingly handsome, their scents intoxicating, and... wait, is your inner Omega actually cooing at the idea? You've spent your life seeing Omegas taken advantage of across the world. Could this be different? Could this become more than just another power play? In this story, you'll navigate a world of primal instincts, hidden truths, and unexpected desires. Are you ready to step into the shoes of an Omega on the brink of a life-changing decisions?

Trouvaille by @spookyserenades

In a world where hybrids are both the hottest commodity and largely exploited, a recent shortage of hybrids nationwide due to the wealthy adopting for sport hunting dominates the news headlines. More than ever, stray hybrids are whisked off the streets and taken into shelters to meet the demand. Mistreated, neglected, forgotten – in a notoriously disreputable hybrid shelter in a pocket of downtown Boston, seven “aggressive” hybrids await their inevitable fate of being sold for sport.

After years of trying to distance herself from her mystical past and upbringing, Y/N finds herself quitting her emotionally-draining job and is forced to face past mistakes. While accompanying her friends looking to adopt a child hybrid into their newly-formed family, Y/N inadvertently finds herself face-to-face with seven hybrids doomed to die. In a spur of the moment epiphany, Y/N decides to change the course of fate for the better; though bringing seven aggressive hybrids into her life and the darkening spiritual energy of her old home is trickier to navigate than she originally thought.

🗯️ I really appreciate the length of every chapter. like, so much details put into each and every chapter, and each chapter it just gets better and better.

Until The Last Star Falls by Lov3Mochi / @minniepetals

It was a love you knew would never make it out alive without sacrificing a part of your happiness to receive a greater happiness. but for them, you’d go to any extreme to have them again, and for you, they will always remind you each day that you are theirs and that nothing can tear you apart, not even until the last star falls.

🗯️ so freaking good! a painful journey of love, full of longing and sacrifice.

You Never Walk Alone by @agustdakasuga

You live a quiet life in your late grandfather’s cabin in the woods. You go to school just to graduate and get your diploma, not to make friends or stand out from the crowd. That was until one day, you enter your home to see a pack of wolves that need shelter.

사람 (People) by thearmyprof

You are preparing to move across the Pacific Ocean and start a new chapter in your life, when a chance meeting with a man in a coffee shop has you questioning the timing of everything in the universe. When you hit it off on your first date, little do you know that the man you’ve already fallen head over heels for is, in fact, a member of BTS.

🗯️ this story doesn't include any insane themes, but so enjoyable and heartwarming. the characters also feel human, well-written.

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | NAVI

#san recs #hybrid bts #bts poly #bts x reader #fics recs #bts ot7 #bts ot7 x reader #bts fic

413 notes · View notes

goodomensafterdark · 5 days ago

Text

FTH — Good Omens (After Dark edition)

First of all, if you've been seeing these posts and wondering what it's all about, Fandom Trumps Hate is an online auction of fanworks that generates donations to progressive nonprofits. Fans offer to create stuff, kind people bid, all the money goes to charity!

The Good Omens fandom is simply the BEST! We have a whopping 135 offerings for @fandomtrumpshate this year, supporting all manner of progressive charities! There are frankly too many to name them all, so we're going to focus on the goblins of the GoodOmensAfterDark subreddit.

Oh, wait, that's still FIFTY-SIX Listings? Welp, time to make a spreadsheet.

Don't worry, it's pretty and damn useful!

I KNOW right???? 😊

The document includes links to all socials, listings (where you can fill out the bid form!), and a list of the highest bid and bidder for each offering that updates live with the FTH site!

GOAD Offerings Include:

29 — Fanfiction / Written Works

10 — Fan Art Works

9 — Podfics

4 — Fan Labor

2 — Crafts

2 — Music Composition

Bids are open until... SATURDAY, MARCH 1ST (8PM EST)

We highly recommend checking the Full Good Omens Listings (make sure to click through all the pages!) on the FTH Site for the non-GOAD offerings, as there are some wonderful and talented creators out there, but as our mods are humans with only so much time on their hands, the spreadsheet is focused on our own creators.

A few no pressure creator tags just to kick off getting the word out…

@nosferatini @daneecastle @gaiaseyes451 @sightkeeper @depraveddame @theravenmuse

@outrageousring5655 @paperclipninja @harlotofupdog @theonevoice @isiaiowin

@on1occasionfork @thescholarlystrumpet @dbacklot99 @onedappercat @wingsofopal

#good omens #ineffable fandom #good omens fanfic #good omens fanart #good omens podfic #good omens after dark #good omens crafts #fandom trumps hate #charity auction #support charity AND encourage creators!#Watch our fandom whoop this thing <3

161 notes · View notes

kumkaniudaku · 4 days ago

Text

The Lady in Pink

Summary: Terry realizes his feelings run deeper than he though.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC (Patrice Ellis)

Word Count: 2,006

Warnings: None

Take a seat in pairs. Put away your books and notes. Prepare for a game of Pop Quiz.

Instructions rattled off in Mr. Turner’s patented Kentucky drawl sounded more like an auctioneer’s ramblings than anything remotely coherent. Still, Terry settled into a stool behind the high black countertops in the back of their 5th period forensic’s lab.

If Terry were honest, he hadn’t cracked open his textbook in days despite a looming chapter test at the end of the week. He’d get to it eventually. Between trying to impress scouts every Friday, another year of book club, and college prep, finding the time to study fingerprinting was low on the priority list. If not for Patrice, he’d be hovering around a measly D+ instead of his modest B-. She kept him steady, especially in impromptu group quizzes.

Sliding into the seat beside Terry, Patrice pushed a perfectly curled tendril behind her ear and adjusted her glasses, unaware of the chain reaction she’d set off. Ear perked like a dog hearing its name roll from the lips of its owner. Eyes scanned her from head to toe, taking in every detail from her gold hoop earrings, to her pink strawberry printed cardigan and skin tight jeans. Terry watched her in a haze of teenaged longing and romantic feelings starting to change his brain chemistry in ways he hadn’t prepared for. The more time they spent rubbing shoulders during weekend hang outs and talking about the future, the more some unidentifiable emotion blossomed in his heart.

His mother said he liked Patrice a few weeks back. “Close,” he thought to himself though he vehemently denied it to maintain his privacy. Whatever this new thing was extended far past surface level ‘like’. He ‘liked’ Theresa Allen sophomore year. She was a cool girl, but she didn’t make him happy the way a Saturday at the mall with Patrice made him happy.

He ‘liked’ golfing with his dad on occasion. Though the sport was too slow for his taste, smelling fresh cut grass in the breeze and drinking bland sweet tea along side the man he looked up to most was always fun.

He ‘liked’ a slice of apple pie sometimes. It wasn’t his favorite, but he could go for a piece if the mood hit him.

Liking Patrice was long gone. This new thing, complete with uncontrollable thoughts and a newfound desire to know how her lip gloss tasted on his lips, was something else entirely.

“I like your sweater,” he complimented before she could greet him. “It’s nice. Where’d you get it?”

Patrice giggled. “Thanks, TJ. My auntie made it for me. She’ll be your biggest fan when I tell her what you said.” Her attention flittering to chatter on the other side of the room gave Terry another opportunity fox his daily fix of silent admiration. Yeah, this wasn’t like. This something all consuming and entirely overwhelming.

When she’d had her fill of observing her surrounding, Patrice looked back at Terry to speak.

“You ever get to chapter five,” she asked, looking over at her best friend. Ogling turned into a black stare and a twinge of guilt forcing him to look away from her expectant gaze. She kissed her teeth. “TJ…”

“I know, I know,” Terry groaned. “I’ll be caught up when we study Wednesday, I promise. You want me to bring your favorite?” White chocolate covered pretzels always did the trick. Minor disagreements, his own absentmindness, and everything in between could be cured with her snack of choice. He watched her break into a slow smile and nod. “Yeah, I thought so. You got it. Hand to God.”

“You better. Especially after I carry us through this quiz.”

“Oh you mean like how I carried us through the calc assignment last week?” A friendly nudge to Terry’s shoulder from Patrice pushed them both over the edge into a pit of giggles.

Like two parts of a whole, Terry and Patrice made up the slack where the other lacked. Number crunching and complex math theory was like child’s play to Terry. He enjoyed the grueling process of combining letters and numbers to come to a finite conclusion. As he put it one evening over the phone, math came with logical conclusions. Even if you had ten ways to get to it, there was only one right answer. Patrice let him drone on and on most nights until he provided the solution for her to work her way out of a maze of erased possibilities into whatever would get her the coveted check mark and passing grade she was chasing.

Patrice took over the words and menial task of remembering facts. If Terry needed to know a summary of To Kill A Mockingbird’s core themes or what exactly John Steinbeck was trying to get across in Of Mice and Men, he knew he could ask one question to send Patrice off into a winding tangent. Her ability to simplify colorful language was one of his favorite things. His second, was watching her adjust the satin ribbon in her ponytail before one of Mr. Turner’s famous pop quizzes.

