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[buckets-and-trees]

Obsidian Stain and Sin

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark Ari Levinson x Female!Reader, soft!dark Curtis Everett x Female!Reader, Ari x Reader x Curtis Word Count: 8.1k Summary: You've thought of getting your first tattoo for a long time. When you walk into Obsidian Stain Studio, you experience services beyond what you bargained for.

Content/Warnings: tattooing/needles, DUBIOUS CONSENT, explicit smut, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, kissing, anal play/rimming (female receiving), eating it from behind, vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex, praise kink, innocence kink, corruption kink, size kink, manhandling, fade to black/abrupt ending

Author Notes: I've had this idea all summer. I've been eager to write it, but literally the muse only kept teasing me with it until literally about six hours ago when she said, WE'RE DOING THIS, AND WE'RE DOING THIS NOW, so it's almost late/maybe it's still you're birthday week for a hot minute in some time zone, but I'm slipping this to you @stargazingfangirl18 for your Birthday Bonenanza! Literally, when I tell you that when you originally tagged me in the announcement, and I read over the myriad of prompts, I thought, "Oh, wow, this is so tattoo Curtis and Ari coded, it HAS TO happen for Siri's birthday..." that's really how my brain thought it was finally going to get the jump on working on this. But then no. Then that other Steve story happened, and I was stoked about that. Then the new chapter for Nomad Steve, and I thought, ah well, still fun stuff, maybe someday this, and then AT THE LAST MOMENT, Muse pulled a plot twist. So here's some ruinous hoe shit. Multiple dialogue prompts from the challenge are used here, and you'll find them in bold.

A/N 2: Shout out to @vonalyn for a few convos hashing out some of this concept!

You are surprised by the tinkling of a classic bell hanging over the door that rings pleasantly as you enter the tattoo parlor.

A man behind the reception desk immediately looks up to greet you. He doesn’t shoot you a phony, business-y smile, but his demeanor is still warm and approachable. “Welcome,” he greets you. “Walk-in or appointment?” he asks.

“Um, walk-in,” you manage. In a black t-shirt with shoulders that are nearly bursting through the fabric, lush hair and beard, and striking blue eyes, he’s more than an impressive specimen. “If you’ve got an opening?” you quickly add.

“Sure, we can take you,” he says. His gaze flicks to a scheduling book in front of him on the counter. “A couple of the boys are on break or about to finish up with other clients. Your first time here, yes?”

You nod. “First tattoo ever.”

“Oh,” he says, and his eyes brighten. “Even better. Let’s get you booked in.”

He takes your name, email, and phone number to set up a profile for you in their system. There are some electronic consent forms that he takes you through and has you agree to and sign on an iPad, and then he takes asks a few questions about what you’re interested in.

“Based off what you have in mind, Curtis might be the best artist, but he won’t be finished for maybe an hour.”

“Ah,” you look at your watch. It was a bit of an impromptu idea for you to drop in to get the tattoo this afternoon, and you had time, but you had probably been foolish thinking a walk-in was any sort of good idea.

“But,” he interjects, “I’ve got two other guys who are excellent, and either one of them should be ready to take you pretty soon. Take a seat just over there, and I’ll go check in with them and get a call on time for you. I’ll also grab you a drink. Pick your poison - we’ve got water or Coke products.”

You give him your preference, and he nods and smiles.

“Right then, sit tight, and I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He disappears around the corner, and you do as you’ve been told and take a seat on one of the black leather couches in the lobby.

Now you have time to really take in your surroundings. The walls are black with white moldings at the floor and ceiling, and the hardwood floors are a warm walnut. Everything is dark but clean. Classic but clearly in line with current trends. On the wall behind the desk, there’s a gorgeous, white-lettered feature with shop name - Obsidian Stain Studio - that’s sleek and impressive. On the wall next to you, there are ten framed pieces of art on the wall in a mix of sizes, some of them hand-drawn artwork, and the rest photos of finished tattoos on skin.

