#custom law uniform

[stephinechrist14]

[eevees-hobbies]

My Boyfriend Works at a Butler Cafe - NSFW

Author’s Note: This is in response to the maid cafe requests I’ve gotten. While I don’t think I can add to the body of work that other content creators have already contributed to the fandom, I am dropping this at your feet. It may or may not be inspired by my trip to the Butler Cafe at Anime Expo, hehe.

Content Warning: Fem!Reader x Multiple Characters (Mostly separate). Contains Fluff and Smut (Smut indicated by “after hours” text). P in V. Use of pet names like pretty girl, Daddy, possessiveness in Sakura’s, sex in public, cunnilingus, sharing, mention of a handjob, reserve cowgirl. Tis smut!

Synopsis: Picture a scenario in which Umemiya is concerned about the welfare and sustainability of some of the shops in Makochi, primarily because many of the shops are owned and kept up by some of the more elderly inhabitants. Some stores are dilapidated and at risk of shuttering their doors, which Umemiya sees as a significant loss to the community. After brainstorming potential ways to earn some donations, he has a brilliant idea! It’s a concept that has almost every Bofurin alumni grinding their teeth and shaking their heads in protest. Welcome to the Butler Cafe!

Word Count: 3.2K

Cottage dividers by Saradika. Story and character banners by me.

“I’m so happy to see you, baby!”

If he weren’t volunteering his time to work in the cafe, he would be terminated immediately. As soon as he sees you walk through the door, he shouts your name from across the dining room and beelines straight to you, arms open and with a broad smile on his face. 

The customers he was just serving? Ignored.

He’ll make sure to sit you in his section and pull up a chair to chat with you, which is a significant annoyance to management as Umemiya is a big draw to the cafe. His admirers line up at least an hour before the restaurant opens to see the cutie with the toned biceps serving them strawberry crepes.

Regardless, I hope you’re comfortable with your lover staring into the depths of your eyes—and soul—as you recount your day. 

He’s so incomprehensibly smitten with you that the only thing that he’ll allow to interrupt your verbal reverie is him spoon-feeding you a piece of cake. 

“I’m so glad you came to visit me today! Wait, what do you mean you’re genuinely here to eat lunch?”

Grade: C+

After Hours

“Let me have some of you before my shift, sweetheart. I need you.”

“D-don’t worry about those…let them fall.” Paperwork, pens, and even a stapler aren’t safe from the laws of gravity as Umemiya picks you up and pushes you onto the desk in the back office. He only has so much time before opening the Butler Cafe doors, and he needs to fill your womb to ensure himself a good shift.

Could you imagine a sex-famished Umemiya? It’s a terrifying thought!

You kiss each other hungrily, tongues meeting outside your mouths before you can press your lips together. Your hands are already fussing with his uniform, particularly where his toned chest strains the buttons of his ironed coat.

“If I’m not inside you right now, baby girl-” His sentence is cut off as his mouth latches to the sensitive skin on your throat, suckling and nipping until the spot begins to sting. But if it hurts, you aren’t showing it as your eyes roll back into your skull. 

He’s pressing his body into yours as though he’s attempting to collapse into you. His hands desperately tug at the fabric that covers up his favorite parts of you–your breasts, your stomach, and most importantly, the sweet treat you have between slick-stained thighs.

“Ume, this has to be a quickie!” 

You can feel him grumble against your skin, lips trained into a pout as he grapples with your words, but he knows you’re right. He shifts the seat of your panties to the side and sinks into you, inch by agonizing thick inch. 

And you thought you were ready. You thought the way your cunt was drooling for him just by seeing him in his uniform would mean you were fully prepared to take his girth, but the sheer thickness still has you gasping and gripping his shoulders.

“Shhh, you can take it, pretty girl. You always take me so well. I got ya’”

As he’s pushing into you, his words slur, drunk off your pussy, head swimming with love, lust, and adoration for his sweet girl. There’s no time for preparation; his shift starts soon, and weren’t you just rushing him, anyway?

But for all the stretching you must endure from taking him, Umemiya is still nothing but gentle.

“God, you’re perfect.” His fingers stroke your cheek, and you melt into the familiarity of his soothing touch. “Keep your eyes open for me ok, love? You close them, and we start over.”

Once you collect yourself, walls finally fitting snugly around him like a glove, you bat your eyelashes innocently, brushing your lips against his thumb before sliding it into your mouth. You don’t break eye contact with him as you flirt your tongue against the underside of his thumb, pretending as though you’re sucking on something much bigger and thicker—that of which is already inside of you.

For a brief instant, you see something flash in Umemiya’s eyes, something that you feel sink into your spine and crawl its way up each individual vertebrae with sharpened claws, something that would threaten your health and ability to walk if you were home instead of at the butler cafe. But he begrudgingly sets his desire to defile you to the side and removes his thumb from your mouth, hand moving down and using that same digit to rub at your clit.

“I love it when you help Daddy out like this. Suuuuuuch a good girl.”

The way the desk bangs against the wall and drags across the linoleum floor as he drives his thick cock into your sopping-wet mess makes you consider that you two might be found out before your quickie can conclude. 

Grade: A+

“Stop staring at me like that, and hurry up and order!”

“Ugh!”

Death has never been more welcome as soon as Sakura dons the butler uniform. Even worse is when he peers into the dining room and sees you. 

Why would you do this to him? Why would you show up here? Don’t you have any pity for him, or is this all some sick, twisted fantasy for you? 

He’s spiraling!

Staff must physically grab him and force him onto the cafe floor. 

He’ll approach you, grumbling, and every bit of him the reddest he’s ever been—and is that steam pouring from his ears?

As he mumbles out the delicacy of the day, you have to lean in just to hear what he’s saying.

“S-stop pretending you can’t hear me!”

But best believe that when he sees another butler giving you too much attention for his liking, he’s stepping in and taking care of all his girl's orders.

“Hey, she’s mine.”

“Y-you mean the table, right?”

“She’s mine.”

Oof, he said what he said!

And if Umemiya is popular with the younger crowd, Sakura, to his disdain, is popular with the older ladies. They don’t think he’s particularly cute or lovely to look at; they just enjoy a visit from this loud-mouthed kid telling them to hurry up and order.

They think he’s a hoot and taking method-acting to the extreme.

Aren’t the tsundere types so cute? 

He’s honestly a really bad butler. His inability to be friendly to the customers—except you—and attempts to always switch his shift with someone else does not go unnoticed by management.

Grade: F -

After Hours 

“I kinda like fucking you at work.”

As you gazed down at your plate, an unfinished parfait staring back at you, a simple sentence was all you needed to gulp the rest of the dessert down and follow your butler outside.

“Gonna be good for me and finish that so I can finish you, yeah?”

Um, fuck yeah!

“S-sakura, don’t you have to clock back in?” You mumble into his ear; you know you sound like an absolute mess, your breathing rapid and uneven, with small moans erupting from your throat.

“Fuck this job.” He has your hands pinned above your head; your legs are wrapped around his waist as he fucks you against the alley wall behind the cafe. “I’m exactly where I should be.”

His thrusts forward are hard and urgent, but the retraction of his dick is slow, drawing out the feeling of your satin walls grazing every inch of him. Your slick is staining his bicolored pubic hair as he grinds into you. His fingers dig into your wrists, seemingly in rhythm with each snap of his hips. 

“G-god, Sakura! Maybe I should make you dress up like a butler more often?” 

“P-pervert, you’d like that, huh? You want me to dress up as your fantasy and fuck you in costume?”

He nestles his face into your neck. You sound so good for him, and how could he resist the urge to take you outside and fuck you right here and now with how pretty you look?

You’re intoxicating, you’re perfect, you’re about to make him fucking cum, fuck! He considers pulling out, letting you finish him off with your hand or that cute mouth of yours, but you grip your legs around him in a vice grip.

“H-haru, stay inside, please?”

Oh, god, how could he say no to that? To you? He smashes his lips against yours, moaning loudly in your mouth as his cock twitches, spurts then fountains of his love and devotion for you filling you up to the brim.

His shift at the butler cafe is the last thing on his mind as he wraps his arms around your waist, peppering kisses against your lips and cheeks.

Grade: A+++++++++++++++++++++++

“Hey, you came just to see me, sweet girl? Aw, I’m so lucky.”

Although he technically didn’t have to attend this fundraiser, given his relationship with Bofurin and Makochi, he thought it was a good idea to show up ready to work.

Togame quickly becomes a shift manager. He’s reliable, a natural leader, and every client likes talking to him and even though he doesn’t walk with a sense of urgency, they don’t mind!

When Togame sees you enter the cafe, he’ll shoot you a lazy grin—the kind that makes your heart skip a beat and forces you to long for him even when he’s right there in front of you.

During his lunch breaks, he’ll take you out on the private patio he reserved just for you two and have the butler on duty bring out all the cafe items he knows you’ll like. 

As you speak and enjoy your time together, he’ll grab your hand in his, rough fingers drawing smooth circles around your knuckles, deep-green eyes trained on yours, and occasionally flickering down to look at your lips.

Of course, you want to kiss him, but he’s at work!

Knowing precisely how you are, Togame makes the first move, leaning over and capturing your lips in a kiss that is soft, unabashedly intimate, and that of which touches the furthest and most difficult-to-reach edges of your very soul. He’s breathing life into you, and before you know it, he’s pulling away, smirking, daring you to be the aggressor, and daring you to follow him. And you are, and you do.

Grade: A

After Hours 

“Gonna make you cum before my shift, beautiful. How does that sound? Look at me when I ask you a question.”

Your trembling hand shoots out to grasp the ledge of a nearby shelf in the cafe’s backroom. Togame has your legs draped over his muscular and broad shoulders with your back against the wall in the back office.

Togame loves using your thighs as earmuffs. The harder you squeeze, the more he can tell how good of a job he’s doing. When you squeeze and tremble because he’s sucking on your labia, taking each one into his mouth, sucking, biting, he knows that he’s doing exactly what he needs to get you to absolute euphoria.

“Jo,” you hiss through parted, glossed lips, “They’ll be able to hear us!”

“No, they’ll be able to hear you.”

And he’s right. He snuck you into the back prior to his shift so that he could devour you as though you didn’t pack him a bento box. 

But he’s doing such a good job, licking at your clit until you feel a dull throbbing sensation, making out with your pretty pussy until thick cream coats his lips, and leaving a reflective sheen on his cheeks. 

Unfortunately, the diners aren’t too far away, and you don’t want them to hear every sound Togame is pulling out of you.

And as though he’s intentionally trying to make you louder, he flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue, no longer teasing the nub but making deliberate infinity shapes that make her twitch.

“I’ll stop when you cum in my mouth, baby.”

He wants you to cum? Might as well take him up on the offer. 

You grab loose fistfuls of his hair and start grinding on his face, allowing his nose to rub against your clit as he offers your pretty hole free use of his tongue.

“That’s my girl. You’re such a good listener.”

“Jo, don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Grade: A+

“I’m at your beck and call. Whatever you need is yours.”

To no surprise to anyone, Suo is poised and proper enough to make the butler gig look easy. He knows how to carry the trays without spilling a single crumb of food, he knows where to put the silverware when placing them on the table, and he’s certainly never stressed out during a midday rush.

However, his faults lie with you.

When Suo sees you enter the cafe, he becomes apathetic to the other patrons. He still serves them, yes, but his thoughts are obviously elsewhere. His eyes hardly leave you, watching as you bring a fork up to your mouth and it pushes past your plump lips. 

Your tongue darting out to lick the whipped cream from the corner of your mouth has his eyes widening ever so slightly, and the tea kettle he’s pouring tea from shaking just a bit. 

And when he’s able to serve you? He’s never been happier. Sure, you may not have asked for that extra piece of pie, but you’re absolutely going to get it. Can’t possibly drink any more tea? Nonsense. He’s topping you off again.

Anything for you.

Always.

And forever.

Grade: B

After Hours

"Pretty girl needs to cum at least one more time for us. I need you to cum in my friend's mouth before I touch you."

Your pleasure is Suo’s pleasure, so be a good girl and spread your legs for his friends, mkay? Suo’s tongue slides into your mouth as his fingers brush against the strands of your hair that have managed to fall into your face. 

He can’t help but admire you, your beauty, and your fucked out expression as your mouth opens and closes, waves and waves of pleasure rocking you to your core. 

His beautiful girl.

The cafe's shades are drawn closed, and the interior of the restaurant is only illuminated by dim amber lamp lights placed sporadically throughout the medium-sized room. 

Suo cups your chin, his mouth only leaving yours as he tilts your face forward, “Tell Sakura how much you like when he sucks on your clit.”

Sakura grunts from between your thighs. He’s on all fours, face so flush against your cunt that there’s surely no room for him to breathe. But if that’s the case, he isn’t indicating that oxygen is a necessity as he’s dragging his tongue, flattened and broad, against your swollen clit in long licks. 

“That feels really good, Sakura. You’re doing such a great job.” You pause, but Suo’s quick, heated glance in your direction wills you to continue. “You’re doing a great job, and I like when you suck on my clit”

“Good girl. It’s important to thank your butlers. Now be sure to thank Umemiya, too.”

You turn your head to the side, gazing up at Umemiya, who is pulling up his undershirt in clenched fists, exposing his toned stomach and chest, and his pants hanging loosely around his thighs. His pectorals have been a rosy pink all night, the persistent blush only spreading as he lays witness to you and what you’re capable of.

Your hand is wrapped around his cock, fingertips unable to touch each other from the sheer circumference of him, but dammit you’re trying. “Thank you, Umemiya, for letting me jerk you off.”