As she gave the pink bow a firm tug, Mr. Turner passed around buzzers for each group. “The rules are simple folks. One spokesperson for the group. You get five seconds to answer after buzzing in. No answer loses points. First group to 25 gets their lowest grade bumped up by 15 points. Any questions pupils?”

“Can Patrice and Terry split up this time? I really need these points.”

Mr. Turner shook his head as his finger wagged in the air. “No easy wins in this class! Earn it!”

Low chuckles rumbled throughout the classroom at the tandem’s expense, earning a quiet eye roll from Patrice. Three school years in and she still hadn’t made much progress with some classmates through no fault of her own.

Terry shot daggers across the room to the culprit before leaning over to offer comfort. “Forget her. She could get as many points as she wants and still wouldn’t pass.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Patrice shrugged. “I don’t lose. Only answer if you’re sure.”

A smile crept across Terry’s face while he watched Patrice settle into her seat, cracking her knuckles before delicate fingers settled on the big red button between them. Competitive Patrice was one of his favorite version of his best friend. Typically, she didn’t involve herself with the taunting, name calling, and brute force of competition. She thought football and boxing were barbaric despite Terry convincing her to spend more time with his two hobbies. Physical battles were never her thing. But mental warefare? She loved demoralizing her opponents with with wit, finding great pleasure in brain games regardless of reward. Diamond Presscott had unfortunately put herself into Patrice’s sniping scope. Doomed. The girl was doomed.

Question one. Mr. Turner shuffled through notecards and settled on the first opportunity for five points. “What is the purpose of cranial features?”

“They allow the skull to grow!” Their shared buzzer could barely light the blinker on their station before Patrice was off to the races with an answer.

“Correct! Way to be quick.”

Terry offered his knuckles for Patrice to pound, receiving a light push away so she could focus. “When we win,” she muttered without looking in his direction.

“My bad, champ. Go ahead.” He chuckled.

Back and forth she and Mr. Turner went as if they were the only two people in existence. Terry observed in awe, mouth slightly ajar at the beauty sitting beside him.

“The size of a shotgun is described by?”

“Gauge.”

“Handwriting’s individuality is classified as?”

“Class evidence.”

“What are the three types of forgery?”

“Blind, simulated, and traced!”

Each question met with a correct answer and beaming smile from Mr. Turner earned assorted groans from students well aware that the points they needed were firmly snatched from their grasps before they truly had a chance.

Patrice didn’t care. Call it an unfair advantage or being a teacher’s pet – it mattered not to a young girl intent on reaching the highest academic heights possible. She’d do it all again the next day and the one after for the thrill of seeing smug smiles turned into tight frown.

Terry was more than happy to be on the other side. Being in her orbit was gift from God himself and, as he found himself fully engrossed in every soft bounce of her ponytail and glint of light reflecting off shiny, full lips, he couldn’t help but to send a quick thank you to the man upstairs.

He liked Patrice when he met her. Every moment spent side by side in book club meetings and study hall sessions left him giddy once he returned home. He liked her smile and her sense of humor. He like the deep dimple in her right cheek. He liked how she wore her hair, the vanilla body mist she wore, how she tapped her pencil when she was thinking, and her way of infusing smart sarcasm in every conversation.

He liked her yesterday and two weeks before. He liked her when he woke up that morning and took extra time moisturizing his hair and patting careful sprays of his father’s expensive cologne on his neck. He liked her when they passed each other in the hallway and made silly faces en route to separate classes for first block. He even liked her when he sat down in Mr. Turner’s 5th period forensics class, waiting for her to join his side.

So what was this new phenoment?

What was this tightening in his lungs and quickening of his heart? Why did he feel so safe and seen without her ever acknowledging his presence in her pursuit of total domination? Was the absence of everyone but her a sign of something deeper or the result of sitting too close to the TV like his mother had warned about all those years?

As big feelings overtook a starry-eyed young man discovering new information during his favorite science course to date, Patrice quietly pumped her fist and looked to him with a wide smile that rivaled the sun. “Light work,” she boasted while looking for his approval. “Isn’t that what you say during your sports ball thing or did I get it wrong?”

“That was right,” he chuckled as nonchalantly as he could before raising his hand for a high five. “Good job, Treece. I really like being on your team.”

Screwing her face, Patrice placed the back of her hand on his cheek. “Terry being nice before lunch? You must be sick.” Her knuckles searched for heat on his face, softly lulling his eyes closed for a moment to revel in her attention. “You ain’t warm. Maybe you finally realizing who’s really in charge over here.”

Her snickering sounded like a symphony in the ears of a young boy slowly wading into grown man feelings. Terry smiled back at Patrice, totally ignoring lab instructions rattled off and children shuffled pages and prepared for 40 minutes of instruction.

Dark pupils dilated inside green irises. The morning’s previous problems floated away into the ether to make way for unexplained happiness. Stress slid from newly broad shoulders, down his back, and out of the door to know him no longer. His cheeks flushed while the tips of his ears turned a new shade of red. Sweaty palms nearly left handprints on his jeans. Bright red strawberries knitted onto a pretty pink sweater filled gave way to perfectly smooth brown skin as Terry examined Patrice from head to toe once more. His heartbeat quickened to the beat of a thousand flutters in his belly at the sight of her small frown while she sat deep in thought. A beauty like no other.

This wasn’t like, or infatuation, or some thing called lust that his grandma often blamed for the sins of man. Something stronger had taken up residence in his heart.

For the first time in his young life, he could call love by its name. Patrice.

—————-

Reply if you'd like to be tagged in future work!

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @hrlzy @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl @ariiijestertheklown @blyffe @tvchi @wabi-sabi1090 @blackmoonchilee @flydotty @aldrigmer444 @ash-ketchumzzz @nayaesworld @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @writingsbytee @teddybeerz @trippyscotch @theogbadbitch @ghostfacekill-monger @nyifly22

#aaron pierre #terry richmond #terry richmond x oc #rebel ridge

173 notes · View notes

fandomtrumpshate · 22 hours ago

Text

We’re all feeling generous but please wait for emails!

Bidders:

Please do not send in donation receipts yet! You'll soon receive an email from us listing your high bids and the link to the donation proof form. If you don’t have a Google account you will need to email them to us but please wait and send it as a reply to this email!

In fact, it’s best if you wait to get our email before you donate at all, just to make sure our records match yours in terms of which auctions you won for how much, and which organizations your creators chose.

Creators:

We know that some of you are excited to offer gifts to your second bidders! As it mentions in the email you got last night, please wait and let us coordinate this, as we need to make sure we have accurate records of everything. We will email you in a couple of days asking if you want to extend a second chance offer, and if you do, we’ll email your bidder.

Both bidders and creators - Please remember not to put pressure in either direction when it comes to second chance offers! Not all creators have time/energy to extend them, and not all bidders can afford to accept them. This is one reason to let us handle all communication, so that nobody feels personally on the hook for something that they have not yet committed to.

We love the post-auction energy and we are SO HYPED to find out what our final total will be (all we know now is… it’s BIG), but as the auction grows it gets even more important for us to keep accurate records… and unfortunately it also takes longer for us to coax Google’s tools into generating everything we need. Thank you for your patience!

Find some more food for thought in this post while you wait...

156 notes · View notes

littlefireball · 9 months ago

Text

ꜱʜ|ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍɪɴᴇ (ᴍ)

ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ ʙᴏꜱꜱ ꜱᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ x ᴅʀᴀɢᴏɴ ʜʏʙʀɪᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.5ᴋ

"Mr. Park, this is a list of hybrid breeds available on the market." Seonghwa took the file handed to him by his subordinate without any expression on his face and flipped through the pages without reading the descriptions. Seeing a hint of dissatisfaction on Mr. Park's face, his subordinate began to panic, fidgeting like an ant on a hot pan.

"That's it?" Mr. Park's face was filled with displeasure, his eyes bursting with repressed anger. However, he controlled his emotions and didn't unleash his frustration on his subordinate.

"Yes… Yes, these are the only hybrids available in the market." his subordinate stammered nervously, unable to speak clearly, and beads of sweat began to form on his forehead.

"Can't you understand my orders?" Mr. Park coldly stared at his subordinate who was constantly apologizing. Although his face showed no signs of emotion, his gaze was so sharp that it felt like he could tear the person in front of him apart.

"I wanted the strongest and most ferocious hybrids, not these little kittens and bears!" He threw away the documents in his hand, scattering the papers all over the floor like a chaotic white carpet.

The subordinate quickly picked up the scattered documents from the floor, apologizing without looking up, and then hurriedly left the room. "Tsk… a bunch of useless people." Seonghwa drank the red wine placed on the table, the icy sensation not dampening the anger in his heart at all.

