#convince employer to hire you

[codewitch]

The fact of the matter is that at least in my, admittedly, highly expensive area the “middle class income” that would attain a modest home that you own, childcare, vacations, retirement savings is 400k.

People see 400k and immediately start gnashing their teeth about eating the rich but you cannot buy a home here for under 1.5 million. They just don’t exist. Childcare is 2k a month. Vacations and cars cost nothing compared to the expense of housing and childcare in a highly competitive market where many people in the major industry start out making 120k and get confused about where they stand in the world because they live with a roommate in their 4,000 dollar 2 bedroom apartment that’s the average price in their town.

And I’m not saying these people have a right to complain because truly they are doing just fine compared to most people in the country but just. Think for a moment. You have to be in the top 5% of income earners these days to afford what the top 50% had access to a few decades ago. And the stratification is less extreme in more normal markets but homes still only end up with the highest income earners in your town. It used to be anyone with a half decent job could get this but now both you and your spouse have to be senior software engineers at google.

My neighbor isn’t a doctor but she’s a neurosurgeon PA at a prestigious hospital and she owns a 750 sqft condo. I had a neighbor who was a lawyer who was renting their 2bd/1bth apartment. The classic middle class lifestyle starts at the 10% now.

Ive noticed recently that my generation has... no concept of what the various economic classes actually are anymore. I talk to my friends and they genuinely say things like "at least i can afford a middle class lifestyle with this job because i dont need a roommate for my one bedroom apartment" and its like... oughh

You guys, middle class doesnt mean "a stable enough rented roof over your head," it means "a house you bought, a nice car or two, the ability to support a family, and take days off and vacations every year with income to spare for retirement savings and rainy days." If all you have is a rented apartment without a roommate and a used car, you're lower class. That's lower class.

And i cant help but wonder if this is why you get kids on tumblr lumping in doctors and actors into their "eat the rich" rhetoric: economic amnesia has blinded you to what the class divides actually are. The real middle class lifestyle has become so unattainable within a system that relies upon its existence that theyve convinced you that those who can still reach it are the elites while your extreme couponing to afford your groceries is the new normal.

[joonie-beanie]

Doctor's Orders | [Wriothesley x Reader]

Summary: “Simply put, the Duke needs to have sexual intercourse to relieve his tension. After watching the two of you and seeing you interact on both physical and intellectual levels, I determined that you would be ideal partners for each other. So, I invited the both of you to partake in an aphrodisiac made from the herbs you gathered for me.” In which a simple tea time turns heated, and you get caught up in the consequence of Wriothesley not listening to his doctor. Content: Smut, Consensual Sex, Oral Sex, Aphrodisiacs, fem!reader Word Count: 7.9k

Sigewinne is evil.

You would have never suspected that such a tiny, cute body could contain so much malevolence. (Although, Sigewinne would personally argue that you’re confused, and that the word you’re looking for is actually benevolence. But, you digress.)

It all starts a few weeks into your employment at the Fortress of Meropide.

You’d spotted a job listing for a “personal assistant” in passing one day, and had immediately become interested thanks to the very generous salary listed on the paper. Seeing the job was located in Fontaine’s unofficial prison had, of course, caused you to have some second thoughts about applying, but at the end of the day, money is money.

Which is how you’d found yourself down on the ocean floor, waiting with a few other candidates outside the Duke’s office.

You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t nervous—waiting there to meet the head honcho of the prison. That when he stepped out to call you inside for your interview—all tall and beefy and scarred—your heart didn’t nervously flutter inside your chest.

…but to your surprise, he’s actually much softer than he appears.

“So,” he says, sitting down across from you at his desk. He folds his arms and smiles at you. “Why should I hire you? ”

Having been through this process before, you had immediately rattled off your qualifications and experiences. A few of which Wriothesley had proceeded to comment on and inquire about further. But it wasn’t until he asked—

“What benefit will I receive from picking you specifically?”

And you’d responded with—

“Errand girl.”

“What?”

“I can run errands for you. I’m sure the guards can be slow, going back and forth. But if you’re my direct employer, I can do whatever you want. Drop documents off, check in on things…pick up more tea.”

—that Wriothesley finally makes up his mind.

“Hmm. Very convincing.”

The next day, you receive a letter with the terms of your employment, and your official start date.

So, since then, you’ve been working for Wriothesley. Which is actually kind of…nice.

Your job mostly consists of going back and forth between the prison and the surface, so that Wriothesley can stay in the Fortress and better monitor his domain. The autonomy the job grants you is very rewarding, and in the same breath, Wriothesley also feels rewarded by how you take care of things without him needing to ask more than once.

Safe to say, the two of you get along.

…which Sigewinne notices.

You, of course, meet Sigewinne on your first day. Wriothesley makes a point of introducing you and showing you where the nurse’s office is located, in case you get hurt, or need to drop something off.

The human-like melusine enthusiastically welcomes you, and, at first, you see her as…someone sweet, and caring. A treasure of the prison.

However, over time, your opinion of her slowly starts to change.

Because she keeps looking at you. Specifically, whenever you’re standing next to Wriothesley.

“Why is she doing that?” you ask him one day, nudging him gently with your elbow. He immediately looks up from his meal, over to where Sigewinne is waiting in the lunch line, her pink eyes boring into you.

“She’s probably just double checking that you’re healthy,” Wriothesley responds, paying her no mind. “I often catch her staring at me, too. You must be growing on her.”

Despite his reassuring words, you can’t help but feel a little…put off…by the look in her eyes. Like she’s plotting something.

The second weird thing you notice is when you walk into the infirmary to drop off some herbs she’d asked for, and find her drawing. At first, you assume she’s doodling, since she seems kid-like a lot of the time.

But instead, when you lean over her shoulder and look, you see that she’s writing words. A big, black “DO NOT DISTURB”...with pink hearts and a few flowers drawn around it.

“What’s that for?” you ask her, forcing a smile.

“Oh! It’s just for a project I’m working on,” she responds, swiveling in her chair to face you. She happily kicks her feet, her eyes darting to the herbs you’re carrying with you.

“Ah, are those what I asked for? Thank you!”

You hand her the small bundle of dried flowers and grasses, watching as she immediately turns and places them on her desk next to some string, and cheesecloth.

“You’re welcome,” you respond, taking a small step backwards. “If that’s all, I’ll keep working on the rest of the tasks on my list—”

“Wait,” she says, grabbing your wrist. You instantly freeze, your eyes going wide as you turn back to face her. There’s a serious look on her face.

“How do you feel about Wriothesley?”

Her question makes your heart skip—heat rising on your skin.

“What?”

She doesn’t bother elaborating or giving you context, just waits for you to respond. You cough a little, feeling awkward, and wondering what kind of answer she’s looking for.

“Well…I mean. I think he’s a good boss. He’s friendly, and devoted to his job. He runs the prison well.”

Sigewinne nods, but doesn’t comment. Just keeps…staring.

Feeling pressured, you force yourself to think of more to say.

“Um…he’s deserving of his title and the respect he garners. I…enjoy speaking with him? Like when he invites me to partake in tea breaks. I dunno…he just kinda reminds me of a big, fluffy puppy. He looks scary but he’s actually pretty…cute, y’know?”

Finally, Sigewinne smiles. She takes your hand in her tiny ones, giving it a squeeze.

“Thank you for answering my question. You can go now.”

You blink at her dumbly, but nonetheless excuse yourself from the room.

Two days later, Wriothesley invites you to his office for tea. And to your surprise, when you walk in, you find Sigewinne waiting there as well.

“Thank you for coming!” she says as you enter the room. You flash her a smile, taking a seat in one of the open chairs around the table.

“Of course!”

“Sigewinne has a tea she wants us both to try,” Wriothesley explains, a fond look in his eyes as he watches the resident nurse flit around—pouring hot water into the teacups that have been set out.

You nod.

“I see.”

“Although, I don’t know why you won’t just steep the tea in the pot,” Wriothesley complains to her, just as Sigewinne places individual tea bags in each cup. “Are we not all being served the same tea?”

She cutely huffs.

“For your information, no we are not. Your and Y/N’s tea is unique.”

“Oh?” Wriothesley leans forward to look into the teacups as the colors from the herbs begin to bleed into the water. “What’s so unique about it?”

“You’ll see,” she responds with a playful look, one that causes Wriothesley to amusedly raise his eyebrows. However, he doesn’t say anything more—simply waiting for the tea to appropriately steep.

“...are you using the herbs I brought you?”

You can’t help but notice the smell wafting from the cup in front of you is a little familiar. Sigewinne nods.

“Wow! I’m surprised you noticed.”

“Ah, so this must be the reason you wanted me to lend you Y/N for a task the other day,” Wriothesley chimes in, his icy blue eyes once again shifting to Sigewinne. 

“Do I get to know what herbs you requested Y/N to bring you, exactly?”

The resident nurse shakes her head, quietly laughing when Wriothesley sighs and deflates back into his chair. 

“It’s meant to be a surprise! I want to see what you think about the taste without knowing the ingredients.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

Folding your hands on your lap, the office descends into silence for a brief moment, the three of you intently watching the teacups in front of you. Then, Sigewinne finally claps her hands and declares—

“Okay, they’ve steeped long enough. Go ahead!”

“Finally,” Wriothesley happily mumbles, reaching forward to pick up the pristine little plate on which his cup of tea resides. He brings the cup to his nose, inhaling deeply, and then takes a tentative sip.

“Hmm…”

He frowns, his brows pinching as he tries to discern the flavors he’s tasting. 

Curiosity getting the better of you, you take a sip from your own cup—wincing as the hot liquid accidentally burns your tongue.

“So?” Sigewinne prompts, staring excitedly between the two of you.

“It’s…pleasant,” you respond, clearly not as big of a tea connoisseur as the Duke. “It has a hint of sweetness.”

“It tastes like a Rainbow Rose smells,” Wriothesley adds, taking another sip. His gaze slides to you. “Did you pick some for her?”

You shake your head.

“No, I didn’t. Or…at least I didn’t pick any fresh ones. I did go to a vendor and purchase something in a bottle that looked like crushed, pink dust.”

Sigewinne cutely laughs. 

“As expected of you, Your Grace. Yes, one of the ingredients is dried Rainbow Rose petals. Do you like it?”

Wriothesley makes a pleased sound.

“I do. The taste is light, but pleasant—like Y/N said.”

“Good! I want both of you to drink up.” 

Sigewinne finally picks up her own tea, and you can’t help but notice the difference in color when compared to yours and Wriothesley’s. She really is drinking something different…but why?

“Aye aye, captain,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne laugh. You smile at the cute interaction between them, and have some more of your tea as well.

Together, the three of you engage in friendly conversation—catching up about recent topics while indulging in tea and a few different snacks that Wriothesley had pulled out for the occasion. As you drink, you can’t help but notice you feel…warm. A heat that spreads out from your stomach, and slowly creeps into your limbs.

You’ve never felt this way before but…maybe the tea is just extra hot today? 

You glance up to Wriothesley and notice that he’s a little flushed as well. Which is…reassuring? You think. Since you’re obviously not the only one affected.

“Oh! Y/N!” 

Sigewinne’s sudden call of your name draws you from your thoughts, and you look over at her. She smiles.

“I forgot to ask, but are you dating anyone?”

“Sigewinne,” Wriothesley gently scolds. He leans forward and sets his teacup on the table, the cup now empty.

His tone practically says “It’s not appropriate to ask questions like that” without actually saying it. Sigewinne pouts.

“Aww, c’mon. We’re all friends here! I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

Hearing that the melusine considers you to be a friend, you decide to grace her with an answer—ignoring the tingling of the taste buds on your tongue.

“No, I am not seeing anyone,” you inform her with a polite smile. Sigewinne nods happily at your answer, which makes your smile waver.

Is she happy you’re single?? Ouch.

“Okay, good,” she says. “I’d feel a little bad, otherwise.”

You blink in confusion at her words, watching her as she pops off her chair and heads towards the door. Wriothesley raises an eyebrow at her.

There’s sweat beading on his brow.

“Where are you going?”

“Away,” she responds. “To give you two some privacy.”

You and Wriothesley glance at each other, mirroring each other’s confusion.

Your tummy starts to ache.

“Why are you leaving us alone, exactly?”

Stopping just in front of the office doors, Sigewinne turns on her heel to face the two of you. There’s a smug grin on her face. 

“This is what happens when you don’t follow doctor’s orders.”

You frown, raising a hand to your chest, wondering why your heart is suddenly racing. 

What’s this about doctor’s orders?

You glance over at Wriothesley…only to see that he’s frozen in shock—his eyes wide with realization.

His pants feel too tight.

“Sigewinne, you did not—”

There’s an edge to his voice when he speaks, his eyes narrowing. He plants his feet on the floor and prepares to stand and confront her, but before he can blink, Sigewinne has drawn her pistol—a tranquilizing bullet hitting him square in the chest, where a little patch of skin is showing. 

He makes a noise of surprise, and quickly flops back into his chair to avoid falling on the floor—his limbs immediately going numb.

“Sigewinne!” you gasp. You’re not sure what’s going on, but the fact that she’d just shot Wriothesley is…

“It’s okay,” she says with a little sigh. “The effect will wear off in a few minutes. And…I’m sorry I scared you. Let me explain…”

She holsters her gun and smiles at you, trying to calm you down.

“As the nurse of the Fortress of Meropide, it is my duty to look after all residents, including Your Grace. And over the last few months, I’ve noticed him becoming more… irritable.”

“Sigewinne…,” Wriothesley mumbles, but the girl waves him off.

“After observing him for a while, I realized that his stress levels were getting high. And as his doctor, I recommended him a way to manage his stress, but he refused. He insisted tea was enough to soothe his nerves, but that’s simply not true. So…when you started working here, and I saw how well the two of you were getting along, I…got an idea.”

Sigewinne glances over at Wriothesley, noticing how he’s begun to shift his boots against the floor. 

Her tranquilizers won’t be in effect much longer. They never work as well on people Wriothesley’s size…

So, she decides to cut to the chase.

Reaching into her pocket, Sigewinne pulls out the DO NOT DISTURB sign you’d seen her making the other day. She holds it in front of her, and beams at you.

“Simply put, the Duke needs to have sexual intercourse to relieve his tension. After watching the two of you and seeing you interact on both physical and intellectual levels, I determined that you would be ideal partners for each other. So, I invited the both of you to partake in an aphrodisiac made from the herbs you gathered for me.”

“You…you drugged us?” you gape, completely thrown by everything she’s just told you. She immediately gets defensive, her cheeks puffing.

“I medicated you,” she corrects. “And in the end, I’m only acting as a doctor. This all could have been avoided if Your Grace had just taken care of his own needs, as I’d insisted. Since he didn’t, I could only logically assume it's because it’s his preference to have a partner, rather than going at it solo. So, if you want to blame anyone for this, please blame him.”

“Sigewinne—” 

Gripping the arms of his chair, Wriothesley breathes out a heavy sigh and begins to push himself up. You can’t help but notice his face is much redder now, and you’re not sure if it’s from embarrassment, the effects of the drugs, or both.

Seeing that Wriothesley has nearly regained his strength, Sigewinne hurries to exit his office.

“Anyway! The effects of the tea should wear off in a few hours, but only if you relieve yourselves. Otherwise, it will last much longer. So I suggest you let loose and indulge yourselves. You like each other! Enjoy this time!”

Wriothesley opens his mouth to say something, but his words catch in his throat the second Sigewinne opens his office door. He doesn’t want anyone outside of his office walls to hear him or know what’s going on.

“I’ll hang this sign on the door,” Sigewinne continues, her voice hushing. “So no one comes in while you two are…busy. Just remove it once you’re done, okay? Have fun!”

With a supportive little fist pump, Sigewinne then closes the door, leaving you and Wriothesley alone.

A few long beats of silence pass, then Wriothesley finally sighs.

"I…apologize for this. I never meant for you to get roped in."

You turn to look at him, only to find that he's standing with his back to you, his hand raising to rub at the back of his head.

You can see his muscles flexing as he does so, and you hate to admit that it causes the heat inside you to grow.

"It's…not your fault," you respond, laughing a little awkwardly. "I doubt it's easy to follow directions when your doctor tells you to jack off to rectify your hardass-ness."

Wriothesley glances at you over his shoulder.

"Have I been acting like a hardass?"

"You've been a little snippy at times," you tell him, smoothing your sweaty palms down your legs. Seriously, your clothes are starting to make you feel claustrophobic…

"Not to me, specifically. But I've noticed it towards some of the prison residents."

"Shit," he sighs, rubbing his temples. You continue to watch him, your eyes wandering the expanse of his back. For a second, you don't understand why he won't face you. Then it clicks.

"...are you…hard? Is that why you're not turning around?"

"It's…pretty bad," Wriothesley admits, his shoulder sagging in defeat. "I don't know what all was in that tea but…as an aphrodisiac, it's doing its job."

"Yeah…," you agree, swallowing heavily. You can feel wet arousal pooling on the fabric of your panties. His office has also started to feel like a sauna, but you're not sure if it's the air that's hot, or your body.

However, you're still not willing to breach the topic of "relief" with him. You haven't reached that level of desperation…yet .

So, you think of something else to carry the conversation in the meantime.

"So…Sigewinne said you like me?"

"Ah, you caught that."

He laughs a little, and begins pacing around the room, still careful to keep his back to you. You can't help but notice his stride is a little…impeded.

"If I'm being frank—yes, I do. You've been…a pleasure to have around, since I hired you. Actually, one of the reasons I picked you in the first place was because of how you acted during your interview. Most people are scared of me and therefore talk cautiously. You're certainly respectful, of course, but…you're a bit playful, as well. And I found that quality to be attractive."

"Ah, so I charmed you," you respond playfully. "Remind me to add that point to my resume later. "Managed to woo the Lord of the Fortress of Meropide". That sounds pretty good—"

"And there you go again," Wriothesley laughs. He steps behind the chair he'd been sitting in previously, and then finally turns to face you—the back of the chair tall enough that his lower half is out of sight. 

"Although, if I recall her words correctly, Sigewinne stated that we "like each other". So, is there something you'd like to say as well?"

Your eyes go wide, and you feel more blood rush into your head. Wriothesley smiles, wide enough to show teeth. 

"C’mon now. It's not fair that I praise you and get nothing in return."

You pout.

"To be fair, I didn't know why Sigewinne suddenly asked me what I thought of you…"

"That’s understandable, but still. I'd like to know what you told her."

Wriothesley maintains his playful demeanor, despite the way his knuckles begin to turn white at his sides—a deep-seated need slowly sinking its claws into him.

You sigh.

"I just…told her that you're a good boss, and are deserving of your titles and the respect you garner…"

You trail off, suddenly remembering the last thing you'd told Sigewinne during that conversation. Wriothesley clearly notices there's something you're leaving out, one of his eyebrows raising.

"And?"

You take a deep breath.

"That you're a cute puppy."

He blinks in shock.

"...excuse me?"

Oh god, you wanna phase through the floor.

"I said that even though you look scary, you're really just like a big…cute…puppy."

For a moment, Wriothesley can only stare at you. Then, he throws his head back and laughs. 

Embarrassed, you plant your palms on your thighs and push to your feet, instinctively wanting to run away…only to realize that your legs have gone weak. 

With a distraught noise, you flop back into your chair. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Wriothesley notices.

He coughs, pulling himself back together.

"Well, I've certainly never heard myself described in such a way before. I can't say I totally hate it, but I'm not sure if I agree with the term "puppy"."

You force an awkward laugh, finally losing steam as the arousal inside you begins to cloud your thoughts. Sigewinne obviously wasn't messing around when making her aphrodisiac…you've never felt so horny before that it has literally hindered your mental and physical faculties.

The office is silent for a few tense moments, but finally, Wriothesley heaves a heavy sigh. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his shoulders slumping as he hangs his head.

"You may revoke your good opinion of me, considering how inappropriate it is for a boss to even consider such a thing, but…I think my dick is gonna explode soon, so I'll just come out and ask."

You swallow, anticipating his next words.

"Would you be…interested in having sex?"

Your body shivers in excitement at the idea, the lustful part of your brain screaming at you to jump him already.

"I…would," you admit, managing to keep it together. Wriothesley's entire body jolts impatiently at your words, but he’s able to keep himself grounded. 

"I don't think I'll be able to survive…this without some relief. And…I trust you. So…"

"So we're in agreement," Wrioslethely supplies, waiting for your confirmation. You nod your head. 

"We are."

In the next beat, he's is crossing the space between you, a "thank god" barely making it past his lips before he crashes them into yours.

Immediately, you’re groaning into him—your arms wrapping around his neck and his hands finding the backs of your thighs. He lifts you from your chair easily—your chests pressing together as he holds you close.

You’ve always been acutely aware of how large Wriothesley is, but you don’t think it fully sinks in until now—as he manhandles you with ease, quite literally carrying you with one arm as the other sneaks beneath your shirt and tugs it over your head.

You’re forced to break the kiss as he does so, but the second the fabric has been discarded, you’re tangling your fingers in his hair and dragging him in for another. 

Your action evokes a pleased little rumble inside his chest.

“You taste sweet,” he mumbles, his palm roaming over the exposed skin of your back. The warmth of his skin against yours makes you ache.

“It’s probably the aphrodisiac,” you reply breathlessly, a shiver raking your spine when you feel his fingers toy at the waistband of your pants.

“Hmm, shall we posit your theory?”

Before you can even think to ask what he means, the room is spinning—too many things happening at once. However, it’s nearly impossible to miss the feel of your pants being shucked down your legs.

When everything settles, you find that you’re no longer chest to chest with Wriothesley, but rather, face to dick.

“Wh—”

Your cheeks heat up as you finally digest the position he’s put you in—your ass in his face, and his crotch in yours—his body now firmly planted in a chair as he spreads his thighs and makes himself comfortable.

“Wriothesley!” you say in shock, your palms gripping his legs for support as you attempt to turn and face him. However, you quickly realize with the position he has chosen, you’re fairly helpless to do anything—completely at his mercy as he locks his arms around your legs and grips your ass in his hands.