Suo lets out a quiet hiss, pleased with your obedience. He grips you by the cheeks and leans down, his lips so close to yours, his eye peering into your soul.

“Who do you think should go first? Which butler would you like to request, love?”

You’d smirk if his hand wasn’t forcing your lips into a pout, but your eyebrow twitches, and you get that familiar glint in your eye that Suo loves so much.

“I don’t think anyone has to take turns. Everyone pick a hole.” 

Grade: A+

“P-please tell me how I can help you?”

When you see Nirei in his butler outfit, you swoon. How could someone so innocent and cute look like that? And while he blushes and stutters when taking your order, he’s probably the most impressive butler in the cafe.

He knows the menu like the back of his hand, is always on time, and is willing to stay late if need be.

Unlike the other participants on this list, your presence isn’t enough to shake Nirei, and admittedly, that might hurt a bit, right? In actuality, Nirei does so well because of you.

He knows you’re watching, so he’s careful with every movement and every word he says. He so desperately wants to impress you. So you might not always see it, but he’s watching you out of the corner of his eye, hoping you saw him interact with a client with perfect protocol. 

As you have lunch with your friends and your eyes meet, he’ll shoot you a little wave as he turns his attention back to a customer. Your friends will giggle because how did YOU trap someone so cute, sweet, and innocent?

And you’ll take offense to that because 1) you aren’t a predator who hunts cute little animals–-Bambi is most certainly safe when you’re around and 2) Nirei is anything but innocent.  

Grade: A+

After Hours:

"O-oh god! You’re amazing, so beautiful, please don’t stop! I-I’m gonna..!"

With shaky hands, Nirei hangs onto the plush of your ass–and on for dear life–as you ride him in reverse cowgirl position on the floor of the Butler Cafe. 

“O-oh, my god…” He musters the strength to bring his head up to look at you expertly bouncing on his dick, swallowing him whole like you were made for this.

He doesn’t think he’s going to make it.

“Y/N! P-please slow down!”

You let out a breathless giggle, your nails digging into his thighs for leverage as you sit up straight and roll your hips. “You did so well serving me today, Nirei! I’m just rewarding my butler.”

God and he’d serve you for a lifetime if it meant experiencing this.

“D-do you know what I’m doing right now, baby?”

He lets out a grunt, the only sound he can manage, as the muscles in his calves tighten to the point of almost cramping.

Fuck, why are you so good at this?

You swivel your hips to the left, right, up and down, dragging the head of his cock against your g-spot. “I’m spelling your name.”

S-spelling his-

Oh, fuck.

Nirei bites his lip, eyes rolling into the back of his head as something so inevitable, so ridiculously powerful, hits him like a freight train. A cross between a whimper-whine escapes from parted lips, and it catches you off guard because, if anything, his moan is a clear indication of how much he desires you and how much he’s always wanted you. 

You consider stopping, the rolling of your hips slowing, but the feeling of immense pressure makes you moan. The licking of your lips replaces the cocky grin on your face as you throw your head back.

Because, god, there’s just so much of it! 

You look between your legs as his cum drips from your cunt and onto the cafe floor. His balls still clenching and unclenching as he continues to pour into you. 

“Nirei, there’s so much!”

“Mmmm, h-happy to give you some more?”

Grade: A+

Special thanks to @suosgirl and @hayatoseyepatch for your ideas/contributions. 

[mattslolita]

bambi!reader and dealer!chris having matching halloween costumes

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧

"oh, now that's so original!" matt laughs, shaking his head as both and chris finally arrive at the party, "fitting."

you smile cheekily, planting a hand on your hip as the other holds up the metal handcuff that's on chris's wrist — a bunch of whistles erupt from the crowd, and you bow slightly, proud of the costumes you picked out for you and chris. you were in a police officer uniform, your top exposing your perky breasts just barely. a short, denim skirt accompanied the cap on your head, giving it the hot police officer look. your signature white, crochet socks were on your feet as well as your doc martens, a white bow in your braids.

chris was in a orange jumpsuit, his brown locs strewn against his forehead, still wet from his shower just before they arrived. he wore his black timberlands, silver chain around his neck to match with the silver handcuffs you had gotten for him.

"you really expect me to be ya prisoner the entire night?" chris whispers to you, using his other hand to ruffle through his hair as he surveys the crowd, "got potential customers all in here, y'know."

"relax, i'll help you with them!" you tell him, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw, a giggle leaving your lips, "now stop speaking! anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law!"

"m'gonna use these cuffs against you tonight if ya keep shakin' your ass in this skirt," chris whispers to you, nibbling on your ear slightly as he lands a smack to your ass, causing you to squeal.

"it's supposed to be reversed!" you tell him matter-of-factly.

"then let's go two rounds ma, both of us take turns."

[norajones]

[zephyrspace]

queen of thine heart

riddle rosehearts / gn!reader

synopsis : they say the queen of hearts always had her loving husband rule alongside her. unfortunately for heartslabyul, their queen's king attends a different academy. but you know what they say, distance makes the heart grow fonder.

or ; in hearing your lover's recent overblot, you disregard the rules and infiltrate nrc to make sure your queen is alright, much to the surprise of the cards.

content : established relationship, implied childhood friends, rsa!reader, fluff, sprinkle of angst, crack, no use of yn, reader is not the prefect, reader is referred to as 'king' in a gender neutral way (like how riddle as queen), fic is more focused on the dynamic of their relationship rather than of the relationship itself (but perhaps another fic is in order...), riddle's pov kinda?, just a very short oneshot.

word count : 1.5k

The door opens but nobody that's already in the room thinks too much of it, until someone unfamiliar speaks.

"Good evening, Card Soldiers."

The mild bickering ceased to exist entirely. The door clicks shut.

The first years couldn't tell if it was an illusion or not, but they swear they saw the Housewarden of Heartslabyul tense at the sound of the person's voice and averted his gaze. Shoes tap against the floor tiles until they stop at the foot of Riddle's designated recovery bed.

The newcomer wore the eyesore that was the Royal Sword Academy uniform, but the things that caught the attention of specifically the Prefect would be the scarily regal presence that the person exudes, and the badge pinned against the left lapel of the stranger's blazer, an exact replica of the crown Riddle adorns on his school tie.

They brandish a polite smile, "you are dismissed."

It was clear to everyone that this person will not accept any other answer than compliance - "RSA? Who're you to tell us what to do? And what are you even doing here?" - well, except for one.

Ace raises a brow, lacking any form of decorum or respect, as per usual. The temperature of the room seemingly dropped, and yet, the stranger was still smiling.

Before Ace gets an answer, he feels a sharp jab at his side and a hand resting between his shoulder blades. Trey is quickly ushering all of them out of the infirmary. The heart soldier watches the academy student and the Vice exchange a look and a nod.

The door clicks shut once again.

With everyone now gone, you walk over to Riddle's left of the bed. Right hand against your heart, you bow your head, a custom.

"I greet the sovereign of Heartslabyul, the everlasting law, the Queen of my own heart," you cannot hide the smile in your voice and Riddle hates it in an affectionate sort of way.

"Must you always greet me incorrectly?"

"I am but a mere servant to your rule," you give him a cheeky grin, and with a touch as light as a feather, you take his right hand to press a quick kiss to the knuckles. Riddle sports a pout as he retracts his arm, but you never take him seriously when he's beet red, always a sucker to your flowery words.

Despite this, he has not once looked you in the eyes since you arrived.

Silence and tranquillity floods the atmosphere but anybody can feel the underlying tension beneath the layers. You shatter the quiet.

"I came as soon as I could." You sit down on the edge of the bed and he shuffles to the opposite side so that you do not fall off.

"I know." Riddle's sight is focused on the bed sheets where his hands rested. He watches your hands clasp over his, your touch is warm and just slightly sweaty, but he would never care for something so little.

Besides, he can tell by the sound of your breathing that you're still recovering from the journey. Upperclassmen say that it takes almost two or three hours to walk from one end of Sage's Island to the other, and this is without factoring the mountain you'd have to climb to get to NRC.

"I really thought I lost you when I was notified by one of the cards." Riddle can feel your stare and the sorrow in your words. You probably dropped everything to get here.

"I know." He takes a quick glance at the clock on the wall. How did you even manage to get to the college in just a little over an hour since he was admitted into the infirmary?

"You need to make me lots of crosswords to make up for it." The Housewarden clenches his jaw and thinks you are too forgiving compared to how much inconvenience and worry he's caused you.

Why are you not reprimanding his recklessness? Why would you risk a dorm-arrest to visit him with no prior permission? He reckons that your sentence would last at least a week if the professors find out of your absence, two weeks if you used a broom without authorisation. After this, would you think of him as a nuisance or embarrassment and leave him-

Sensing all of his inner turmoil, you reach out to carefully fix his dishevelled hair back into place and cup his cheek, coaxing his head in your direction so that he finally, finally looks at you.

Riddle's eyes are glassy with unshed tears, but the steadying pulse under the palm of your hand is soothing, your gaze is soft and full of something that is unconditional. Riddle knows that he can stay looking at you until forever falls apart.

Thumbing the flesh gently, you are watchful not to touch any gauze or smudge remnants of ointment. "Crosswords aside, I implore that you tell me, my Queen: What ails you so? Have I done something to be undeserving of your gaze?" Though, that last part was supposed to sound more like a joke.

"No!" He belts out before he could process your teasing lilt. "I mean- I- That's not- Ugh!"

Riddle gives up at the sight of your smug face and relaxes into your hold for just a few more moments, not caring for his burning cheeks or the delicacy that his lover offers him, only wanting to feel them wholly and fully.

He expels out a shaky breath, sits up straight, and lets everything go. Riddle tells you everything. The collars, the unbirthday, the tart, the duel. Riddle expresses his revelation about his mother and her rules. He confesses that you were right this entire time, and that he hopes you can forgive him for the times he denied it and admonished you.

Riddle's story ends and your brows furrow with guilt, "I knew I should have transferred to Night Raven. Maybe it would have prevented-"

He is quick to lace your fingers together with his own and silences you right away. "Perish the thought. You are not to blame. Not you. Never you."

Deciding to reward his efforts of attempting to distract you from your own thoughts, you sigh and lean in so that your foreheads touch, and Riddle does not oppose the connection. Closing your eyes, you breathe out lightly, quietly, as if only the two of you existed.

"You have tormented yourself in such a manner for far too long, my loveliest rose."

At that moment, Riddle swears up and down to The Seven that he has never been so in love. He looks down at your joined hands and smiles for the first time that day.

"I promise not to do it again, my Liege."

[ Extra ]

"What the hell was that for!?" Ace rubs his side tenderly after Cater elbowed him earlier. He earns disapproving glances from his seniors and unsurprising stares from Deuce, Prefect and Grim.

"Be more careful, Ace-y. They're the Housewarden slash Ruler of their own dorm back in RSA, but is also the Honorary King of Heartslabyul because they're Riddle's partner," Cater pulls up pictures of you from the academy's official magicam and shows the first years. "So that means they're in the same position of power as him in 'labyul, so you need'ta treat them like it."

Ace snatches the phone from his grasp and scrolls through the content, in denial. The other first years crowd around him. "Partners? With that Tyrant?? There is no way Housewarden was able to pull before me."

They all stare at the photos of you doing a plethora of activities, presumably around the rival school. Gardening, directing students, baking, tea parties, generally doing nice things. Yuck.

Ace tries to find your personal magicam but Cater yanks his phone back, exasperated, "I think they've been together for almost two years now, so it's not like it's new news."

"Myah, I don't know about you guys, but this 'King' of yours looks like a weak-ass, lovesick simp. Simp in capital letters, bold font and red text," Grim had lifted himself up and peaked through the window in the door to the infirmary, watching the royalties speak softly to each other.

The two third years give each other a look and both can vividly imagine the sound of your laughter and you saying that you wholeheartedly agree with Grim.

"I still don't get why you just followed their orders without question. I should show them the mighty power of The Great Grim, and then we'll see who's the real king! Nyahaha- Yowch!" Deuce had smacked the monster in the head.

Trey leans against the wall beside the closed entrance, crosses his arms and chuckles at the statement. He looks over his shoulder and also observes the duo inside.

"I've known them since we were kids, and trust me, Grim, they aren't someone you can mess with and get away with it unscathed."

He chooses not to mention how Grim fails to see the pure concentration of magic emanating from your figure.

[mindofharry]

Anything

pyscho!harry is my absolute fav. obviously he comes with warnings so if this triggers you please do not read. kidnapping and m!rder mentioned. please send in your thoughts!

Harry liked to watch her. 

At first, it was for simple pleasure. He enjoyed going to see his favourite girl after a gruelling day of work. It did not consume him. Not until now. Not until he saw Y/N, his perfect, beautiful, Y/N with another man. Of course, Harry had to do something about this. 

And that is why a man is on his basement floor, choking on his own blood.  

“Do you get hard thinking about her?” Harry asked manically, kicking the man who lay on the floor. He didn’t wait for a response, moving towards a little desk in the corner of the room. Harry smiled wiggling his fingers at his toys. A gun would be too quick, too messy. A knife is exactly right. He picked up the butcher knife, humming to himself softly. The poor guy was still on the floor in a mixture of blood and vomit. This sight is the only thing that could get him hard, other than Y/N.  