It had been months, and he still hadn't found the hybrid he desired ─ a dragon. It was just a rumor, no one had ever seen a real dragon because they were extinct. Yet, there were always rumors about hybrid breeds that claimed to have seen dragons in the past. Although he didn't know if they were true or not, Seonghwa firmly believed in their existence.

His obsession with dragons was well known within the Mafia world, and everyone just thought he was a fool lost in a fantasy world. His room was filled with dragon decorations, even his clothes, his villa… you could imagine that there were traces of dragons everywhere. Perhaps his sincerity towards dragons had touched the heavens because one day, he finally met the dragon he had dreamed of ─ you.

"Wanna join us, Seonghwa?" Hongjoong, one of the strongest mafia leaders and also Seonghwa's best friend, invited him to a black market auction once again.

"Again? I've already gone ten times this month, and none of them had what I wanted."

"C'mon Hwa! Maybe this time you'll find the dragon you want!"

"You say the same thing every time."

"But this time I have an extraordinary intuition, trust me."

"Fine." Seonghwa couldn't resist Hongjoong's request and once again drove to the remote black market auction.

A mysterious and solemn atmosphere pervaded the surroundings of the auction. Tall ancient stone columns stood in the hall, and large black curtains hung from the dark red ceiling, casting a dim light and creating a mysterious ambiance.

The auctioneer, a mysterious middle-aged man, dressed in a luxurious black feather coat, had sharp eyes and a cold smile. He waved a mysterious black auction baton in his hand, occasionally tapping the table to guide the auction.

In the showcase area, treasures were displayed in glass cabinets, shimmering under the dim lights. Rare treasures, magical artifacts and various forbidden items attracted the attention of the spectators. However, Seonghwa had no interest in these treasures; instead, they wore down his patience. He sat with his legs crossed, pursing his lips in dissatisfaction, and whispered, "Is this your extraordinary intuition, Kim Hongjoong?"

"Well, just wait a little longer! It's not here yet!" Ha! If Seonghwa really got angry, he would definitely suffer. With that in mind, Hongjoong felt just as anxious as Seonghwa's subordinate. The auction continued, and Seonghwa's patience was already wearing thin; he straightened his clothes, ready to leave.

"Hey, Seonghwa! Where are you going? It's not over."

"I'm leavi─"

"And now!! This is our final item up for auction! Or should I say, a living creature! Here we are!! A dragon hybrid!" The host dramatically unveiled the red cloth covering the cage, revealing you huddled in the corner, trapped in the cage. Your pitiful appearance broke hearts but gave rise to a terrifying desire for conquest.

Upon hearing the word "dragon," Seonghwa's face suddenly lit up with joy and surprise, as if he were ready to jump up in ecstasy.

"The starting price is ten million─"

"One hundred million!!"

He walked directly towards the stage, crossing over the other spectators, and shouted out a staggering number before the host could even finish his sentence. The host was ecstatic, pounding the table frantically. "Sold!"

He knelt in front of the cage, his eyes shimmering, his face showing a smile that was about to burst into laughter. Your expression, on the other hand, was one of fear as you tightly wrapped your tail around yourself, trying to stay away from the man in front of you. Your eyes conveyed sadness and terror, devoid of any dragon's majestic presence.

"It's okay, my little dragon. Everything is alright! I will shower you with my love." He smiled indulgently, his eyes warm but filled with endless lust.

His words were not empty promises but real commitments.

You found yourself in a grand estate, far removed from the typical confines of a cage. There were no bars, no metallic scent in the air. As you looked around in awe, you were led to a luxurious bath by a group of women who washed away the dust from your body, replacing it with the sweet fragrance of flowers.

"Ah, you've arrived, my dear." The man greeted you as you entered the room, seated elegantly at his desk with crossed legs. He was the most striking man you had ever laid eyes on.

"Are you the one who purchased me?" you inquired timidly.

"Yes," he confirmed.

"Master, how may I be of service?" You recalled the teachings of the black market lord - as a slave, your purpose was to please your master. There was no room for defiance, only unwavering loyalty.

"No, that is not what I want," he replied.

"I beg your pardon, master." You immediately knelt, unsure of your transgression but willing to accept fault as per the 'rule'.

"No, a dragon should not cower like this." Seonghwa approached you slowly, noticing your trembling form. He must have been ready to strike you.

"I apologize…" you began, bracing for impact. However, instead of a blow, he gently patted your head and knelt down in front of you. His gaze held a mix of tenderness, concern, and a hint of frustration. How could a dragon hybrid, known for its courage, exhibit such timidity?

What had the black market done to you?

"Shhh, there is no need for apologies. You have done nothing wrong,"

"But…" You tried to speak, only to have his finger gently silence you, his touch grazing your cheek. Blushing, you realized how close you were, enveloped in his breath and the intoxicating scent of flowers that surrounded him. You tentatively brushed his palm, savoring the unfamiliar sensation of his soft touch.

"Hm, so cute," he remarked, offering you a rare compliment.

"No one has ever said that to me."

"How could they not? You are beautiful, my dear." Leaning in, his finger traced your lower lip. "I will shower you with my love. That is my promise." He pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, testing the waters, showing his desire but not imposing it.

Your cheeks flushed deeper, eyes wide with a mix of excitement and apprehension, yet you made no move to resist. The overwhelming rush of emotions left you feeling as if you were floating on air.

"Tell me if you want more."

"Yes, my master."

"Don't call me master, call me hwa." He said before left your chin and kissed your red lips. Your lips touched gently, soft and warm, and endless sweetness flowed between your lips. You wrapped around his neck as he slid his hands under your thighs, picked you up, and placed you at the bed.

"You're burning up, Y/N. Do you have a fever?" He placed his hand on your forehead, feeling the heat radiating from your body. A look of concern crossed his face as he realized how high your temperature was. Suddenly, you grabbed his collar and kissed him, surprising both of you with your boldness.

"Mmm…I feel so hot, your scent is intoxicating…I can't control myself…"

"Are you…going into heat?" It dawned on him then, the reminder from the auction host about your upcoming rut. He knew he should have prepared for it, ensuring you had everything you needed. Seonghwa wanted to help you, to take care of you. He just didn't anticipate how sensitive you would be, how a simple kiss could trigger your heat.

"It's okay, love. I'll take care of you." He drew you close, your bodies pressing together as he kissed you passionately. Closing his eyes, he savored the softness of your lips against his, feeling a rush of warmth flood through him. You responded eagerly, parting your lips to deepen the kiss. Your breaths mingled, creating a sweet and heady sensation. His hands tenderly caressed your hair, your cheeks, before settling on your waist.

"Have you done this before?"

"Yah…"You nodded. "They had put me in the cold water tub for a few days to cool me down…" "No, no. I am not saying this." His brow furrowed once more, a surge of anger bubbling up inside him. He was well aware of the inhumane methods employed by the black market, yet the idea of you suffering was something he simply could not bear.

"Did I say something to upset you?" You trembled, haunted by memories of your former master who would unleash his fury on you in fits of rage. Seonghwa, however, seemed different, kind-hearted and gentle.

"No, it's just… have you had sex before?" "No," you replied softly, trailing off. "This is a nice way to relax without having to soak in a bath." He paused, meeting your innocent gaze. It was clear that he was the one struggling, not you. His desire stirred within him, causing him to grow hot and breathless. Your gentle touch drove him to the brink of madness.

"Are you sure you want this? You can say no if you're not comfortable." Your eyes widened in surprise, never expecting him to give you the option to refuse.

"Does it feel good…?"

"Yes, it does," he assured you. Leaning in, he kissed your lips once more, his expression filled with tenderness.

"Please. I want this." You wrapped around his shoulder and pulled him closer.

"As you wish, my dear." Pressing his body against yours, he felt the rhythm of your breaths syncing. His arousal nestled between your thighs, creating a delicious friction against your lower core. The sensation was so pleasurable that you instinctively parted your legs, granting him greater access. He couldn't believe his eyes as he removed your silk pajamas, revealing a chest marred by scars and bruises that tugged at his heartstrings.

Bowing his head, he tenderly traced his tongue over your scars, as if seeking to heal them. His kisses trailed down to your nipple, where he suckled and licked, eliciting soft moans from you as you wrapped your arms around his head, swept away by the wave of new sensations.

Both of your clothes were thrown to somewhere, lying naked and making out on the bed. He sat up straight and aimed at your entrance. "Tell me if it hurts, hm?" As he entered you, a rush of excitement caused your juices to flow, creating a sensation of intense pleasure. "So wet for me," he whispered into your ear, his movements slow and deliberate, allowing you to adjust to his presence inside you.

You arched your back, closing your eyes and forming a soft 'O' with your mouth as the unfamiliar yet satisfying feeling of being penetrated washed over you. Your shy moans were met with his encouragement to be louder, igniting a fire within you.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you urged him to go deeper, the wetness and tightness of your core driving him wild with desire. His groans mixed with your moans, creating a symphony of pleasure that filled the room.