“Hm?” he responds nonchalantly, one of his fingers slipping under the edge of your panties. You shift a little, trying to glare at him, but only succeed in having his clothed dick poke you in the cheek. He tenses at the sensation, and you feel his cock strain helplessly against the fabric of his pants—begging for more friction.

“I’m just testing your theory, like I said,” he continues, a surprised mewl tearing from your throat as he leans his head forward and nuzzles his nose in the damp fabric of your panties.

“If you think it’s the aphrodisiac making you sweet, let’s see if it’s also having that effect elsewhere—”

Before you can protest, Wriothesley is tugging the crotch of your underwear aside—his tongue licking a hot, languid strip between your folds. You gasp at the feeling, your nails digging into his thighs through the layer of clothes that he wears.

Above you, the Duke makes a pleased sound, repeating his previous action—noting the way your body writhes against his hold. His fingers grip your ass tighter, his brows furrowing as he presses his tongue inside your entrance—your arousal quickly coating his taste buds.

“Yep,” he mutters after a moment, his voice tight and his throat bobbing as he harshly swallows. “You taste…addicting.”

His words have your cunt squeezing around nothing, although he quickly dives back in and rectifies that problem—stretching your walls out around his tongue. 

“Fuck…,” you pant, your head dropping as your strength wanes. Your muscles progressively start to feel like jelly, thanks to his ministrations. Especially, when he moves his mouth to your clit and begins rolling his tongue around it—a whine escaping you as the desire inside of you sears white hot.

And yet, despite the way Wriothesley presses on—groaning into your pussy as he eats you out—you’d be remiss to forget about the fact that he’s currently affected by the aphrodisiac as well, and has his own needs that need to be taken care of.

So, gathering what strength you have, you manage to push yourself up onto your forearms—your hands moving to the waistband of his pants. You frantically work open the button and zipper of his slacks, and then hook your fingers under the elastic of his underwear, tugging the band down.

…only to have his freed cock immediately spring up and smack you in the face.

Your eyes go wide, and in normal circumstances, you’d expect Wriothesley to laugh at the comedy of what has just occurred. However, too immersed in the way your cunt tastes and feels, and the way your body continues to twitch in his hold, he doesn’t even notice. And, too amazed by the sheer size of Wriothesley’s dick as you finally lean your head back and get a good look at him, you don’t bother saying anything.

No, instead you simply part your lips and take the head of his cock into your mouth—sucking lightly, your tongue teasing at his slit. The groan that’s immediately torn from his throat is involuntary—the sound becoming muffled by your pussy as he momentarily stops to savor the feeling of your mouth on his dick—your tongue flattening on the underside of his shaft as you slowly take more of him into your mouth.

Then, he goes back to eating you out with renewed fervor—your eyes nearly rolling back into your skull when he sucks at your clit.

The room quickly fills with the sound of sloppy and messy oral, your head bobbing up and down Wriothesley’s cock. Saliva drips down his length, his pre-cum smearing against your tongue, and you can’t help but moan.

Everything feels so good—from Wriothesley’s tongue on your cunt, to the way his cock fills up your mouth…

“Fuck,” Wriothesley growls. His fingers move to pull at the folds of your pussy, spreading you open wider. You can feel his hot breath on your skin as he moves his mouth back to your clit, where he then stays—his tongue flicking rhythmically against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

The pace and motion he settles on is one that you know will very quickly damn you, and he figures this out as well based on the way your thighs begin to shake in his grasp. Your body attempts to jolt away from him—trying to escape the onslaught of pleasure he intends to give—but he leaves no wiggle room. He holds you tighter, enjoying the feeling of your mouth on his cock, and how your efforts slowly start to crumble along with your sanity.

“I…,” you mumble the word around dick, trying to warn him of the orgasm you can feel quickly approaching. Your entire body swims with arousal, your head feeling light. 

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he pants. “Let’s cum together.”

You feel his cock throb against your tongue, and, dutifully, you do your best to continue sucking him off—your lips once again suctioning around his shaft. Your actions immediately evoke a pleased groan from the Duke, and you feel his thighs tense in your grasp—his own orgasm quickly approaching.

However, despite your best efforts to continue, everything falls apart the second your climax finally crests.

With a cry, you come undone—your body writhing in his hold. You go brainless almost immediately, the strength in your arms wavering, and Wriothesley’s cock stuffing into your cheek—your hot breath fanning over his length.

Luckily, the vulgarity of the entire situation is enough to push Wriothesley over the finish line—his dick painting the inside of your mouth with his cum. And to his surprise, once he’s spent, you actually pull your head back, close your lips, and swallow.

Shit, he thinks. 

His dick is just starting to soften, and yet somehow, it’s also already getting hard again.

There’s a few beats of quiet that are filled only with the sound of you and Wriothesley panting. Then, once he’s caught his breath, he says—

“Let’s get you right side up.”

—and the world spins again.

Honestly, the fact that he can manhandle you this easily is criminal.

“You okay?” he asks, sitting you on one of his thighs. He brushes a few stray hairs from your face, staring at you with a hint of concern.

You nod your head, grateful that the carnal desire you’ve been afflicted with is clearly less, now that you and Wriothesley have both gotten off. But…even despite that, you still feel hot and tingly. Like you want more.

You glance down at his lap.

“Mmm. Seems like you’re in the same predicament as me.”

“Think you can handle another round?” he asks. You meet his eyes, playfully raising your eyebrows.

“I’m almost tempted to say no, and see what you do.”

Wriothesley rolls his eyes, his hands grabbing your waist, and in the next moment, you find yourself slung over his shoulder.

“Hey—!” you protest, attempting to look at him, but he only caresses your ass with his free hand.

“If you have that much spunk left in you, you can handle another round,” he says, carrying you down the nearby staircase, to the floor below his office. “But, I’ll be kind this time and make you more comfortable.”

His boots echo against the metal floor as he walks, and for a second, you wonder where exactly he’s taking you. But, soon after, Wriothesley pushes through a nearby door, and you find yourself in a moderately sized bedroom.

It must be his, you realize, feeling a little silly that you’d never pondered before now where the Master of the prison actually sleeps.

“Here we are.”

Wriothesley gently deposits you onto his bed, and then immediately reaches for his tie. You watch him with bated breath, your heart doing a tiny flip as you realize that he’s finally stripping out of his clothes. He opts to leave on the leather belts encircling his arms and neck, instead focusing the bulk of his time on shedding his suit, and undoing the many buckles on his boots. 

By the time he’s finished—his erect cock once again sitting heavy between his legs—you’re practically drooling at the sight of him.

His lips twitch into a little smile.

“I’m happy to know that you like what you see. However, in the time I spent undressing myself, you couldn’t be bothered to remove what little clothing you have left? C’mon now, are you waiting for me to wrestle you out of them?”

Still feeling cheeky, you flash him a grin.

“Hm, I’d like to see you try.”

Wriothesley immediately cocks an eyebrow, his eyes glinting at the challenge you’ve just issued, and your attitude wavers, realizing what it is you’ve done. You open your mouth to say you’re only teasing—your hands already raising behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra—but it’s too late.

In one swift motion, Wriothesley grabs your ankle and twists you onto your stomach—his weight settling above you as he kneels onto the bed. You shiver when his knuckles brush against your skin—his fingers swiftly undoing your bra.

“You’re just a little brat, aren’t you…” 

He speaks the words fondly, with a hint of amusement, and yet, they still go straight to your cunt. 

“Don’t say things like that,” you respond, instinctively raising your hips when Wriothesley hooks his fingers on your underwear and begins tugging them down your thighs. He stares intently at your backside as he does so, an idea popping into his mind.

“Why? Because you like it too much?”

He discards your panties on the floor along with the rest of the clothes you’d both shed, and then grabs your knees, forcing you to spread your legs, so he can properly settle between them. 

Another blush rises on your face at his words, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. At your lack of response, Wriothesely continues.

“In my understanding, brats tend to like it a little rougher, so…” 

His hands ghost up your thighs, to your hips, and he grips you tightly—forcing your lower half off the bed until you’re propped up on your knees—his cock sitting heavy against your ass.

“...what say we continue like this, hm?”

Bracing yourself on your forearms, you turn your head back to look at him—your body tensing as you watch him fist his cock and drag it downward, between the lips of your pussy. 

His icy eyes catch yours.

“Any objection?”

“...no,” you mumble, your fingers anticipatedly fisting in the sheets. 

Wriothesley nods—

“Good.”

—and then presses the head of his cock inside you.

Immediately, you drop your forehead against the mattress—willing your body to relax for him as he slowly inches inside of you.

His tongue had certainly been enjoyable, but this? Fuck. Nothing compares to the sensation of him slowly stuffing you inch by inch—the girth of his cock positively delicious as he forces your cunt to stretch to accommodate him.

It’s so much that by the time he’s fully seated inside of you, your body is shaking—your breath coming out in quick, desperately little pants.

Seeing your reaction, Wriothesely soothes a hand up your spine, his warm palm settling between your shoulder blades. He decides to start slow—to give you a little more time to adjust to him. 

And honestly, he’d love to take his time in general—to really savor the sight of you beneath him, your cunt swallowing his cock so perfectly, but alas. The effects of the aphrodisiac make him impatient with need, and it’s not long before he’s moving faster—little gasps and whines finding their way past your lips as he begins fucking you back onto his cock.

“Ahh…seriously you’re…so fucking tight,” he curses. His fingers dig into the plush of your hip—his jaw clenching, and his racing heart pumping lust through his veins.

Your cunt clamping on his dick seriously might be his personal slice of heaven.

“Wrio, I—,” you can’t even get the words out, your brain short-circuiting. You can’t think straight anymore—not with his cock rubbing you in all the right spots, making a mess of your insides, and quickly rocketing you towards another—

Wait, no, it’s only been a minute—!

“Fuck! ” 

You choke the word out, your spine curving and your knuckles turning white as your second orgasm of the night is unexpectedly forced out of you—your pussy spasming around Wriothesley’s dick.

The last of your strength officially drained, you collapse forward onto the mattress, your cheek smushing into the covers.

…however, Wriothesley doesn’t allow your lower half to fall along with the rest of you—his hold on your hips keeping your twitching pussy firmly planted on his still-hard dick.

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart,” he reminds you, his cock continuing to languidly drag between your walls, drawing out the tail end of your pleasure.

You can’t help but whimper at his words, already feeling a bit oversensitive thanks to two consecutive orgasms. Wriothesley does his best to soothe your frayed nerves.

Leaning over you, he gently tangles his fist in your hair—coaxing your head off the mattress so he can kiss you. 

The kiss is messy, but sweet—the angle of your bodies forcing his cock deeper inside of you, his hips completely flush against your ass.

“You’re doing so good,” he tells you, peppering a trail of kisses against your cheek, and across your jaw. His praise causes you to whimper, a shiver raking up your spine when his tongue drags across your skin—his teeth nipping at the nape of your neck.

His actions successfully get you to relax—your body becoming more pliable in his grasp as he once again begins to move. And soon enough, the wet sound of sex fills his bedroom once more.

Wanting to help him cum (and to feel his seed fill you), you do your best to help Wriothesley along—purposefully flexing the walls of your pussy as he fucks you. However, in doing so, you accidentally start yourself down the path of yet another orgasm…

Feeling the familiar, aching pleasure beginning to build inside of you once again, you quickly stop what you’re doing. You think that a third orgasm honestly might kill you, but…it’s too late.

Wriothesley has already noticed your growing arousal, and decides that he likes it better when the two of you cum together.

So, he sneaks one of his hands between the apex of your legs, and begins rubbing at your clit.

The garbled, desperate cry that leaves your mouth immediately becomes seared in his mind for a long time to come.

“No, Wrio, I…I can’t. I—”

Your words come out jumbled, tears beading on your lash line.

Momentarily removing his hand from your clit, he once again reaches forward and grips your hair—pulling your head back so he can kiss you. His lips swallow up your worries.

“You can,” he insists, his voice whispering in your ear, and his hot breath fanning over your skin. 

“I want you to cum with me, pretty girl. You can do it.”

You give no protest aside from a cute little whine, and that's good enough for Wriothesley.

Releasing your hair, his hand finds your clit once more.

He then proceeds to fuck you into the mattress—pursuing his orgasm with abandon. A groan leaves his mouth at the way your pussy starts clamping on his dick once again—tightening up with each pass of his fingers across your clit—your pussy slick and messy with your own arousal.

Unable to think straight, you can only hold on for dear life—clinging to his sheets like a lifeline. You can’t even process the sounds that are coming out of your own mouth—a damned, desperate symphony moans.

To Wriothesley, it all sounds like a siren's cry—beckoning him closer to the edge.

“Shit,” he pants, feeling his cock throb, and his balls tighten. The motion of his fingers on your clit quickens—your toes curling as the coil of pleasure in your tummy continues to wind—so close to snapping.

Sweat beading on his brow, Wriothesley leans forward, curling his body against yours. His teeth nip at the shell of your ear, his husky voice sending goosebumps across your skin.

“So good for me…,” he breathes, his hips smacking into your ass. His broad strokes deteriorate into needy rutting, and the sensation has you quite literally sobbing—his cock now incessantly grinding into your g-spot.

You can’t take it anymore.

Shoving your face into the mattress, you bite the sheets and scream—your entire body shaking as you cum for a third time, your cunt milking around Wriothesley’s cock.

He curses at the feeling, his face burying in your neck. Wrapping his arms around you, he hugs you to his body—fucking inside of you a few more times before finally joining you in ecstasy. 

His teeth sink into you as his orgasms peaks, a heady groan muffled against your skin as his balls empty—pumping you full of his cum.

It’s not until the intensity of his pleasure has died down that Wriothesley ultimately releases you from his hold—your lower half immediately flopping down onto the bed, and his softening cock slipping out of you.

The Duke takes a moment to simply look at you, and how fucked out you are. Your eyes bleary, skin flushed, and the imprint of his teeth engraved in your flesh.

He grunts at the sight, and settles in beside you—his arm curling around your waist as he tugs you back against him. His tongue immediately begins lapping at the bite mark he’d inflicted, attempting to soothe the sting.

After a few seconds, you begin shaking, and Wriothesley immediately pauses, scared that he’s hurt you in some way.

…only to realize that you’re laughing.

“...puppy…”

He props himself up, glancing at you.

“What?”

“You really are like a puppy,” you giggle, your finger lifting to brush a stray tear from your eye. “The way you bit me, and then immediately started licking at it in apology. So cute…”

You break into another tiny fit of laughter, and Wriothesley rolls his eyes, yet can’t help cracking a smile.

“Well, I’m glad to know I didn’t break you, at the very least.”

His hand rubs against your waist.

“...right?”

Finally getting ahold of yourself, you roll onto your back and smile at him, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek. He immediately leans into your touch, and it makes your heart flutter.

“I’m not broken, no. Just…sore. And gross. And sweaty.”

Wriothesley chuckles.

“Well, I think I can rectify some of those issues. I do have a bathroom, with a tub.”

“Wow,” you respond, watching him as he scoots to the edge of the mattress and gets to his feet. He waits a second for you to join him, but you don’t move.

“My…limbs feel like jello,” you admit, raising your arm and flopping it back down bonelessly for emphasis. Wriothesley rolls his eyes, but nonetheless leans over the bed and scoops you into his arms.

You rest your cheek against his chest, admiring for the first time how soft it really is.

“Whatever shall I do with you,” he playfully sighs, carrying you into the adjacent bathroom. He sets you on the vanity, moving over to the tub and turning on the tap for the hot water. You hum.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things you can do. The first of which is helping me into the bath once it’s ready.”

Wriothesley quietly chuckles. Returning to your side, he takes your hand, and brings it to his lips.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Once the tub has filled, the Duke keeps true to his word—once again carefully cradling you in his arms as he seats himself in the tub basin, before positioning you in the space between his legs.

The steaming water immediately soothes the ache of your body, and you sigh in relief—sinking back against Wriothesley’s body. He lightly wraps one arm around your waist, the other resting on the edge of the tub.

For a few long minutes, the two of you bask in silence, simply enjoying the refreshing feel of the bath. 

…then, you start to notice something beginning to grow—pressing at your back.

“...really? Is the aphrodisiac still getting to you that much?”

“No,” he admits after a beat, leaning forward to kiss your neck. “I think this one is actually all me.”

You roll your eyes, but nonetheless crane your head to the side—allowing him access to more of your skin as his mouth begins to wander.

“I thought I made it clear that my limbs are jello right now.”

“I can work with that,” he responds, and you feel him grin. His hand slowly trails down your stomach, and between your legs.

“I’ll do all the work. You just get to make pretty sounds and feel good.”

His fingers slide between the folds of your pussy, and you jolt as he passes over your overly-sensitive clit. But seriously…how are you going to say no to him?

“What am I going to do with you?” you sigh, echoing his earlier words. His chest rumbles with laughter, and he grabs your chin with his free hand—turning your head so he can kiss you.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things.”

The next morning, you find yourself in a back in your clothes, standing beside Wriothesley just inside his office door.

“I’ll go first,” you say, to which he nods. “I have some errands to run anyway. You can wait a minute and then come out after me.”

“Sounds good.”

The two of you stare at each other for a second, before you finally square your shoulders, and reach for the door handle. 

Before you can twist it, Wriothesley catches your wrist. When you look back at him, you find that there’s a blush on his cheeks.

“So, I’ll…see you later?”

His suddenly bashful demeanor causes you to smile. Pressing onto your toes, you cup his cheeks and softly kiss him. He immediately grabs your waist—deepening the kiss.

“You’ll see me later,” you promise. 

With that, the two of you finally separate, and you disappear through his office door.

Wriothesley takes a deep breath at your departure, combing a hand through his hair as he waits for the right moment to make his own exit.

To be safe, he decides to wait a good few minutes. But finally, he opens his door—preparing to venture into the main area of the fortress, and make his normal rounds.

…however, he only makes it a step before remembering the sign Sigewinne had made.

With a sigh, he immediately backtracks and tears the DO NOT DISTURB sign off of his door, crumpling it between his palms.

When he turns back around, he nearly jumps—Sigewinne standing right in front of him.

“So,” she says, a pleased grin on her face. “How’d it go?”

Narrowing his eyes, Wriothesley only stares ahead, and walks past her. She easily follows after him.

“The fact that you’re out and about this early in the day means something likely happened between you and Y/N.”

“No comment,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne giggle. They pass by a few prisoners as Wriothesley makes a B-line for the elevator to the production zone. Once there, Sigewinne squeezes herself in along with him.

As the elevator begins to descend, only a few seconds pass in silence, before Sigewinne asks one last question.

“As your doctor, it’s my recommendation that you continue to regularly relieve your stress. So, are you going to be dutifully carrying out my orders from now on?”

Wriothesley makes a little face, glancing away from her.

“...maybe.”

Sigewinne smiles. 

That’s good enough for her.

[A Dragon's Constitution] ->

[dwaekkicidal]

hii my love, do you have any thoughts on ceo/sugar daddy dilf chan with a breeding kink and younger virgin/ bimbo secretary reader i just wanna know but i love your works sm❤️

i dont really like age gap stuff but hoh dilf ceo chan...... take this mess of my thoughts

dilf ceo!bang chan who has been a single dad for a long time. him and his ex-wife split not long after the baby was born- her having requested a hefty sum of money during the divorce. and chan, just wanting to heal his heartbreak and raise his daughter, agreed as long as she gave up 100% of legal rights of his baby girl.

dilf ceo!bang chan who doesnt bring baby Emma around as often as he used to, especially now that she can walk around in a daycare and he doesn't have anxiously watch her in a crib all day anymore.

dilf ceo!bang chan who hires you the second he sees your resume: not much experience but having all the skills he was looking for- and he definitely saw the "good with kids" and previous babysitting job(s) you had forgotten to remove from your resume for this job application

dilf ceo!bang chan who personally interviews you and hires you on the spot a few days later. despite your clumsy and rather... "inept" demeanor, you had filled all his boxes

dilf ceo!bang chan who quickly learns to find amusement in your lack of day-to-day skills considering how absolutely gifted you are at literally everything else. one of the first things he tried getting you to do as his secretary was memorize his coffee order, but that all went down the drain when a few months in you still couldnt remember it, so you continued bringing him your drink order (that he also grew to like a lot, but he was going to take that to his grave)

dilf ceo!bang chan who introduces you to Emma after 5 months of you being in the company- you knew he had a daughter from your coworkers gossiping but he hadn't brought her around since you got hired.

dilf ceo!bang chan who feels his heart tug when on DAY 1 you lift his 2 year old in the middle of the office and spin her around, making her erupt into giggles and spreading small smiles on everybody's faces- including mr big scary ceo

dilf ceo!bang chan who brings Emma to work more often after that, and eventually every day when he gets comfortable enough with trusting you with her and realizes how much you absolutely adore her, and how much she likes you

a nsfw jumble of thoughts under the cut;

its about a year into your employment, and he knows it was a bad idea to sit you down in his office to discuss your first big raise when you opted for a shorter dress on this day- one that is definitely against dress code but he wasn't going to say anything.

and one that rose up all too easily from the bouncing of the little girl in your lap to flash your bare pussy between your legs to him. he knew you wouldnt expect anything when he asked about your laundry day schedule, and the realization hits him when you say "oh! today's laundry day actually!"

dilf ceo!bang chan whose mouth waters at the sight. he's grown quite fond of you and he's too self aware to deny the little crush he's got on you- especially considering his daughter loves you at this point. so he doesnt try to fight the way his cock twitches in his slacks.

dilf ceo!bang chan who very boldly: "Are you single?" & "Oh you are! Uh... Are you free tonight perchance?"

dilf ceo!bang chan who easily convinces you that he wants to celebrate your first big milestone with the company together with you, alone and just the two of you. "It's just something I should offer, as your boss" and you blindly believe him

dilf ceo!bang chan who begs all of his closest friends to baby sit all of the sudden- promising them free food on a later date as well as free gossip material "between the group only." which was intriguing enough for all of them to fold, but more specifically Uncle Hannie and Uncle Minho

dilf ceo!bang chan who romanticizes his apartment as much as he can before you show up, lighting pretty, delicious-smelling candles around and tidying up. he's halfway through cooking when you knock, and he allows you to sit on the kitchen island and watch him in your pretty, red, tight dress. probably still no panties too. he rolls his neck and continues mixing the sauce into the noodles. and no, he doesn't let you help. he has a feeling you would find a way to injure yourself with the noodles

dilf ceo!bang chan who wines and dines you with the most expensive wine you would have ever heard of- had you even understood that it was an expensive wine in the first place. he figures you cant tell from the way you sip it like its water just to ask what "supermarket" he got it at

dilf ceo!bang chan who, not long after you finish eating, has you bent over the dining room table and crying against his expensive, silk tablecloth. but he doesnt care about that. not when your tight little cunt wraps around him so tightly- your pretty little cries only encouraging him futher.