“This is going to be incredibly fun. Not for you, but definitely for me,” 

Y/N had been stood up. For the fourth time. She wonders if there was something wrong with her. Four times cannot be a coincidence like her friends keep telling her. The men seemed desperate for even a second of her attention and then when given it – radio silence. She just didn't understand. She would get excited, finally having a guy to tell her mother about. And then after three days, that dream guy disappears.  

Lana, Y/N’s roommate, and best friend of three years sits in front of her, “You just haven’t found the one that's right for you. “Everything happens for a reason,” she said trying her best to comfort her best friend.  

Y/N rolled her eyes. 

“I’ve got work. I’ll see you later,” she said, kissing her friend on the cheek and walking away. Y/N had worked at the diner on main street since she was a teenager. Thats where she met most of her admirers. Mostly the elderly locals and the odd few college students cramming for their next exam. Y/N used to be like those students too. Until she dropped out and thought working full time at the diner was better than a law degree.  

Y/N quickly pulled her leggings down, along with her pink panties. She walked over to her wardrobe and pulled out her work uniform, which was a white dress, apron, and knee-high sock. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, not giving much thought to it or the make-up that adorned her dresser. Quickly, she put her comfortable sneakers on, grabbed her phone and jacket and made a beeline for the apartment door. 

“Working the night shift, so don’t wait up,” Y/N yelled, she heard a quick mumble from Lana and then grabbed the keys on the table beside the door. She always forgot them. The last time she did a night shift, she wobbled home and had to sleep in the hallway as Lana was fast asleep and couldn't hear the calls or bangs from her roommate. 

Harry’s day started like it usually did. 

He got up. Showered. Got changed and had food. Brushed his teeth and checked on his cats. 

And then he butchered someone. Cut them up piece by piece and then throw them in the river. It was a normal morning for him. 

He felt hard at the thought. 

His alarm on his watch beeped and he sighed happily, it was time to see his girl. Although Y/N didn’t know him and had never actually spoken to him, he knew she loved him the way he loved her. There was no other choice and Y/N is a good girl. She would grow to love him one way or another. Harry looked at himself in the mirror, straightening his tie. Today is the day he would introduce himself, claim her if you will. Every time he saw her, he wanted to ravish her and today would be that day.  

While Y/N was serving customers, harry was rechecking the rope in the car. When Y/N started to clean the counters, Harry tripled checked the security cameras. Finally, when Y/N was closing the diner, early in the morning, Harry was behind her.  

Instead of flowers behind his back, he held a cloth full of dangerous chemicals. 

Y/N spotted him, startled dropping the keys. 

“I am so sorry, we just closed,” she apologised bending down to pick up her keys at the same time as this mysterious man. She gazed up at him, being met with green eyes, pale skin, and hot breath. She thought he was beautiful. Tortured, but beautiful. 

“It’s ok,” Harry murmured, his ring covered fingers grazed her own sending a shock through her system. Y/N swallowed heavily, not sure if her stomach was producing anxiety or arousal.  

“I feel like I know you,” Y/N hummed, finally picking up the keys and straightening herself up, the man did the same. 

“Maybe we’ve met in another life,” He smiled, for some reason, Y/N blushed. That would have never worked with any other man. To be honest, she would have made a run for it the minute she saw him if he was not this man.  

She put it down to the little male validation she got. 

“Maybe,” Y/N replied after a few beats of tensioned silence.  

Harry’s heart was beating wildly, not because of the possibility of getting caught but because of this woman. She smiled at him. Blushed at his words. 

Oh, he was going to keep her, there was no doubt about it. 

“Anyways, I have to get going, I’ll see you around?” Y/N asked, hope invading her voice.  

“You’ll be seeing me,” Harry said, grabbing her arms, holding her tight as she squirmed. He placed the cloth to her lips and within seconds her body lay still. 

“Mine,” 

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Which one do you want?

Just off a quiet highway somewhere in the Midwest, you might see James advertising my new product. He used to own this car dealership with his wife, but she's long gone. James hasn't thought about her since I pulled out my pendulum and put him in a trance. He just spends his days standing on the side of the road holding up that sign like I told him to.

You can see I marked him at 40 bucks, which is well over what he's worth, but I like to keep him around to advertise and flag down potential customers. His abs are visible even in the rain, and the neon underwear I put him in is sure to catch every driver's eye.

If you pull into my dealership, I'd be happy to show you my selection you can choose from...

Tyler, here, used to be my brother-in-law, but my sister dumped him real fast after she found the guy was a cheater. Since, he wasn't family anymore, I had no reason not to hypnotize every thought out of his head.

She has no idea I did this to her ex, but it won't hurt to have Tyler out of the picture for good. I like to give him a little punch in the gut every time I pass. It's my form of ongoing payback. He only ever reacts with a stifled groan since his mind is mush, but it's still cathartic to see him in pain.

Tyler will probably go fast since he's so traditionally handsome, but the vengeful part of me hopes a more sadistic client will take him off my hands.

Next is Caesar. This guy used to work at the auto garage next door, but when I saw him I knew I had to have him. He put on a real tough guy act when I introduced myself, but a pudgy working man like him should act accordingly in my opinion.

After introducing his gaze to my pendulum, he practically fell into my arms. I had my fun warping Ceasar's personality to be more like that of a submissive dog, but even that got a bit old. Sure, I made him love and cuddle me like the perfect partner, but he tracked mud everywhere and he always seemed to stink.

I hope whoever pays for him doesn't mind always telling the oaf to hose himself down every once in awhile. I suppose they could just use Ceasar for the cheap manual labor and just forget about his hygiene entirely.

This is Mike. He's a real piece of trash. I caught him trying to steal one of my cars in the middle of the night. He sure was shocked when my army of hypnotized hunks ran out and apprehended him, per my command.

He might look mean, but trust me, Mike's been thoroughly hypnotized and broken in just like every other dude on this lot. He wouldn't be standing there holding that 'For Sale' sign all day if he weren't!

Now, I know that his lack of hair might be a turn off for a lot of folks, so I'm willing to go down on the price. 20 dollars is already pretty low, but I want to make sure you all can afford your own hypnotized hunk. It's not like it's too difficult for me to go out and find a couple more idiots to fill their place. Hell, if you really need it, I might sell you a guy for a dollar!

This boy in blue is Lt. O'Riley. I don't know what his full name is. I'm just going off what it says on his badge. Now, I know that hypnotizing an officer of the law is risky, but O'Riley was being a real pain in my neck, always poking his nose in my business.

I hypnotized his partner too.

I think that guy's name was Brooks or something, but he was real ugly. I would've never been able to sell his fat ass, so I had him hand over his police uniform and turned him into my handyman, who's meant to be neither seen nor heard. He wears an old pair of dirty coveralls now and takes care of all the maintenance work. He's probably off scrubbing my housing from top to bottom right now since it's the middle of the day.

You could do that to officer O'Riley too, if you want, or maybe you keep that precious uniform on him. It's up to you.

This last guy is Don, and I know what you're going to say! I'm a little light on product at the moment, but don't worry.

I'm planning on driving into town real soon and restocking. Maybe I'll grab a few more officers this time. The police department is right down the street from that Halloween store. I could grab a couple more cops and put them in some stupid costumes.

Customers love a themed product, right?

Anyways, Don here didn't do anything to piss me off. He actually stopped in after seeing the sign. He wanted to purchase one of my brainless studs and pimp him out to all his friends for cheap cash. I liked the idea, but Don was far too handsome to just walk off my lot.

I offered to give him a tutorial of my hypnosis, and the guy naively agreed. His car has been collecting dust in the back ever since, and he's been added into the lineup of hot men standing for sale.

So, please come by if you're interested in taking any of these guys on a test drive! Let me know which one sparks your interest!

No need to be nervous.....unless you're a handsome man yourself. Then I might just have to use my pendulum on you!

[petalruesimblr]

Hello and welcome back to my blog! I planned to post this about two weeks ago, but I got so busy with booking flights and reservations for my trip that I decided to wait until I returned from my vacation.

This project has been my plan for my next #FollowersGift and I’m happy that it's finally complete. It's not much, to be honest; this was just an idea I had for a career and I was unsure if I should create a part-time job again or pursue a full-time career, so I decided to do both!

The SimGuard Security Services is a full-time career based on a security company/firm while SimGuard Security is also part of that but is assigned to different lots. This took a while because aside from creating five part-time careers, I also created a full-time career that includes branches, opportunities and books, which will be fully discussed in this post. A second post will follow for the part-time careers so this one won't get too long.

Thank you to all my followers for the likes, reblogs, downloads of my content and all your kind comments! I truly appreciate each and every one of them.💜

If you are interested, click on ’Keep Reading’ below for more information and pictures of the SimGuard Security Services Career.

SimGuard Security Services

Bulk Download: Sim File Share (Full Time and Part-Times) | For individual files, refer to this post here.

As a Security Guard, you’ll be the vigilant eyes and ears protecting everything from top-secret parties to the occasional rogue lawn gnome. Duties include patrolling, deterring mischief and ensuring our clients’ properties stay as they should—intact. If you’re prepared for an exciting mix of vigilance and adventure, apply now and become part of our SimGuard Security Services!

Career Type: Full Time Available for: Young Adults and Adults Available Languages: English Levels: 10 Rabbit Hole: Business And Journalism Does it have Carpool? Yes Does it have Uniforms? Yes File Type: Package Min. Required Game Version: 1.42 Packs Needed: The Sims 3 📣All descriptions for the levels, tones and metrics as well as skills required, salary, uniforms and other details are provided on the pictures above. Right-click on a picture and select ’Open image in new tab’ for a clearer view.

NRAAS Careers Mod

Branches and wages: This career has two branches that branch out after level 5: the Management branch, which focuses on handling internal agency operations as you progress to higher ranks and the Field Operations branch, which allows for expertise in specific security fields. All the levels represent realistic roles based on the research I did for this career. If you prefer the managerial role, expect to read more reports and increase your logic skills. However, if you prefer roles like a bodyguard or security escort, expect to develop both athletic and logic skills as you take on different roles in the field. Levels 1-5 offer realistic hourly wages based on research. To compensate for the increased days off and decreased work hours as the level increases, I had to raise the hourly wages beyond the normal salary ranges for Levels 6-10 for both branches. Metrics and Books: I made a few changes to this career, specifically regarding the metrics. I originally planned to include "Reports" as part of the required tasks but I realized this was unrealistic since it was based on the Law Enforcement career, where individuals interview people, search through their trash and create reports based on those findings—tasks not typical for a security guard. Instead, I made it a custom tone and changed the "Reports" metric to "Research," which is based on the Medical career, where professionals read reports from their subordinates instead of medical journals. Opportunities: As this is my first time creating opportunities, I focused on developing just two for now, with only one of them being repeatable. This is because security guards need to complete a minimum number of hours of continued firearm training per year. I initially planned to include Martial Arts as part of the metrics but decided to make this base game compatible for now. I might release a different version for World Adventures but to be honest, I don’t have the time at the moment. You are always free to add it on your own for personal use (check my terms of use). Be sure to check out MissyHissy's tutorial under Credits for a step-by-step guide on how to do it. As stated above, you will need NRAAS Careers Mod for these careers to show up in the game and as long as you have the latest version of it, it should work for higher patches. You can also read my #psa regarding these careers, click here. I’m not fluent in any other languages to translate so if anyone is interested in translating this career, please don’t hesitate to send me a message here, comment on this post or let me know in my Ask/Contact form (if you don’t have a Tumblr account) and will let you know the details. I have tested this career in my game, so far it is working and all scripts are showing up. All feedback is very welcome to help me learn and improve my skills so please let me know if you experience any problems on your end and I’ll do my best to sort it as soon as possible.

MissyHissy step-by-step tutorial Twallan for the Career Mod S3pe

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Ring my bell, part 5

part 4

steddie, omegaverse, flagging/signaling culture, there’s plot now, in the smut, mdni 🔞

Eddie is surprised when he walks up to his dealing table and sees Chrissy Cunningham waiting in her cheer uniform. He considers turning around then and there, not wanting to risk her jock boyfriend coming to look for her and going all feral on him and bashing his face in. But he really needs to save his money, so turning down a paying customer isn’t something he can do.

He considers walking again when she startles so badly, but mostly he’s worried about her. She’s got blockers on, so he can’t scent much from her, but the tension in her shoulders tells him enough. The girl needs weed, or some xannies. All Eddie’s got on him is weed though, so it’ll have to do.

She’s still so jumpy, so Eddie hams it up, trips over himself to get her to laugh because laughter is easy. He shifts enough that the guitar pick he wears around his neck sneaks out from his collar.

Chrissy’s been fiddling with her own necklace—a padlock, just like Steve’s—and she asks, “What’s that one mean?” and then turning beet red. “Sorry, I just- You’ve always had the rings, didn’t think necklaces were your thing.”

“They’re not. But… Easy to keep a pick handy.” He pulls the chain forward, revealing the pendant it came with, the guitar pick a convenient excuse. Chrissy’s eyes go wide at the little anatomical heart, pierced with an arrow, and Eddie grins. “Gift from the prettiest omega I know.”

“Oh…” She shrinks in on herself again, and he knows he has to get her laughing.

“Second I scented him, thwp!” He clutches dramatically at his chest, mimes being shot through the heart and falls off the bench. Eddie pops back up. “It’s like he just gets me, about everything.” He tucks the necklace away, swings his legs back around the bench, and pulls out his lunchbox, offering her a discount on the already jacked up price for an ounce.

“Do you have anything… stronger?” Chrissy asks, glancing over her shoulder again, like she’s being watched.

“Not with me. Possession is 9/10s of the law or whatever, so best not to have anything too hard on me. And really, you should start with the weed.”