You’re nervous but determined not to be, so you cross your legs and try to keep your anxious energy limited to just running your fingers back and forth over the edge of your phone. Looking at the different designs on the wall does serve to capture your attention, though, and quell your nerves slightly.

The man working reception returns and hands you the drink. “We should have you back there in a chair in ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Great,” you respond, and the nerves kick up a notch, but it’s with a surge of excitement.

This is happening.

You take a sip of your drink, grateful for something to occupy your hands. The cool liquid helps soothe your nerves a bit. As you wait, you observe a few other clients entering and leaving the shop checking in or paying as they leave. Some sport fresh bandages, while others are clearly here for consultations, clutching sketches or reference photos.

The buzzing of tattoo machines creates a constant backdrop of sound, occasionally punctuated by muffled laughter or conversation from the back rooms. The atmosphere is more relaxed than you expected, nineties music underscoring it all.

As you wait, a couple emerges from behind the partition separating the lobby from the work area. They're both grinning, the woman cradling her forearm gently. Her companion is animatedly discussing something with her, gesturing excitedly. You catch a glimpse of fresh ink on her skin as they pass – a vibrant butterfly with intricate, colorful wings.

The sight makes your heart race a little faster. Soon, that'll be you walking out with fresh art on your body. The thought is both thrilling and slightly terrifying.

But you won’t be walking out with a friend or partner.

Your gaze wanders back to the artwork on the walls. One piece in particular catches your eye – an intricate mandala design with flowing lines and delicate detail. You find yourself drawn to its symmetry and complexity.

"Which one’s got your attention?" a voice asks, startling you from your reverie. You look up to see someone you can only describe as a lion of a man standing before you. All of his attention is focused on you like you’re his next prey. He towers over you with a mane of golden brown hair that’s grown out to tuck nicely behind his ears and curls out at his neck. He’s got a broad chest and shoulders covered in a denim shirt with a few buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. You can see peeks of ink mingled with some chest hair as well as intricate designs over his forearms. His dark blue eyes are zeroed in on you in a way that both unsettles and steadies you at the same time.

You point at the mandala, and the man smiles. “That’s one of Steve’s. He says you’re here for your first tattoo.”

“He… wait, is that Steve?” You nod and glance over at the man at the front desk who’s now consulting with an older man and showing him a few designs.

“Yep, he owns the place and loves to work the front almost as much as the back with the rest of us. I’m Ari, by the way.” He puts his hand out, inviting you to shake hands.

You push up from the couch, stand, and offer your hand for the shake. It’s engulfed easily by his big, warm, calloused hand.

“I’m the one who’s going to make your first time special.”

Your heart stutters and your face flushes. He didn’t just… your mind races. Did he?

He chuckles and drops your hand quickly. “Follow me,” he says and turns and begins striding into the back.

You fall into step behind Ari, your eyes inevitably drawn to his broad shoulders and the confident swagger in his step. The back area is an open space divided into several stations with partial walls, each with its own tattoo chair and equipment, creating semi-private booths. Ari leads you to one in the back corner.

"Have a seat," he says, gesturing to the chair.

You perch on the edge, your nerves returning full force. The air is thick with the scent of antiseptic and ink.

He pulls up a rolling stool and sits, leaning in close. "So, tell me about this tattoo you want."

You explain your idea - a simple constellation of stars for your zodiac sign - watching as his blue eyes light up with interest. He nods along, occasionally asking questions or offering suggestions. His enthusiasm is infectious, and you find yourself relaxing despite the butterflies in your stomach.

"Alright, I think I know what you're after," Ari says, reaching for a sketchpad. "Let me rough out a design for you."

You watch, mesmerized, as Ari's hand moves swiftly across the paper. His brow furrows in concentration, and you find yourself studying the angles of his face, the way his beard accentuates his strong jaw. Within minutes, he presents you with a design that takes your breath away.