"Pretty fuckin' pussy. You like it when I fuck you stupid on my cock? As if you're not a dumb little doll to begin with."

Then he tests the water and pulls you upright with a grip in your hair- whispering nasty shit in your ear about how he wants- no, needs to knock you up

"You play the part of a mommy so well... Maybe I should make you a real mommy, huh? Maybe have you waddle around the office with my second born in your tummy?"

he knows he's in trouble when you nod and push back against him, crying out about how deep he feels and how you think he's in your stomach

"Mmmm you like that baby? 'S my big cock tearing your insides up? I know I like it."

when he's finally close, he's giving you long, deep strokes that force your eyes almost permanently into the back of your skull. and he doesn't feel the slightest bit bad when you cum around him and beg him to "give it to you." he doesnt really think you know what you're asking him for, but he knows that he's a businessman and he knows better than to let a prime opportunity slip by.

"Yea? You want me to cum inside, baby? God, fuck- I wanna. Gotta cum so deep inside that you feel me for weeks. C'mon baby. Let's make sure it takes."

dilf ceo!bang chan who quickly and easily includes you in his everyday life, just more intimately now. he encourages you to stay over as many nights as physically possible (read: literally begs and even uses baby Emma as an bribing tactic LMFAO). he invites you to little shopping outings with Emma, and when her 3rd birthday hits he doesnt even need to ask for you to show up to the company building with a pretty pink gift bag in your hand. it's that night that he takes you on his couch and coos you to sleep after asking you to be his girlfriend- finally his pretty, stupid baby.

dilf ceo!bang chan who also quickly gets you pregnant and drops to one knee the second you both find out, asking you to marry him and officially be baby Emma's mommy, as well as his wife and soon-to-be mother of his 2nd child.

heheheheeeheheheheh i loved this idea actually thank u so much anon. i wish i had it in me to write something longer/more cohesive lol

[ittybittyfanblog]

quick fic/blurb idea i got from a prior reblog—

broke postgrad art student who ‘accidentally’ acquires a sugar daddy by some weird turn of events (?) non-sexual!! (…probably) but essentially, it’s just sylus throwing money at you as his primary love language lol

student loans? ✨ paid off in full ✨

electives/clubs you want to join but cost extra? don't worry about it baby girl, you're in. no questions.

materials/equipment/textbooks you need for a class? oh, look, everything you were stressing over just got priority FedEx’d to your doorstep literally the same day.

debating whether to eat that technically not-yet-mouldy week-old loaf of bread in the cupboard? well, you don't have to, because now you have fresh groceries delivered every three days at five PM like clockwork.

and yes, you get an allowance. daily. and the less you check how much is being sent to your account, the better. (for your sanity.)

maybe sylus buys you a condo near campus, too. after all, he can’t have you taking the metro late at night. unacceptable. not when his smart, very capable girl is dead on her feet after a late shift at that part-time job he still hasn’t convinced you to give up.

smart, capable, and so damn stubborn.

(he’ll just buy the building complex where the charming, little gift shop you work at is located. not that he'll jeopardize an innocent business, nor your employment, lest you get mad at him. ah, he'd figure it out. eventually.)

and he’s not trying to be smarmy about it. not in any way, or capacity, not at all, no. just the simple fact that he can provide for you—that he gets to be the reason you're able to chase your big girl dreams, do everything you want and more—already gets him off like crazy.

sometimes, though… you wonder if you’re taking too much advantage of your....... sponsor's....... generosity. it bothers you, more than a little bit. that he gets the short end of the stick, or what seems like.

so, uh, you try to give him... something in return.

the first booby pic you send him gets an immediate, resounding reply of just: “no.”

your initial, knee-jerk reaction is to be offended—(you sent that willingly, damn it.) if not for the fact that he's the first to like every selfie/photo you post on your socials, and comments stuff like, "gorgeous," "my sweet girl," and a frankly offensive, "prettiest flower out of the bunch," in every group photo you're in, like the kind of odd, senile relative who plays favorites.

(still.)

then, as soon as you graduate, you get hired. immediately.

and you know how, back in the day, artists had these rich ass patrons who paid for everything so they could literally just exist and create? yeah, that’s you now—after signing a non-renewable contract with a frankly ridiculous upfront deposit and a bond agreement that (upon closer inspection) basically states in the fine print that you're more or less ensured to get whatever you want... as long as you don’t work for anybody else.

but hey, job security is rough these days. you'd be stupid to turn it down. really, you're practically living the dream here.

(you just find it kinda weird that page 46 of the document looks suspiciously like a prenup agreement—wait a damn sec, what's this about marriage now–)

[astrologysaysno]

I saw this Tumblr post floating about on the world wide web and decided, "Hey, let's turn that into a Moshang AU"

Mobei is the heir of Northern Goods, a family-owned multimillion dollar company whose main stream of revenue is the sale and transfer of produce and other goods all across China. As Vice-President, he is the successor to his father, who is planning to step down within the decade or so and retire.

Mobei is a hands-on boss, actively participating in the process of harvesting and preparing to ship these products around the country and internationally, a family tradition to be as involved as possible in the process as to not forget their roots as humble farmers who resided in the desert.

That's all fine and dandy, it's why the turnover rate is so low in his company, their boss is competent in this field.

What Mobei isn't competent about is the more beaureaucratic type of business.

He has no real clue about how things such as accounting and the logistics that ensure that transportation and sale goes smoothly happen. Mobei isn't the business-suit on Wall Street type, he prefers to let his products and their quality speak for themselves.

So he hires a manager from the city to deal with it instead.

Shang Qinghua, a man who lives in the city since he was a child, gets hired by Mobei to as the Logistics Manager of Northern Goods. He snatches up the offer even if it means having to relocate to the countryside.

Plot follows, they fall in love, all that good tea.

Mobei is enamoured by this tiny (Shang Qinghua is not THAT short, Mobei is just very tall and well-built) little man that has somehow paved a way for Northern Goods to be stronger than ever.

Shang Qinghua is in love with his ever friendlier boss that actually understands the hardship and struggle of working out in the field as a farmhand, doing his best to ensure a better and more efficient environment for both the company and their workers.

Shang Qinghua one day decides to try his hand at this whole farming thing now that Mobei and him are closer, but Mobei refuses.

Shang Qinghua is a city man with a city boy constitution. He fears that such strenuous activity may actively kill the poor guy. SQH has worked at a desk and ONLY at a desk for his entire employment, filing taxes and filling forms for the company. Mobei would much rather have his man safe in the shade (hopefully entranced by his figure as he works) rather than having him sweat a river and dying of a stroke while gathering crops.

Shang Qinghua convinces Mobei to let him try anyways, stating he wanted to experience what Mobei experiences.

(If Mobei agrees and both of them use it as an excuse to spend more time with each other, that remains unsaid.)

What Mobei concludes that day is that Shang Qinghua is that the man has no upper body strength at all, but invested it all in his legs. When I tell you this man can run like the wind. Shang Qinghua would put a trackstar to shame.

After having to constantly run from one side of factories and fields to the other in order to stop someone from doing something dumb so many times, he's built up the cardio for extremely long distances without breaking too much of a sweat. He will need some melon seeds and a long nap afterwards, though.

(And if Mobei thinks about his legs every once in a while, he doesn't say a word.)

[sunnypopoki]

━ 𝐌𝐔𝐙𝐙𝐋𝐄 : P.6

(Yandere Mafia Husband x Female Reader)

SYNOPSIS: Your husband has been suspicious lately. Going out for days on end, answering suspicious phone calls, being extra clingy when he can... is he cheating on you?

ᴛᴡ: ɪɴꜱᴇᴄᴜʀᴇ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜰᴏᴜʟ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, ᴍᴀʀʀɪᴇᴅ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱʜɪᴘ, ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍᴇꜱ, ᴏᴠᴇʀᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴀꜰᴀʙ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴇᴛᴄ.

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʜᴀꜱ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴇᴀɴꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɪɴ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴍᴇᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴛɪᴄɪᴢᴇ ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇꜱ, ꜱᴏ ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴅᴏ ꜱᴏ ᴇɪᴛʜᴇʀ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴏᴘᴏᴋɪ ᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, Qᴜᴏᴛᴇᴠ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ.

Р.5 / Р.7

"Leovana Co?" you echoed, almost dumbfounded to hear the name. "Are you talking about that one billionaire company that deals with communication?"

Danny looked like a kid on Christmas. His chest swelled with pride and he held his chin high, looking down at you from the edge of his nose. You noticed the way his eyes glittered. It was the same pride he used to get each time he got a perfect score on his tests in school. His pearly white teeth gleamed when he smiled.

"Yes! As cheesy as this sounds, Leovanna is a place where dreams really do come true. When I started working there, I wasn't anything, but look at me now!"

That wasn't that convincing. From what you can see, Danny acted like a lesser version of himself compared to how he used to be. It was as if all the good stuff was zapped from his body the moment he found a decent job and started getting a good income. Money truly was a game changer and while you weren't one to judge, you couldn't help but see him in a different light when he was acting so, well, snooty.

You didn't understand why he wanted to hire you. Leovana was only founded a couple of years ago yet it rose up the ranks incredibly fast, toppling over any other competition in its path. Frontier, T-Mobile, and even Apple—this new company was devastating to their charts. Just recently they came out with a new phone that had far more data space than most other phones out there, showing off their new and improved features that to you, seemed like it was out of a movie.

It was hard to believe that artificial intelligence was getting so far out there. And Leovana was taking it by force with how far they've thrown themselves into the field.

Though, didn't he understand how suspicious it was to just give job opportunities out of the blue? Yes, you trusted him more than most people, but your gut was telling you that there was something off about the whole ordeal. You couldn't quite place it.

Kieran moved his hand from yours and placed it behind your head on your seat. He seemed to be deep in thought before asking, "I hope you're not going to drop a ball on us and tell us you're the CEO."

Danny snorted. It almost sounded mocking. "Ah, no. I work under the CEO with a team of secretaries. If (Y/N) joined us, she would be working under him too, though I would also be her supervisor."

He raised an eyebrow. Glancing over at him, you noticed the subtle tensing of his jaw. A feather of a muscle in his jaw twitched and he licked his teeth slowly, he looked back at saber. He wasn't looking at Danny as if he was a long lost friend; instead he viewed him to be a nuisance, like a steaming pile of shit on the side of the sidewalk.

It seemed you weren't the only one affected by Danny's rambling. Your stress was most likely rubbing off on Kieran too.

"So you work for the CEO? And you see him regularly?" Kieran asked unblinking. "And that gives you authority to hire whoever you want without repercussions towards the CEO, who is your boss? If it's team his of secretaries, shouldn't he have a say in who you hire?"

Danny was missing all of the social cues. He couldn't sit still, continuing to squirm in his seat, still beaming like the sun. "The CEO is a friend of mine, as well as my employer. He trusts me with hiring, plus, he's far too busy to look into every person who tries to get into such a position. He leaves that work to the people below him."

You rubbed your forehead. All of this was confusing.

Danny continued to blabber. "I mean, Kieran, if you also want to work there, I can look for—"

"No."

Danny was rendered speechless. Kieran raised an eyebrow in response. You wanted to shrivel up and hide.

"O—Oh... apologies, I thought you were interested. Since you were asking so many questions, I suppose I got a little excited."

With how many times you rubbed your face, you wouldn't be surprised if you broke out in the next couple of days because of it.

Taking a deep breath, you forced your hands back to your lap. You had a ton of questions. But where to start with all of them? You wanted to ask about what he wanted, what his goal was, why he was acting so weird, if he truly wasn't working for your father. Half of them were accusatory, but in that moment, you didn't care.

It was always best to start small and then work up to the bigger questions. "...Danny, can you tell me why you're asking me this? Like, what's your goal from all of this, because I don't understand."

He raised an eyebrow and nodded. "Well, I—"

Ring! Ring! Ring!

You paused when Kieran's phone started humming from his pocket. Danny stopped talking and recoiled when Kieran cursed. It was in Russian so the both of you had no clue what he said, but based on the foul scowl he was carrying, it wasn't good.

Of course his phone was ringing now. You couldn't read the screen from how he held the phone, but you could only guess it was another unknown number. A metallic taste formed under your tongue.

Who knows, maybe it was Sam! You wanted to gag and hurl at the thought. Anxiety was at an all new high for you now.

"Do you need to take it?" Danny asked politely, smiling softly.

"Ah... yes. Sorry my Котик, I need to take this. I'll be right back, it won't take me long." His voice was a little snippy. That phone call seemed to make his mood look ten times worse, whatever it was about, whoever it was.

It felt like a punch in the gut. Sure, his phone just HAD to ring, but he also HAD to answer a phone call? When you were stressed as fuck, stuck in an uncomfortable situation, and anxiously sick? He got up before you could protest (not that you had the guts to do so) and walked away from the table to find somewhere more private.

There was a solid lump in the center of your throat. Like a lodged rock from a creak, you felt like you were choking. The light flickered above the table. Turning back around, you let your head fall into your hands. Manners be damned!

Danny was quiet for a little bit. When he did speak, it was a much smaller voice than before.

"...Did I do something?"

"No."

It came out harsher than you intended. Aggravated for Kieran having another phone call, stressed about the situation, and dissociating from the entire planet was a lot to take at once. You did your best to focus on the table. Counting the amount of lines you could see, noting the glossy reflection of the overhead light, and the cool touch of the wood.

You wanted to go home. But now Kieran was off somewhere to talk to who-knows-who! Normally, you wouldn't be bothered being stuck with Danny, but it wasn't like he was the same guy you used to talk to in school. He was now an annoying pest. The said man took a sip of his wine and placed it down. There was a couple of seconds before he spoke again.

"Are you sure? I feel like—"

"I said no, Danny! Do you know what the word 'no' means? Use that big brain of yours and figure it out!" you snapped, turning your glare to him.

He froze. His hands fell into his lap and he pursed his lips.

You felt a tad bit of guilt when you saw his face, but you quickly pushed it down. He was the one sticking his nose where it didn't belong.

You groaned and rubbed at your forehead, swallowing the rock in your throat. The lights were bright, the smell of food was so strong it made you want to gag, and the seat was uncomfortable. The world shifted and you clenched your eyes shut. It was as if someone decided to stuff cotton inside your skull around your brain, making it a soft pillow to rest. But at the same time every detail felt blinding.

Why did you want to cry? It wasn't like you were sad. Rubbing at your eyes, you prayed for the ache behind your eyelids to go away. Danny continued to bounce his leg up and down, making you even more annoyed.

Where is Kieran?

Who is he talking to?

Is it Sam?

"Uhm, (Y/N)..." Danny started, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He was a little naïve, but he wasn't dumb enough to miss you spacing out. He tilted his head when he noticed your blank stare at the table. "Are you okay? Can I talk to you about something?"

Maybe dad was right.

Maybe I'm only meant for business.

What if dad finds me?

Will he force me back?

Danny shuffled in his seat and leaned forward, his brows furrowing ever so slightly in concern. He didn't know what to do. Kieran was the one who always knew how to help you, not him! He debated on poking you or something, but refrained from using his hands to get your attention. "(Y/N)?"

I should at least talk to him, to see what he wants.

Wait, no, that'll just be playing into what they want.

Fuck. What should I do?

Maybe I—

A soft, fragile hand touched yours. You jolted and your eyes snapped open to see Danny tenderly reaching out to you, his fingertips barely brushing your hand out of fear that you didn't want to be touched. He quickly pulled back when he gathered your attention and cleared his throat.

"Sorry. I—uh, I didn't know what to do," he cleared his throat.

"What do you want?"

It was unfair of you to take your anger out on someone who didn't know how to read your thoughts. It was your fault for expecting him too, but hey, if he was so fucking smart, maybe he could learn to read the room!

Danny shuffled in his seat and lowered his head. Danny was always a bit slow when catching up to things and stuff often went over his head, but he always managed to catch up in the end. Based on his reaction now, he finally realized you were upset and Kieran was too. Good. He finally noticed the obvious, even if it took your snapping at him for him to realize.

"Shit. Uhm—I'm sorry... if like, I upset you. I didn't mean to. I'm just," he sucked in a sharp breath, "I don't know what to say. I just... wanted to impress you guys. But I guess I went about it the wrong way."

"You think?"

Danny bit his lip. "Sorry."

He seemed to shrink in his seat and you rolled your eyes.

Danny scratched the back of his neck and glanced around the restaurant. He looked ashamed of something. You were hoping he left the conversation be, but he opened his mouth again. "If you want, I can walk you out to your car."

"I'd rather not," you muttered sourly.

"Okay... do you want—"

"It's fine."

"Why are you acting so mean?" Danny blurted, his tone not as accusatory as the question sounded. He sounded calm, albeit a little hurt and confused, but calm nonetheless. He was never the type to explode.

Your lips zipped shut.

It was easy to forget you weren't kids anymore. There was nothing holding you back from actually having a conversation. You found it easier to tell Danny what you were thinking compared to anyone else, maybe because he's known you for such a long time, or maybe it was because his parents were also pieces of shit. Even if that also meant being a complete dick to him.

It came back again, that spark of guilt. It wasn't smothered this time. Instead it was fueled by your overwhelming senses and you bit the edge of your tongue.

"I..."

"What did I do to make you act like I'm the worst human being to exist?" Danny asked, his lips pulling into a soft frown. "You're treating me like I'm gum you just stepped on."

What?! No you weren't! You were treating him the same way he treated you the entire outing. Defiance raged through your body.

"Well, the entire time you were looking down on us—"

"Really? And you knew this how?" he asked, his voice tightening. Now he was getting a little angry. He was starting to understand what you were thinking, little by little, based off the small bits of info you were giving him. "Because you assumed? You guessed?"

Just like you, he had every right to be upset, especially since you just lashed out at him after a genuine apology. You just assumed the worst. Off of what evidence? Your gut? Ha, as if that's evidence! Half the time, your gut is just your brain trying to avoid situations that make you uncomfortable. Your gut was telling you Kieran was cheating on you, your gut was telling you that you were a bad wife, your gut was telling you that you didn't deserve happiness.

What the hell did your gut know?

Danny slid out of his seat and smoothed out the wrinkles in his suit. The silence was loud. You knew you should have apologized, for snapping at him, for taking out all your frustrations on him, but you stayed silent. You smothered your guilt until it was buried underneath you.

It was fine. Everything was fine. It wasn't like you were in the wrong, he was the one who made rude comments throughout the entire time they were sitting down. Just because he apologized for his bad behavior didn't mean you had to accept it.

"Here's my card with my personal number on the back. Call me if you want to talk again, (Y/N). I'll pay for your everything up front and I hope you have a good rest of your day."

There was nothing you could say. He placed the card next to your phone and left. Just like that, he was gone, and you were stuck with by yourself. The waitress didn't come over to ask anything if she saw you slump down further into your seat. Maybe she was avoiding you because of the heavy scowl you had on your face.

You don't know how long you sat there by yourself.

All you could think about was your parents. While Kieran worried you a lot, there were some things that made your entire body turn cold. Danny mentioned that he didn't take any ideas from your father and he wasn't working for him, but when it came down to your parents, you hated knowing that they could pretty much persuade anyone if they put their mind to it.

The mention of Dominic left your throat tight. He was a mastermind, cruel, and someone you wouldn't even touch with a ten foot pole. He had to be planting seeds of information and ideas into your father's head if your father was brave enough to call one of your old friends from school.

If they want me to come back into the family again, that means they're up to something devious. There was nothing else it could be. It wasn't like your family enjoyed your presence or liked you at all, so believing they had a random change of heart was a possibility that had to be thrown out the window. Let's say even if they did, you wouldn't have forgiven them for all the things they did.

Dominic had a lot of power. Enough power to make anyone think twice, even Danny, and that alone made you anxious.

When you were younger, any interactions you had with Dominic was limited. He was your cousin but he never attended any family gatherings unless your father was also in attendance. The times he talked to you were the times he was stuck inside a room with you alone, whether it be waiting to talk to your father, or he was left unattended in the manor.

Your nails picked at your skin. What was your father thinking? He brought up an arranged marriage to Danny, but why? Was he hoping you got married to him instead? It left a bitter taste in your mouth. Danny was handsome but not husband material, not for you at least.

God, Danny. Maybe you did mess up? He was right, you guessed what he was thinking and assumed everything, but wasn't he the one giving social cues that he was thinking that? Sure, he apologized, but you couldn't read minds. It wasn't like you knew that apology was sincere or not.

Wasn't it his fault?

Danny was the one acting like your father, not you.

Maybe that was where all of your annoyance stemmed from. Danny's blue tie, his position in work, where they sat; it reminded you far too much of your father for your liking. Even if the two of them were completely different men in both personalities and looks.

"Fuck," you whimpered, head falling into your hands. You wished you could go back in time and redid things with your family differently, maybe then they'd leave you alone.

"Котик, I'm back. Sorry that took me a moment, I..."