She nods, blue eyes so big in her face. “But, what if it isn’t enough?”

He pulls out a pen, writes down his number on her hand. “It’s spring break, so you can’t drop a note in my locker. Gimme a call, and I’ll see what I can rustle up.” He knows he’s got some Special K squirreled away, for in case Steve gets one of his bad migraines and he wants to sleep through it. “Or check the medicine cabinet—see if your mom’s got a secret Xanax script. One of those will melt your worries.”

“Okay, yeah. Thanks.” She smiles, and it looks real enough. She pushes herself up to standing.

“So do you want the weed?” Eddie joggles the baggie in front of her.

“Right, sorry! Yes, I do.” She reaches into the band of her skirt and pulls out a couple fives, trading him for the weed.

Eddie schools his face when he takes them from her. “Pleasure doing business. I hope it helps.”

“Me too.”

He watches her leave, the bills sitting close enough to her skin and sweat that they stink with her scent. Eddie thinks it’s vaguely fruity, but it’s too covered over in acrid fear that he isn’t sure at all.

💍💘🐽

Eddie sees Steve across the parking lot, the basketball game getting out the same time as Hellfire, and he has to clench his fist to keep from waving. He wants to run to him, kiss him, sweep him into his arms and deposit him safely into his van so they can drive home together.

Instead, he bids the guys goodnight and drives to Forest Hills alone. He beats Steve by more than 20 minutes, since he has to give Robin a ride home. Which means Eddie can do a modicum of cleaning, including rearranging the blankets and pillows on his bed to be a little more nest-like for Steve’s comfort.

Steve doesn’t knock, just comes straight in, and Eddie races to him. “Hey, Puppy, how’d the game go?” he asks, kissing him hello, waiting for an answer before going total horndog on him.

“Lucas scored the game-winning basket, so please have the guys congratulate him next week.” Steve has already complained about Eddie’s refusal to hold the game for Lucas, even took away his pussy privileges for a week until he’d groveled and explained how he had the entire year planned out, he couldn’t skip a week since he was finally graduating. This campaign was his baby!

And Steve liked the sound of Eddie graduating, so he was willing to forgive this one discretion.

“Of course, Stevie. And Erica held her own. You should be proud of your youngest.” He grins wide, and Steve fondly rolls his eyes.

“Please stop talking about the twerps like I birthed them.”

“But that’s what you want, isn’t it?” He sinks down to his knees, puts himself level with Steve’s crotch. “Want a pup of your own,” he murmurs, hand coming up to cradle Steve’s belly, “Right here.”

Eddie smells it when Steve slicks his pants, his sweetness sickly with his desperation for that little dream.

“Want you to shut up and fuck me already,” Steve moans, gripping Eddie by the collar and pulling him to his feet. He’s sloppy as he kisses him, and Eddie purrs.

He loves Steve and Steve loves him, and they both see their future together. He’s really getting sick of waiting for that future to start. But at least he gets to take Steve to bed right now.

🍃🍃🍃

The next morning, the basketball team wakes up in the shell of Benny’s Burgers. There’s blood and black on the ceiling, and Chrissy Cunningham’s broken body on the floor. It takes nearly an hour for the boys to stop screaming long enough to call the police.

Part 6

[todaysdocument]

Joint Resolution of June 14, 1954, Public Law 83-396, 68 STAT 249, to Amend the Pledge of Allegiance to the Flag of the United States of America

Record Group 11: General Records of the United States GovernmentSeries: Enrolled Acts and Resolutions of Congress

THE WHITE HOUSE [STAMPED ON LEFT MARGIN]

[THE REST OF THE STAMP IS CUT OFF]

GENERAL SERVICES ADMINISTRATION [STAMPED ON RIGHT MARGIN]

RECEIVED [STAMPED ON RIGHT MARGIN]

JUN 14 1954 [STAMPED ON RIGHT MARGIN]

NARS [STAMPED ON RIGHT MARGIN]

FEDERAL REGISTER DIVISON [STAMPED ON RIGHT MARGIN]

PUBLIC LAW [STAMPED] 396 [HANDWRITTEN]

CHAPTER [STAMPED] 297 [HANDWRITTEN]

H. J. Res. 243

Eighty-third Congress of the United States of America [centered]

AT THE SECOND SESSION [CENTERED]

Begun and held at the CIty of Washington on Wednesday, the sixth day of January, [centered]

one thousand nine hundred and fifty-four [centered]

Joint Resolution [centered]

To amend the pledge of allegiance to the flag of the United States of America.

Resolved by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United

States of America in Congress assembled, That section 7 of the joint

resolution entitled "Joint resolution to codify and emphasize existing

rules and customs pertaining to the display and use of the flag of the

United States of America", approved June 22, 1942, as amended (36

U.S.C. sec. 172), is amended to read as follows:

"SEC. 7. The following is designated as the pledge of allegiance to

the flag: 'I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of

America and to the Republic for which it stands, one Nation under

God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all'. Such pledge should

be rendered by standing with the right hand over the heart. However,

civilians will always show repsect to the flag when the pledge

is given by merely standing at attention, men removing the headdress.

Persons in uniform shall render the military salute."

Joseph W. Martin Jr. [signature]

Speaker of the House of Representatives

Styles Bridges [signature]

President of the Senate. [typeset] pro Tempore [handwritten]

APPROVED [STAMPED]

JUN 14 1954 [STAMPED]

Dwight D. Eisenhower [signature]

[petit-etoile]

Astarion is a taco bell worker who has not had a single day off in 2 years because his manager can't be assed to teach anyone else how to close. He longs to one day see the sun again and be free of these twisted and evil taco nights

in  motion,  in 3D

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 7,156 content warnings: please do not have sex in parking lots !! but anyway, all characters are in university & tacobellstarion works to pay for his law books, i use a lot of pet names from both spawn & ascended astarion, but he's not a vampire in this universe so his morality is mostly in tact,  nearly 7k of pure smut other tags: alternate universe - college/university, porn what plot/porn without plot, pwp, established relationship, semi-public s.ex, b.lowjobs, riding, c.reampie, shameless smut, taco bell, gender neutral tav archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia,  @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness be added to the taglist here

summary:  Fast food jobs may as well be from Avernus itself, yet Astarion clocks in every day for a night-shift at Taco Bell in his silly little purple hat and his silly little purple uniform.

College is already hard enough. Add in a job on the side that requires you to stay up long before even the partiest of party kids have gone to sleep, and life might start to seem even bleaker. Astarion may not have gone out of state for his college adventures, but it was still hard. The expense of the university, the expense of staying on campus, and the expense of wanting to afford textbooks unfortunately resulted in this.

He takes a long, exhausted look around the cluttered Taco Bell and considers sobbing on the floor. Despite all the work put in to make the building seem pristine, the shop always seems as though it’s been through some soft of galactic turbulence by the time the night has ended. The last thing Astarion wants to see is a catty text from the day shift saying things were still dirty. He might snap his phone if he sees Enver Gortash (saved in his phone as DO NOT ANSWER!!!) texting him at a bright and early seven in the morning.

Fast food jobs may as well be from Avernus itself, yet Astarion clocks in every day for a night-shift at Taco Bell in his silly little purple hat and his silly little purple uniform. He hates it  —  He loathes it more than anything else, but it’s the only thing that keeps him from sinking further into nearing-graduation depression. This is the only way he stays sane.

He slips his phone out of his pocket and taps in his password, a cute little anniversary date, and checks his text messages before anyone can rat him out to the team manager in the back. There’s a Snapchat that he can’t check and a few text messages, and he presses on them so desperately he thinks he might be going a little insane. It’s only been a few hours and yet…

LOML: i'm coming to get u!!

Astarion smiles so wide he thinks his face might crack. It makes him giggle, swing his feet, twirl his hair around his finger. He feels very baby girl, as Karlach liked to put it. He types a quick ‘MY HERO’ before sliding his phone back in his pocket. That one text is all he needed to hold on for the last thirty minutes of work.

‘Alright!’ Wyll calls from the back. He looks up from his new shiny Apple watch. ‘Last customer is out, so you know what that means. Closing time. Let’s get this show on the road!’

Closing time is somehow the best part of Astarion’s day and the worst. The best, because he knows who will be waiting for him outside to pick him up as soon as everything is neat and tidied inside. The worst, because someone has to clean the bathrooms and he refuses to do it. There’s a bleakness, a despair to the Taco Bell bathrooms. It truly takes the world’s strongest to venture forth and clean them, and Astarion’s recently had a manicure. He scours the room critically before his sight lands on his second favorite co-worker ever!

‘Jenevelle,’ he purrs, turning to look at his younger co-worker. ‘It’s your turn to clean the bathrooms.’

‘It isn’t,’ she says snootily, pushing an Airpod into her ear to drown him out. ‘I did it yesterday. The men’s room is a crime against humanity.’

Astarion frowns. ‘I’m older. You do it. I refuse.’

'Just because you're like, seventy-something and still working at Taco Bell doesn't mean that's what the rest of us want to do,' Jenevelle says, blowing an obnoxiously large bubble with her gum. She slides off the counter and rolls her eyes. 'You're cringe.'

'Bold,' Astarion says, scandalized at only a young twenty-four years of age, 'considering that's coming from someone who put down the name Shadowheart on her application form and dresses like Olivia Rodrigo. Now, go clean the ladies' bathrooms before I feel inclined to point out you have nasolabial folds at eighteen.'

Shadowheart gasps in mock horror, putting a hand to her mouth. She rushes to get the cleaning supplies and does as she was told, but it doesn’t feel like a victory. Astarion is almost certain he’s going to wake up to a text from Gale laughing about how the story is being shared on a small indie podcast. It’s enough to send shivers down Astarion’s spine, but not enough to offer to swap places with Shadowheart. He goes back to petulantly sorting the hot sauce packets.

He pockets one mocking saying ‘I’m Your Main Squeeze!’ and shoves the containers back from where they came from. It’s easy closing, he tells himself. If closing were any easier, the morning shift wouldn’t complain so much. It’s what he has to tell himself as he wipes down the counter.

It’s hard to hold onto hope during these tough taco hours. Astarion just checked his phone, but if he were to check it again, he’s almost certain not even a minute would have passed. No matter how hard he scrubs the counter, everything smells like refried beans. His hair smells like refried beans. His shirt smells like refried beans. His skin must smell like refried beans. It’s a nightmare.

‘Dude, I cannot wait to get out of here,’ Wyll complains, coming to lean on the counter. He begins pretending to sort packets too. ‘Do you have any plans, Astarion?’

‘Ravengard,’ Astarion says patiently, ‘it is three in the morning. My plan is to sleep.’

‘Serious about that beauty sleep?’

‘Dead serious.’

Wyll hums. ‘The rest of us were going to go out for a drink. We wanted to know if you wanted to come with us. You know, to let off steam.’

Astarion considers it the same way one considers eating leftovers. He thinks about it then thinks about the sage old rule: There is nothing open after three in the morning besides jail cells and iHop. He decides against it. Doesn’t want to risk the price of bail after a night of drinking.

Besides, there’s someone coming to pick him up anyway. The thought of you crosses his mind and he can’t help but feel somewhat giddy about it. Between all the work from school and the stress of trying to make Burrito Supremes, you make going through the hardship of closing every single night worth it.

He’s supposed to be doing something, but Astarion can’t remember what it was that Wyll told him needed extra attention at the beginning of his shift or what closing a store entails anymore. He takes out his phone one more time and looks at his screen so he can memorize his screensaver which is a cute photo of you asleep in his shirt and drooling.

‘Ugh, you’re so happy it’s gross,’ Wyll says, wrinkling his nose.

‘Oh please,’ Astarion snorts. ‘As if you and Lae’zel aren’t sickening.’

If Astarion is being completely honest, almost all couples are. Somehow, the two of you don’t get to avoid that connotation. He remembers when you first started dating. You celebrated one week of dating, then two, then every month, then every other month just because it delighted you to do so. Astarion’s reputation is that he’s a prickly, unkind asshole which isn’t entirely too far from the truth, but the difference is that you are you, and you deserve all the nice things he can give.

But before anyone can complain about Astarion being sappy again, he slides his phone into his pocket and goes about his closing to-do list. He fusses over Karlach’s dishes. After working at a fast food restaurant, he’s pretty sure he’ll never eat at one again  —  but what the public doesn’t know what hurt them. They’re clean enough to anyone terribly concerned about it.

Isobel is hastily cleaning the floors. She and Aylin will never beat the grossest couple allegations, but Astarion thinks she’s the cutest thing in the world with her big eyes and fluffy eyelashes and perfectly smudged eyeliner. Once, he found Isobel and Shadowheart in the bathroom comparing shopping bags at Ulta instead of working the drive through. Astarion never told, but they owed him favors for two weeks in a row. Those were the best two weeks of his life.

Astarion does, however, fuss over the cleanliness of the lobby. The store itself feels permanently smudged in grease and smells about as nice as a locker room, but he refuses to be in the kind of establishment that refuses to clean the soda dispenser nozzles. He watches Wyll clean them then cleans them again himself.

And lastly, very lastly, Astarion gathers all the mops and brooms and rags and towels and puts them back from whence they came. Isobel finishes checking the filters to make sure they’re spotless about the same time Shadowheart comes miserably from the bathrooms with a look of utter despair on her features. He should probably feel bad, but he’s just thankful he didn’t have to do it himself. He wonders if he can somehow convince Wyll to do them tomorrow… but that’s a thought for another day, and Astarion only has one thing on his mind now that the store is closed.