"I can't hold back, you feel too good," he confessed, increasing the pace of his thrusts, each one sending waves of pleasure through your body. His words of admiration fueled your passion, making you feel desired and perfect in his eyes.

With a swift movement, he repositioned you on your side, promising comfort as he entered you once more. The new angle intensified the sensations, leaving you dizzy with pleasure as he continued to move with a fervor that matched your own.

"Ah~hwa~"As the sound of skin meeting skin filled the room, you boldly called out his name, each thrust bringing you closer to the edge of ecstasy. In that moment, everything felt perfect, as if you were made for each other in this dance of passion and desire.

"Say my name again or I fuck you harder." He looked at your bouncing chest and met your innocent yet lust gaze, his cock twitched as all of the heat rushed to the tip. Sperm flowed out a bit and mixed with your juices. This feeling was incredible.

"Hwa, please." "Shit!" He flipped you over and thrust from behind. You arched your back and threw your head, moaning from the endless pleasure.

"Such a good girl."

"Th…thank you…hwa…"

"Oh? You like praise, huh? You are sucking me in, did so well, babe."

His chest pressed against your back, intertwined with your fingers, kissing your nape and leaving so many bite marks. You turned your head and kissed him. His movement grew more intense, the speed reaching an indescribable level but not painful at all. Your groaning and moaning became choppy as if something grabbed your throat and made you breathless.

"Knot…" You murmured. You knew it was impossible for a human to knot but your most intimate space was already wide opened. You needed him to cum, cum in that space to calm you down from the rut. "Please…hwa…cum inside me." "Of course, my darling." He flipped you over and placed you both legs on his shoulder, gripping your kneel and pushed as deep as possible…

-----

You nested in his arm while your back was pressing against his chest. He left a trail of kisses on your face and neck, giving you the best after care. His cock was still inside you then his sperm would not flow out.

"Does it hurt?" You shook your head and he pecked at your head.

"You won't be in the cage again, I promise." Your tears welled up in your eyes and you turned your head.

"Thank you, hwa." He smirked and caressed your cheek.

"Don't cry, everything is alright." He gave you a deep kiss before pulling out and flipping you over.

"You are mine, only my little dragon." He leaned down and fucked you again.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez oneshot #ateez smut #ateez x female reader #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez imagines #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa smut

357 notes · View notes

deantfwinchester · 3 months ago

Text

Love Me Right

Part 1: Henrietta’s

Pairing: ConstructionCEO!Joel x Waitress!Reader

She's eventually gonna be a teacher again bc let's be real, i'm a one-trick pony.

This is a Millionaire Joel AU x Most Eligible Bachelor Trope

Summary: Joel Miller, CEO and Co-Founder of Miller Construction, hasn't been dealing with an Empty Nest very well. His family and friends have tried their best to cheer him up since Sarah left for college in the fall, but the storm cloud above his head remains. On top of that (or perhaps because of it), he has just been named one of Austin's Most Eligible Bachelors.

What will that mean for the new-in-town waitress he meets in his favorite diner? As far as she knows, he's just an average contractor.

Warnings: age gap (reader late 20s, Joel late 40s); family-centered trauma and conflict; lethal levels of fluff otw

A/N: Bear with me for this one y'all. My imagination is ambitious and my brain is obstinate. Title inspired by Sabrina Carpenter’s Short ‘n Sweet - bc i can’t stop fckn listening to Juno 🫣

Word Count: 4.6k

_______________________________________________

“Tommy, there ain’t a chance in hell that’s gonna happen. Why on earth did you bring this to me?”

“Well they talked to Joanna at the front desk first. She said wasn’t going to bring it up to you, but I couldn’t just let it slide,” Tommy raises his eyebrows at Joel, shooting him a mischievous look. “Because one - I wasn’t gonna pass up the chance to see this look on your face, and two - would a little publicity be so bad?”

“Who in their right mind is gonna choose a fuckin contractor from the goddamn ‘society pages’?” Joel bristles at his brother’s amusement with an unwavering scowl.

Tommy stares right back, but the playful nature of his expression is unmarred. “Most men won’t Joel - but their wives will.” Tommy’s salacious grin is damn near wider than Joel’s ever seen. Christ, he’s loving this.

“You gotta be kiddin’ me,” Joel says plainly, rolling his eyes.

“Come on brother, think about it - plenty of busy men in this city with bored housewives in need of a project. He tosses her a few thousand to redo the dining room - well who’s gonna do the job? She hasn’t got a clue where to begin and then BOOM! She sees the list of Austin’s Most Eligible Bachelors in the paper - where she finds a photo of the distinguished CEO and senior founder of Miller Construction—”

“Senior, seriously?,” Joel deadpans at him. Tommy ignores him, continuing to wax poetic.

“And can’t help but wonder if the rest of his staff is as dashing as he appears to be,”

“Flattery’s cheap Tommy.”

“Of course then she meets with me and the deal is sealed.” Tommy smiles smugly now that his story is complete.

“Boy can you paint a picture,” responds Joel, rolling his eyes at his brother’s antics. “So you wanna parade me around like a two-bit hooker, huh?

“Whaddya say — can I give ‘em a call?”

“If you’re so hell-bent on ‘marketing’ why don’t you do it?” Joel says flippantly.

“Well I’m not a bachelor anymore, am I?,” he grins brightly at him. This time, it’s sincere.

“Don’t break your arm pattin' yourself on the back, Tommy. Maria mighta said yes, but there ain’t a ring on your finger yet. She’s still got a few months to wise up,” Joel challenges, his tone playful.

Tommy glares at him, but then gives a sobered nod. “You’re right about that. I know I’m a lucky fucker, and I’m not interested in testing that luck - even for a charity auction. Sorry to the dogs, or the food bank or — is it old people?”

“Hell bent on it, and don’t even know what it’s for? Christ - it’s a Make-A-Wish thing Tommy, damn,” Joel replies, looking bewildered at his brother’s callous and cavalier response.

“And isn’t your attention and concern for the bigger picture just what they need in volunteers?” Tommy retorts, expression still smug but eyes hopeful. “What, ‘s it gonna kill you to go out for once? It’ll be a formality at worst and maybe even a good time if you loosen up a bit.”

“I can think of a number of other ‘worsts’ than a formality,” Joel muses

“You’re gentleman enough to handle it just fine,” Tommy continues.

It has been quite a while since Joel’s been out of his house for much other than work or routine, and even longer since he’s been out with anyone other than Tommy, Maria, and the guys from work here and there. He’ll admit, he hasn’t been dealing with an empty nest very well. He’s done a pretty terrible job of keeping busy since he dropped Sarah off at school back in the fall. She’d gotten in exactly where she’d hoped, and made friends fast - for this he was over the moon - but he misses her like crazy. He’s been swimming back and forth in swelling pride and stabbing grief since September, ecstatic and aching all at once. He knew Tommy’s intentions were relatively pure, business interest aside. He knows they’ve been worried about him for a couple of months now - they haven’t exactly been subtle — they’d started having him over for dinner damn near once a week.

This newfound hobby of Tommy’s, cooking like a grown-up, had become the ruse en vogue for getting Joel out of his house. As Maria’s caseload grew at the law firm, Tommy wanted to make sure she had a real meal to eat when she finally got home — so he started cooking. Joel had to admit it was real sweet, watching his brother dive headfirst into learning a new skill just to take care of his bride-to-be. He claimed it only made sense with his far more flexible schedule, but Joel knew it made Tommy proud to be able to do this for her, and the very fact he wanted to made Joel proud as well.

Once Sarah left for school, however, Tommy quickly discovered his brother’s less-than-satisfactory habits of microwave dinners or forgetting to eat in general. He was a fair chef in his own right once upon a time, but without his little girl there to feed, bothering to make a balanced meal fell by the wayside. Joanna, a kindly woman in her seventies, had been one of the first to notice the change in Joel’s demeanor and the drawn nature of his features. Not much younger than the boys’ mother would be today, Joanna worked at the front desk of Miller Construction, greeting clients with a maternal warmth that, Tommy had to admit, was in part strategic. Disarm a client while they wait with a smile and you’d be able to pry open their hearts and their pockets.

Joanna was not unaware of the role she played in this game, though she did not approve. She’d informed Tommy of her concern for Joel, and the regular dinner invitations followed suit. This, accompanied with Joanna’s tugging Joel along to a nearby diner for lunch a couple of times a week in November had practically pulled Joel through the fall slump and into the new year. The holiday visits home from Sarah had helped a great deal, as well.