Kieran trailed off when he came back from his phone call. Tired and a tad bit sluggish, he looked around and brushed down his clothes. Bits of his hair were sticking out in odd angles.

"Where's Danny? Did he go to the bathroo—"

You shoved up from the table. Every thought was spinning inside your head over and over again. But mostly, you were angry. Angry at Kieran, angry at Danny, angry at your father. Your fingers brushed at your throat to soothe the painful knot there.

"Let's go home," you hissed, grabbing his wallet and slapping a tip down on the table. "Danny said he paid for us up front."

Kieran's eyes hardened. You weren't in the mood to play the "guess what he's thinking" game in that moment, so you stomped past him to head for the front doors. He didn't say anything and you were glad that he also wasn't in the mood to ask about what was making you so upset. It wasn't like you knew either.

The waitress smiled ear to ear when she saw the two of you leaving. Saying something about coming back, you ignored her and beelined for the door. Home. Fuck, all you wanted to do was get home.

The cold clawed at your skin the moment you stepped outside and stomped back to the car. It was amazing how someone's feelings could change so fast. One moment you were walking inside the restaurant with a hopeful smile, the next you were walking out with a bitter frown.

By default, you started thinking about what Kieran was possibly thinking. He was in a worse state now than he was earlier because of his phone call. There were only a certain handful of theories you could go through before you started to sound delirious.

What did the person on the other side tell him that made him so annoyed? Did it have something to do with the messages you saw on his computer between him and Sam? You hugged yourself tighter against the cold wind.

The cut on his face and busted knuckles flashed to the forefront of your mind. Maybe the phone call had to do with that? You didn't want to think about him being in debt or in some gang.

I'm going to have to snoop, aren't I? Every day was another day you were getting closer to giving up on being polite. If his privacy was the reason he was coming home cut up and late, you didn't give a shit about what he wanted. You had to make sure he wasn't being stupid or in a dangerous situation alone.

The car door slammed behind you. Kieran slipped in and turned the ignition. It roared to life and he messed with the controls up front.

The car was dead silent except for the pitter patter of icy rain falling from the sky, the hum of heat blasting through the vents, and the squeaking of leather when you shifted in your seat. Kieran inhaled and his hands flexed out on the steering wheel.

You didn't know what to say and if you had to be honest, you didn't want to speak. You enjoyed the silence.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

Fucking hell. Again? Wouldn't you ever get a break from that noise? It was one thing after the other at this point!

His phone buzzed in his pocket for the umpteenth time that week. The lump in your throat formed at the sound, as if a phone was about to break that small thread of will you had left to not cry in the car. Kieran started grumbling under his breath, making your headache worse

It was just your luck that his phone started ringing again the moment you wished for it to stay quiet. You were starting to believe that you weren't allowed to have a peaceful life, not even a single moment where you were allowed to unwind.

"Hey... can you not answer it right now?" you asked weakly.

Kieran didn't hear, his head so stuck above the clouds in his own little world to think about reality. He took his phone out and read the screen. You caught a glimpse of unknown numbers. You sighed.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Sorry," he responded absentmindedly. His eyebrows were furrowed in a specific way that cause a worried crinkle on his forehead, his eyes lidded in annoyance. "чего они хотят сейчас?"

"Kieran."

He didn't respond, his thumb hovering over the answer button. The patience you felt thinning throughout the entire day snapped.

"Kieran!"

He flinched. At the speed of light, his head whipped around to face you, eyes wide as saucer places. The ringing phone in his hand stopped when he failed to answer it on time, leaving the car in tense silence. He looked like he just got slapped.

A guttural sigh ripped through your throat. Fuck. You didn't mean to raise your voice, or maybe you did, you didn't know what you meant anymore. Your brain was messy and staticky. Like someone just rubbed a balloon and kept shocking your brain over and over again.

"Just—can you not answer the phone for one fucking day?" you rubbed your face and hunched in the seat, voice cracking. "That's all I ask. One day. I just want to go home and lay down, okay? No phone calls, no shitty networks on TV, no conversations. Can't we just lay down without any fucking distractions?"

He was quiet. Blood rushed to your ears and any feeling seemed to leave your fingertips as you wrung them together. All you wanted was to lay down with him and sleep. You were tired, your brain was tired, and the ache in your heart was a craving to be held. It was an odd feeling; too tired to cry, yet too emotional to do anything.

"I..." Kieran fumbled, obviously at a loss of words, but shifted in his seat to move his hand to yours. You never yelled and he was stunned to be at the end of it. His head spun in circles before he managed to figure out what to say next without upsetting you. "Yes. We can go home and lay down."

"Promise me, Kieran. Please."

There was a pause. You heard a sharp inhale and then a tight, "I promise."

You should have left it be. That alone was enough, there was no reason for you to ask for more reassurance, but you did. Of course you did. Because who were you without the constant need for reassurance over every single thing? The only reason you felt special was because you were always wanting him to reassure you that you were. You blamed it on the emotions that coursed through your head like veins of poison.

"And you won't answer the phone?" you whispered, so quiet you almost thought he couldn't hear you. "Even if someone calls you, you won't answer it? Promise me you won't answer it."

His hand squeezed tighter. Dragging your fingers to his lips, he pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles and then to your palm, then your fingertips. He whispered a promise to not do it again. But by the time his phone rang for a second time in a row, he glanced over at his phone, and cursed. He didn't answer it but a single glance told you that just like before, it wasn't a promise he could make.

Your ribs punctured your heart. Sighing, you took your hand away from his and pressed your cheek against the window.

Again, you expected too much.

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[ Read Ch.7 Here / not yet released ]

[battymommastuff]

The One I was Meant to Find

Batmom x Batman, Batmom x Batfamily

Prompt: While digging through the attic, Dick Grayson and Jason Todd uncover a secret about their adoptive mother. A secret that reveals the true, and dark story of the most loved couple in Gotham City

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Masterlist

!!DISCLAIMER!! - This likely won't be comic accurate (Obviously), but I did draw inspiration from the comics. If you are looking for something accurate, then this fanfic isn't for you.

You can swallow fire, you've practically flown through the hair....You've performed in front of millions from age eighteen. You felt like you could handle anything the world threw at you....

Until you entered the Upper district of Gotham City a week after being taken in by Bruce Wayne. The part of the city full of the most lavish, and expensive stores. So many name brands that you only ever dreamed of wearing. Not even Haly himself could afford such luxuries, and he owned the circus. Bruce insisted that he bring you to this part of the city to shop for your new wardrobe. He planned on buying outfits, dresses, shoes, jewelry, perfumes, and anything else you could never need. You tried to convince him to just take you to a thrift shop or some random outlet, but he only looked at you as if you spat on his shoes. 

So here you were, standing in front of a store that you had no business being in. Little did you know, you would be walking into these stores as if you were walking through your home in the future. All in due time...

Bruce enjoyed a cheap glass of champagne while you were given dress after dress to wear. Since your method of employment was no longer safe, he planned on hiring you as his assistant until you were safe to find your own career path. You stepped out in a dark blue dress that fit a little big on you, "Bruce, you really don't have to do this...I mean a thousand dollars for a dress? I'm sure we can find something similar for a cheaper price." You said while holding the price tag. He frowned, standing up from his seat. He walked over to you and inspected the price tag for himself. 

He turned you around so you were facing the mirror, "I think it looks wonderful on you." Bruce said with a smile. He moved your hair to the side so he could zip up the rest of the dress and rested his hand on your hip. You both decided to put off the facade of being a couple while in public. Subtle touches like this were going to happen, but he didn't go too far with it, "I could buy this entire store if I wanted to." He whispered into your ear. A shiver went down your spine, and you bit your lip softly. You knew Bruce Wayne was rich, but just how rich was he? Obviously he was rich enough to keep up his lifestyle as Batman. You turned around, not realizing just how close the two of you were. 

Have you ever had that feeling? That feeling that you were looking at someone you knew? As if you'd been with them a thousand life times. That's what you felt when you looked into his eyes. It was as if your souls found each other once again. You knew the theory of the multiverse from one of the clowns in the circus, he loved conspiracy. The thought of you and Bruce being together in different universes made you giggle a bit, "What's so funny?" He asked, his hand still resting on your waist. 

"Nothing at all, Mr. Wayne." Bruce rolled his eyes then back away from you. You only called him that to be a tease. You two often found yourselves teasing one another. Which is why Alfred was very happy to have the both of you out of the house...so he can be free of the thick tension for a few hours. Now you were walking downstairs to the batcave, dressed in one of your new nightgowns. Tonight was one of those nights where you felt unsafe. Truly, you never felt safe. You knew there were eyes on you outside of Wayne Manor. The only place you felt safe was right by Bruce's side...or Batman's at this time of night. 

"You should be asleep." Batman said as he typed away on the batcomputer. It made you think of the night he rescued you, "You have a busy day tomorrow, and I'm sure your boss wouldn't be happy with you being tardy." He joked then turned to look at you. He could tell instantly that you were scared. He understood the fear. After his parents were murdered, he would be up all night in fear of their murderer coming back to finish him off. Living life having to constantly look over your shoulder was no life to live. Without a word, he stood up while removing his cape. The surprisingly light material was draped over your shoulders to keep you warm. He wasn't going to make you leave. If you felt safe around him, then you could stay. Still in silence, you sat down on a stool next to a table lined with gadgets. You hadn't the faintest clue of what any of them were, but they looked very dangerous. 

Was it strange? That you could picture your life like this? By his side, helping him on his quest for Justice. The Manor already felt like home. More so than the circus ever did. That feeling came back again. The one where you felt as if you've been through this before. As if every choice you've ever made led to this very moment. Led you to Bruce. 

"Do you believe in soulmates?" 

"No." 

Your mouth formed an O shape and you awkwardly nodded. That might have been a question for Bruce Wayne not Batman. You learned quickly that the two were vastly different people. Bruce almost felt like the mask while Batman was truly who he was. Sometimes you saw a mix of the two...which you favored. 

"Y/N. I'm not someone you can love. My life and what I do will only bring you more danger, you will never live the happy life you deserve to live. I can never make you happy, and can never give myself to you fully. I'm sorry." 

Being rejected before the first move was ever made never felt good. You felt your heart shatter at the same time that your eyes began to water, "R-Right...I was dumb to ever think otherwise." You said while sliding down from the stool, "Goodnight...Batman." You whispered and swiftly left the batcave, passing Alfred who instantly noticed the tears falling from your eyes.  He could only shake his head as he made his way down the stone steps. 

"Lying to yourself and to her will only make it worse, Master Wayne." Alfred said as he set down a fresh cup of tea next to Batman. Nothing was ever openly spoken, but it was obvious that Bruce and Batman both had feelings for you. Everything about you just drove him insane. He never believed in soulmates until he met you. He never thought that there could be anyone in this world made for him. Yet there you were, and it terrified him. How could he ever keep you safe? Once his enemies knew of you, you were going to be the target. The Court was already going after you, but he had so many more that would love to watch him hurt. He knew if he let himself care for you, it would only end with him losing you. 

And he couldn't lose you....

TAGLIST

@maxinehufflepuffprincess @tayswhp @rainycloud858 @luna-zendra-star @starlets-things @simpfourmarvel @kawaistrawberry21 @js-favnanadoongi @kodzukenmaaa @xxrougefangxx @pixviee @discocactus-world @b4tm4nn @minimoxha @crutoyu @nightw-izhu @legendarylearner18 @mangegeek17 @pixiedust0604 @that-one-fangirl69 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @irelanrose @asterelz @angelxx7 @millies0bsimp @marie0v @starmansirius @amberpanda99 @hoshi-is-ult-bbg @inutheangel @chaoticevilbakugo @mellowdiy @luvly-writer @enretrogue @zanzie @backyardfolklore

[pro-sipper]

Antis really love to show off their lack of life experience in their arguments, whether they mean to or not.

Probably the most popular case is thinking that a therapist would have to turn you over to the police for thinking bad thoughts. Despite the fact that they have years of schooling and degrees that contradict the whole "bad thoughts = bad person" idea.

Somehow they've convinced themselves that they know more than every licensed therapist on the planet. That every paid professional is a fraud, despite the fact that they utilize what they learned in their schooling on the way to getting their professional degrees.

And then there's the idea that, when applying for a job, your potential employer will need to be made aware of every single unconventional fandom, ship, or kink you may have.

When I was growing up online, it was Internet Safety 101 not to post your real name or pictures of yourself online. Anonymity was key. Now apparently young people online think you have to list every single social media handle and blog name on your resume when applying for a job.

And background checks are to make sure you haven't been processed as a criminal at any time in your life. Shockingly, shipping Pinecest doesn't count as a crime, and a background check isn't going to show your ao3 history regardless.

And of course the favorite comeback when encountering a person (usually a woman) over 30 enjoying themselves in fandom, "Shouldn't you be filing your taxes?"

Something that can be done in a single afternoon. Or in no time at all if you hire someone to take care of it for you. And of course something that happens only once a year. It would be like talking to someone in June and asking why they haven't finished their Christmas shopping yet.

It just shows a blatant ignorance to how the world actually works once you're out of high school.

And if an anti is older than 18 and still thinks these things... Well, I guess you have to be pretty lucky to be grown and not have to worry about work, taxes, or therapy, huh?

[novashelby]

The Nanny Conundrum~A Tommy Shelby Smut

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Nanny!Reader (3rd person)

Warnings: Male masterbation, voyeurism. Meant to be kind of funny. A little cringe and embarrassing.

Prompt 93

Word Count: 2,791

Summary: Tommy Shelby just got a new nanny for Charlie. She's a sweet, delicate girl, but learns quite a thing or two about men while hiding for a game of hide n seek.

Please enjoy. I appreciate reblogs and comments. Likes are kind and thoughtful, and I appreciate you reading my work. However, reblogs really help writers out. So, please, considering rebloging.

Tommy was only delicate and proper with a select few people, and she was one of them, but he couldn’t help himself. Not even Satan himself could give her a rough handling. She was delicate looking, sounding, and acting. Like a daisy, really. And on top of it, she was so, so good with Charlie. Just two years old, losing his mother a few short months before. He was hesitant at first, not wanting to go through a whole hiring process. And so, he convinced Mary and Francis to take on the extra duty. Though, two aging women, their patience was waning. Enough was enough, Mr. Shelby was getting a nanny for the poor boy. 

It was difficult for Mr. Shelby to find employees as many were aware of his antics. There were a few applicants…none did anything for him. They were old. Had no energy with a sharp tongue. Mr. Shelby didn’t want anyone with a sharp tongue. Then there was a quiet time with weeks in between; no applicants had walked through the door. 

Until one day, someone did. It was a Sunday, too. Which got a work motivated man like himself excited. Mary had knocked on the door and he grumbled for her to enter. Behind her was a girl, not too tall and with a young face. He couldn’t make out her age, but her cheeks were round and blushed with youth. He noticed how when she smiled, her eyes would as well and she’d let out this delicate laugh. 

It was right then that he knew. Unlike the others, he immediately slid back his chair and stood, straightening his blue white lined vest. Mary was surprised at the soft smile that tugged at his usually stiff lips. His stress lines seemed to ease, but most of all he turned gentle. Mary watched aghast how he waltzed around his mahogany desk and rushed over to her. Never had he ever shook a woman’s hand as such; both hands gently holding her right. “I’m Mr. Shelby,” he said, and Mary couldn’t take anymore. She gave her employer a pursed look, brow raised, and he mouthed what. 

“I will take my leave, Mr. Shelby,” she said. “I must go to the kitchens and yell at the staff.” The young girl frowned a bit and turned to watch the woman leave. 

“Is she alright?” she asked, turning her attention back to the man who was still holding her hand. 

He was quick to nod and offer a smile. “Yes, yes! She’s fine. Don’t worry about her, eh? I think all women get a certain edge to them when they hit about seventy-”

“And men,” she giggled, putting a finger out. 

Kindly, he chuckled back. “I think we develop that a bit younger. Anyway! Come! Take a seat, eh?” He walked her over to the desk, hand resting politely on her mid-back. “So, are you looking for a nanny position?” They sat across from one another and she handed over CV paperclipped together. His eyes quickly scanned it, grinning. “Nanny program in London, worked for the same family for 2 years, twenty years old, born in Boston to English parents, and the second oldest of six children.” He put it down and pushed it over to her. “You understand this is a live in position, love?” Love. A red rosy tint fell on her face and she had to look away shyly. She could not lie. Of course, Mr. Shelby was a handsome man smooth with his words. “You’d be here Monday to Sunday. Of course, you will have free time and vacation time. Sundays off.” 

“The pay?” she asked. “A family in London has offered me six pounds.”

Six bloody fuckin’ pounds, Mr. Shelby thought to himself, a bit stunted. But nonetheless, he said, “I can offer ten, plus you’ll have a room, food, and free roam of the property. I’ll allow leave for all holidays, Sunday’s off, and early leave on Wednesdays. You’ll be allowed three sick days a calendar year-”

“I can start today,” she said, abruptly, far too eager to work for him. The benefits were like nothing she’d even been offered. He paused, smile dropping a bit, not used to people being so…interested. She coughed a bit and fixed herself in the chair. “Sorry,” she said, clearing her throat. “I can start today. If you would have me, of course.”

He nodded, “not today. Tomorrow. You’ll start tomorrow.” 

Everyone liked her. She was like a breath of fresh air. A positive influence on everyone. Francis and Mary seemed more at ease and talked with less grouch. The kitchen danced when she waltzed in. The other maids enjoyed how she was incredibly courteous of the messes Charlie would make. Even John and Arthur started to look forward to coming to Arrow house. Despite their miserable to be around brother who did nothing, but demand this and that from them. 

And Mr. Shelby, well...he found himself smiling a tad more when he saw her with Charlie. 

She was a wonderful nanny. On top of the normal tasks, she actually played with Charlie and helped with his coloring and motor tasks. She’d sing to him and dance with him. And unlike most girls her age, she wasn’t opposed to rolling around in the grass with him. They’d sleep in the grass and dance in the rain with their shoes off. Charlie was in love with her! Mr. Shelby would watch from the window, feeling this pool of warmth within him when they’d run around in circles. 

“Ah, look at her,” Francis sighed, putting the tea tray on his desk. “Her frocks are always stained with grass.” 

Mr. Shelby flicked closed the blinds and sat at his desk, making up his tea with just a tad of sugar and milk. He enjoyed some honey as well those days. “It’ll rain soon, suppose they’ll come inside. She’s been reading to him a lot.” 

Francis smiled. “Very good. Will you be heading to the stables? Should I prepare-”

“No, no,” he said. “I’m just going to enjoy my cuppa, eh? And you should take a rest.” A rest. That was also something new. Mr. Shelby was allowing staff to have much more rest since she came. 

He finished his tea and went off to the stables when the two were coming in from their adventures from outside. After clean up time and a book, Charlie was still restless, wanting to run around and play. She pouted and poked his nose, “Charlie, I got a game for you!” His eyes widened and he giggled in excitement. She leaned in as if it was something special. “HIde n’ seek! I will hide. Okay? Has Charlie remembered his numbers?”

“One…two..three..eight…four…six…nine…five,” he counted off and she chuckled, telling him it was just fine enough. She picked him up and placed him facing the wall, explaining that he had to count to ten slowly and not move.

“I will hide somewhere, Charlie, on the first floor, okay?” she smiled, ruffling his hair before skipping out. She giggled as she heard his cute counting before opening and closing each door, unsure of where to hide before he stopped counting. She slipped into Mr. Shelby’s office, not seeing the harm when he wasn’t around. Under the desk, she crammed herself in a ball and waited. 

She heard Charlie call for her in a laugh, running around the hallway. She could tell that he checked the bathroom first then her room before going back to his room. She waited and waited before the office door opened, and she grinned, getting ready to say you win! When Mr. Shelby coughed. Wincing, she wondered if she should climb out and explain that they were playing hide and seek or wait for him to leave, but to her annoyance, he took a seat at his desk. At first, he fumbled around with some papers before cursing under his breath, seeming frustrated. She was sucking in her lips to hold back any loud breathing. But what he did next was…shocking. There were no other words to explain it. Shocking. To her, at least. A young twenty year old girl who surprisingly lived a very modest and conservative life. Never had she even held hands with a boy, nevermind witness what she was about to witness. His hands went to his belt clasp and fumbled with the golden hoop before easily undoing his trousers. Peeking out was a pair of men’s white underwear. Maybe he’s just getting comfortable, she told herself, but was quickly proven wrong when he let out a soft groan and slipped under the waistband of his underwear. She watched, frozen. He rubbed himself a bit under his underwear, grinding his hips up at his hand. Soft groans and eager curses filled the room in a hushed manner. As if he was ashamed of doing such a thing in his own home. It was all new to her, and she watched equally horrified and curious while kicking herself for being so stupid. A million hiding spots and she chose the very one he had to wank in. Peculiarly, a small wet spot formed where the tip was. Stupidly, she wanted to just reach up and touch it, but the thought lodged to the back of her head when he pulled it out. There was nothing she could compare it to, being the first cock she’d ever seen. But her cunt ached in an almost fear-like response seeing the shape and length. The tip was glistening with a sticky substance that he didn’t hesitate rubbing his thumb against. “Fuck,” he let out, leaning back slightly. Between his thumb and index, he rubbed it before giving his cock three good tugs. How it dripped out in a long string before pooling a little tiny dot onto the floor next to her. Swallowing, she looked down at it…just a little dab. A droplet. For a split second, she considered touching it. Mimicking how he rolled it between his fingers just to see what it felt like. But she couldn’t do it. It felt grotesque…dirty. Sinister? That’s when she heard him spit on his hand, drawing her attention from the precum and back to his twitching cock. His spit ran down the shaft, wetting the chair.

“Oh, fuck,” he grunted, his hand wrapping around himself, twisting around. He moved slowly up and down, teasing the sensation. It’d been such a long time since he last rubbed one out. Though loving a good fuck, self pleasure was never something he needed to ease an urge. But he felt it that day. His cock consistently throbbed at the seams of his trousers. Not even a smoke and a drink calmed him. And so, he resorted to a good old school wank. Admittedly, it was quite nice. Alone in his element, just feeling himself. “Shit.” His started to roll upward, fucking his hand. 