You. 

Thank the gods, it’s you. You’re a blessing in disguise if you’ll ever admit it. You willingly wake up in the middle of the night to come pick up Astarion, and you’ve never complained about it despite it being well beyond your bedtime. It’s embarrassing to admit that it’s something the both of you look forward to. A little private time away from dorm roommates and their friends who all like to crowd into impossibly tiny rooms because they haven’t spent enough time with each other throughout the day somehow.

The thought of you puts a pep in Astarion’s step. He checks his phone one last time to read your latest text message and feels like his heart is about to soar out of his throat. He bounces from foot to foot impatiently while waiting at the door for Wyll to come see everyone out, but as soon as that door opens, he’s darting across the parking lot to your familiar car. He never gets in a hurry for anything, but it’s different tonight.

You watch the other couples scurry to their own vehicles for their own safety. Shadowheart rides with Karlach and they’ll hang out at Rolan and Lia’s until Viconia DeVir spam texts her enough that she comes home. Wyll races to Lae’zel’s slick sports car, and seeing them make it across the parking lot is all you really care about. You turn your devout attention back to Astarion.

One might be wondering what you’ve been up to tonight, but it’s an easy answer. You were studying for your many quizzes and tests which infuriate you to no end, because college is hard and Astarion can’t help you study. Not that he would be that helpful. Luckily, Gale and Halsin are astute professors who actually don’t mind helping students  —  and they both have a you shaped soft spot that makes it impeccably easy for you to convince them to tutor you. They helped you go over your coursework and somehow managed to play footsie with one another under the table at the same time, although Gale kept bumping into you by accident and Halsin kept laughing. Either way, you made it through two hours of intense studying in just enough time to pick up Astarion from work.

You almost wish he had helped you study instead, but… He’s smart, coy, a future lawmaker in the making, but Astarion is gorgeous. His talents are wasted on learning laws and balancing books. To say that you wouldn’t get anything done if Astarion helped you study is an understatement. One might think you innocent enough with a cute picture of you and Astarion as your lock screen, but opening up your phone shows one of your most recent endeavors. A risque photograph of Astarion’s cum on your stomach in black-and–white to make it less scandalous, of course.

He should be a model styled in the latest Gucci and coveted by all, but you’re also increasingly biased. You’re wearing a baggy band sweater and sweatpants when he comes around the corner of the restaurant, and he’s so incredibly cute in his stupid Taco Bell uniform that you can’t help but wiggle in your seat. You unlock the door as he comes bolting to the passenger side, and he climbs in and meets you halfway for a kiss.

‘You smell like tomatoes,’ you laugh.

‘Oh, I suppose I’ll walk home then,’ he snorts.

Astarion always comes home smelling of Crunchwrap Supremes and Baja Blasts. Underneath the smell of grated cheese and refried beans and offensive-to-the-nose lemon, he smells like his personalized cologne too. You sniff him unapologetically and try to not feel giddy as he giggle-snorts his way back into the passenger seat.

You watch as he flings his hat into your backseat and begins ruffling his hair back into the usual coiled, curly hairstyle he’s usually sporting. You watch, with a quiet smile, and fight the yawn that’s been plaguing you since you set out to study anatomy around midnight.

It would be downright cringe to admit you want to study his anatomy since he smells like Taco Bell, but the uniform looks so damn good on him. It’s dorky in a way that makes your heart race. When he stretches, his shirt untucks a little and a peek of his belly shines through. That makes what you’re feeling ten times worse.

Maybe it says more about you than it does Astarion, but he would be attractive even if he was wearing a paper bag. You’ve heard the way the other students gossip about him. They like his long legs or his lean neck, or his loud personality. He’s a self-proclaimed short king with a wicked smile and a dangerous sense of humor. That’s why, no matter what he’s wearing or what he’s been doing, the sight of him makes your heart seize into your throat. You want him. You want him bad enough that you glance around the parking lot to make sure everyone is gone.

‘Was work difficult tonight?’ you ask.

‘The customers,’ Astarion groans, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. ‘Why do thirty seven high schoolers come into Taco Bell before close to order everything off the menu? It takes forever! And they’re so weird, shoving paper from their straws into their Baja Blasts and filling it with salt and pepper and hot sauce then daring their friends to drink it. Weird! Weirdos!’

‘What if I said I was hungry?’ you ask slyly.

‘Don’t even play,’ he growls. ‘I’m tired and  —  Oh my gods, you’ll never guess the drama from today.’

Astarion sets off on a long tangent about work related drama. His boss got into an argument with their boss and now everyone else is in trouble because someone who works the morning shift lost a set of keys. It’s nothing you’re particularly interested in, but it’s nice to hear Astarion talk to you. You adjust the radio to be quieter and turn the air up to be warmer. You’re so terrifyingly cozy you’re bound to fall asleep, but that’s okay. You lean back against your seat and close your eyes too.

‘That sounds like a mess.’

‘Aren’t you glad you don’t work?’

‘Beyond glad,’ you say.

Astarion hums. ‘How did studying go? Did you memorize anything interesting today?’

‘No,’ you say. ‘But, well, there was something I wanted your help with…’

You look across the console to watch him. He doesn’t seem as sleepy as you are. He offers you his hand and you take it just to hold it, fighting a shy smile as you do so. You give him a few more minutes to unwind after his shift before reaching for your keys in the ignition.

Astarion reaches for your hand. His fingertips slide across your upper arm to your fingers, wrapping around you to prevent you from starting the car. You swallow thickly. It’s almost like he read your  —

‘You look absolutely wrecked, my dear,’ Astarion says. ‘Switch sides with me. I’ll drive us home while you doze.’

It’s a tempting offer. Being driven home. It’s the sleep deprivation that’s driving you somewhat crazy, you think, because Astarion has never looked more handsome than he does now in the passenger seat, hair tousled and uniform lopsided, and a smile on his face. Your cheeks heat up.

Oh, it’s definitely the sleep deprivation. Part of you wants to simply wait until you’ve made it home to do anything wild. But Astarion keeps looking at you, appraising you with gentle curiosity. He is unbelievably proud of you and how hard you’re working, and that appreciation is doing wonders to the thoughts inside your head. Your palms start to sweat.

You do a quick look around the parking lot one more time. It’s entirely empty now, not a single car in sight. No Lae’zel or Karlach or Wyll or anyone who would interrupt. The lone overhead light keeps blinking on and off. If you were truly concerned about your situation, you would think that it’s something out of a horror movie. Those aren’t the thoughts going on in your head. What you’re really thinking is so gross it should be humiliating. Astarion’s hand is warm on your hand, and his belly is still showing underneath his shirt that’s ridden up, and he’s tilting his chin because he’s noticed you’ve gone unusually still.

‘I don’t want to go home,’ you say in a small voice. ‘And  —  I’m not hungry either, not really.’

‘Oh?’ he hums. ‘What do you want to do instead?’ 

Ah. There it is. Your chance.

You pull your hand from his and place it on his knee, thumb pressing against the side of his thigh. Astarion’s eyes glimmer dangerously. He’s caught onto your mood. He knows exactly what you want without you even saying it.

He reclines your seat and stretches even more in your chair, his legs splayed out in front of him lazily. He’s lithe and taut, hands gripping the headrest for no other reason than he knows it makes him look gorgeous. He raises his chin like a challenge. You slide your hand up his leg and squeeze his muscle. Your mouth has gone dry, but that’ll be changed soon. You nibble the inside of your lip and pray to the gods to give you bravery.

‘You’re insatiable,’ Astarion accuses.

‘It was the textbook,’ you say defensively. ‘I studied for so long, and now my mind has wandered.’

He tsks at you in disappointment. ‘The Taco Bell parking lot of all places.’

‘Shut up.’

He laughs, nice and low and dangerous, and presses his hand flush against his belly. He pulls his shirt up a little higher and you fight desperately to keep your eyes on his face.

‘Shut up?’ he mocks. ‘Is that the best you can do?’

‘I’ll show you,’ you say brazenly, ‘what I can do.’

It’s abysmal, the lust that overtakes you. You lean over the console and watch as he raises his shirt so that you can see the smooth plane of his abdomen. He’s lithe, sleek, refined. Even in his silly little uniform, you can’t help but think about how amazing Astarion looks  —  and he knows that’s what is racing through your mind, because he indulges in the attention that you’re granting him. You lean forward, one hand bracing yourself against the console while the other falls against his thigh for support, and kiss gently across his belly. From one side of his waist to the other, one hip bone to the other, until you fuss enough that Astarion helps slide his work pants down his hips to his thighs.

The ridiculousness of the setting is forgotten. You lavish Astarion’s cock with attention, the tip of your tongue tracing over the svelte shape, until he’s gently lacing his fingers in your hair to help guide you along. But you know his body almost as well as you know your own. You take the tip of Astarion’s cock into your mouth and kiss it. You graze your teeth carefully over the skin and feel his leg tense in anticipation, and slowly, you swallow it inch by inch.

His cock jerks in your mouth, growing and hardening beneath your careful ministrations. After being together for so long, you know what he likes. He likes slow and languid strokes. He likes when you hum and sometimes when you try to suck him as far down as you can, but you also know that he likes the occasional graze of your teeth, and you’ve barely touched him when he moans softly under his breath as if it’s humiliating to him how needy he is for you as well.

It isn’t the most comfortable position to be in. The gear shift is rigging uncomfortably into your ribs, and the sound of your leather seats sliding against your skin is an unwanted addition, but you’re mesmerized by the way Astarion tastes on your tongue.

Even after a long shift, he still smells immaculate. Your laundry soap overpowers almost everything else, and his satiny tip is salty with precum, but you’ve always enjoyed that taste more than anything else. You mouth gently against the length of him, kissing and sucking and tracing patterns against his cock with your tongue. The touch causes his hand to tighten in your hair, not enough that it hurts, but enough that you’re reminded of him.

It’s comforting, the feeling of his hand in your hair as he guides you up and down his length. It reminds you of less busy days when there’s no studying and no work shifts to be had. In the summer, you often spend your days stretched out across Astarion’s bed while he reads or writes, and you have more than enough sex to pass the times.

It’s far less organized here, but you take your time swallowing around his cock, sliding him as far down as you can into the back of your throat until Astarion is making little, wild noises. He’s trying to keep quiet, and you do your best to peek at him from the angle you’re at. He might as well be a work of art with how he looks. His eyebrows are taut, and he’s biting his bottom lip so ferociously you think you ought to be concerned. Astarion’s eyes soften when he notices you’re watching, and that’s more than what you need to sit up and slide your sweatshirt off over your head. It’s peak romanticism to fuck nasty in the empty Taco Bell parking lot.

You lean forward and take Astarion’s cock into your mouth again with intent. It’s not the most comfortable angle to suck him off at, but you’re determined to keep his eyes on you even if it means you’ll have the world's sorest neck in the morning. Because you’re watching, Astarion makes an effort to watch you as well. He fights against the fluttering of his eyelashes, determined to see you until the very end.

His skin is soft and hot against your tongue, and you focus on breathing through your nose and fight against your own budding arousal. You want to feast on him, to give him something to enjoy since it was your idea to do something like this in your car. You pay close attention to the soft tip of his cock as you suckle it, pressing little licks against the underside of his head, moaning softly even though your elbows are beginning to ache from the angle. You would bring him to completion like this if he would let you, but you can tell by the way his eyes seem to burn that he has other plans.

‘You’re insatiable,’ Astarion repeats, laughing low in the back of his throat.

He lifts you by the chin and kisses you, unfazed by the spit and the drool and the slightly salty taste that sits on the tip of your tongue. If Astarion wasn’t into it, he would let you know. But if you’re insatiable, then he’s equally as deranged. He guides you over the console and into his lap, pulling and tugging at your sweatpants and underwear until they’re around your ankles.

You do try to keep some sense of decency. You push your sweatshirt in a bundle against the front window like that’ll do anything to hide the scene, and he leans his seat as far back as he possibly can without straining too much. Now is not the time for romance, you decide. You’re used to begging Astarion to fuck you, to batting your eyelashes and playing up how shy you are about your wants and needs, but there’s no time for that now at three in the morning. You rut against him, holding his hands against your hips.

It goes without saying that the lewdness of the situation does cause your cheeks to flush. You hide your face into Astarion’s neck and try to pray away the shame. But you aren’t ashamed of your lust, you aren’t ashamed of your desire  —  Your only concern is the embarrassment of how close to Astarion you want to be, never mind the faint perfume of the Fiesta Veggie Burrito that clings to his skin. 

You worm your way into his lap fully, feeling how hard his cock is between your legs, and grind against the thickness of it. He guides your movement ever so carefully, murmuring sweet things into your hair that he wouldn’t be caught dead saying to anyone else. You’re amazing, don’t hide yourself from me, let us enjoy this together, and all other lyrics that Astarion is proud of. Finally, you reach between your thighs and take his cock into your hands, guiding it inside of you. You don’t have time to tease him, to take your time lowering yourself against his hips until he’s gripping your hips so hard you might bruise. You sink down onto him as quickly as you can, and gasp once you’re fully seated.

Gods, you’ll never get used to the feeling of him inside. He’s so thick and long that you feel impossibly full, that any movement you make will make you cum right then and there. Your hands always shake when you’ve taken him all the way to the hilt, and you bite your bottom lip to focus on the task at hand. This isn’t just about you and how easy it is to make your core burst with pleasure. This is about Astarion too. You want to thank him for all his hard work, to praise him even though he hates it, and you smile. Astarion smiles too. His eyes always get so soft when he looks at you… He’s never looked happier than he has when he looks at you.