Joel wasn’t blind to his friends and family’s kahoots to help him through this patch. Though he sometimes grudgingly obliged to Joanna’s pestering him out the door because she hadn’t “seen you eat a bite all day. Four cups of black coffee don’t count, and you know it. Up!,” or Tommy’s employing Maria to send a text herself inviting him to dinner after he’d tried and simply received the finger, he was grateful for their efforts and care. Sarah was too, but he didn’t need to know that. Those lunchtime diner visits soon turned into breakfasts — a preemptive measure on Joanna’s part to add some time out in public to Joel’s routine of home — office — work site — home. Eventually she’d pavolv-ed him into it, and Joel was at the diner for coffee, breakfast, and one of the only physical newspapers left in existence every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, at first following behind Joanna and eventually on his own.

Joanna had been with the Miller brothers since the business was far smaller, just a few years after its inception, when they started needing a receptionist/secretary/assistant, just someone who knew how to manage their slowly growing demand. She’d been a friend of their mother’s and had taken up some of the slack when she’d passed, grieving alongside her friend’s sons and looking after them in her wake. She’d been one of the only reasons Joel and Tommy had been able to build the tiny Miller Bros. into its current position as Miller Construction, multi-million-dollar contracting firm, and the largest in the Austin Metro area. Joel’s practical thinking and creativity combined with Tommy’s ambition and idealistic hopes of grandeur got them into successful meetings with investors that Joanna quietly set up via her husband’s business contacts. Their vision reminded her so much of their mother’s optimism she couldn’t help herself. She’d keep an eye on Sarah when Joel needed and ensured they were taken care of in the moments they would have needed their mother around.

As the boys’ surrogate mother figure and Sarah’s Aunt Jo, it came as no surprise that amid Joel’s season of empty-nested loneliness Joanna had begun encouraging him to “get back out there” and claimed that she “won’t be around forever” and “would like to see him settled before I go.” Classic maternal guilt-tripping, and Joel told her each time that he hears 70 is the new 50. She told him to try that again in a few years when he hits the real 50.

Truth of the matter was, Joel had been alone for a long time. He’d seen people on and off while Sarah was growing up, but it was a rare occasion, and no fling had ever lasted more than a couple of months. With Sarah at home, it never mattered much to Joel — he had someone to care for who was the best company he’d ever had right in front of him. She’d needed him a little less as she’d grown up, but he always had a purpose.

Joel was a natural-born caretaker — between brotherhood and fatherhood, he took to it like a tadpole to water. With Sarah away at school and his little brother engaged, however, he couldn’t figure out where to put all that love, and so it crackled into grief like a blackening candle wick, blooming into a flower of ash that nestled in his chest. The cloud of soot hovered around him for a while as he went through the motions of his everyday. Tommy, Maria, and Joanna all wanted to see him find his way again, as did Sarah when she received honest reports from her family members after some prodding. He always put on his biggest smile for her, never wanting her to worry, but she could see something hurting in his eyes, just below the surface.

While it may have been blatantly out of his comfort zone, Tommy and Joanna jumped at the opportunity to convince Joel when the Most Eligible Bachelors’ Auction came knocking. He needed something to disrupt his routine, with the added bonus of his coming out into the social scene like a plaid-clad debutante with a few extra crow’s feet.

After rolling the last few months’ events around in his mind for a couple of minutes while Tommy answers a phone call, Joel is broken from his reverie. Tommy’s standing in front of him again, waving a hand back and forth.

“Hey ground control - you with me?,” he asks before Joel’s eyes focus on him once again. “Can I give em a call?,” and this time Joel notices the concern in Tommy’s eyes as his joking facade flickers with hope. It’s more than just publicity, and he owes it to them to give it a shot.

Joel releases a measured sigh, relenting. “Can’t believe I’m saying this but sure, fuck it. Call ‘em back,” he says rolling his eyes, resigning himself to whatever nonsense his participation will entail. He reminds himself it’s for charity, and returns to his computer, refocusing on his work as Tommy darts out of his office to return to his own, reporting his success to Joanna along the way.

_______________________________________________

You got lucky with this job at Henrietta’s, with its flexible hours and fairly livable wage, you had time to settle into your new place and get to know the city. You spend your off days wandering around, doing research on local schools and prepping your applications for summer school and the new year.

Never had you pictured yourself leaving students mid-year, and having to do it hurt like hell. You missed the kids you left behind every day, but when a friend caught wind of an acquaintance needing a subletter for a little studio within your price range, you didn’t have much of a choice. You needed to take up the lease starting in January, or you’d be starting over at square one. It had been a long time coming, this encroaching need to run and start over somewhere new. Staying in your hometown was no longer an option — work may have been a saving grace, but the other areas of your life were suffering. You knew healing couldn’t begin without separation. You needed to be far away from everything — it was the only way you could picture trying to feel whole again. Grad school had ended the previous year, so you fled.

With each mile you put between you and your family, you started to feel like your lungs could fully inflate once again. The oppressive air of scrutiny and memory that swam around you at home dropped off piece by piece with each passing mile marker. You’d put a few states between yourself and your parents once it was all said and done, and while it was scary, starting from scratch all over again, it was invigorating. You’d done it at eighteen when you left for college, you could damn well do it again with eight years’ more life experience under your belt.

You’d walked into the diner on your second day in the city. You had some money saved up from time living at home, but knew it would dwindle quickly with rent to pay and no salary coming in on the regular. You would need something to keep busy and pay for necessities until the end of the spring semester. When Diane, the manager caught sight of you, bright-eyed and looking like a deer in headlights, she welcomed you with a warmth you’d only read about in books. She interviewed you then and there and offered you a job on the spot, waiting tables on the breakfast and lunch shifts at least four days a week. She told you your “sweet smile and wide-eyed look will do wonders for you in tips, precious!” You think it’s probably just teacher face you can’t shake, and hope she’s right — maybe it could do you some favors until you get back in the classroom where you belong.

Diane’s rounded face was accentuated with wonderfully deep crow’s feet and smile lines that suggested a lifetime of sharing this warmth, and her dark hair streaked with gray around her hairline and temples rested atop her head in a frazzled bun. She made you comfortable out the gate, and had set you up with a uniform immediately. More aptly, she handed you a t-shirt and an apron to go over your leggings. You were thankful for the relaxed dress code, knowing plenty of other establishments required a much more specific ensemble. Once you’d changed she introduced you to your shift lead, Reggie, and the line-cook-on-duty, Tony, patting you comfortingly on the shoulder and insisting they welcome you, hoping to keep you around to solve their persistent staffing issue.

While Diane was quite a bit older than you, somewhere in her mid-fifties, Reggie and Tony were younger, floating between mid-thirties and early forties, if you had to guess. Reggie was a slim black man you’d put in his thirties, and he greeted you with a smile and an exclamation that he was more than ready to gossip ad nauseum with someone so much closer to his age. He’d been the one to fill you in on Diane’s immediate taking to you, letting you know with little ambiguity that you were just a few years younger than Diane’s daughter, who had moved out of the city about a year ago, and that you favored her to boot. Reggie had called this particular gossip session your orientation.

“Don’t get me wrong honey, Diane’s a sweetheart. But never have I seen her offer a position on the spot. I think having you here may do her some good,” he’d said, before turning to fill you in on Tony the line cook. “Yeah Tony’s hot, but he chain smokes like a chimney and doesn’t care at all when I ask him to keep his second hand smoke to himself on the days I have a performance!,” he shouted pointedly at Tony, who only looked up long enough to give Reggie the finger and wink at you. Tony was a muscular Italian guy in his forties with tattoos of a sort that didn’t quite match up with the gold chain and cross pendant hanging around his neck. When your eyes went wide at the wink, Reggie giggled a bit and leaned toward you. “Don’t worry, Tony’s a little sleazy but harmless. He’ll hit on anything in a skirt, but as soon as you tell him you aren’t interested he’ll back off and won’t bring it up again. He’s a good guy, but don’t tell him I said that.”

Over the course of your shift you discovered that Diane’s been at Henrietta’s for fifteen years, Reggie is a drag queen and lounge singer by the name of Wizz Tiria at a few different clubs around town, and Tony has a few other business ventures he mentions on and off (the details of which he keeps to himself), but never misses taking his Mom to church on Sundays. You share a good bit about yourself as well in exchange — what brought you to Austin, why now, and where you may go from here. It doesn’t take long for you to make yourself at home among this eclectic little bunch, and for the first time in a really, really long time, you’re content with the peaceful monotony of these early winter days.

_______________________________________________

It’s a brisk February morning when you walk into the diner for your shift. You’ve spent the last month working in the cozy little greasy spoon, so you’re still getting to know the regulars, but you’ve caught on pretty quick. You’ve been working the Tuesday, Thursday, and weekend shifts, but when Diane loses another server, you’re eager to pick up the slack — extra pocket change and keep your mind busy. The company’s pretty good too. Thus, you find yourself walking into the diner at 7 AM on a Wednesday morning with a hoodie over your t-shirt and a scarf to ward off more of the wind cutting into your cheeks. You head to the staff room to remove your hoodie and don your apron and emerge, finding the diner a bit colder than it had been up to this point. You’d kept a light jacket or a cardigan on you previously, but today’s need for something heavier led you to selecting a favorite hoodie to throw over your work t-shirt — which you didn’t quite think through until you came into the dining room and felt a chil run up your spine. Diane catches sight of you before you can still yourself.