Alone…except for the sweet nanny under his desk, trapped in quite a predicament she wasn’t quite sure she liked. His hand started to move a bit faster with a better rhythm. He was flowing a stream of grunts, curses, groans, moans, and inaudible sentences. “Baby,” he cried, head rolled back, eyes closed. “Fuck me, c’mon-shit!” He hummed, running a hand over his face. She swallowed and panicked that maybe he knew she was there. Did he? Who was he talking to? But she didn’t move. She hardly even breathed scared he’d hear her. “Mmmmhm.” Pausing, he spit on his hand again before rubbing it all over. Just as he resumed his speed, he said something she could hardly believe. Her name. Followed by a, “just like that…good fuckin’ girl.” In shock, her eyes widened and her hands instantly covered her mouth. “Bounce up and down, right on my cock. Ride my fuckin’ cock!” His breaths became jagged while his hips twitched and jolted. He was close…so fucking close. 

Meanwhile, the poor girl tried to block it out. But how could she? So close to a man jerking his cock, calling her name. Her fucking name? Imagining her bouncing on it. She couldn’t help, but wonder if this was his first time thinking of her like this. She hated to admit it, but her thighs were struggling to stay still. So, so tempted to rub them together to ease a surprise heat growing between her legs. “That’s good, baby, keep doing that….Ugh! Fuck!” He paused, edging himself. She noticed when he stopped, his hands clenched around it harder, shaking. Then he slowly went back to tugging and rubbing, easing back into the lost rhythm. “I bet you are so fuckin’ tight.” One hand slowly went between her legs to cup her aching pussy as she suppressed a whine. “Fuck, I want to corrupt that little fuckin’ cunt….Make you into a dirty little fuckin’ slut. My dirty slut…fuck!” He jolted upward, other hand gripping a chair arm before easing back into speed. 

Make you into a dirty little fuckin’ slut. My dirty slut. Those words imprinted themselves in her head. His words were disgusting, filthy, and humiliating, but so fucking erotic. His possessiveness was like honey. It took so much effort to not ease her curiosities and reach her hand up to touch his cock. So, she had to just watch. Watching was so hot, but so torturous. When he started to get sloppy with his movements, she prepared for him to stop again, but he didn’t. “F-fuck!” He cried out, tugging one last time before a stream of white came from his cock. She was expecting it to be like the sticky clear mess, but no, his cum shot.

In fact, it shot at her…on her face. Frozen, feeling the warmth that landed over her eyelids and dripped down her face and over her lips. Appalled and embarrassed, how was she going to face him after that? With his excrement painting her face. He let out one last, “fuck,” before tiredly tucking himself away and buckling his belt. He took the handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands. Sliding back in his chair and standing, she was sure that he was going to leave, but no. He kneeled down to clean up wherever the cum landed, coming face to face with her…wearing it.

Never had he ever been so mortified, looking at the girl who seemed as if she saw death. His cum was right there…teasing at her lips. His nanny….Had she watched the whole thing? Heard every word? Of course. She had to. He swallowed, and said, “Um…this isn’t a great napping spot-”

“Mr. Shelby,” she stuttered out, tongue darting out almost instinctively, accidentally swiping the cum off. She winced as it tasted salty. His eyes flickered down to her quivering lips, widening. There was a bit of silence before she continued. “I was playing hide n seek-”

“In my office?” he asked, not exactly mad. More stunned and quiet than anything. He felt as if he was a young man again, ashamed of rubbing one out. 

“I’m competitive. I didn’t think he’d look in here,” she responded with the same tone. He nodded slowly, reaching out to clean her face, but she took the rag and did it herself before going to hand it back. 

“Keep it,” he said, slowly standing and grabbing for his whiskey. He didn’t even bother pouring it in a glass as he swigged it from the bottle. She crawled out from under the desk watching him gulp it like water. “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” he cursed, putting it down and turning to her. “Did you-”

“Yes,” she said before he could finish the quest. Nervously, she averted her attention off to the side, playing with her dress. His eyes skimmed over her, heart rate through the roof. His head was swarming with a whole bunch of conflictions. “Should I pack my things?” Mr. Shelby licked at his bottom lip and itched the arch of his nose. “Um…well, I think it is alright. You’re not the first woman to look at it. Probably not the last unless I drop dead right now…which is fuckin’ possible.” She bowed and tried to slowly back away when he looked over at her. “C’mere. I’m not done with you. As much as I’d like to jump out this fuckin’ window, you’re still my employee and you were in my office without permission. Why don’t you take a seat-no, no. Right here.” She nervously looked at where his hand was pointing. It was the desk. “C’mere,” he patted. “Sit on the desk like a good girl.” The words played back in her head and she did so…like a fuckin’ good girl.

[allfearstofallto]

Illusion

Yandere! Lyney x Fem,Dancer! Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: if this story seems similar to "I wonder if you look both ways..." It's cause this is the original. I scrapped it, but when reading it again I realized that I was very stupid to do that cause I like it. They're sisters, but not twins, they both can be enjoyed.

A magician's job is to lie. To convince you that there are wonders of the world that the human eye can't decipher. To entertain and entrance an audience of people, all while they stare in awe. Their eyes having a look of simultaneous confusion and scrutiny, they'd try to pick the trick apart, only to fail and be even more impressed by their inability to solve the puzzle. The job of a magician is to endure all of that inspection from prying eyes, but still make it look captivating.

Your job was to draw attention. That's what Lyney told you the day you were hired. They were set to perform at the opera house again, the biggest stage in Fontaine, but this time it would be an even more grand performance, this time, there would be no issues. With an area so large, they needed to maximize as much space as possible, there didn't need to be a moment of time where the audience had to question what was coming next. That's where you came in.

When the music came to a crescendo, cymbals crashing and violins singing at their loudest harmony, you'd be dancing, leaping all over. Graceful as a swan, but with enthusiasm that made your moves look more playful. Hopefully that would be enough to keep the eyes on you as Lyney rushed to the other side of the stage to complete the performance in an escalation.

You'd never done something like this before. Actually, you'd never danced professionally. Not yet at least. This would be your first real show. A fresh face right out of ballet school with nothing to your name, but a few school performances, none of which you were granted the leading role for. Who would give you a chance? Who else, but Lyney and Lynette who needed a dancer on rather short notice.

Lyney, who said your dancing was mesmerizing. But not in his usual, eccentric voice that would draw the crowd. He was talking quietly, in a breathless whisper as he spoke. Mesmerizing. His eyes glued onto your form as you panted after your audition, wide and entranced. You gave them a nervous bow and a heartfelt appreciation before exiting stage left. What you felt like was a mediocre performance where you messed up too much, was what landed you your first real gig.

Your choreo was simple, most of it you came up with yourself, with the twins giving minor input here and there. Raise your leg here, jump there, when you twirl, go in this direction. It was much easier than the strict, uptight teachings of school, where your instructors insisted that the real world would be harsher than they were. You weren't needed for a good majority of the performance, so nothing especially skillful was required until the very end.

“I'd like to see an addition to our set,” Lyney announced. His hands on his hips, he spoke proudly, but while sneaking quick glances towards you, “I feel like we're not utilizing our new resident dancer enough. I think we need to add a slight change to the choreography.”

There was no issue with this, they were your employers after all. You did your best to make it known to them that you were flexible in every aspect. It was their show. Anything they needed to be done, you'd do your best to accommodate.

The move the blond added was simple. As you stood on your toes on one foot, your other leg would be out straight behind you. Lyney would step forward to take your hand, then he would walk around you, turning you both in a slow circle while addressing the audience to prepare them for his next illusion. Like a ballerina trapped in a music box, you spun to the creeping swell of the music alongside him.

The addition was not even close to difficult, a move you'd done a million times before and would probably do a million more in the future. But this was the first time that you'd touched Lyney. The separation between you two gave you no reason to do so. His hands were cold, yet clammy and it was only when you were this close to him, that you noticed he smelled of plums. You could feel his heart beating in his fingertips and even see a little sweat on his forehead, you chalked it up to nerves though. Even those who have performed a thousand times before can fall victim to tension.

“Would you mind if I put my hand on your waist when we did that move,” he asked you one day between practices. He was hesitating, but still playing up his confident attitude.

A hand on your waist was nothing. You'd had to be close to other dancers plenty of times, and the turn did look a bit awkward with Lyney just having his hand at his side, but you thought that that would be the ample time for him to do a quick card trick or sleight of hands to spice things up, “That would be alright.”

The turn was practiced with the change. To you it felt no different, like an average day back at the academy. The real difference was Lyney himself. With that gentle hand on your waist, so soft it felt like he was hovering his hand over your body and not touching you at all. His cheeks had reddened, the first time you'd ever seen the great magician Lyney blush and you could feel him trembling, but just barely, like he was shivering from cold.

Eye contact with your partner is good when you're dancing a duet. It gives the appearance of chemistry, but eye contact with a crowd is mandatory when engaging with them. Despite this, for the entire duration of the turn, Lyney’s vibrant purple eyes would be locked with yours, not looking away for a second, not until the spin was complete and it was time for your solo.

Even you couldn't bring yourself to hold his gaze, not with the strange way he was smirking. Midway through the spin, when your back was facing the audience, you'd look down to not have to be staring at him anymore, a move that made him squeeze your hand to the point of causing pain. You held back a yelp to keep from causing a scene, it was an accident, it had to have been. He wasn't realizing his own strength.

When he let go, you began your energetic dance, twirling around the floor while music vibrated at your feet. You could hear the sound of Lyney's prop going off, the signal that the song would end in a triumphant climax and the show was over. You dropped from your ending pose and turned to see the remnants of the ending. Realization hitting you that the confetti had fired, but Lyney wasn't there.

Rather, he was still close to you, having only taken two steps back and seemingly frozen in place right there. Lyney had missed his cue. He was a perfectionist. Even though he knew things would and could go wrong, and he was a bit of a stickler when it came to things like this. It was the big moments, the parts where the audience would be in the most awe. With flashes, pops, and bangs to draw their attention, then he'd be there to take the brunt of the cheers. These moments were some of the most important.

The way he stood there behind you, eyes on you like you'd put a spell on him. Barely moving, barely blinking, like he was trying to drink in every piece for your form. He shook himself from this trance rather quickly, giving an embarrassed smile, “It appears that I've fallen for the distraction,” he laughed rather brazenly, “Well at least we know she's good at taking the attention! Let's take a break and start from the top again, yeah?”

There was a unanimous choir of groans that filled the room while Lyney chuckled. You were rather grateful for the break. You needed a moment to breathe and collect yourself. Most importantly, to think of what had just happened. The rational part of your brain wanted to tell you that you were overthinking, that Lyney wasn't acting strange at all, but the paranoid part of you couldn't help, but notice the way he stared. Not just when you were dancing, but whenever he got the chance to.

You'd look over and see bright purple eyes on you, seemingly unblinking. If you caught him in the act he'd give you a smile and a wave, making you feel as if you'd misunderstood. But that didn't stop the sinking feeling in your chest, he was acting normal, but intuition was telling you that something was off.

Almost as if he knew you were thinking of him, Lyney appeared. He stood a little too close to you, that gentle smile on his face. “Sorry for messing up back there,” he whined a little, then rested his head on your shoulder.

You flinched from his touch and tried to step away from him, but his arm snaked itself around your waist before you could. And Lyney was much much stronger than he looked. A nervous chuckle left your lips.

“It's alright, it's just practice after all,” you assured him.

“You're right,” he sighed. It felt like his hand was sinking, lowering to your hip while he continued the casual conversation, “I just want to impress you.”

Words got caught in your throat as you tried to choke up a response. What were you supposed to say? What could you say? A part of you wanted to brush this off as flirting, maybe you'd given him the wrong impression with something you'd said or done, but you couldn't even open your mouth to tell him otherwise.

“I have something for you,” Lyney gave a signature grin, lifting his hat from his head. Almost immediately a few cards fluttered down onto the floor around him while he gave them a confused, almost embarrassed stare, “Well that's not right,” he joked. He was performing. Right in front of you, Lyney was putting on a little show to charm you. Reaching into his pockets and pulling out much too large objects, only to magically put them back while cursing comically.

“There we go!” He cheered while holding a single rose that he'd managed to yank from his sleeve. He reached it out to you, waiting for you to grab it. The bud was surprisingly real, usually this trick was performed with fake flowers, the real ones would die too quickly. When you went to take it, he flicked the flower, making that singular rose turn into a bouquet. So close to the magic, but your mind couldn't decipher how he'd done it, even you were dumbfounded, “One isn't enough for you.”

You held the bouquet in awe as Lyney walked away proudly. He stepped backwards the whole time, not taking his eye off of you for a second until practice was set to start again, but this practice was different. He was finding more and more ways to sneak glances at you and more ways to brush up against and touch you.

The day of the performance was one that was considered nice in Fontaine. There was rain, but it was a light drizzle, light tears from the hydro dragon. It was believed that a good performance on this day would cheer him up.

And a good performance Lyney was set to give. You were backstage in a costume so tight it practically corrected your already good posture, and with so many sparkles, you were convinced that if the lights hit you the wrong way it'd blind the audience. He was most impressed with what he'd chosen for you to wear, stealing glances at you as you went through the choreo once more.

The lights felt hot. That's all you focus on as the show began. The acclaim of the crowd blended in with the vibrant music and the only thing you could think about were how hot the lights were. But you still performed. Your simple moves first. Light spins and little jumps, placeholders as Lyney and Lynette mesmerized the audience.

You did your best to keep up, they seemed to be performing even stronger now that there was focus on them. Your heart was pounding as the time came closer and closer to your solo, the idea of messing up suddenly grazed your mind. But before your solo, there was Lyney.

He stepped up to you, not looking away for a second. His chest was rising and falling rather quickly, he was tiring himself out, but his actions were still fluid. You reached your hand out for him to take and he did, just as you'd practiced.

Only this time before the turn began, he lifted your hand to his lips, placing a kiss against it. The urge to snatch your hand away was crushing. Confusion and fear filled your head. This wasn't a part of the show. This was never practiced before. Had something changed without being announced to you?

“Everyone! Thank you for coming tonight,” Lyney called to the audience followed by a round of applause for him, “The next trick will be my last and I'm so sorry to leave such a gorgeous crowd, but I want everyone to give a round of applause to my ma chérie! Thank her for being here as well!”

Your eyes danced around in confusion, trying to find who he was talking about as the crowd erupted into a symphony of cheers, only to realize that he was looking at you. To pour more salt into the wound and reiterate that he was talking about you, he lifted the hand he was holding, an action you could only let him do as bewilderment set in.

With those vibrant eyes still on you, he faced you, still smirking. He grabbed you by the waist then pulled you towards him, leaning down to place a kiss upon your lips. You couldn't hear anything over the cheers and screams of the audience, couldn't even hear your own heartbeat. But you felt it. Felt that heavy pounding as Lyney stroked your cheek in a romantic gesture before marching off to complete the set.

The music. As your head swirled and your eyes lost focus, you tried to pay attention to the music. It was time for your solo. You danced. Danced like hell, danced the choreo you created as the music swelled. But it wasn't really you dancing, more muscle memory than thought. And then it was over. Lyney appeared on the other side of the room, confetti was fired, and there was a standing ovation from the crowd. Everything was perfect.

Everything except your fearful face. The tears your eyes. Your look of worry as you looked back at your fellow members, then taking their bows as the curtain fell. They seemed so normal about what happened.

“What the hell was that?” You managed to ask, but instead you were only met with confused looks.

“What ever could you mean, ma chérie?” Lyney had taken your hand, but you pulled it back quickly, the watchful eyes of the audience no longer swaying you.

“This!” You gasped. You felt crazy trying to motion to everything around you, everything that was wrong, “All of this! You kissed me out there!”

“What's the problem with that?” It was Lynette talking now, her usual calm demeanor not seeming to be perturbed by your hysteria, “A kiss was always in the script.”

You gulped down saliva, trying to stop your beating heart and shallow breathing. Everyone was so calm and collected. Yet here you were, confused and practically causing a scene.

“Are you alright, ma chérie,” Lyney asked, stroking your cheek again. There was a look of genuine worry on his face, but all you could think about was that name. That fucking name. Has he always called you that? “You seem rather upset? What bothers you?”

“None of this is making sense,” you muttered. But you weren't really talking to him, more trying to calm yourself. Being surrounded by people who insisted upon lying to you was making doubt swirl in your mind. Had you misunderstood something? Were you truly the one confused? In your heart of hearts, you knew the truth, yet here you were, still being told otherwise.

Around you everyone was doing as normal. The stage hands had already begun packing up, with you standing there dumbfounded. You're sure you would've stood there until the end of time, had Lyney not taken your hand and begun to pull you out of the opera house.

The air of fontaine still had that salty smell to it, but the light drizzle had stopped. Your performance had pleased the hydro dragon, you supposed, yet you now were the one with tears in your eyes.

“I was thinking, ma chérie, how about you join our troupe permanently,” Lyney’s voice sounded like he was underwater in your ears, yet you somehow understood him perfectly. His question was just giving you the illusion of choice as you knew the answer he was going to make you take. A magician’s job is to lie, after all.

[mariacallous]

American Jewish food is most typically defined as pastrami sandwiches, chocolate babka, or bagels and lox. But I am here to argue that the greatest American Jewish food may actually be the humble hot dog. No dish better embodies the totality of the American Jewish experience.

What’s that you say? You didn’t know that hot dogs were a Jewish food? Well, that’s part of the story, too.

Sausages of many varieties have existed since antiquity. The closest relatives of the hot dog are the frankfurter and the wiener, both American terms based on their cities of origin (Frankfurt and Vienna respectively). So what differentiates a hot dog from other sausages? The story begins in 19th century New York, with two German-Jewish immigrants.

In 1870, Charles Feltman sold Frankfurt-style pork-and-beef sausages out of a pushcart in Coney Island, Brooklyn. Sausages not being the neatest street food, Feltman inserted them into soft buns. This innovative sausage/bun combo grew to be known as a hot dog (though Feltman called them Coney Island Red Hots).

Two years later, Isaac Gellis opened a kosher butcher shop on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. He soon began selling all-beef versions of German-style sausages. Beef hot dogs grew into an all-purpose replacement for pork products in kosher homes, leading to such classic dishes as Franks & Beans or split pea soup with hot dogs. Though unknown whether Gellis was the originator of this important shift, he certainly became one of the most successful purveyors.

Like American Jews, the hot dog was an immigrant itself that quickly changed and adapted to life in the U.S. As American Jewry further integrated into society, the hot dog followed.

In 1916, Polish-Jewish immigrant Nathan Handwerker opened a hotdog stand to compete with Charles Feltman, his former employer. Feltman’s had grown into a large sit-down restaurant, and Handwerker charged half the price by making his eatery a “grab joint.” (The term fast food hadn’t yet been invented, but it was arguably Handwerker who created that ultra-American culinary institution.)

Nathan’s Famous conquered the hot dog world. Like so many of his American Jewish contemporaries, Handwerker succeeded via entrepreneurship and hard work. His innovative marketing stunts included hiring people to eat his hot dogs while dressed as doctors, overcoming public fears about low-quality ingredients. While his all-beef dogs were not made with kosher meat, he called them “kosher-style,” thus underscoring that they contained no horse meat. Gross.

The “kosher-style” moniker was another American invention. American Jewish history, in part, is the story of a secular populace that embraced Jewish culture while rejecting traditional religious practices. All-beef hotdogs with Ashkenazi-style spicing, yet made from meat that was not traditionally slaughtered or “kosher”, sum up the new Judaism of Handwerker and his contemporaries.

Furthermore, American Jewry came of age alongside the industrial food industry. The hot dog also highlights the explosive growth of the kosher supervision industry (“industrial kashrut”).

Hebrew National began producing hot dogs in 1905. Their production methods met higher standards than were required by law, leading to their famous advertising slogan, “We Answer to a Higher Authority.”

While the majority of Americans may be surprised to hear this, Hebrew National’s self-supervised kosher-ness was not actually accepted by more stringent Orthodox and even Conservative Jews at the time. But non-Jews, believing kosher dogs were inherently better, became the company’s primary market. Eventually, Hebrew National received the more established Triangle-K kashrut supervision, convincing the Conservative Movement to accept their products. Most Orthodox Jews, however, still don’t accept these hot dogs as kosher.

But over the last quarter of the 20th century in America, the Orthodox community has gained prominence and their opinions, and food preferences, hold more weight in the food industry.

The community’s stricter kashrut demands and sizable purchasing power created a viable market, and glatt kosher hot dogs hit the scene. Abeles & Heymann, in business since 1954, was purchased in 1997 by current owner Seth Leavitt. Meeting the demands of the Orthodox community’s increasingly sophisticated palate, their hot dogs are gluten-free with no filler. Recently, they’ve begun producing a line of uncured sausages, and the first glatt hot dogs using collagen casing.

Glatt kosher dogs can now be purchased in nearly thirty different sports arenas and stadiums. American Jews have successfully integrated into their society more than any other in history. So too, the hot dog has transcended its humble New York Jewish immigrant roots to enter the pantheon of true American icons. So when you bite into your hot dog this summer, you are really getting a bite of American Jewish history, and the great American Jewish food.

[hongism]

THIS WORLD. - k. hongjoong (m)

➼ genre; smut (some minor angst and fluff) ➼ pairing; hongjoong x fem!reader ➼ au; outlaw!hongjoong, dystopian futurism, lore accurate ateez ➼ warnings; explicit smut ➼ rating; m/18+ ➼ wc; 4.5k

What he’s given you is essentially one chance and night. Nothing more and nothing less.

part of the outlaw miniseries.