Astarion’s hands rub soothingly up and down your spine. The touch is encouraging, is relaxing, and distracting. But no matter how hard he tries, he can't distract you from the way he looks up at you adoringly, almost as if he’s ever seen anything like it before. You relish in the heavy weight of his gaze, tilting your chin so that he can admire everything, and he does. Astarion watches you like someone would admire art at a gallery. He follows every line of your body that he can see, the curve of your neck, the fragility of your cheekbones, and runs his hands against your skin as though it’s the first time he’s ever felt it. It makes you feel special.

And of course, you are special. You were Astarion’s first after a string of countless conquests.

Astarion rubs his hands up against your sides, clasping his fingers taut around your waist so that he can guide you along the length of his cock. It’s all so simple. Astarion likes touching you in whatever way he can manage, especially after hours apart. You spend most of your time familiarizing yourself with the warmth of his hands as he traces his fingers against your spine, or pets through your hair, or massages any tense muscles that might be frustrating you.

He’s even more handsy during sex. You haven’t even moved yet, and he’s tugging at you, biting his lip as if that’ll keep him from trembling. Astarion has always been sensitive, but the recklessness of the situation seems to have riled him up. He paws at your hips. He’s desperate, intent, for some sort of sensation and you’re equally as needy, an overwhelming fullness causing you to shift your weight one more time so that you can balance on either side of his thighs without too much discomfort in a cramped space. You swallow, and slowly, pull yourself off his cock until you’re painfully empty again.

Astarion pushes his hands up beneath your undershirt. You stole it from his side of the bed before you came, somewhat desperate to be wrapped up in his scent. He presses his cheek against yours, and you kiss him  —  biting the swell of his lower lip and lapping at his tongue when he hums in response. He parts his lips for you and you kiss him messily, turned on by the way he arches at your intuitiveness.

It’s only then that you start really grinding against his lap, pushing his cock back against your core and rising off of it again, bouncing in his lap as he encourages you to do so. Astarion smiles against your teeth and digs his fingers into the curve of your ass. He pulls against his chest and further into his lap, filling you so full of his cock and encouraging you to rut against his hips so that the feel of it is the only thing you can think of.

Astarion is everywhere.

In your thoughts, in your mouth, in your body and mind.

‘Impatient,’ you whisper to him, trying to still your hips but even the thought of him sitting there while you take your pleasure is enough to send tingles down to your toes.

‘As if I’ll ever have enough of you,’ he murmurs in response. He tilts his chin back and offers you his throat. You bite the tender space beneath his jaw and suckle the skin, tasting a bruise blossom beneath your tongue. ‘O  —  Oh, that’s it.’

Astarion practically purrs as you leave your mark against his skin. You focus on that, claiming his neck right above the collar of his work shirt so that everyone will know the truth. Astarion Ancunín is yours.

‘Like that,’ he whispers soothingly.

Astarion shows his neediness like this, moaning faintly as you turn your attention to making another hickey. While you do that, he helps you grind and ride his cock, his fingers tucked neatly in the junction where your ass meets your thighs. He pulls you up and down his length without any strain, and it thrills you so much that your toes curl and you try to squeeze your thighs together. You whine against his throat.

‘You’re not the only one who doesn’t play fair,’ Astarion warns you.

He uses all of the strength you forget he has to bounce you in his lap. The pleasure is so intense it distracts you from your artwork, and you cry against his collarbone and cling to him. His cock causes you to feel empty and full  —  like you’ll never get enough of what he has to offer you.

And, well, any thoughts of playing fair after that have gone out the window along with your shame. The front seat of your car is cramped and tight, but you’re not really thinking about comfort as you chase that heat between your legs for something greater. Astarion does most of the work for you between the way he talks nasty and fucks even nastier, unable to keep his hands to himself for even a few seconds.

If his hands aren’t cradling your ass, then they’re beneath your thighs and if they aren’t there, it’s because he wants to torment you further by fucking into you hard by holding onto your hips as hard as his trembling hands will allow him.

Everything feels way too tight. The walls of your car seem to be caving in, and your clothes are suddenly clinging to you in a way that’s bothersome. You want to be closer to Astarion, to have fully melded your bodies together  —  and you curse the setting because if you had just been patient, you’d be halfway home to a comfortable bed.

‘You’re naughty,’ Astarion whispers, and it does something for you. ‘Did you miss me  —  Oh fuck, that’s good.’

You bite his neck to keep him from talking. If Astarion talks, you’re going to lose whatever decorum you have left. You wrap your arms around his neck and whine softly in his ear, nuzzling against his warm skin.

‘I missed you,’ you whisper against his neck.

‘I know you did,’ he murmurs, stroking your hip. ‘I can  —  Mm, I can tell how badly you missed me. Look at how well you’re riding my cock.’

‘Astarion  —  ’

‘I love the way you say my name,’ Astarion whispers fiercely. ‘I could listen to it all night and day. Say it again for me, pet. I’ll make you say my name.’

Heat causes your cheeks to flush. You’ll never get used to the casual way he says the raunchiest things, and yet, you can’t help but shiver against his chest at the observation. You wouldn’t have said that you were doing well at it. The roof is short, your legs are cramping, but somehow, that makes the feeling even better. There isn’t much room for you to go, and for that you’re grateful. It means Astarion can’t tease you endlessly with the length of his cock. Every move you make has to be short, frantic, calculated, and the tip of Astarion’s cock is pressed so deeply against your core that you can barely stand it.

‘Oh, it’s so much,’ you gasp.

‘Yeah?’ he muses. ‘You were made for me. You were made to take my cock. You’ll take it for me, you’ll cum for me.’

He uses his knowledge of all your favorite tricks against you. You cannot escape his grasp, one arm wound tight around your waist while the other now presses lightly against the nape of your neck. Astarion kisses the side of your mouth passionately and keeps you even closer than the limits of your surroundings. That riles you up even more.

‘I want to  —  I want to, Astarion, oh  —  ’

You drag your hips up carelessly, unburdened by shame or nervousness. You’ve known Astarion since your first day in the city, and you’ve been through enough and had each other enough to no longer feel embarrassed by your needs, not that Astarion had ever let you feel insecure about anything. You whine against his neck, and he kisses you fully then, a pouty mouth against your needy tongue, and then you maneuver yourself in his lap so perfectly that it catches Astarion off-guard and he moans fully against your chin.

You lose yourself in the feeling and the sound. Astarion’s moans sound even better in a tight, enclosed space. His voice is soft, low, dangerous when it needs to be, and he only becomes this unraveled with you.

It’s an intoxicating feeling. You cry softly, nose bumping against his, and fall apart at the sound of his arousal, the feeling of his fingers dancing across the back of your neck, the sharp ecstasy that burns like a wildfire in the center of your stomach. You want to chase your release now. To find it in his lap, against his throat, softly and hoarsely in his ear. But you aren’t ready, not yet, and it takes all of your nerves to pull away.

It’s humid inside the car now. You take a quick look at the sight. You reach for stability, your palm sliding against the fogged window, smearing a glance into the darkness outside. You rest your other hand against the center console and arched your back, height leveraged against Astarion so that he can see you fully. He’s quick to respond to your change in position, no longer kneeling forward, but high above him like you’re sitting on a throne.

Astarion’s hands slide beneath the shirt you have left, palms trailing smoothly up the arc of your belly, warming the skin of your chest. He sighs handsomely and stares at you, leaning back so that he might enjoy the sight of you fully. And now that you’re able to, you’re able to pull fully all the way off the length of him, leaving him without the feel of you clenched tight around his cock. You’re only able to wait a few seconds for your own sake before you’re wiggling all the way back down until you are right back to where the gods want you to be.

‘You look delicious,’ Astarion says proudly, wearing a familiar half-smile.

‘For you,’ you confess. And it’s true.

‘You always look so beautiful to me,’ Astarion says in a tone that reminds you of when a cat has had its fair share of milk. He’s preening, cocksure. ‘Go on,’ he adds. ‘Fuck yourself for me.’

You swallow hard and do as ordered with a different rhythm. No longer do you seek out slow assured strokes. These are quick movements, careless, unpracticed and unmeasured, and Astarion helps you with two thumbs pressed against your stomach. It’s his turn to lean as far back as he can to give you all the room you need, and while it isn’t perfect, it’s probably the second hottest thing the two of you have done together. Fucking in a car in an empty parking lot. Your fingers slip against the window and Astarion catches you by the elbow, sliding his hand up your forearm so that he can wrap his fingers around yours.

‘Like that, beautiful,’ he says encouragingly, helping you. ‘You’re close, aren’t you? Don’t you want to?’

You nod, unable to trust how your words would sound. One way or another, he always gets what he wants, and you know that with enough time and focus on your pleasure, Astarion will have you mewling.

‘Come on, baby,’ Astarion encourages you, and you can’t help but follow his every command. ‘I love the way you ride me  —  I was made to fill you up, you take my cock so well.’

His words only make you even more frenzied, riding him to the best of your abilities just so he’ll say something sweet about you again. He babbles nonsensical things about you, and if you were in a clearer headspace, you’d be able to make out his words but all you understand now is the nerves building up in the very bottom of your stomach as you chase satisfaction, so determined to see his face once it’s all over.

He coos at you, chin tilting all the way back so you’re able to stare at his pale throat. A gorgeous throat, sleek and elegant, wearing proof of your existence in little bruises and bites that are both new and almost healed. You want to bite him again, to let your teeth graze his Adam’s apple while he talks about politics that you barely understand, and with that, you reach for the back of his neck so that you can slam your mouths together in a clumsy kiss. Astarion hisses, and then he’s biting your lower lip until it swells, and you kiss him so sweetly your head spins.

And from there, you don’t last long. Your legs are shaking harder than they’ve ever shook before, and your chest feels so tight and your cheeks feel so hot that you’re almost incapable of thinking. All you see and know is Astarion. Astarion, lounging against your passenger seat, his own cheeks ruddy and his expression twisted in pleasure. You cry out and collapse forward, burrowing into his chest as tightly as you can. He wraps his arms around you, kisses your temple.

‘Astarion, Astarion, please!’

‘Just like that, my love  —  ’ he gasps against your crown, grunting as his release hits him hard. ‘Like that, my pet, you’re perfect, my dear, my dear heart  —  ’

Your core tightens at his sweet words, and then it’s your churn to choke out a hoarse cry as pleasure races through your spine so sharply that it must hurt. You bite down on his shoulder for comfort, moaning as you try to come to your senses.

It’s somehow both hot and cold inside your little car. Everything is sticky with sweat, and the moisture in the air has started to cause Astarion’s hair to frizz up. You’re boneless. It’s only fair that he takes it upon himself to pull you up from his cock, tucking you back into your baggy sweatpants. You hover awkwardly, his cum on your thighs, while he drags his work pants up his slender thighs. You aren’t sure who is groggier, but when you glance at the clock on the dashboard, mild horror thickens in your stomach. You feel faint.

It might have been nearly three in the morning when Astarion was released from his duties, but it’s now four in the morning, give or take a few minutes. You start to make your way over to the driver’s side again, about to inelegantly climb across the center console when Astarion grabs you by the waist and kisses the side of your head gently.

‘You stay put,’ he mumbles. He sounds positively fucked thorough.

‘I made you stay up late,’ you say guiltily, but he shrugs.

‘Honestly, you did all the hard work,’ he says with a snort. ‘Lay back and close your eyes, darling. I’ll drive. Thank the gods it's the weekend.’

He opens the passenger door, and the cool air of the morning smells so refreshing to the smell of sex that permeates everything else. He stretches for a minute before coming back. He kisses your forehead tenderly, nudging your nose with his.

‘Love you,’ you murmur.

‘Love you,’ he says.

It all happens so quickly. You’re faintly aware of the sound of Astarion snapping his seatbelt in, your car humming to life, an Alfira ballad playing so quietly in the background it might as well not even be on. You’re so warm and toasty that you can’t keep yourself from leaning your head against the window. If you fall asleep before the first redlight, Astarion doesn’t say anything. All you can recall once you get home is a strong pair of arms holding you tightly, and the pillow you stole from his side of the bed, and his back against your chest.

As it should be.