“Sweetie, what on earth fo you think you’re doing?,” she asks like you’ve done something obviously egregious.

“Huh? What is it?,” you ask innocently, but you know the answer. She can probably see the goosebumps you feel rising on your arms.

“You need somethin’ on under that, you’re gonna freeze in here today!,” she chastises.

“Yeah, I brought my hoodie, but forgot I’d be taking it off. It’s not so bad in here, I’ll be alright,’ you tell her reassuringly.

“Absolutely not. Wait, hold on a second - REGGIE! We got any more o’ those long sleeve souvenir shirts in the case?!” she hollers after him.

“Hold awn!,” he hollers back, Southern twang taking center stage when he yells, just like the rest of them. After a few seconds he emerges with a few in hand. “Got a few left. Ugly as hell, probably why they’re still here. Watcha need ‘em for?”

“Sweetie, go on and change into that before the rush starts. Not the staff shirt, but the branding’ll be fine in case Jason drops by,” she says, rolling her eyes. She pats you on the shoulder, nudging you toward Reggie to take one of the shirts. They’re bright green with a gaudy design on them that makes you laugh when he hands it to you. Jason’s the owner of Henrietta’s, and so you’ve heard, the bane of Diane’s existence. You’ve only heard tale of this rotten Jason thus far, never quite laying eyes on the mythical beast. You really hope today in this goofy shirt isn’t the day you do.

You return to the dining room a few minutes later clad in the neon green monstrosity, tugging at it in a futile effort to make it look better. “Happy now, Diane?!,” you holler as you enter, only to find her standing directly in front of you at the hostess stand, face to face with a man you’d never seen in here before — who you almost run right into, not looking where you’re going. He’s tall and broad with dark brown curls laced with grey streaks, and gray patches in the short beard that frames his jaw. He catches you when you nearly bump right into him, and you look up to meet the deepest brown eyes you’ve ever encountered. Your cheeks go red when you realize what you’ve done.

“Whoa there,” he says, smiling down at you as you stutter out an apology. “It’s alright, no harm done,” he responds, voice gentle but deep. It’s true, he didn’t even budge when he caught you, and you’re fairly certain if you’d fallen, the outcome would’ve been the same.

“Sorry about that Joel. C’mon, your table’s ready,” she says, patting Joel’s arm and leading him forward, not before turning back to you and saying, “Certainly am. Now go grab some coffee for Table 7 for me, will ya sweetie?” with a smile. You’d just run almost smack into a customer, and she wasn’t upset with you or anything. You shouldn’t be surprised, that’s just Diane, but you’re used to much larger reactions to small mistakes. You just nodded and breathed a sigh of relief, but your eyes are drawn once again to the man she’s leading away. He’s looking back at you with a smile that sends a shiver down your spine, one you’re certain has nothing to do with the chill in the air this time. He’s wearing a plaid button-down and a utility jacket, with cheeks and a nose tinged pink from the cold. You tear your eyes away anxiously and head for the coffee pot.

You’ve got your hand around the decaf pot, pouring another cup for the regular at the bar counter, when your eyes find Table 7, your next destination. You see the man, Joel, Diane had called him, with his back to you, facing out the window, newspaper in hand. You steel yourself once again, switch coffee pots, and head for his table.

You approach from the side, hoping not to spook him as he’s engrossed in the paper he has in hand. Christ, when was the last time you saw a physical newspaper? It’s kinda cute, you think, seeing someone reading one on a cold morning with a cup of coffee. So picturesque. Especially someone as handsome as he is, and you find yourself staring at his broad shoulders and dark curls again before he looks up from his reading.

“Hey,” you start, a little shaky, “sorry again, about before. Don’t know what I was doing, not looking where I was going,” you smile a little, shaking your head at your mishap.

“Really, it’s fine. You seemed, uh, preoccupied,” he says, looking down at the offending design on the tshirt you’re wearing, before looking back up at you. “It’s certainly a change from the regular uniform, huh?” he says, smiling at you. The way his eyes crinkle as he does plants a warmth in your chest you aren’t expecting. It’s been so long since you felt it, it’s almost unfamiliar. Your cheeks warm as you smile back at him, hoping it comes off as embarrassment from your wardrobe rather than bashful attraction. You’re about to tell him it’s certainly not a permanent solution, when he speaks again. “So, Sweetie, huh? Haven’t seen you around before — that what they call you in here?” he questions, smirk playing at his lips.

You laugh in response and introduce yourself, and tell him this isn’t your normal shift, but you’ll probably be around for it moving forward. You take his breakfast order, and tell him you’ll let him get back to his paper.

You don’t converse much more when you bring Joel his breakfast, just quiet thanks when you refill his coffee cup. He looks so peaceful, you almost hate to interrupt each time. You ask Reggie about him when you both have a minute behind the counter.

“Yep, that’s Joel. Gorgeous, isn’t he? Started coming in a few months back with an older lady, then more regularly by himself. She’s with him once in a while, kinda seems like a mom vibe, but she doesn’t look like him. Anyway, I think he works construction or something, always coming in with those boots on looking like a lumberjack,” Reggie says flippantly. “Heard from the older lady one day when he was in the bathroom — his daughter went to college back in the fall, they’ve been trying to get him out ever since,” he said, looking sympathetic at the thought.

You feel your heart do a little squeeze at this newfound tidbit. A fresh empty nester. You know how hard it’s been for Diane, so much she’s taken to parenting the staff in her daughter’s stead. Staring at Joel’s back as his head is bowed reading the paper, you begin wondering more and more about him. His daughter’s probably around eighteen, so how old is he? You’d guess he isn’t married, and you didn’t see a ring. Who is he? Why does he come here to read his paper each day? And most importantly — how soon can you find out the answers to these questions? You don’t want to ambush him at all and scare him off, but you’re drawn to him, and so very curious.

Meanwhile, Joel is stealing glances at your reflection in the diner window in front of him, watching you laugh with Reggie and the customers at the bar, smiling sweetly when someone makes a request of you. He needs to get out of there before he starts feeling creepy, he thinks. He rises and walks to the counter to settle his bill with Reggie at the cash register, glancing at you when he does so, futilely trying to balance showing interest and being weird. He leaves a nice tip in the jar for all of you to share, but just before he turns to go, he looks back at you, locking eyes.

“Oh uh, Sweetie?,” he says, smirk on his face. He looks almost bashful when he speaks next, like he’s working up the courage. “Glad you’re picking up. Look forward to seein’ you again,” he smiles. The look on his face when he says it is so sincere, you could melt on the spot. He was nervous about his joke, you could tell, but recovered when you laughed in reply.

“Looking forward to it too, Joel. Enjoy your day,” you say, smiling wide in return. He gives a little wave to everyone before grinnig down at his shoes and walking out of the diner into the crisp February air. Your eyes follow him out to the pick-up he hops into, before looking back over to Reggie and Tony, staring at you devilishly.

“And I’m looking forward to seeing this story unravel,” says Reggie, looking over at Tony and grinning, like something juicy has just unfolded before their eyes. The two are laughing while you smile and wave them off, wiping down the counter. Diane emerges from the office at the sound of their hearty laughter, reading glasses slipping down her nose, notepad in hand, and stares back at the three of you.

“What’d I miss?!,” she asks. You’re smiling too much to respond with anything genuine, so you return to your wiping, and let Reggie take the lead.

163 notes · View notes

doyoulikethissong-poll · 1 year ago

Text

Blur - Coffee & TV 1999

"Coffee & TV" was written by Blur's guitarist, Graham Coxon, who also sang lead vocals rather than frontman Damon Albarn (whom later started another little band; the Gorillaz). Coxon wrote the song about his struggle from alcoholism, and how after giving up drinking he would unwind by watching television over a cup of coffee instead and writing songs. This experience also contributed to his first solo album, The Sky Is Too High. "Coffee & TV" reached #11 in the United Kingdom and #26 in Ireland. It was a major hit in Iceland, where it peaked at #2. The song's musical style is an anomaly in comparison with the rest of 13, appearing similar to Blur's earlier, Britpop days. The single edit of the song also appeared on Blur's Best Of compilation, released in 2000, and featured on the Cruel Intentions soundtrack.