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➼ smut warnings; piv, unprotected sex, oral: f, creampie, light choking/asphyxiation, dirty talk, breast/nipple play

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Cool night air brushes across your cheeks as you set foot on the roof, eyes already scanning your surroundings in the hopes of finding what you’re looking for here. Of course, it doesn’t take much — Hongjoong is a hard man to miss unless the government officials are looking for him, in which case he has an uncanny ability to make himself totally invisible in a crowd.

There are no crowds up here though; just you, him, and the night to keep you company.

You see him clearly across the stretch of roof that’s accentuated by gaudy neon signs and other electrical components that keep the bar below powered.

“Closed up shop for the night,” you offer as a means of greeting the man. He’s donned his usual dramatic regalia tonight as well, complete with the patterned bandana pulled up over his nose and the ridiculous cowboy hat he fetched out of a dumpster several months back. It matches the vibe of the bar, he had told you and Mingi. While you weren’t on board, Mingi was more than a little eager to pull together a similar outfit for himself. “Everyone else went home.”

K-Hot Chilli Peppers. When you saw the job listing online, you had laughed at the name before realizing that it’s only half as ridiculous as many of the other bars in Night City, and you weren’t about to be picky given that you were desperate to find a place that lets you actually use your tender’s license on the daily. Upon being hired, you were promptly told to not ask questions when two rugged outlaws came through the doors and went up to the roof without pause. Answers came on their own, naturally and over time as you peeled back the seemingly endless layers to the two vigilantes who had set up shop in your new place of employment.

Whatever the circumstances and however the stars aligned that night you saw the job listing, it all boiled down to this: standing across from Hongjoong on the rooftop under the stars with this magnetic sort of pull towards the man. A pull you shouldn’t even think to entertain mostly because you’d like to keep your job and also a little bit because you’d like to keep your life.

Hongjoong got a message today. You know that much because you saw the small moped buzz by in front of the bar after all the customers left, and though you don’t know who that delivery driver is, you know he always brings something more than crappy takeout. The most convincing piece of evidence came in how Mingi promptly stormed out of the bar without so much as a goodbye twenty minutes later, and now here you stand up on the roof with the last man standing not long after. You aren’t here to ask questions as that wouldn’t be in your right (fairly so).

“I’m gonna close up and lock everything, if you’re done?” you continue pressing when Hongjoong fails to say anything back to you. He turns, gaze sharp as it finds you across the rooftop. The next moment, he pulls his bandana down to rest around his neck and exposes his handsome face to you.

“We’re not gonna be around much longer.”

You pull your lips together and do your best not to frown. “They won’t know you were ever here.”

“They’re gonna come looking here. And they’re gonna rip the place apart trying to find us.” Hongjoong takes slow steps in your direction as he speaks, tone low and quiet as though trying to either threaten or warn you. You don’t think he has a need for either. “When they come knocking, it’s not gonna matter what you do know or what you don’t know. Just being affiliated by name is enough of a crime.”

“Business is too good to be knocked down by a little police search.”

Hongjoong sinks his teeth into his lower lip. The light from the neon signs bounces off his face and casts crude little shadows across the roof. He looks far too worried for your liking, almost like there’s a semblance of care in the man, which was not part of the plan. You think you’re the one to blame for that, considering how you can’t simply leave well enough alone and have to express some modicum of care for those around you, including the vigilante outlaws that frequent your workplace and stay after hours. And well, all these months that have passed in this comfortable routine have made the heart grow fonder in many ways.

You’re quite fond of him, you think, and maybe those feelings are reciprocated to some extent.

The sky is clear tonight, free of clouds but the lights and pollution from the city obstruct the stars somewhat even now. Curfew is about to begin, but there’s no chance of you making it home before the drones start patrolling the streets. You could have left thirty minutes ago — should have most likely, but that chance is well and gone now.

“We leave tomorrow. I don’t know when we’ll be back.”

When is merely code for if, and you’re not dumb enough to think otherwise. If he survives whatever obscene plan he’s ready to deploy, you’re positive that Hongjoong won’t come back or set food near the bar again, even as a hideout. Men like him don’t stick to one place for long, especially not when their heads are full of grandiose plans of anarchy and destruction. You don’t blame him for it, but it does make your heart ache a little more than it should.

Your shoes skid across the stone of the roof as you cross the distance between you and him. It breaks the silence you’ve presented as an answer to him, and Hongjoong’s eyes grow wider as you turn the space into an afterthought. Shaky hands find their way around Hongjoong’s shoulders then come to clasp behind his neck.

“Tell me you’ll survive,” you plead to the night air between your lips.

“Of course I will,” he answers without hesitation, whether a lie or a truth he is willing to truly stand by and believe. You don’t ask that he tell you he’ll return here; some dreams are a bit too far-fetched.

When your hands begin to fall away from him, Hongjoong dips his chin and slots his lips over your parted ones. You scramble to regain your hold on him, fingers stretching up to tangle in the dark blue strands of hair on the back of his head just below where his hat sits. The pressure against your mouth is faint to begin with, something small and searching as he tests the waters and waits for your response. As though pulling him closer and nearly kissing him moments ago wasn’t enough of a confirmation for whatever this is.

“This is all I can give you,” he exhales into your mouth, and you press another heated kiss against his lips. I don’t need more than this. This is enough. This is all I could ask for from someone like you. It would be nice if you could ask for more but this is all the greed you can bear. His hands wander from your hips up to the hem of your shirt that sits against the loops of your jeans. The first contact of his fingertips on bare skin hits you like a bucket of ice water and sends goosebumps all across your body.

“Hongjoong,” you say against his mouth as he palms his way down to your thighs. He does well to quiet whatever thoughts are rushing through your head right now with his lips, breaking from yours to mouth along the line of your jaw. The force of his body moving against yours is enough to push you back, and you fall into step with him in an almost haphazard sort of way. Your back hits the wall soon after, right beside the door you just came out of minutes prior, and now Hongjoong has you pressed against the concrete with a knee slipping between your thighs. “Hongjoong.”

“You can’t stay here.” The blunt tips of his painted nails dig into the flesh above your jeans. A gasp tumbles from your lips as he licks over a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, and it makes your knees buckle in turn. “I can have two of my men transport you to a different area of the city in the morning. Earlier the better. We won’t be enacting any plans under the sun’s gone down.” You busy yourself with the buttons keeping his shirt around his body.

“No.”

He pauses where he is, halfway to removing your shirt from your torso, and looks you in the eye. You abandon his shirt in favor of clasping both hands around his cheeks.

“I’m not going anywhere because you’re going to come back to me and get me yourself.” Rather than denying your wistfulness, Hongjoong offers a half-smile and a breathy laugh, one you share in yourself before pulling his face back up to your own. You taste his lips again, but this time you pay more attention to it, the hint of spice on his tongue as he pushes past the seam of your mouth and explores you further. Your hands are busy with his shirt once more under the urging of your eagerness to have him. He responds in kind by hiking your shirt up over your chest and dragging the blunts of his nails down over the exposed skin on his path to your pants.

“Let me go down on you?” Your chest tightens at the proposition and at the way his voice sounds inexplicably strained from the mere thought of tasting you.

“Take this stupid shirt off first, for fuck’s sa—” Frustration wins the battle against his clothing, and Hongjoong leans away from you with a clear, resounding laugh that makes your stomach turn to mush. You ought to kick yourself in the side of the head for not acting on the blatant chemistry dancing between the two of you before now. Still, if this truly is a one-and-done thing, you’re going to do the absolute most to make it worth it. And maybe a bit unforgettable for both of you. Hooking your fingers under the handkerchief still tied about his neck, you pull Hongjoong close once again. He rushes to brace his hands on either side of you, his shirt still dangling from where it remains tucked into his ridiculous faux leather pants. His mouth goes straight for your neck, pulling the skin between his teeth and sucking so harshly at it that you feel tingles rush up to your skull. Your whine is music in the distant noise of the city, softly exhaled against the side of his head and disturbing the hair behind his ear. His hat is beginning to get in your way now too, especially as he kisses a path down to where he left your shirt. You catch the brim just before he goes lower, stripping it off his head with the hand you have draped around his shoulders. When he looks up at you from between your breasts, you smile, close-lipped but with an arched brow meant to tease further.

“The amount of filthy, heinous jokes on my mind right now,” he groans, head dipping forward to rest against your chest.

“If you make any sort of cowboy joke I’ll make sure you finish in your hand and nowhere else.” The threat is halfhearted of course, but it makes Hongjoong laugh in that obscenely pretty way again and you revel in the sound as he frees your breasts just enough to have access to them. Your nipples are already hardened peaks thanks to the simple touches from earlier, but the cool air stiffens them even further before Hongjoong has the chance to pull one into his mouth. Your back curls up off the wall, Hongjoong pinches your right nipple, and at the same moment, he pushes you back to the wall with enough force to punch a moan out of you.

“F-Fuck, Hongjoong.” You’re suddenly rather grateful to have something to hold onto because otherwise you would be digging your nails into your palms and making yourself bleed. As it is, you might run the risk of ruining Hongjoong’s treasured hat with how tight you’re gripping it at present. Your other hand sits on his bicep, atop the black-lettered inking that dances across his arm and reminds you that this man in your arms is one of a kind. You wonder, far and away in the back of your brain, how many have had the pleasure of being in your current position. He disperses those runaway thoughts mere seconds later; his hand sneaks down from its perch cupping your breast and locks onto the button keeping your pants together. The resulting lewd and wet pop! that comes from him pulling his lips away from your nipple makes your neck heat up.

“Bet I could make you cream your panties without even getting in your pants,” he quips as the button comes loose. Deftly, he works the zipper down in the same smooth movement.

“Who are you trying to impress, cowboy? You’ve already got me for the night.”

The muscles in his neck strain as he laughs and tilts his chin to the side, and your breath hitches watching him sink to his knees between your legs. Hongjoong folds his fingers around your wrist — the hand that currently holds his hat by the brim — and slowly, he guides you to place it back where it belongs atop his head.

“There. Now you can call me that again.” You can’t hide the unsteadiness of your breaths from him like this, even though he’s currently occupying his focus with stripping you of both jeans and underwear in one go. You brace a hand over your heart just to make sure it's still part of you despite racing like you’ve just run a marathon. Hongjoong’s lips skate against the inside of your knee when he lifts your ankle and carefully pulls the boot from your foot. Fabric follows suit quickly, then he commits to the same routine for your other leg — complete with the ghosting kisses and soft drags of his nails over the bare skin of your thighs. The growing pit of arousal in your stomach is so heavy that you think it might simply drip out of you the moment he touches your folds.

“Hongjoong,” you whisper. His kisses climb to the inside of your thighs, close enough to exhale heated breath across your pussy, but he doesn’t push further than that. Content to sit between your legs in the lewdest of positions and stare up at you through fluttering lashes.

“That’s not what you called me.” Hongjoong grins, cheek brushing against your thigh so close to your sex that your muscles twitch. “Maybe I’ll consider it—” he enunciates the word particularly harshly “—and do whatever you’d like?”

“You’re so — ugh, I want you to eat me out,” you mumble into the cradle of your hands, hardly able to look down at the man and be expected to speak like a normal functioning human being in this sort of predicament. He’s silent in return. “Cowboy.”

The veil of seriousness drops at that, and you’re the first to laugh at the sheer absurdity of calling him such a thing right now. Hongjoong can’t seem to keep himself together either, huffed laughter spilling out of him in turn.

“I wasn’t serious about you calling me that, y/n, I was just teasing. But I guess you want it pretty damn bad, huh?”

“Shut up!” Your tone contorts into a cracked gasp as Hongjoong wraps a hand back and around your thigh and spreads your legs over his face. Your hand flies to cover your mouth — something done out of pure instinct — and the man beneath you is quick to tut his disapproval.

“Let me hear you, pretty. I don’t want you covering anything up.”

“I-It’s the middle of the night,” you argue through your fingers.

“And? Wake the whole damn city if you have to, I want you to cry on my cock.”

You let your hand fall away and come to rest atop Hongjoong’s head (his hat, rather). Your view of what he’s doing is entirely obscured except for the slightest glint of his eyes when he tilts his chin against your cunt. You can’t seem to tear your gaze off of him regardless, lips parted and quivering as he presses his tongue between your folds and takes his first taste of you. The tension in your gut is wound into a knot so tight that your eyes burn and sting at the corners. Hongjoong takes you into his palm, onto his tongue, and into his deft fingers, and unravels you gloriously.

Two fingers dip lower and press against your entrance. He teases you with the pad of his middle finger only, toying with your hole and pushing into you ever so slightly before retracting to circle your clit with his tongue. He can’t run his mouth as he very much loves to in this position, but you’re finding that he makes use of his mouth in other more devilish ways, another talent he keeps tucked under his belt that you’re reaping the benefits from.

You can’t think of the last time you got laid, and trying to think of the last good fuck you had would be an even taller order. To imagine when a man last ate you out with actual passion and not simply as a means to an end might be impossible, or perhaps Hongjoong is simply keen on blowing every last sexual experience you’ve had out of the water in one go. When his fingers finally, at long last, stretch you open, you cry out with a moan so loud that it would be a miracle if no one heard it.

“Gonna make you taste yourself on my lips, pretty. Make your little cunt cream all over my cock until I fill you up with cum.” You jerk Hongjoong’s head almost violently, a sharp response to the way his fingers curl against your walls, but it doesn’t deter him in the slightest from the task at hand. He pulls your clit between his lips and sucks until your knees give out under you. It sends his fingers deeper into your cunt in the same motion, nearly making you come undone.

“T-Too much, too much, Hongjoong, it’s — fuck, fuck, ah!” You fold in on yourself, free hand moving to press against your stomach as the pressure in you reaches an unbearable degree. Hongjoong works his fingers in and out of you at a steadily increasing pace and almost seems to be making a game of the way he curls them each time he flicks his tongue against your clit just for another moan to climb out of your throat. Each sound is more broken than the last, sweat beads on your forehead, and you think there’s a euphoric end in sight just for him to pull away without warning. Your walls clench tight around nothing as his fingers are now gone from you and sucked between his own lips. Dazed and frustrated, you pass an incredulous stare his way just for him to grin back at you, tongue teasing the vee between his fingers.

“Hm? Did you want something?”

“I—” Hongjoong eases your body back against the stone wall and hoists one of your legs around his hips. Your cunt is still tense and pulsing to the rhythm he spent all that time building. “If you don’t get inside me right the fuck now, Kim Hongjoong, so help me—”

He makes good on his promise to have you taste yourself on his lips. His tongue shoves its way into your mouth as well, eager to tangle with yours and push your arousal onto your own taste buds. You delight in the fervor with which he kisses you, and in the sound of his belt jingling because it means more pleasure is on the horizon. You feel a hand against your hip, and that’s the only real warning you get before he’s pushing the length of his dick into your pussy and burying himself to the hilt in you. You scramble to grab hold of him somehow. It’s a slight miracle that you don’t bite both his and your own tongues in the process because you cry out into his mouth. Your moan remains unbroken even when he pulls your mouths apart and rushes to cradle the back of your head before you whack it harshly against the concrete behind you. There’s not a second to catch your breath in Hongjoong’s mind; his other hand is busy at work, and he presses the pad of his thumb into your clit. He rubs once, twice, three times before you unravel on his cock.

“You’re so tight, fuck, if you could feel yourself, your cunt is so tight.” There are stars behind your eyelids, clearer than the ones in the sky, and Hongjoong begins to rock his hips up into yours as the weight of your orgasm barrels down on you. “You feel so good on me, pretty. Fuckin’ made for my cock, yeah?”

“Yeah, y-yes, yes, yes.” Your voice cracks at the tail end of your agreement. It turns into something more akin to a sob than a moan. Hongjoong’s pace is relentless in every regard. The lack of pause doesn’t let your body come totally undone or relax, still wound tight around your previous orgasm to the point where it feels like it won’t end.

“Keep taking it, lovely, I won’t be able to pull out with you squeezing around me like this.”

Whining, you drop your head to the side, chin coming all the way down to your shoulder. Hongjoong snakes his hand around to your neck and braces his index finger and thumb on either side of your jaw. Your head lolls in tune with the way he moves you and without resistance — every ounce of strength in your muscles has melted into goo in his hands. When he presses you back to the wall, your breath hitches. The sensation of his fingers at your neck has you feeling floaty and a bit detached from your body in the most pleasant way imaginable. His thrusts jerk your body enough to offer more pressure against your neck every so often but it’s not as persistent as you wish for it to be.

When you reach between your bodies and clasp your fingers around his wrist, Hongjoong seems to think that you want him to pull away because his grip loosens instantly.

“More,” you grit out, yanking his hand harder into the column of your neck. The steady rhythm he’s found falters momentarily for him to resituate his grip, but once he’s settled back into it, each thrust comes with a delightful headiness as your breath becomes shorter.

“’m close,” he announces. He shifts a hair to look down between your bodies and watches his length disappear into you a few more times before pulling his focus back up to your face with a groan. “Gonna cum in you, pretty, you’re still so tight.”

“Wanna cum with you, t-touch me again,” you pant, licking your lips between each phrase, “please.”

Despite his own shaky hands, Hongjoong reaches down to where his cock pumps in and out of you. He finds your clit with ease and rolls two fingers over it in a similar rhythm to his thrusts, pace only growing as he races towards his finish with you in tow. His motions fail as he orgasms, but the sudden feeling of his cock twitching inside your walls and pumping you full of hot cum pushes you over the edge with him. You almost don’t even feel it with all the sensations hitting you at once, and Hongjoong’s body falls against yours so harshly that your moan is positively unholy.

His hands keep roaming — tracing every inch of skin he can reach like he wants to commit it all to memory, and you simply let him do as he pleases because it feels good and it feels damn good to be wanted by this man. He pulls you towards a different section of the rooftop with your pants and underwear in hand. When he tugs you down to the messy pile of blankets that he and Mingi leave up here for particularly cold nights, you don’t even complain either. He lays himself down atop you, easing between your legs and caging you in with elbows pressed to concrete on either side of your head.

Hongjoong kisses you softly, and you smile against his lips. He finally settles down beside you after a few more exchanged kisses. His hat gets put aside with the other stray pieces of clothing — including his shirt that he’s finally decided to rid himself of far after the fact. The aftermath is peaceful, if a bit hazy as your brain still feels a jumbled mess of putty, and the stars above are bright.

“I’ll have someone pick you up in the morning to take you over to my men. The bar won’t be safe for a few weeks minimum. They can give you some cash to help cut your losses in the meantime too.”

“Okay,” you answer quietly. Beside you, his hand searches the blankets for your own. You let his fingers tangle with yours and squeeze until it hurts.

“Just don’t let Wooyoung try to convince you to buy into any scheme he might come up with.”

“Who?”

“Trust me, he’ll let you know who he is.” Hongjoong laughs at his own comment but falls into silence when he glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Come back for me please.”

Hongjoong is quiet beside you for several lingering seconds, then he leans across the empty space and kisses your temple.

“I’ll make sure of it.”

You believe him.

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please like & reblog this work and consider leaving a reply or sharing your thoughts in a reblog or ask!

this work belongs to caly / hongism (2023). do not copy, repost, or plagiarize in any way.

[minniethemoocherda]

A Spoonful of Sugar

A/N: My first Sonic fic! I feel like I've unlocked an Internet Achievement lol. Anyway I am loving all the fics of Stone adopting Shadow after the events of Sonic 3 so I had to write my own! Hope you guys enjoy it! Xxxxxxx

Ao3

FF.net

"… with whipped cream, marshmallows, sprinkles, two shots of vanilla, three of cinnamon and a chocolate chip cookie melted on top please!"

Stone fought back a grimace at the blue hedgehog's latte order, if one could even still call it a latte after everything Sonic wanted to ruin it with. Stone wasn't entirely convinced this wasn't some sort of twisted revenge for the admittedly many times he had tried to kill him.

However they had been able to come to a truce in the past months, with them agreeing not to try to kill each other after Stone re-opened The Mean Bean. This left Stone with no choice but to settle on the hypothesis that the hedgehog was just insane.

After handing over his pocket money, Sonic sped over to his brothers' table by the window and this time Stone was unable to hold back his grimace as the speedster once again burned streaks into his oak floor.

Biting back a curse, Stone shoved the change into the register before handing over a copy of the order to his barista.

Shadow took the piece of paper with a determined nod. He then went straight to work on the machine, each dial and instrument moved with perfect precision as he focused his entire energy in to his new mission.

Stone didn't even try to hold back his smile. Shadow had come a long way since Stone had first found him unconscious in that creator, bruised and broken to almost beyond recognition. And so had Stone. Honestly after everything that had happened, he'd been ready to end it all. But saving Shadow had given him a purpose. And he'd been able to provide one for the hedgehog in return.

They still had a long way to go. Shadow was still simultaneously convinced that Stone was going to kick him out of the spare room or keep him locked up there for another fifty years. But every night they would watch a new episode of La Ultima Passion together and Shadow had finally agreed to see the private tutor Stone had hired to get his schooling up to speed alongside his employment at The Mean Bean. Plus Stone couldn't deny that the hedgehog looked adorable in the custom child sized apron Stone had ordered for him. Even if he did have a habit of eating the speciality coffee beans straight out of the tin.

As Stone took advantage of the break in customers to clean the counter, he caught Sonic trying to catch Shadow's eye but the barista must've seen the other hedgehog's attempts in the reflection of the metal coffee machine and had decided purposefully ignoring him.

Eventually Sonic gave up, going back to talking a mile a minute to his brothers.

Nobody in the coffee shop batted an eye at the sight if three alien children. The people of Green Hills were long used to the sight. Hell, Stone had once been their sworn enemy and even he didn't find it odd for the trio to visit The Mean Bean during their own tutoring breaks, (in fact it had been Mrs Wachoski who had put Stone in touch with company behind the boys' own tutors).

Stone saw Sonic snort as Knuckles swore revenge on his frappe for giving him a brain freeze, the blue hedgehog nearly choking on the muffin he must've nabbed with his super speed without Stone noticing.