[strangesmallbard]

bg3 characters if they worked at publix/safeway/your grocery store of choice:

karlach: in charge of anything that involves moving heavy objects between locations, but also works produce. LOVES helping old ladies take their groceries to the car; will accidentally abandon the vegetables at least once per shift. (she does apologize to the vegetables.) also is a pallet stacking master in the most haphazard configurations that, somehow, miraculously never fall over. frequently posts her monstrosities on r/publix, alongside a selfie of her giving a cheeky thumbs up.

wyll: store manager, in his second year of a master’s degree in public policy. optimistic like a sword is optimistic. WILL make sure you take your mandated break and will hand out store giftcards for a job well done. does not suffer customers who behave badly. is roommates and longtime best friends with karlach; the energy they exude while together either makes your shift bearable or unbearable, depending.

shadowheart: works the in-store coffee counter. probably should not because she always looks vaguely disgusted, annoyed, or bored. the dark circles under her eyes are always there no matter how many espresso shots she sips. has anonymously complained to corporate about the store’s music choices. every new employee thinks they have a shot with her until she hits them with the 👁️😐 did you need something? 👁️😐 and they slink away, feeling chastised for reasons unknown.

minthara: works the meat and/or fish counter. smokes seventeen packs per mandated break. always smells a little bit like red meat. has the most insane combat stories but it’s completely unclear whether she’s a veteran or just someone who gets into situations on purpose. every 20-something employee is at least mildly obsessed with her whole thing, but she’ll only humor karlach. no one knows where she lives.

lae’zel: 22-year-old grocery team lead. typically works the 5pm-11pm shift, but still obviously runs that shit like a navy seal base. has encyclopedic knowledge of grocery store codes and also lore. during mandated breaks she can be found doing one-armed pushups, argueflirting with shadowheart, or scribbling poetry in a notebook. she’s also the pitcher on her college’s varsity baseball team; everyone shows up to her big games and she fails at not looking overwhelmed by joy every time.

jaheira: beloved customer service manager, knows literally everything and everyone. taught wyll everything he knows about not suffering customers who behave badly. often goes mountain climbing with her scary 39-year-old girlfriend astele who owns the smoke shop next door. sells the best weed you’ll ever smoke in your life.

gale: day shift manager counterpart to lae’zel, postdoc who needs the job to make rent obviously. constantly gives aisle directions for the store location he worked during undergrad and shelves the soup cans all wrong. WILL show you photos of his cat. constantly recognized by his booktube fans (he also streams sims 4 builds of classic sci fi/fantasy book locations). he does wear his own merch underneath the uniform.

halsin: that customer who’s very polite but frequently and inexplicably barefoot. he also teaches woodworking and pottery at the youth center down the road. sometimes brings his regular kids to the store for a field trip and those little bags of cheetos. grows the weed that jaheira sells.

astarion: does not work at the grocery store. he worked at the grocery store for two weeks, during which he showed up late every day, insulted customers, and generally behaved like a cat ripped away from his ball of yarn. he only lasted those two weeks because gale (roommate/situationship) begged wyll to give him another chance in a different department. he still lives with gale while finishing up a law degree and can be found loitering in the grocery store, bitching about The Circumstances with shadowheart.

[thatswhywelovegermany]

Information board at the former border separating West and East Germany

Anyone who visits the zone border should know:

There is no enemy over there —

because there is Germany over there, Germans like us live there. What separates us – wire fences, control strips, mine barriers, watch towers, earth bunkers, barriers and roadblocks – is not a border, but an expression of arbitrariness and fear of those in power. These rulers have been forced upon part of our people by the Soviet occupying powers. What becomes visible in the zone boundary is the suffering of the population with their longing for law and freedom – for when would a government have ever had to capture happy and free citizens behind walls and death strips?

Nonetheless:

Violence and arbitrariness have supporters – conscious ones and misguided ones. We cannot know whether those people we see going about their work over there – soldiers of the NVA ("National People's Army"), farmers, workers – are supporters, followers or victims of the system. Some do not want to, many are not allowed to make contact with us. Behind all of them are informers, fanatics and a draconian judiciary.

Over there, the soldiers have orderst to take the harshest possible action – including with firearms – against any violation of the control strip.

THEREFORE: Caution is advised!

Please note the signs:

ATTENTION ZONE BORDER

Do not approach the so-called demarcation line! Its course is often not clearly recognizable. It is not always identical to the edge line of the border stones. The border fence built by the SBZ (Sowjetische Besatzungszone, Soviet Occupation Zone), the 40 to 150 meter wide strip of fallow land with double fences and mines are already in the zone area. Remember: there is no "no man's land".

Use only public roads and paths! Anyone who circumvents or climbs over the markings of the demarcation line puts health and life at risk. The misery of our people is not a playground for the unsuspecting.

Refrain from any attempt to make contact (waving, shouting, talking, taking photographs, offering gifts). This is almost always interpreted as provocation. You must also refrain from any loud expression of displeasure towards those wearing the SBZ uniform. You do not only endanger yourself, but perhaps also the livelihood and the few relationships of those people who live here on both sides of the barbed wire.

The best way to find out about the local conditions is to contact the customs authorities, the Federal Border Guard or the state police. Register with these authorities in good time, they will be happy to help you.

Hessian State Center for Political Education

[fishcat480]

Bad Day

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

Pairing: Damon Salvatore x Plus size! Reader

Warnings: None

Description: You’re having a very bad day when Damon Salvatore decides to make it worse, but then maybe he also makes it much better.

It was one of those fucking days.

You know those days when everything just goes completely, spectacularly wrong?

You shouldn’t have even been surprised. Once you’d woken up and your favorite sweater had had cat puke on it, you should have given up there. But no - you just had to power through and continue your day.

You got a call right after breakfast that your car payment hadn’t gone through, and now you’d have to pay a late fee you couldn’t afford. While running errands, you’d managed to knock over your Starbucks in the middle of the aisle of Target, forcing you to have to buy another coffee. And once back home, you were greeted with a passive aggressive note from your neighboring apartment asking you to close your door “just a tad quieter”.

By the time you had to get ready for work, your ‘fucks to give’ meter was dangerously low.

You quickly tossed on your uniform shirt and broke several traffic laws driving to the Grill, because of course you were late. At a red light, you tossed your messy Y/H/C hair into a ponytail, griping at your reflection as some asshole in a sports car cut you off. Really? Who the hell drove sports cars in Mystic Falls? You’d only ever seen one person do that, and that was Damon Salvatore.

You scanned the license plate. Then you squinted to see inside the drivers seat and swore loudly. Damon fucking Salvatore. And he waggled his pale fingers at you before peeling off at top speed.

He was there at the Grill when you finally clocked in, tossing apologies at your manager and ignoring Matt’s teasing grins as you settled behind the bar and counted up your liquor. The day bartender threw you a goodbye and a sympathetic look.

Once finished your count, you sauntered over to Damon, who was enjoying a scotch on the rocks with a self righteous grin on his face.

“You cut me off.” you said, placing your hands on the bar.

He shrugged. “Did I?”

Damon had been drinking at the bar of the Grill long before you worked there, but somehow after you started you felt as if he was suddenly there all the time. You’d had an easy relationship at first, due to your infamiliarity. He was a flirt, you were determined to make good money. You flirt with Damon, he gives you a twenty on top of his tab. That was how it had always been for you, and for the other bartenders before you.

But something had changed, and you remembered the day that it did almost as well as you remembered Damon’s drink order.

It had been a slow night, with only Damon and his buddy Alaric holding down the fort. Most of the other drink orders came from tables, and those were practically empty too. You elected to pass the time with Damon and Ric, talking about nothing and everything. That quickly nosedived into a pissing contest between the two men and which one could do a handstand when you mentioned offhand that you were able to perform a fancy little trick, and that had been your downfall.

“There’s no way!” Ric was crying, his words slurring out of the side of his mouth. “You prove it right now.”

You folded your arms across your chest and shrugged, your grin too confident. Damon’s eyes were laser focused, and he took a long drag of his scotch, watching you intently.

“Don’t tease us…”he said finally.

You sighed, and cursed yourself.

Normally, you wouldn’t mind showing this particular party trick off for customers. It happened sometimes on raucous nights, when people were coming from or on their way to parties, looking to boost their mood and spend their money. It felt good to do it and see the looks of awe on their faces, sometimes even lust.

But you were feeling very self conscious at the prospect of doing it for Damon Salvatore.

You couldn’t deny he was attractive. His face, yeah, but his swagger was practically debilitating. He had the confidence of a much older man, which was funny considering you were the same age. There weren’t guys your age acting like him, of that you were sure.

It fueled your desire toward him as much as your flirtatious little routine did.

But Damon was always on the arm of the skinniest, hottest girl in the room. He’d chased after Elena Gilbert for a while, and she was less than half your size. There was no way his flirting had anything more to do with you than you wished. He liked to have fun, plain and simple.

Ric was slamming his fists on the table now, demanding you not to leave them hanging.

You mustered up all your courage - they knew what you looked like, you thought. They were asking you to do it.

So you lifted yourself up onto the bar in a much more fluid motion than you might have ever expected from yourself, and in one easy rotation you were doing a handstand.

You could feel the fabric of your shirt rising up, but you ignored it. You carefully started placing the majority of your weight on your left hand.

You could hear Ric and a few customers oohinh and aahing at you, and it spurred you on. You lifted your right hand into the air, and separated your legs a bit. And then you were doing a handstand on one hand.

You held the pose as Ric hollered and cheered, and then easily flipped backwards and onto your feet again before jumping back behind the bar, standing once more on your own two feet.

“Am I drunk or did I just witness cirque de soleil?” Ric asked.

“You’re drunk.” You told him, as you wiped off the spot on the bar where your feet had been. “But you did witness something pretty cool.”

Your eyes flitted over to Damon, curious to see if he had any kind of reaction. What you saw stopped you in your tracks.

His eyes were dark - darker than you’d ever seen them. There was something hungry in their expression, like you were dessert and he had saved plenty of room. His lips were covered by his tongue as it slowly lapped over it, before he closed his mouth and swallowed.

“Let’s do a shot.” Damon decided, reaching out and placing his hand on top of yours. “I’m buying.”

“Shots!” Ric called, and you internally groaned. He definitely did not need another one.

But you were glued into Damon’s atmosphere, and you watched as his thumb stroked along your hand. “You want me to do a shot?” you asked.

“That was hard work you did up there.” He encouraged. “You must be thirsty.”

You flushed, hoping Ric couldn’t see the effect he was having on you. When you glanced over, he was exclaiming happily as a Bruce Springsteen song came on, completely ignoring you. Your blush must have been crimson, and your cheeks felt as if they were on fire.

Damon’s thumb was still marking its path on your skin. You needed to get away fast.

“I’ll get those shots.”

“Sounds good.” Damon said.

“I’ll need my hand to pour them.”

He let out a sound of displeasure, but withdrew his hand from yours and you robotically turned away, pouring three shots of Bulleit bourbon. If your hand was shaking and you spilled one, that was between you and the security camera.

You, Ric and Damon cheersed, tapping your glasses on the bar top before throwing the alcohol back. Ric sputtered and coughed, and you giggled as he tried to compose himself.

“Well that’s me!” he said, standing up and lurching dangerously to the left. “I’m tapping out.” He went to put his card down, but as usual Damon stopped him. He started waving his card in your direction, but you made no move to grab it.

“I don’t even bother running you up a tab anymore. Damon’s always got it covered.” You admired that about Damon. A lot of people thought of him as kind of shitty, but you knew better. He was loaded, and he always spent the majority of that money on other people. Even after Elena had rejected him for good, he still came in and covered her tab from time to time. He’d done it for all of their friends. He’d even done it for Matt - despite their apparently rocky history.

Ric sighed in defeat. “Me and my teacher’s salary are very thankful.”

Once Ric had left, it was you and Damon. Alone.

Never before had you felt so nervous serving him by yourself. Whatever you’d seen in his eyes after your little show had altered the atmosphere between the two of you. It thrilled you and scared you all at once.

“How come you never told me you were so flexible?” Damon asked, as you cleaned Ric’s empty glasses. He hadn’t taken his eyes off you, and you were avoiding meeting his gaze like the plague.

You shrugged. “I didn’t realize you had any interest in my level of flexibility.”

“If it’s about you, I’m interested.”

Since when did he say things like that to you? God, and if his words didn’t just send shockwaves straight to your core. Had you stepped into an alternate reality where Damon Salvatore was horny for you? No, that couldn’t be right. He was a flirt, and he was probably still heartbroken over Elena picking his brother.

“Damon.” you said finally, meeting his eyes. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

He frowned. “And why not?”

You gave him a knowing look. “I know you.” He was looking for a rebound, and you wanted more than that.

His frown deepened, and within a few moments Damon had gone from sad to furious. There was something working beneath the surface, and he looked….hurt.

“Well, fuck you very much.”

He stalked out of the bar, and your jaw was on the floor. Never did you ever expect Damon to get mad when rejected. How many girls had said no or called him names or even slapped him while you’d watched, bemused, from your side of the bar? And every time he’d smiled or shaken his head. He’d thought it was funny. So what made you different?

The next time you’d seen him, he’d asked for a drink and didn’t say a word to you other than a hi, bye or check, please.

And then this morning he’d cut you off, as if he somehow knew you were having a shit day and wanted to make it even fucking worse, as only Damon Salvatore could do.

Which sucked, because you’d spent weeks wishing that he would man up and talk to you, and explain why he’d been so hurt that day. You’d spent weeks wanting to have Damon back, cracking jokes and flirting with you and being your best customer.

So you confronted him. It was going to be another slow night, and you more than had the time.

“You cut me off. And you did it on purpose.”

This got his attention. He looked up from his drink, his nostrils flaring.

“I cut you off because you’re not a very good driver.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, come on! I wasn’t even moving!”

“And yet, your inexperience was glaringly evident.” He downed the last of his scotch and shoved the glass toward you. “And I’ll take another whenever you’re ready to work.”

Oh, he had another thing coming if he thought he was going to speak to you like that! You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth and moved quickly to pour him a shot - you were on the clock after all, even though you’d much rather leave him hanging - but not the top shelf he was used to. Oh no, you were pouring him the cheap stuff.

You slammed the glass in front of him and slid it over, glaring. He gave as much as he got, giving you a wicked little smile before taking a sip.

And promptly spitting it out.

“What the fuck is that?” He asked, rising to his feet. He grabbed a handful of cocktail napkins and dabbed at what he’d spilled onto his shirt, but the damage was done.

“Oh, sorry, were you looking for something specific? Unless you specify, we typically just give customers the rail.”

You had no issue being bitchy bartender tonight. In fact, it was kind of fun to dish it out. And he deserved it for being a jerk.

“What the hell is your problem?” He yelled. “I cut you off. It happens. I’m kind of an asshole sometimes.”