The super-cute music video featured a sentient milk carton known as "Milky" searching for Coxon, who appeared as a missing person's face on its side. The video won several awards in 1999 and 2000 including Best Video at the NME Awards and the MTV Europe Awards. In 2002, the video was ranked the fourth best video of all time by VH1. In 2005, it was voted the 17th greatest pop video of all time in a poll by Channel 4. In 2006, Stylus Magazine ranked it No. 32 in their list of the Top 100 Music Videos of All Time. In a similar poll, NME ranked it the 20th greatest music video of all time. The model of Milky, as used in the video, was sold at an auction of Blur memorabilia in 1999. When Blur played at the London 2012 Olympics Closing Concert Celebration at Hyde Park, fans who bought a Blur T-shirt on the day were given a free replica milk carton of Milky. The video is seen on Season 3, Episode 11 of The Sopranos in which Anthony Jr is watching the music video on MTV. Some tumblrinas might recognize Milky as gifs from an ancient tumblr post. "Coffee & TV" received a total of 55,9% yes votes.

youtube

#finished #blur #damon albarn #90s #english #o4 #o24 #lo3

1K notes · View notes

leighsartworks216 · 5 months ago

Text

The Raven

Sylus x gn!Reader (more fem coded)

Can be read as a prequel to Lap Dog or as a standalone. (There are inconsistencies when read as a prequel.)

I love them, your honor. I just love the idea of Sylus with a badass partner that he knows can take care of themself. I spent all morning doing nothing but writing this and now my head hurts ;-; worth it

Warnings: violence, injury, implied/reference torture, selectively mute reader, flirting, drinking, alcohol

Word Count: 3,569

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

First Meeting:

A name in whispers spreads around auctions and black market galas. The hush is a silent, fearful reverie for the one who owns it. A prayer to their godhood. It crops up more and more, stoking the flames of curiosity.

The Raven.

Sylus has spent hours trying to dig up scraps of information about this fascinating newcomer, a testament to their ability to stay secret. Usually, he can have everything there is to know about a person in a few minutes or less, down to the second they were born and their favorite places to frequent. It was easy, child’s play. So to come up with mere scraps of speculative guesses at best, it draws him in deeper. The only thing he can find for certain is the protocore purchased by them almost three months ago.

He has an invitation for the next auction before it even becomes announced to other interested parties.

The products on display are boring. He glances at each one, but there’s nothing interesting about them at all. Instead, his attention is focused on the potential buyers who browse each selection like they’re in search of a fine wine. Most of them linger for a second or two, then walk to the next. Others place starting bids. But one person does neither. They stand in front of a red protocore, staring it down like they’re dedicated to studying its every intricacy.

It’s the same kind of protocore the Raven purchased months ago.

He flags down a bid assistant. “Ten million on the red protocore,” he says.

The assistant looks down at her datapad. “I’m sorry, sir. The highest bid on it currently stands at 12 million.”

He smirks. “Double it.”

“Right away, sir.”

He watches the stranger from afar. The assistant nearby cautiously walks to their side. They don’t look up or react at all as he speaks to them. The assistant stops speaking. Sylus holds his breath.

Play the game, won’t you? he thinks.

The stranger’s hand gestures for the datapad. The assistant hands it over. They study the screen, before slowly turning, scanning the crowd. Their eyes land firmly on Sylus. He doesn’t budge or falter, doesn’t react to being “caught”.

They grin slightly as they tap at the screen, then look up. The assistant next to him clears her throat. “Excuse me, sir? The bid has gone up to 120 million.”

They raised the bid by 5 times. They are playing the game.

“Two hundred.”

They look back at the tablet. Press a couple keys and look up. The assistant by them is antsy, but politely stands to the side.

“It’s at 249 million, sir.”

He tilts his head. They smile. “Two-fifty.”

They glance at the screen and hand the tablet back to the assistant. They calmly turn around, looking at the 250 million red protocore. He passes the assistant his black card. She scans it quickly and hands it back with a bow.

He crosses the bidding floor to stand beside the stranger. “How would you like it wrapped?” he asks.

You look up at him, sly and mischievous in the red glow. You tap your earlobe.

He chuckles. “Earrings, then.” He looks at the protocore. Now that he’s up close, he can see for certain that there is nothing unique about it whatsoever. It hasn’t been altered and it’s not especially rare, not when compared to the rest. He wonders what you see in it. “And how should I have them delivered to you, Raven?”

You tilt your head, like you’re surprised to hear him know that name. But you just smile, shake your head, and walk away. He doesn’t follow. He wonders what game you’re stringing him into.

Second Meeting:

It’s not an auction he sees you in next, but a gala. You’re dressed in a rich red color, black feathers accentuating your shoulders and drawing in the eyes of other attendees. You pay none of them any mind. You stand on a mezzanine, idly sipping from a glass and watching all the little people below. You spot him first.

He grabs a glass of wine for himself as he joins you. It’s smooth and rich, if not overly floral.

You lean against the railing as he approaches, expectant. He smirks as he pulls a box from his inner coat pocket and passes it over. You set your glass on the railing to open it. Inside the black box is a pair of earrings. Golden wire cradles the protocore fragments delicately, like a hand around a throat threatening to squeeze. You smile.

“I trust they’re to your liking?”

You hold the open box out to him and he holds it in one hand. You pull out one earring and hold it up to the light of the elaborate chandelier above. It shimmers and shines. Red light glimmers on your face. You immediately slide it in place, adjusting by feel until it sits right. You take the other from the box and do the same. They make you look regal.

“Beautiful,” he compliments softly. You smile and take a sip of your drink. He closes the box and tucks it back into his pocket. “Are you here for business?”

You nod and look back down over the banister. He steps closer and joins you, looking over to try seeing what you’re searching for. It’s his fault for letting his guard down when he feels your hand pluck his phone from his pocket. You lean your back against the railing again, screen faced away from him as you type.

He chuckles at your misdirection, crossing his arms as he leans over to see what you’re doing. You’ve unlocked his phone with no issues and scroll calmly through his contacts, reading the numbers carefully as you search. “What are you looking for?” he wonders softly. You smile, but don’t look at him.

You glance over your shoulder to the ground floor, then back to the phone. You open a new message and type in a number he doesn’t recognize. He scans the words as you quickly type them out.

My partner for the evening is interested in the guns you claim to have hidden away here. Care to show them around?

“Is your trade in assassination, Raven?” he muses. You tilt your head. “Or, perhaps, information?”

You grin up at him at that. A response comes in.

Who is this?

You roll your eyes. From the way you searched his contacts earlier, you must have a multitude of numbers and names cataloged in your head; the thought of someone seemingly high profile not knowing whose phone this belongs to must bore you.

Sylus.

Oh, Mr. Sylus, of course! My sincere apologies!

Meet me in the garden. Statue of Venus. 10 minutes.

You pass the phone back over to him. “Already using my name to open doors.”

You smirk. You drain the rest of your glass and push yourself from the railing. He offers you his arm without needing to be asked. You pat his arm when you take it, as though praising him for it. You walk together to the garden, neither leading nor following. Silent equals.

Third Meeting:

He received a message a week later from an unknown number.

Deal proposal: you help me negotiate with a client and I’ll give you information on your competitors.

What information do you have that I couldn’t get anywhere else?

I have a crate of their supplies, blueprints detailing their alterations, and their sketches for their next model.

Sylus chuckles.

You must have stolen it straight from the horse’s mouth.

Deal?

He mulls it over for a minute.

Where are we meeting?

His motorcycle growls as he weaves it through the N109 Zone to the outskirts of Linkon City. His destination is an old shipyard. From a distance, he can see the worn, forgotten ships that line the docks, rusted and beyond repair. You stand at the land-end of one, staring out at the array of ships as you wait. It’s the first time he’s seen you dressed so casually.

A gun is obviously strapped to your thigh.

He pulls up and kills the engine. You don’t bother watching as he removes his helmet and leaves it on the leather seat. He steps up next to you. “Which one is she in?”

There’s no use pretending you’re still waiting for your prey to show up. You smirk. He follows you down the lineup to an abandoned ferry. Out of date cars line the hold, vintage, soon to be antiques.

You lead him up to one of the passenger floors, where plastic seats have been broken off metal bases or crumpled beyond use. There’s only one that’s occupied.

Your “client” is tied up solidly with a length of steel wire. Power tools nearby point to your methods of tightening the wire around her wrists and ankles. More wire dangles in loose curls around her body, her arms, legs, neck. A cluster of car batteries from several of the models below sits nearby with jumper cables and rubber gloves. Two rubber mats have been neatly laid out; one for him and one for you, just in case.

He chuckles darkly at the sight. The last time he witnessed your methods, they were improvised with the surrounding materials available to you - garden shears being your favored tool for the evening. While these materials have been primarily gathered from here, he can see the planning behind it, the precautions you’ve taken and measures you’ve met to ensure this transaction goes according to plan. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?”

You don’t react to his words. Your face is neutral, unresponsive. It’s like witnessing a switch being flipped.

You step around the woman, flicking the loose wire around her neck as you do.

It’s going to be a long night.