The sun beamed through the wooden frame of the window and for a moment, Sonic was bathed in a golden glow like he had the day he had absorbed the power of the Master Emerald to stop the Doc-

Stone tried to stop that train of thought. But it was too late. Suddenly all Stone could think about was the Doctor and that day and how from the wreckage he had healed the Doctor back to health and that even now he couldn't stop the hope and guilt that the Doctor was still alive out there waiting for help even though it had been months and all the evidence proved that the Doctor was really dead this time and-

"FUCK!"

Stone startled at the sudden curse.

He spun around to see Shadow snap his hand back from where it had been held under the steamer. Strangely, there was no cup in Shadow's hand, the bio-degradable Styrofoam still on the counter. For a second, Stone wondered what could have caused Shadow to forget it, but that question was quickly pushed to the back of his mind as he focused on the more pressing matter.

It was mid-morning so most people in Green Hills were already at work with the few children there at the school in the next town over. Besides the three aliens the only other costumers were Crazy Carl and a group of retired old ladies playing poker in the corner. Stone placed a small sign on the register that they'd be back soon before guiding Shadow through to the kitchen.

"Can I see you hand?" In their short time together, Stone had learnt early on to present any medical concerns as a question instead of a demand.

Shadow took of his glove and held it out without complaint, still conditioned to listen to doctors lest he face the punishments.

There was a burn on the edge of his palm, the red and black fur slightly singed and the usually tan skin underneath was staring to blister pink.

"We're going to need to hold it under the cold tap for a while to cool your skin down. Then I can wipe it with some antiseptic to make sure it doesn't get infected." Stone said, making sure to explain the reason behind the treatment.

Shadow nodded, his nose and eyes scrunched as he braced for the impact of the cold water of the sink.

It was nothing compared to the injuries that Stone had helped to heal him from as well as whatever hell he'd been through in those labs.

Still he flinched as the cold continued pouring onto his hand.

"We can take a break if you want?" Stone offered.

Shadow's eyes widened, as though ever after all this time, he still couldn't believe that Stone was giving him a choice. Before his eyes soon narrowed into familiar slits.

"No." Shadow stated, that steel determination present in his voice that Stone knew meant it would be impossible to change his mind. As much as Stone didn't want Shadow to force himself through more pain, he was proud that the hedgehog was standing up for his own medical desires.

After a few more minutes, Stone turned the water off, then as gentle as he could, stroked an antiseptic wipe over the burn. Thankfully it wasn't very deep. It would probably hurt for the next hour but should fully heal within a few days.

"Does it hurt anywhere else?" Stone asked.

"Not anymore. But before my cheeks were warm, my pulse quickened and I felt as though some of your Earthling butterfly creatures had infested my stomach."

Oh, Stone thought, coming to a quick diagnosis. He was all too familiar with that set of symptoms, having suffered from them the entire time he had known the Doctor.

He missed them.

Now whenever he thought of the late Ivo Robotnik, he felt an empty sense of sickness.

Still for Shadow's sake, he swallowed his feelings and put on a smile.

"I think I know how to fix that. Spending time with another anthropomorphic hedgehog should alleviate them. And since you're going to take the rest of the day off to heal your hand, why don't you go do that now?"

Shadow wasn't stupid. Judging by the glare he was currently aiming at the former agent, he knew that Stone was hiding something. However he must've come to the conclusion that he wasn't straight up lying, which he wasn't, as eventually Shadow nodded.

"Great! I'll make Sonic's order then you can take it to him as an excuse to talk to him."

"Fine." Shadow hmphed, following Stone back behind the counter.

Stone remade the abomination of a latte before handing it over to Shadow.

Stone watched as he marched straight over to the window, handing the cup of to the fellow hedgehog as though he were issuing an arrest warrant. Sonic didn't seem to mind Shadow's stony disposition, already babbling on as he thanked Shadow for how amazing the latte was even though he hadn't even taken a sip yet and Shadow hadn't even been the one to make it himself. It would go unnoticed by most, but Stone was easily apply to recognise how the corner of Shadow's lips twitched into a smirk at Sonic's antics.

The scene reminded Stone of when he'd first met the Doctor. Wasting his engineering degree working in a brand named cafe when the most striking man he'd ever seen walked in to order the most striking order he'd ever made to then hire Stone on the spot after he'd taken one sip.

For the first time since everything had gone to shit, instead of feeling sick, the thought of The Doctor made Stone smile.

One that grew even larger as he over heard Shadow call Sonic an idiot for attempting to down the entirety of his drink in one gulp.

And over dinner, Shadow later told him that he was full of shit as spending more time with Sonic only made his symptoms worse.

[lewkwoodnco]

Masterlist

All works written in third person fem!reader

➳ timeless ♡✧✿ 900 w 🖋️

you see your relationship with lockwood reflected in an antiques’ shop and realise you might be more than friends

➳ cruel summer (part 1, part 2) ♡✧✿ 3.2k

you agonise over the push and pull between you and lockwood as you navigate ordinary cases and the Fittes ball together

➳ august (tsitp version) ✶ 1.3k 🖋️💙

haunted by a Changer’s terrible prophecy, you make the difficult decision to leave Lockwood & Co.

➳ the alcott ✶✿ 1.8k 🖋️

after having left Lockwood & Co., lockwood finds you at an old haunt and persuades you to return by mending the rift between you two. can be read as a sequel to august (tsitp version)

➳ I Can See Youᶻ♡✧✿☆ 5.9k 💌

(enemies to lovers, Fittes!reader) as a rival agent at Fittes, you loathe the smug bastard that is anthony lockwood. or love him. one of the two.

➳ and I hope it gets to you on some Pacific wind✶ 6.3k

after getting laid off from Fittes, you struggle to find another job and struggle even more with accepting lockwood’s affection. can be read as a sequel to I Can See You

➳ You Belong With Me ♡✧✿ 2.4k 💌

you stumble along in your relationship with lockwood until he realises no one else is going to feel like home the way you do

➳ False God ✶✿ 4k 💌💙

the tension bubbling between you and lockwood finally pushes you to a breaking point as you leave Lockwood & Co., but someone helps you find your way back home

➳ Question…? ✶✿ 4.8k 💌

you deeply resent your ex-employer after a miscommunication on why he fired you, but the both of you can’t help but terribly miss the other

➳ Dressᶻ✧✿ 3.5k 💌

after a spur of the moment kiss when you nearly die on a case, you and Lockwood struggle with staying content as friends

➳ You Are In Love ♡✧✿ 2.4k 💌

bit by bit, you realise your love for lockwood over the course of a case

➳ Gold Rush ♡✧✿ 2.8k 💌

(friends to lovers) you find your employer utterly deplorable, but can’t help being drawn in by his wayward ways

➳ Safe and Sound ✶✿ 2k 💌

(hurt/comfort) you help Lockwood through a nightmare

➳ get him BACK! ♡✧✿ 5.4k 💙

(slight enemies to lovers, Fittes!reader) you hated Lockwood for being such an aggravating personality, and now you hate him even more for proving you wrong

➳ London Boy ♡✿ 3.1k 💌

(european!reader) anthony lockwood finds his newest employee’s accent terribly adorable

➳ How You Get the Girl ✶✿ 4.8k 💌💙

an unresolved fight with lockwood pushes you to leave Lockwood & Co., as you’re convinced he’d be better off with lucy, but he doesn’t give up on you

➳ Invisible String ♡✿ 5.4k 💌

(neighbour!reader, estranged friends to lovers) as an old friend, you start becoming more involved in lockwood’s life again with the arrival of lucy carlyle

➳ only love can hurt like this ✶✿ 4.7k 💌💙

your boyfriend risks his neck for you one too many times. loving anthony lockwood was anything but easy

➳ buy me presents! ♡☆ 2.6k ❄️💙

[jealous!lockwood, gift giving (lockwood’s version)] spending christmas alone at Portland Row is terribly boring, so you decide to tease your somewhat possessive employer

➳ I got options, babe ♡✧✿ 2.6k ❄️❣️

(sequel to buy me presents!) it’s a Portland Row Christmas ft. slightly jealous reader

➳ tis the damn season ✶ 5.1k ❄️💙

after going away to boarding school, you visit lockwood for the first time in years but he doesn’t seem ready to forgive you

➳ I take you like you do your tea, with lemon and with honey ♡✧ 720 w 🖋️💙

(first person!reader) it is both a blessing and a curse to love so deeply

➳ Falling For You ♡✿☆ 2.6k ❣️

it’s Valentine’s Day, love is in the air, and you make a dangerous bet with lockwood over who was a better connoisseur of pick-up lines

➳ so american! ♡✿ 3.3k 💙

(american!reader, domestic sweetness) lockwood tries to teach you how to drive in a day in the life of Portland Row’s most nauseating couple

➳ but daddy, I love him! ♡✧✿ 3.8k

(socialite!reader) bored out of your skull with your lavish lifestyle, the psychical investigators your father hired provide a welcome change of pace

➳ you look like shit ♡✧☆  1.5k 🖋️

one time you told lockwood he looked like shit and four times he told you you looked like shit

➳ loveSICK ♡✧ 2.3k 

you don’t know what it is you’re coming down with, but you do know it’s Anthony Lockwood’s fault, the bastard.

➳ late nights ♡✧ 800 w 🖋️💙

you fall asleep while waiting for Lockwood to return from a case.

➳ Sneaking Around ♡ 1.6k 🖋️

you and lockwood are in a secret relationship, but unfortunately for both of you, lockwood isn't very good at sneaking around. three times lockwood almost gave it away and the one time you finally did.

➳ guardian angel ♡✶ 3.8k

as a Visitor lingering in 35 Portland Row, you can’t help but worry over Lockwood and his reckless ways.

➳ no one's ever had me (not like you) ♡☆ 2.1k

a day in the life of dating lockwood

➳ june gloom ✧ 1.6k

(can be read as a stand-alone of with the 1989 tv vault series) if lockwood's truly moved on, what's he doing at your house?

➳ panic attack ✶✿ 1.9k🖋️ 💌

set after the altercation at Winkman's - you help lockwood through a panic attack

1989 TV Vault Series (In Progress)

➳ “Slut!”ᶻ ♡✶✿☆ 5.4k

as an up-and-coming agent regularly torn to shreds by malicious tabloids, you decide that you’re better off alone. That is, until you meet anthony lockwood

➳ Say Don’t Go ✶☆ 3.8k

after your apartment gets flooded, you accept lockwood’s invitation to temporarily move into Portland Row, but through unfortunate unforseen circumstances you end up moving out of his life permanently

➳ Now That We Don’t Talk ✧ 3.1k

you try to piece together how lockwood is doing through the gossip rags you once so desperately detested and reflect on how your life has soured without him around to buoy your spirits

➳ love to think you’ll never forget ✶2.5k 

blurb set after the phone call with lucy in the previous chapter where you ruminate over bittersweet memories and struggle with feelings of inadequacy

➳ Wildest Dreams ♡✧✿ 3.3k 💌

(Fittes!reader) you make an unlikely companion after investigating a certain pilfering boy

➳ After Hours ♡✧✿☆ 2.7k 💌

(librarian!reader) you occasionally bend the rules for a researcher you may have a soft spot for

➳ Be More ♡☆ 2.8k

after a mix-up of dates, you spend Valentine’s Day baking with George

➳ the tortured poets departmentᶻ ✶✿ 3.7k 

(Fittes!reader) as you start to lose touch with George once he leaves Fittes, you make one last-ditch attempt to reconnect with him after Lucy & Lockwood’s wedding 

➳ Northern Attitude ✶✿ 2.1k 💙

Lucy struggles with a disconnect from Lockwood, who helps her through it

➳ I take you like you do your tea, with lemon and with honey ♡✧ 720 w 🖋️💙

(first person!reader) it is both a blessing and a curse to love so deeply

♡ - fluff

✧ - mild angst

✶ - angst

ᶻ - mild smut

✿ - happy ending

🖋️ - drabble (under 2k)

☆ - popular

💌 - requested

💙 - my favourites

[junplusone]

seventeen as engineering majors

notes: hi i have nothing to say for myself except this is partially @imujings's fault and also my self indulgence so here we go (can you tell what my major is..... lol)

warnings: ehh swearing, i namedrop companies, eng jargon

-

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL - civil engineering

if you know, you know

is very proud of his program despite all the jokes (he shouldn't be) sorry im biased

"we're better than the meches"

never had to take dynamics in his LIFE omg

100% has a poster of the golden gate bridge on his wall and gets made fun of for it

is convinced one day when he's making bank and jeonghan is jobless he'll finally be vindicated

YOON JEONGHAN - mechanical engineering

did have to take dynamics & almost failed it

(he's smart, he was just too lazy to submit any of the homework that was also worth 60% of his grade)

gets salty at career fairs when most of the employers are construction companies

competing with the 24853874534 other meches for class sections

leaning into the "jack of all trades master of ????"

has a superiority complex over the aeros

HONG JOSHUA - computer engineering

should have just been a cs major tbh

compe is the bottom of the engineering food chain

but nobody has the heart to tell him that bc he's too kind

hangs out with the likes of yoon jeonghan but still never skips class

wants to create his own video game

probably got an internship at a fortune 100 company

has hella connections and WILL ask them to nepo you too bc he's that nice

WEN JUNHUI - aerospace engineering

has had enough of the lockheed martin jokes

does NOT !!! wanna work in defense he's a sustainable fuel guy

spacecraft development companies pleaseeee hire him

lets the meches have beef w him bc he dgaf what they think, but gets annoyed when they start competing w him for jobs

sidequest king (double minor in math & ecology AND he wants to try his hand at law school???? wtf)

locks in so freaking hard when he has to but is just silly otherwise - he's that student you never see studying but then they ace the exam

KWON SOONYOUNG - chemical engineering

is the one making lockheed martin jokes in front of junhui

but definitely picked cheme because someone told him he can make bombs

had to retake orgo twice but then passed inorganic chemistry with flying colors

academic wild card #1

always ends up with 8:30s bc he never wakes up on time for class registration

#1 merck worshipper pls hire him omg

LEE JIHOON - computer engineering

is at the bottom of the engineering food chain, but unlike joshua he knows & owns it

is a cs minor so it's slightly more excusable

probably has hella shit on github

definitely following more companies on linkedin than he has connections

double major in music production & plays clarinet in the pep band

you will never see him without his headphones on

JEON WONWOO - electrical engineering

actually very strongly dislikes that electrical & comp are grouped together as ece

likes the versatility of his major

probably never had a single morning class in his life

def came into college proficient in a bunch of programming languages

sits at the back of the lecture hall

never ever studies outside of his dorm bc he likes using his huge desk monitor

KIM MINGYU - biomedical engineering

so sick of every single person he meets assuming he's a premed student

has definitely accidentally broken flasks in his bio lab

was so elated when he found out orgo isn't a graduation requirement

always ALWAYS studies w a whiteboard

is one of the only guys in bme

you can always find him cooking up some food in the dorm's communal kitchen, he's always down for a conversation

LEE SEOKMIN - environmental engineering

minor in sustainability, he's an environmentally conscious sweetie pie!

the dream project groupmate

is one of like 15 people in his graduating class

wants to research water treatment technologies

"did you know using chatgpt is harmful to the environment?"

and he's right !!!!

took organic chemistry for fun and aced it even though mingyu warned him it would tank his gpa

XU MINGHAO - chemical engineering

really wants to work in the fragrance industry

always smells good, you'll never catch him lacking

another one of those people where you don't see them study ever but they still coast through classes

gets distracted when he's drawing out chemical compounds bc he tries too hard to get the lines perfect

and then starts sketching something else

second most nastiest side eye

BOO SEUNGKWAN - industrial & systems engineering

y'all know this man did not wanna do any work (jk i love my ise majors)

business admin double major & he's reaaaally good at it

everyone's jealous of the way he charms all the employers at the career fair how do u even do that like???

very intelligent but hated every calc class he had to take

always studies in the business building

nastiest side eye EVERRRRRR do not say anything stupid in front of him please he will vaporize you

CHWE HANSOL - materials science & engineering

walter white in the making

declared a chemistry minor and then never took the required classes

really enjoyed crystal chem

profs have a hard time grading his hw cause his handwriting lowkey looks like chicken scratches

the absolute chillest during finals week but nobody knows if it's because he studied way in advance or because he didn't study at all

academic wild card #2

such an 'it is what it is' guy tbh...

LEE CHAN - packaging engineering

ppl look confused when he tells them his major

is in it for the near 100% job placement

has a great time in all of his classes because they're so fun and the class size is like 8 kids

doesn't fully know what he wants to do later in life but he'll figure it out later

carpe diem kinda guy

wants to intern at a cosmetics company really really bad so he can take sample products home to his mom

let me know if u enjoyed this hehe :)

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

1968 [Chapter 11: Hephaestus, God Of Fire]

A/N: Only 1 chapter left!!! 🥰💜

Series Summary: Aemond is embroiled in a fierce battle to secure the Democratic Party nomination and defeat his archnemesis, Richard Nixon, in the presidential election. You are his wife of two years and wholeheartedly indoctrinated into the Targaryen political dynasty. But you have an archnemesis of your own: Aemond’s chronically delinquent brother Aegon.

Series Warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, character deaths, New Jersey, age-gap relationships, drinking, smoking, drugs, pregnancy and childbirth, kids with weird Greek names, historical topics including war and discrimination, math.

Word Count: 5.4k

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰

💜 All of my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Here is our final interlude. Do you have the patience?

President Lyndon Baines Johnson has halted all U.S. attacks on North Vietnam: no bombs from the air, no infantry on the ground, no artillery shells launched by destroyers cruising in the South China Sea. The election will determine what happens next. If Nixon wins, military operations will resume until the South Vietnamese are in a sufficiently advantageous position to defend themselves from the communists. If Aemond is the victor, troop withdrawals will begin shortly after he is inaugurated on January 20th.

Regardless, it will not be until almost a full year from now, in October of 1969, that it becomes illegal for employers to reserve positions for men; the common practice of refusing to hire women with preschool-aged children will not be outlawed until 1971. Unmarried people will not be guaranteed access to contraception until 1972. Abortion will not be legalized across all fifty states until 1973. Women will not have a right to their own bank accounts or credit cards until 1974. It will not be illegal to exclude women from juries until 1975. The first female Supreme Court justice, Sandra Day O’Connor, will be appointed in 1981. There will be no female president of the United States, not for at least half a century after our story ends.