You groaned in frustration. “What about the whole silent treatment for three weeks? I tell you I don’t want to sleep with you and you act like a child!”

He bristled violently at that, and then looked around for a moment. You weren’t really sure what he was doing until he grabbed Matt by the scruff of his neck and brought him around to your side of the bar.

“Y/N needs a fiver. You’ve got this covered, right?”

Matt sighed, but started cleaning pint glasses. You were about to protest when Damon began dragging you off, and Matt smiled apologetically.

“Just go with it! It’ll be a lot easier!” He tells you, and then he’s gone and you’re being dragged through the back of house and out the back door.

Once outside, Damon released his grip on your arm.

“What the hell are you doing?” You ask, incredulous. “I’ll get written up if I’m gone too long.”

“Look.” Damon says, ignoring your pleas. “You…you hurt my feelings that day, ok? You said something kind of mean, or implied it at least. But…I shouldn’t have handled it like that. I’m working on that stuff.”

“Mean?” You asked. “What did I say that was mean?”

He sighs. “Do I have to spell it out?”

You nodded. “All caps, double spaced, please.”

He laughed despite himself. “You basically implied that I am some womanizing creep that wanted to use you for your body.”

You blinked. And then blinked again.

“Ok, two things… the first: are you NOT a womanizing creep that uses women for their bodies?”

He raised his eyebrows, and his head tilted in thought. “Ok fair point.”

“And the second: that’s not what I meant at ALL.”

He brought a finger up to his mouth and placed the tip on his lower lip. “……you didn’t?”

“No. Damon, what I was trying to say was that I’m not your type, and that you probably just wanted me for a night because you were drunk. Which is great and fine, but that’s just not what I’m looking for. I want a relationship.”

There was confusion in his too-blue eyes, and he took a step toward you, entering your personal space.

“What do you mean you’re not my type?”

Oh lord, this was exactly what you didn’t want to talk about right now. You blew out a steadying breath, choosing your words carefully.

“The girls you date are usually of the same variety….both in looks and in size. So I just figured I wasn’t really your type.”

Damon’s entire face changed. Gone was the confusion and the mock anger, replaced with a quiet rage. He flexed his knuckles, and you involuntarily stepped back. He kind of looked pissed.

“You think I didn’t want to sleep with you because you’re not skinny?”

You struggled to get words out. “I mean, yes? In a way…”

“Are you fucking stupid?”

Did he really want an answer to that? Based on the dangerous look in his eyes, it was probably in your best interest to stay quiet.

He was now fully in your space, standing with you toe to toe. His arms were crossed over his chest, which was absolutely heaving. He was very, very angry and it was kind of turning you on.

“I have been throwing hints at you since the moment you started working here. I tip you double the amount I tip anyone else, I always call you pet names, I’m constantly flirting with you…and you really thought I just wanted one random night of fun because you were warm and available?”

His words were like shockwaves to your system. Now that you were faced with it, you realized that no other bartender had ever said anything good about Damon’s tips. Anytime you were switching shifts, he never called anyone else “darling” or “sweetheart”. He flirted, sure, but you were always different….

“Oh my god….” You said quietly. “Oh my god, I didn’t even realize…”

His hands were on your hips, and your senses were assaulted by him. He smelled good, clean with a hint of spice. His eyes were making you melt with the heat of his gaze. His fingers, too, worked over your skin in delicate little circles, and you knew that given the chance those fingers would drive you wild.

“I do want to sleep with you.” He says, and you sigh but he places a finger on your lips, shushing you.

“I do, and I’m not afraid to say it. I got…overwhelmed when you did that sexy little handstand, and I moved too fast. But what I really want is to take you on a date.”

You tentatively wrapped your arms around his neck, your forehead resting against his. “Yeah?” You ask.

“Yeah.” He breathes.

You don’t answer, just press your lips against his and let yourself drown in him. His lips are like brands against yours, and you can imagine steam coming off you both as your mouths battle for dominance, slotting and slanting over each other again and again until you’re breathless.

“Ok, but if you bring me here for our date there will be actual hell to p-“

He cut you off with another searing kiss. A promise.

So maybe it wasn’t such a bad day after all.

[mylittleredgirl]

today i'm thinking about b5 worldbuilding choices that seem like they were deliberately chosen to differentiate it from star trek. (this is a joyful statement, by the way, They Both Look Nice.gif)

i'm not talking about hyperspace/jumpgate technology, which is way too structurally load-bearing to think of as just Not Warp Drive.

it's more the small-ticket differences, like earthforce using american measurements (when the real life american military uses the metric system), and the sometimes conspicuous absence of the sci-fi technologies that are most iconically identified with star trek: transporters, replicators, all-purpose tricorders... and phasers with a stun setting, which is where things get kinda fucked up.

the sci-fi gun filling the phaser niche on b5 is the PPG. it's also a bloodless energy weapon, but it only has one setting, which is at least as deadly as a modern gun (i say "at least" because of how often someone is "killed instantly" with a single shot). officers are not armed with a less-lethal option.

in season one, it's routinely emphasized that no one except earth force personnel can have weapons of any kind on the station. the ban is pretty hardcore. not even religious ceremonial knives are allowed, there are active scans of everything coming on board, and security has the right to check for weapons even in the "foreign soil" of ambassadorial quarters.

there are a quarter of a million people here on any given day, mostly civilians, many of them aliens. there's a backdrop of petty crime, mostly theft and fistfights. occasionally someone gets stabbed with a homemade shank. security has Shit To Do! people to arrest, and so on. but the total weapons ban means that in the vast majority of cases, anyone that security can expect to encounter, especially inside the station (vs. the customs area) will be unarmed.

and this all seems like a recipe for disaster. a human in uniform killing an unarmed alien bystander (or a suspected petty criminal who hasn't been charged with anything) is going to be a problem for the Don't Start Wars With Aliens station!! of course the initial peace train derails mid-series, but at the beginning, sinclair is really holding on to the goal of peace by his fingernails. you would think that both he and earthgov (who Really want to keep earth out of war) would prefer that the random dumbasses in security carry a non-lethal option as a first-line weapon, even if they are also armed with a backup PPG... which implies that the humans in the b5 universe just never bothered to work on this technology.

meanwhile, in the real world, police tasers came into use in 1993, at the exact same time as b5 started. the idea that cops should have a way to subdue someone resisting arrest without shooting them was a pressing concern in the national conversation... so somehow it ends up being worse than just picking american riot cops off the street and sticking them in space. to us at home, especially in the 2020's, it fits in with the rest of the "hey, don't you and the good guys think this is kinda fucked up?" stuff, but it's not treated that way, because the good guys don't notice it at all (that's honestly a theme with law enforcement issues in b5 in general, but that's another post).

which is why i wonder if it was a Not Like Star Trek choice early on to avoid "set phasers to stun," and it just never came up again.

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Part 13

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Characters: Wolffe, Cara (child OFC), Sinker

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff

Word Count: 1.4k

Author's Note: Okay, so I know I said that this chapter was going to be the funeral scene, but it is not. Next chapter, I promise. I tried to fit everything into one chapter, but it got way too long, so I split it. While this chapter does not contain the funeral, it is still very emotional as Wolffe recalls memories of his wife. I don't like to exposition dump, which is why information about her has been sprinkled in, but I felt it was time for readers to get further knowledge about Wolffe's wife before we collectively say goodbye. Side note, is this my first chapter with zero dialogue??? Wild. As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta: @beating-a-dead-plot

Part 1 || Prev | Next

Series Masterlist

Wolffe's heart pounded as he led Cara out onto the terrace. She held his hand and walked beside him without argument as Sinker walked ahead of them, hands folded neatly behind his back. He obscured most of her view, but she didn't try to break away from Wolffe's hand to see around him. Instead, as more and more people came into view, Cara shifted to a guarded position and trailed further behind Wolffe. He noticed her hesitation and squeezed her hand to reassure her as they approached the formation that Sinker filed into.

The terrace was full of clones, some in uniform and some in armor, most of whom Wolffe had never seen before, still, there were many that he did know, including the entirety of the 104th Battalion, Commander Fox, and several members of the Coruscant Guard. There were a few Jedi in attendance besides his own, but he ignored them. It didn't matter to him whether the Jedi paid their respects, but he had to admit that if there was one custom he was thankful the Jedi and Mandalorians had in common, it was burning their dead.

Wolffe's wife wasn't Mandalorian, but neither was he, officially. He wasn't trained directly by the Mandalorian bounty hunters, like the Alphas or the Commandos, but he was trained by Alpha-17 who upheld those same traditions and passed them on to the Commanders. Newer clones didn't always understand, and not every commander had the time to instill those traditions into their men. They may be fakes, copies, and imposters, but the culture gave them something to hold onto; something that made them feel like real people.

From what he could see at a distance, the funeral pyre was hauntingly beautiful. The wood was artistically arranged and perfectly level and the wisteria flowers outlining her body added a degree of femininity to the scene that made Wolffe's heart plunge into his stomach with a level of ferocity he wasn't expecting. The authenticity was unrivaled. There was more care and concern put into that one pyre than had ever been afforded to a single clone on the battlefield. He would have to remember to thank Sinker properly for all of his efforts in preparing it.

As they approached the formation of clones in the front, Wolffe sucked in a breath when he saw his in-laws within the gathered crowd. Their audacity to show up to their daughter's funeral after disowning her, cutting her out of their will, and throwing her on the streets, made him sick. When Cara was born, her parents made it very clear they wanted nothing to do with her either; something about the child of nature's greatest abomination being a stain on their superior bloodline. His initial instinct was to throw them out, but he remained calm.

However, his in-law's presence brought memories of their first meeting flooding back. At the very beginning of the War, before 79s was a clone bar, there weren't many places on Coruscant where a clone could get a drink or unwind, but there was one run-down tavern on the lower levels that let anyone in. That was where Wolffe first saw her; messy auburn hair, crystal blue eyes glazed over from being drunk, and skin so pale he thought she would burn under the neon lights. A man at the bar tried to cop a feel but Wolffe decked him without a second thought, and, as a thank you, she threw up on him. It was love at first sight.

After cleaning himself up, Wolffe was able to get a look at her ID and find her address, because there was no way he was going to leave her alone as drunk as she was. It surprised him that someone from the upper levels would hang out in such a dingy bar, but he wasn't one to judge. He hailed a taxi and paid with whatever credits he had to get as close to her address as possible, but still ended up carrying her on his back for the last stretch. She was loud and obnoxious the entire way, endlessly wiggly, and shouted pure nonsense in his ears.

When they finally arrived at her residence, he was greeted by her frantic parents and was subsequently arrested by the Coruscant Guard on charges of drugging, kidnapping, and assault. Without a single chance to explain himself, Wolffe was placed in binders and tossed into a holding cell at the Republic Judiciary Central Detention Center. He sat in that cell all night trying to figure out how he could've messed up so badly on his first visit to Coruscant that his general probably thought he was the most incompetent commander in the GAR.

In the morning, however, it wasn't his general who came to get him, but a woman.  Wolffe didn't recognize her at first. Her clothes were elegant, made of fine linen, her auburn hair was neatly wrapped in a bun, not a strand out of place, and her soft blue eyes shone with compassion against her pale skin. It was her eyes. That's when he realized she was the same woman he carried home from the bar the night before. She was the last person he expected to show up at the Detention Center to bust him out, but he wasn't about to be ungrateful.

She introduced herself and then proceeded to profusely apologize for what happened. Wolffe was shocked when she started crying while explaining how she only wanted to have a fun night out away from her high-class lifestyle and strict parents. She never intended for anyone to get hurt by her shenanigans, especially the man who protected her honor and was kind enough to bring her home after she was too drunk to walk straight. In her eyes, he was a hero, not a villain, and she couldn't let her parent's influence lock him away forever, so she had him released.

It wasn't long afterward that they started seeing each other in secret, away from the prying eyes of her parents and the GAR. One thing turned into another and they both fell hopelessly in love. She knew he was a clone, and that her parents would never approve, but she didn't care. Even after Wolffe protested, saying they should break up, she insisted that she would regret leaving him over something so trivial as family status. So, she professed her love for Wolffe to her parents and they slammed the door in her face. It was the bravest thing Wolffe had ever seen.

She was left alone with only the clothes on her back and the credits in her pocket. Wolffe wanted to help her adjust, but she refused, asserting that she needed to make it on her own if she wanted to be seriously involved with him. Weeks later, when Wolffe arrived back on Coruscant after his first mission, she had a job, an apartment, and the beginnings of her own life. Fear crept into the back of his mind that she moved on and didn't want him anymore, but when he arrived at the coordinates she sent him, she welcomed him home with open arms.

It was that same night when they accidentally made Cara. It wasn't something either of them planned on, but they were both young, in love, and lacked certain levels of education on the matter. They learned quickly though, and even with the options and obstacles presented to them, they decided to keep Cara. They both knew it wasn't going to be easy, and Wolffe felt guilty about letting it happen, but his wife was ever the stubborn woman and she knew that it was meant to be, even if it terrified Wolffe more than any battle ever did.

Their first moments together felt like they happened only yesterday, but now, they were just memories. Memories that Wolffe replayed in his mind as he desperately tried to grasp onto every remnant of his wife he could, afraid that he'd lose her completely if he didn't catch all the pieces. There was still some part of his mind that didn't want to believe she was dead, even as he looked over at the funeral pyre with her form–her auburn hair, blue eyes, and pale skin–lying on top of it, just waiting for him to light the fire and fill the air with her remaining essence.

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