Fourth Meeting:

Masquerade tonight. Join me.

Sylus takes apart and cleans his gun carefully, ritualistically.

His phone has been silent for hours since he sent the message. He has no reason to demand your time or attention, certainly not when you seem to be actively working to retrieve intel from all over the N109 Zone and Linkon City.

He wipes the old oil and gunpowder burns off with a rag, diligently getting in between the nooks and crannies. His brow is pinched, eyes sharp with focus. He turns the piece in the light, searching for any spots of improvement. Then he reapplies fresh gun oil, massaging it into place.

His phone buzzes. He glances at it.

Incentivize me.

He chuckles. He sets the piece down among the array of parts, a puzzle he’s quite familiar with by now. In less than 10 seconds, everything has been put back together. The gun sits weightily in his hand as he flips it around, admiring his work.

He sets it aside like a toy he’s grown tired of and picks up his phone.

I have a deal I want to propose. In person.

You’ve got my interest, but that’s not enough incentive for me to join you. What else will you offer, aside from the deal?

Dinner, and another item of jewelry to match the earrings.

A few minutes pass. He reaches for another gun to take apart and maintain.

I’ll see you there.

His mask is perfectly tailored to his face, formed and decorated to resemble a crow. The inky black feathers contrast with his white hair and suit. Wearing white is certainly a branch out from his usual tastes, but it prevents the ensemble from being drowned out.

He scans the crowd of people with a discerning eye. With no idea what outfit or mask you’ll choose to disguise yourself in tonight, he scans everyone with a similar build to you in search of that dangerous aura you exude. He doesn’t have to look hard, when someone enters and everyone gives them a wide berth.

You wear the protocore earrings he gifted you before to match the intricate white and red ensemble you wear. Your mask is also red and gold, white raven feathers fanning out like a crown upon your head. People awe at you as you seamlessly glide into the party proper. He watches as you look around, searching for him amongst the sea of paper faces.

Sylus crosses the marble floor to you. “I don’t think you needed the incentive,” he teases. You look up at him and a secret smile, tilting your head coyly to ask what he means. “It takes longer than a few hours to have an entire outfit tailored.”

Your grin widens. He hit the nail right on the head. You were planning to come all along, but you managed to squeeze a free dinner out of him. He looked forward to it. But for now, he offers his hand and leads you to a quieter area of the party. It’s you who pulls him onto a balcony, shutting the french doors behind you both. You lean against the railing once more, not letting go of his hand until he’s standing in front of you.

He gets a sense of deja vu as he pulls another jewelry box from his coat pocket. The box is thin and narrow. He holds it while you open the lid.

Inside, resting delicately on red velvet, is a black choker. The centerpiece is a red protocore, just as the one used for your earrings. Golden feathers circle the red jewel. You smile and pull out a box as well.

He searches your face for answers he won’t find as he opens the lid with one hand. Inside the small box is a set of studded earrings. Red protocore jewels gleam back at him, held in place with gold detailing. He smiles.

You turn around, glancing at him expectantly over your shoulder. He takes the choker from the box and nimbly lays it across your neck, clasping it in the back. When you turn back around, it rests beautifully against the hollow of your throat. His eyes linger for a moment longer as he takes in the sight.

You tap his chin and his eyes are drawn to yours once more, framed in your fierce raven mask. You grab the collar of his shirt and gently pull him down to your height. Your fingers on his chin turn his face to the side.

He listens to your soft breathing as you gently place one stud into the lobe of his ear. He wonders how long you’ve known that his ears were pierced. He doesn’t frequently wear earrings.

You turn his head again. Your fingers are precise, the sign of a professional. He shoots you a look when you playfully blow against his ear. You smile. Once you’ve finished, he stands back up to his full height.

“You look radiant,” he tells you, voice hushed, like this is a secret only you can know. You touch his chest, conveying the same message to him as you feel the silky fabric. “Would you care to dance with me?”

Your brow furrows slightly as you tilt your head, questioning him. He chuckles.

“Don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten about my proposal.” He takes the box from your hand, setting both on the railing. “You can dance and talk business, can’t you?”

You stare at his offered hand for a moment. Then, you take it. He leads you back inside and toward the ballroom, where dozens of guests have taken up partners and move as a unit through a waltz. He leads you toward the center, within a gap. Less prying ears on his business this way.

You rest your hand on his shoulder. His finds your waist easily. He leads you through the dance. You’re only a few steps in when he ducks his head to whisper in your ear.

“Now, for my offer…” He pulls you in closer, keeping you from accidentally bumping into someone as an intoxicated pair stumbles. “Work with me. The information you’ve been interested in revolves around protocores, correct?”

You glance at him.

He grins. “I have an advantage in position; I can help you find the information you seek, and the people that have it. You’ve used my name once already. Imagine how many more doors would open for you.”

You consider his offer as it stands. Your current sources can only get you so far, he’s right about that. And with Onychinus’s position as a dealer in all sorts of trades, you could find information across a wider network.

“Interested?” You tap on his shoulder twice. “Good. I ask for your skills and resources in return. You’ve been able to get past my competitors’ lines easier than I can. So I propose a quid pro quo: You get the information I want, and I get you the information you want. Sound fair?”

You tap him three times. You want more information.

“The deal ends whenever you want it to,” he says, as if he can read your mind. “I won’t throw you away, I promise you that. You’re more valuable to me than you realize.”

You run the offer through your head. Information for information, with an oath not to throw you under the bus. It really is an equal trade, a transaction of loyalty. You grab his collar again, leaning up to whisper into his own ear. “Deal.”

The sound sends electricity down his spine. He stands back up to his full height, both of you smiling at the agreement you’ve just made as you dance. Once the song ends, he takes your hand to lead you to dinner.

You’re almost free from the dance floor when a hand grabs you and tugs you away from Sylus.

A man dressed in a rather mundane tuxedo and mediocre animal mask holds your hips, lower than his hands should be. “Hey, darling. How about sparing a dance for me, huh?”

You pry yourself from his hands, glancing him up and down, studying him with a precision he should be terrified of. He just thinks you’re checking him out. You quickly turn to smile at Sylus. It’s sweet, reassuring, and doesn’t match the fire burning in your eyes. He lets your hand go.

You turn back to the man and hold out your hand to him, silently accepting his offer for a dance. He takes it, and your smile drops.

You grab his fingers in a death grip and push back, hard, forcing his fingers as far back as they’ll willingly go. His arm contorts oddly to compensate, straining his wrist. “Ah! What the fuck are you doing?!”

People back away from you, the man, and Sylus. The music dies on a discordant note.

He tries to grab your wrist and pull you off, but you grab his instead and pull him to the floor, never letting go of his fingers as you twist his arm behind his back. He lands on his hand and knees, gasping in pain as you push his fingers back further. The tendons begin to burn and creak, desperately trying to keep his fingers in place.

“Help! Get them off of me! They’re gonna break my fucking fingers! Do something!”

Sylus chuckles darkly at the display. Your face has remained impassive since your little trick, but your intentions are clear. “You’re making things worse for yourself,” he chides, amusement dripping from every word. He glances at the security that come rushing from the doors. In a second, all of them are wrapped up in black and red tendrils, mouths covered and arms pinned by their sides.

The man screams as a loud crack shocks through the room. The crowd murmurs. Some of them have to leave before they lose their lunch. One person faints.

“YOU CRAZY FUCKER- AHH!”

Another crack.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME, EH? MONEY, I GOT MONEY!”

A third. Few people look on with as much grim satisfaction as you and Sylus, even if you didn’t show just how much fun you were having teaching this man a lesson.

“You’ve only got two fingers left. I suggest you make them count,” Sylus chimes in.

The man’s tears stream down his face uncontrollably, saliva and snot dripping from his face onto the polished marble floor. His whole body shudders with agony. His free hand clutches at the ground helplessly, barely able to keep himself from falling face first into his own mess.

His next cry rips from his throat like a child, high pitched and desperate. You only press the next finger back threateningly. “PLEASE! I-I’M SORRY! I’M SORRY! PLEASE, STOP! PLE-EA-ASE!”

You hold the tension a second longer, before finally releasing him. He collapses, heaving as he finally bends his arm back to normal. Three of his fingers are red and swollen, hanging limply. One swells around a gold ring until it looks like it’ll pop.

You sigh as you fix your clothes, brushing invisible dust off and adjusting the fabric. You look at Sylus. He waves his hand and the security guards are released. They don’t move, too scared to get anywhere near you.

You step around the man and toward the exit. The crowd parts for you. An unconscious body is dragged by its feet out of your way for fear of upsetting you further. Sylus walks beside you and takes your hand once more in his.

“Where would you like to go for dinner?”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope

#fanfic #fanfiction #sylus #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #lads #lads x reader #lnds #lnds x reader #gn reader #x gn reader #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral reader

193 notes · View notes