Each night on CBS Evening News, Walter Cronkite recaps the latest poll numbers. Nixon appears to have a slight advantage, due in large part to pulling ahead in Florida, Illinois, Ohio, and his home state of California. Aemond has comfortable leads in Texas, Pennsylvania, New York, and New Jersey. George Wallace will likely sweep the Deep South: Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Louisiana, and Arkansas. From their hovels, the racists rejoice. From her grave, Lurleen Wallace rests uneasily, scratching at the lid of her coffin with the bones of her fingers, entombed in dark oblivion like all the rest of the world’s discarded wives.

~~~~~~~~~~

You go for the door, but Aemond is faster; he catches you just as your hand is twisting the handle and the hinges creak. He throws you against the wall so hard the paintings rattle: replicas of Monets and Warhols, Almond Blossoms, The Birth of Venus. You fight, clawing at him, ripping off the eyepatch that Alys must have at last convinced him was no defeat to wear. The hollow, gore-colored abyss of his left eye socket beckons you to fall in and be burned: Hestia’s eternal hearth, the volcanic forge of Hephaestus. He’s fire all the way down, hunger and fury, bones charred black and brittle. You think of the uninhabitable furnace of Jupiter’s moon Io, lethal radiation, poisoned air, lava bubbling up like blood through a bullet wound.

“You can’t hit me,” you gasp. “You need me for photos—”

His knuckles are in your belly, crosshairs made of scar tissue. The air collapses out of your lungs; your vision dims like twilight, like an eclipse. You’re on the floor and trying to crawl away from him. Aemond’s fingers hook into the fabric of your robe; it matches the silk nightgown you wear beneath, a pale anemic pink, something soft and young and desireless, something eternally at others’ mercy, something to be guarded or gutted. He’s dragging you towards him.

He’s going to hit me again, he might even kill me.

“Stop, stop,” you plead, still struggling to breathe. “What if I’m pregnant?!”

You almost certainly can’t be, but Aemond doesn’t know that. Yet his lone eye glints like metal, like coins, no weak mortal compassion. “I would have no way of being sure it was mine.” And then he tries to cover your mouth as you scream for help. You bite at his fingers; your bare feet kick the wall. Your hair, long and loose and wild, flows around you like a bride’s veil.

Too late, Aemond realizes that the door is still open a crack from when you grabbed the handle. There are footsteps and a voice that crescendos as it approaches: “What on earth is going on in here…?” Fosco appears in the threshold, yellow tweed jacket, tight olive green trousers. He stares thunderstruck down at where you and Aemond are entangled on the floor.

You beg: “Fosco, help me.”

“No, no, no,” Fosco says, jolting from his paralysis and holding a hand out towards Aemond. “No, you cannot do this, whatever has happened, you cannot touch her like—”

“She’s not your wife,” Aemond says. She’s not your property. Fosco hesitates; his large dark eyes shifting between the two of you from behind his glasses.

“Aemond, brother, listen to—”

“Get out.” Aemond’s voice is low, searing, malignant.

“Fosco, please don’t leave me,” you whimper. You try to pry Aemond’s fingers off your robe; they dig in deeper, bruising the flesh underneath. “Don’t leave me, don’t let him hurt me.”

Abruptly, Fosco turns and sprints out of the room.

“No!” you shout after him before Aemond grabs your face, his hand like a claw, fingernails leaving half-moon indents in your cheeks, crushing pressure on your jaw.

“You’re trying to sabotage this campaign.”

“I didn’t see the reporters, I swear to God.”

He knocks the back of your skull against the wall so hard that you see momentary flashes like stars, that all the words vanish from your throat, that words cease to exist at all. “You’re a traitor. Do you know the penalty for treason? The U.S. Army would have you executed by firing squad. Zeus would chain you to a rock so your liver could be carved out.”

“You betrayed me first,” you hiss through clenched teeth, your head pounding hot and maroon.

“I have been working for this since before you were born. You can’t take it away from me. I won’t let you.”

“I did everything right and you still couldn’t love me.” You swing at Aemond and he catches your wounded hand, squeezes it, digs his thumb into the spot where the doctors stitched you closed. The pain is excruciating, incapacitating. You wail as scarlet flowers bloom through the white of your bandaged palm.

Now the door flies open again and Aegon collides with Aemond, sends him sprawling, crouches over you. He’s screaming something at Aemond, gripping your shoulder to keep you under him, his too-long hair hanging in his face, black turtleneck sweater, one of Daeron’s frayed army jackets thrown over it, ripped jeans, bare feet. Aemond grabs his brother by the lapel of his army jacket and draws back his fist. His golden wedding ring flashes in the grey November sunlight that streams in through the windows. Aegon doesn’t flinch. He’s taken knuckles to the face before; you remember cleaning blood off his skin under a streetlight in Biloxi, you remember not wanting to wash him away.

“Don’t you see what it will look like?!” Fosco is saying, trying to coax Aemond to relent. “If he is photographed with a busted face after that story comes out? If she has bruises or a black eye? By harming them you are confirming what your enemies have printed, and the voters will believe it is the truth.”

“They already know it’s true!” Aemond snatches the Wall Street Journal off the table and hurls it at Fosco. Then he paces back and forth through the room, glaring at where you are still crumpled on the floor, sobbing, cradling your bleeding hand to your chest. “It’s right there, three goddamn photographs, and that’s all it will take to bring down a lifetime of work!”

Fosco studies the pictures again, shaking his head, one hand covering his mouth. At last he offers weakly: “It could be worse, Aemond.”

“How could it be worse?!”

Aegon scrambles to Fosco to rip the newspaper out of his hands, then returns to you. He hasn’t seen the front-page story yet. He skims it frantically. “This? This is what you’re losing your mind over? It’s dark, it’s blurry, they can’t even see what’s going on!”

“I have one fucking eye and I can see it!”

“So come up with another explanation, this doesn’t prove anything.”

“If she costs me the election—”

“If you lose, it won’t be because of her!” Aegon roars back. “It will be because the Democrats have held the White House for eight years and the world has gone to hell on our watch, it will be because of Kennedy, and Johnson, and Vietnam and the riots and the hippies and the drugs and the assassinations, it will be because Nixon is promising law and order in a time when nobody is safe, it will be because you just weren’t good enough. But she has given more to your cause than anyone. You hit her and you’ll lose your other eye.”

“They were in conversation,” Fosco says, meaning the photos. The four of you know that’s not true; it is a lie for the rest of the world, it is hope for Aemond’s campaign. “On the beach. They were whispering, comforting each other. Because of Mimi. That is all.”

Aemond scoffs, his remaining eye fierce and wrathful as it lands on you again. Aegon grips your shoulder, still crouching over you, still shielding you. “You bitch. I should have left you at that party in Manhattan to be the dope-smoking whore you were when I found you.”

“I shouldn’t have helped save your life in Palm Beach.”

And Aemond blinks at you, not hurt but bewildered, like he doesn’t understand your words, like what you said is impossible. He doesn’t believe you saved him. He believes it was God’s will.

Otto storms into the hotel room and takes in the scene: you and Aegon on the floor, Aemond pacing furiously, Fosco attempting to mediate. “Nobody says anything,” Otto commands, deep booming voice, black suit like he’s going to a funeral. “The Wall Street Journal hates Aemond. Everyone knows that, they’re probably the only national publication that would run the story. Our newspapers are already pushing the counternarrative, that this was a shameful, deceitful, desperate attempt to discredit Aemond right before the election. Our supporters will insist upon an innocent explanation. Nixon’s will use the photos as evidence of our degeneracy, our amorality, us immigrants with our strange faith and our progressive politics. Everyone else in the country will be warring over this headline. We will say nothing. We will conduct business as usual. The best thing we can do now is go out there and keep our schedule as planned.” He looks meaningfully at Aemond. “And your wife must be at your side. Smiling, unscathed, devoted.”

“I lost my composure,” Aemond says to you, more collected now, businesslike. He is smoothing any wrinkles out of his suit jacket. “I was wrong to put my hands on you. I apologize for that. It was beneath me.”

You reply: “Very little is beneath you, I’ve learned.”

“You have been.” A trace of a grin, crooked and cruel. “Plenty of times. And you will be again.”

Aegon is watching is brother, seething but terrified, sheltering you with power that is only illusory, never real. It is a mirage that Aemond or Otto could punch through at any moment. It is glass that would shatter into crystalline dust.

“If I win, you will beg on your knees for forgiveness,” Aemond tells you. “You will beg in private, you will be perfection in public, and I will magnanimously overlook this indiscretion in which you were taken advantage of by my notoriously dissolute brother. There was no affair. There was a fleeting moment of weakness on your part and depravity on Aegon’s. We will put it in the past. I will be the president of the United States and you will be my first lady. You will spend every second of your existence in service of my career, my country, and my legacy. You will give me children. You will obey me entirely. And you and Aegon will never be in a room alone together for the rest of your lives.”

“You can’t keep me away from her,” Aegon says.

“I just did. I make the rules here, I am the heir to this empire. If you wanted that responsibility, you should have seized it. You squandered it, you cursed it. It’s mine now.”

A whisper: “Aemond, it’ll kill me.”

“Then have the dignity to die quietly. It will be the most useful thing you’ve ever done.”

“Aegon must be seen in public too,” Fosco says, trying to sound like he isn’t defending him. “If you appear to be punishing or excluding him, it will be used as evidence of his guilt.”

Aemond nods, then turns to his brother. “As soon as the election is called, whichever way it goes, I want you gone. I don’t care where you go. I don’t care what happens to you once you’re there. You will disappear. We will say it was your choice, and if you comply you can keep your children and receive a modest amount of severance pay to get you started. And as long as you abide by my terms, my wife will not be harmed.”

Aegon doesn’t reply. His large Atlantic-blue eyes glisten, his lips tremble, his hand is still on your shoulder. You think through the throbbing pain of your bleeding palm: Is this the last time he’ll ever touch me?

Otto grabs Aegon, wrenches him away from you, drags him yowling and clawing at the carpet through the doorway.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your hand is freshly bandaged, pristine white gauze that people in the crowd jostle to touch like the relic of a saint, to pray over, to kiss. Men tell you how brave you are to bear the pain without weeping. Women give you komboskini, stained not with their husband’s blood but with only the clean, colorless ether of hope, faith, reverence, love.

Fosco and Helaena have been dispatched to accompany the children on a tour of the Franklin Institute, one of the oldest centers of science education in the nation. Aemond is giving a speech in front of the Liberty Bell at Independence Hall. You and the others are arranged around him like a starving crescent moon. You are standing immediately on Aemond’s left side, Aegon placed at his right. He looks drunk, he looks drugged; you aren’t sure if anyone else can tell, but you can. His cheeks are flushed. His eyes are pools of murky, desolate indigo like the night sky between stars. A few attendees give the two of you curious glances, but no mention is made of the accusations in the Wall Street Journal. You get the sense that if someone took it upon themselves to ask a question on the subject, they would be jeered, reviled, banished like President Johnson, who is currently besieged in the White House by the ghosts of Vietnam.

When you look to Aemond, you see his scar, his prosthetic eye, fierce and stoic determination in the lines of his face. He is quoting the inscription on the bell: “Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof…” The bronze metal has a crack in it like one of Zeus’s lightning bolts. The smile on your face is frozen, demure, humble. Aegon’s eyes accidentally catch on yours—a childlike vulnerability, a deep raw woundedness—and then swiftly dart away.

“America is the Land of Opportunity, but some have forgotten that,” Aemond says into the microphone, and vengeance creeps into his voice like a spider up a wall. “Unfortunately, for as long as new communities have arrived at our shores, vile and prejudiced lies have been used to demonize them. Greek immigrants have been crossing the Atlantic for over a century. In 1909, rioters violently expelled them from Omaha, Nebraska. In 1922, an anti-Greek initiative was launched by the Ku Klux Klan. In 1924, Congress drastically restricted my people’s entry in favor of migrants from Northwestern European nations like Britain and Germany. Greeks have been condemned as unintelligent, immoral, and unworthy of the glorious opportunities of this country. We have been barred from jobs and universities, we have been used as cannon fodder in the World Wars. Discrimination against any group is antithetical to the American Dream. I have given an eye for this nation, my wife has bled for it, my brother has—even in the midst of personal tragedy—uprooted his life and the lives of his children to fight alongside me for a better America, and I will not stand by silently as the Targaryen name is tarnished by bigoted falsehoods…”

Now you can no longer hear him over the thunder of the applause, and you remember all the other faces in all those other cities, their eyes illuminated as if by fire, as if by the sun. You imagine devotees of the Greek gods bowing low in temples of white marble and flickering torches, bringing offerings of gold and livestock, grain and blood, murmuring prayers, bargaining for miracles. Did the gods hear them? Do the gods love anyone but themselves?

Alicent and Criston are watching you and Aegon with the same eyes: large, dark, shimmering, a curious combination of horror and profound sympathy. You can feel yourself becoming a ghost, a legend, a myth. One day people will read about you in textbooks and academic journals, in plaques erected at Aemond’s alma mater, Columbia University, and your own, Manhattanville College; and they will know only the fabled version of you. Who you really were will fade into nothingness like Echo, like Icarus into the waves, like Eurydice when her lover Orpheus dared to glimpse back at her.

That night in your penthouse suite at the Ritz-Carlton, you get out of the bathtub—dewy with steam, donning your pink robe—and then go to your side of the king-sized bed and slide open the top drawer of the nightstand. The card Aegon gave you at Mount Sinai isn’t there. Your heartbeat quickens; your stomach lurches.

“What…?”

You get down on your knees to reach into the back of the drawer, to see if the card has snagged somewhere. You hear footsteps and whirl to see Aemond standing in the doorway between the bedroom and the living room. He is holding the card. The cartoon cow beams jubilantly at you. You recall what Aegon wrote inside after crossing out the manufacturer’s message: I thought this was blank…congrats on the new calf! As your eyes widen, Aemond rips the card down the middle.

“Don’t!” you scream, rushing for him. “Please don’t, it’s all I have from—!”

Aemond shoves you back and then, with a grin more like a wolf baring its teeth, tears through the remnants again and again until the card is nothing but shreds. He opens the sliding glass door that leads out onto the balcony and throws them into the cold night wind, where they scatter in a flurry like snowflakes, like bones turned to splinters by cluster bombs in the swamps of Vietnam.

The paper fragments spiral down thirty stories towards the zooming headlights on South Broad Street, and you think about following them. Then Aemond pulls you into his arms as frigid air blows through you and whispers: “You don’t need Aegon anymore. You just need me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s Monday, November 4th, and you are walking alongside Ludwika on Broadway in Astoria, Queens, the part of New York City known as Greektown. She chats about the modelling jobs she did here before meeting Otto, her Louis Vuitton stilettos clicking on the sidewalk, her Camel cigarettes smudged with red Yardley lipstick. It is an act of kindness; she is trying to distract you. A few yards away, Fosco is telling Aegon about how he just won $500 by betting on the NASCAR Peach State 200, held at Jefco Speedway in Georgia. Aegon nods along, preoccupied, miserable. He has dark shadows around his eyes and is smoking one of his Lucky Strikes. He is wearing a green knit cap, windblown curls of his blonde hair escaping from underneath. You’re not supposed to stare at Aegon, but sometimes you can’t help it. You miss him. You’re worried about him.

The Targaryens have suites reserved at the Plaza Hotel in Manhattan, where the family will stay through Election Day to witness the results as they are tallied on the evening news. The children are there now, enjoying pizza from Little Italy with Helaena and the nannies. But you and the other adults are being photographed by flocks of journalists as you head for lunch at one of the oldest Greek diners in the United States, paying homage to Aemond’s ancestry. The candidate himself is locked in a fraught conversation with Otto and Criston: polls gaining here, polls slipping there, Nixon inching further ahead in Florida, the state you were supposed to help Aemond win.

“What should I order?” Ludwika asks you. “Not spinach pie, oh, horrible, worse than Hitler. Something else. Why can’t we go to a Polish restaurant for once? I will take you sometime. You will see. You will try a pierogi and never look back. We invented bagels, you know.”

“Beagles?” Fosco says. “What an accomplishment! They are so cute!”

“Bagels, stupido.”

“Do not bully me. I am suffering too. I should be back at the hotel eating a prosciutto pizza.”

As you pass an electronics shop with stacks of televisions in the windows, all turned to NBC news, the journalists begin to gasp and chatter excitedly amongst themselves. The flashbulbs strobe madly, shutters clicking and reporters shouting for Aemond to give them a comment. The youngest Targaryen brother has appeared on the screens, bruised and gaunt and missing teeth. He looks twenty years older than he is. His once-golden hair is turning white.

Otto sputters: “What…what the hell is that?!”

“Oh my God, Daeron!” Alicent howls, and then bursts into the shop so she can hear what her lost son is saying. The rest of you hurry after her, locking the front door behind you so the journalists can’t follow. Through the windows, they take photographs until Fosco and Ludwika lower the blinds.

Inside the maze of electronics, three adolescent employees gawk at the presidential candidate and his retinue. “Out,” Otto instructs them, and then, when they are too stunned to immediately vacate the premises: “I said, get out!” The teenagers scurry into the backroom and slam the door.

“Daeron,” Alicent moans in front of a Zenith color television. Tears flow torrentially from her huge, horrified eyes. Criston holds her, arms circling, his cheek pressed to hers, and you are reminded of how Aegon touched you in your hotel room in Houston, in his basement at Asteria, on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean.

Daeron is saying: “The United States has committed war crimes in Vietnam. I am ashamed of the actions my country has taken here. We have burned children with napalm, executed innocent civilians, and interfered in matters that we have no legitimate jurisdiction over…”

“He is reading from a script,” Fosco says. “You can see his eyes following the words.”

“Shh,” Otto snaps.

Daeron continues: “The only honorable course of action now is to immediately withdrawal all American soldiers from Vietnam…”

“I think this will help us, actually,” Otto says. “People will know he’s being forced to make propaganda for the communists, and they will have sympathy for him and the family. They’ll want to rescue him and all the other servicemen too. He’s obviously…under duress.”

Aegon drops to his knees and puts his palm against the screen over Daeron’s face, just like the shadows of your fingers once fell over Ari as he fought for his life in an incubator in Mount Sinai Hospital. “Do you see what they’re doing to him?” He turns to Aemond with tears in his eyes. “What you did to him? You left him there, you abandoned him, and now he’s being tortured.”

Alicent looks to Aemond, puzzled, petrified. “You tried to get him out, didn’t you?” Aemond doesn’t answer. Otto averts his gaze, counting the tiles on the floor.

“Dear lord,” Ludwika mutters, lighting a fresh Camel cigarette and puffing on it anxiously.

“Was it worth it?” Aegon demands. “Selling your soul?”

Aemond is steely, resolved. “It’s almost over.”

“You were all right.” Aegon stands, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his green-striped sweater. “I don’t have what it takes to win the presidency. I couldn’t do something like this. Me, the perennial fuckup. Me, the godless degenerate.”

“Aegon,” Alicent whispers. “Please…please don’t…”

He turns to his mother, insurmountably sad. “Mom, I tried to stop him.” Alicent sobs and covers her face with both hands as Criston embraces her. She can’t even look at Aemond. She can’t believe what he’s become. Her long coppery hair flows like blood.

You reach for Aegon, your fingertips brushing his ruddy cheek, and immediately he folds into you, burying his face in the curve of your neck, breathing in your warmth as you inhale his smoke and rum and pain and terror. “Daeron will be home soon,” you say, not knowing if it’s true. Your bandaged hand aches; your throat burns.

“I should have gone instead. It should have been me.”

“No, Aegon. Your children need you, I need you. I wouldn’t have made it without you.”

Then Aemond yanks you away, his grip on your wrist like an anchor, like chains.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Dad, play us something,” Orion says; and it is the first time you can remember him calling Aegon that. Aegon smiles. He’s sitting on one of the couches in the penthouse suite you share with Aemond, the Gibson guitar he bought back in July lying across his lap as he strums it absentmindedly. The television is on and turned to CBS News. It’s just before midnight on Tuesday, November 5th, Election Day. The children are thrilled. It’s the one night they’re allowed to stay up as late as they’re physically able to. This allowance is not purely altruistic; Aemond wants them awake and ready for photographs as soon as the winner is announced.

“What should I play?”

“Frank Sinatra,” Fosco says. He is beside Aegon on the couch, smoking a cigar and flipping through the Sports section of the New York Times, which he’s not really reading.

“Marvin Gaye,” Ludwika suggests. They are both on your side of the room. Aemond, Otto, Sargent Shriver, and a number of campaign staffers are huddled around the television, transfixed by the ever-updating vote totals. Alicent and Criston are between your factions, murmuring back and forth to each other, flutes of golden champagne in their hands. Helaena is on the floor entertaining Violeta, Daphne, and Neaera with Crayolas and coloring books full of scenes from gardens. You recall how eerily calm Helaena had been the night Aemond was shot in Palm Beach, like she somehow already knew he’d survive. Now she is nervous, looking fretfully around the room, wringing her hands, filling outlines of butterflies with ten different shades of blue.

“The Beatles,” Orion tells Aegon, casting Fosco and Ludwika a judgmental teenage glance.

“Any particular song?”

“You can pick.”

Aegon sips at his rum, ice cubes clinking in the glass. He looks over to the coffee table, where you are embroiled in a game of Battleship with Cosmo. He’s getting better; he’s genuinely sunk your destroyer and submarine so far. Then Aegon’s eyes drop to his guitar strings and he plucks the opening notes of In My Life. His voice is soft and low, almost secretive.

“There are places I’ll remember

All my life, though some have changed

Some forever, not for better

Some have gone and some remain…”

Cosmo turns to watch his father. Orion, Spiro, Thaddeus, and Evangelos are gathered around Aegon’s feet, gazing up at him with admiration, with love.

“All these places had their moments

With lovers and friends, I still can recall

Some are dead and some are living

In my life, I’ve loved them all...”

Cheers erupt over by the television; Aemond has just won Michigan. But then tense, indistinct deliberations follow. Florida is still too close to call, a bad omen. You wonder where Alys is as she watches the results come in. There must be some part of her—however small, however smothered—that fears Aemond will win. If he captures the presidency, she could be separated from the man she loves for the better part of a decade. You drink your Pink Squirrel, wishing it was stronger. You think of sea sponge divers down in the depths and imagine what that first gulp of air tastes like when they resurface, when they shed their rubber suits and brass helmets and step back into sunlight, warmth, freedom like Persephone returning from the Underworld each spring.

“But of all these friends and lovers

There is no one compares with you

And these memories lose their meaning

When I think of love as something new…”

You wear a sapphire-colored gown that Aemond chose for you, strings of silver around your wrist and throat, diamond teardrops hanging from your ears. Your hair is up, your fingernails painted a tasteful opalescent shade, the aching of your bandaged hand dulled by booze and Vicodin.

“Though I know I’ll never lose affection

For people and things that went before

I know I’ll often stop and think about them

In my life, I love you more.”

More triumphant shouts and applause across the room by the television: Aemond has won Washington state. From his own suite at the St. Regis Hotel a few blocks south on 5th Avenue, Nixon’s people must be celebrating that he just secured Ohio’s 26 electoral votes. He needs 270 to be the next president of the United States.

Florida, you think. If Nixon can take Florida, I think he’ll win the whole thing.

As Aemond and Otto are distracted, as Fosco and Ludwika watch with pitying, knowing eyes, Aegon sets his guitar aside and walks by you with his rum in hand, taps your shoulder, disappears onto the balcony. You wait a few minutes—Cosmo wins Battleship and goes to color on the floor with Helaena—and then follow Aegon.

Outside the night sky is moonless, starless, thick with clouds. Rain is beginning to fall, soft hushed pattering. Far below taxis and limousines are still rushing and blowing their horns on West 59th Street. You can see the vast forested shadow of Central Park and streetlights like constellations. In apartments and office buildings, windows are illuminated as Americans sit numbing their fears with beer, wine, shots of liquor, smoldering hand-rolled joints.

Aegon is cross-legged at the ledge, one hand on the iron bars of the railing, staring out at the nightscape of Manhattan. His hair lashes in the cold November wind. His nose is pink, his eyes wet and faraway. He passes his Lucky Strike cigarette to you as you join him and says: “I don’t think Aemond can win without Florida.”

“No,” you agree, taking a drag.

Aegon snatches a rattling orange bottle from the pocket of his olive green army jacket, pops it open, and swallows three pills with a swig of straight rum, dark amber poison.

“Don’t do that,” you say, you plead.

“I need it, babe.”

“I want you to still be alive in ten years.”

Aegon smiles and reaches over to pat your cheek twice. “I think that ship might have sailed, little Io.” Can decades of self-destruction be undone, uninflicted, nullified like Heracles becoming immortal? Can the Underworld be escaped? “Come with me. No matter what happens tonight.”

“Aegon, I can’t.”

“I’m in love with you.”

“If I leave, he’ll hurt you. He’ll hurt me worse.”

“It’s not fair,” Aegon says, his voice breaking.

“Nothing is.”

There is an uproar inside the hotel room, screams that could be horror or triumph, realized dreams, breaking bones, bullets through flesh. You and Aegon are on your feet, hauling the balcony door open, stepping through the threshold into the rest of your lives.

Glasses are being toasted until champagne rains down onto the carpet. The telephone is ringing so Nixon can concede. On CBS News, Walter Cronkite is reporting that Aemond has won Florida and thereby accumulated 270 electoral votes. The blue text on the screen reads: Senator Targaryen will be the 37th president of the United States.