"What do you think?" he asks, a hint of pride in his voice.

The constellation is there, just as you imagined, but Ari has added subtle details that elevate it beyond your expectations. Delicate lines connect the stars, and a hint of shadowing gives the piece depth and movement.

"It's perfect," you breathe, unable to take your eyes off the sketch.

Ari grins, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Great. Now, let's talk placement."

You indicate the spot you've chosen - your inner wrist. Ari nods approvingly. "Good choice. Nice and visible, but easy to cover if needed. Mind if I take a look?"

You extend your arm, and Ari gently takes your wrist in his large hands. His touch is surprisingly soft as he examines the area, his fingers tracing the spot where your tattoo will soon be. You can't help but notice the contrast between his rough, inked skin and your own unmarked flesh.

"Nice canvas," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "Skin's good here. This'll work well." He looks up, catching your eye. "Ready to get started?"

You nod, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling in your chest.

“You’re a sweet, innocent thing, aren’t you?”

You open your mouth but shut it again, unsure how to respond, and he brushes his thumb over the pulse on your inner wrist, and you think you see his eyes darken.

He releases your wrist and turns to prepare his equipment. You’re frozen in place, but luckily that’s fine as it’s not necessary for you to move. You watch as he efficiently sets up his station, laying out ink caps, adjusting his machine, and pulling on a fresh pair of black latex gloves. The buzz of the tattoo machine as he tests it sends a jolt of excitement and nervousness through you.

"Alright, I'm going to clean the area now," he says, swabbing your wrist.

His touch is clinical now, professional, as he prepares your skin. The cool antiseptic makes you shiver slightly.

"Cold?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"A little," you admit.

"Don't worry, I’ll have you warm soon enough," he says with a wink that makes your cheeks flush.

Ari places the stencil on your wrist, pressing it gently to transfer the design. When he peels it away, you see the outline of your constellation on your skin for the first time. It sends a thrill through you - this is really happening.

"Make sure you’re happy with the placement before we start," he instructs. "This is your last chance to change your mind."

You focus to examine the design on your skin more closely, heart racing. It looks even better than you imagined.

"It's perfect," you say, unable to keep the excitement from your voice.

Ari grins. "Alright then, let's make it permanent. You ready?"

You nod, settling back into the chair and extending your arm.

Ari takes your arm gently, positioning it just so on the armrest. "Now, I need you to stay as still as possible," he says, his voice low and soothing. "It's going to hurt a bit, especially at first. But I promise, I'll be as gentle as I can."

The buzz of the machine fills your ears as Ari brings the needle to your skin. You hold your breath, bracing for the pain.

The first touch of the needle is a sharp, burning sensation that makes you wince. Ari pauses, his eyes flicking to your face. "You okay?"

You nod, determined. "I'm fine. Keep going."

“Move an inch, and you’ll be sorry.”

You open your mouth wordlessly again, and he laughs.

“Only joking. I know you’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You bite your lip and nod, something fluttering in your stomach, mixing wickedly with your nerves and the uncertainty around this man who skirts between being casual, soothing your nerves, concentration on his craft, and making these comments that insinuate and evoke wholly inappropriate thoughts.

He smiles, then concentrates back on your wrist and resumes his work. Gradually, the initial shock of pain fades into a more manageable discomfort. You find yourself relaxing, mesmerized by the steady movement of Ari's hand and the way the muscles in his biceps move and flex.

As Ari continues, your eyes shift to his face. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his blue eyes focused intently on your skin. There's something mesmerizing about watching him work, seeing the care and precision he puts into every line. The buzz of the machine becomes almost soothing, a constant backdrop to the occasional murmur of voices from other stations.

"So," Ari says after a while, breaking the silence without looking up from his work, "what made you decide to get your first tattoo today?"

You hesitate, unsure how much to share. "It's… kind of a long story."

Ari glances up, a small smile playing on his lips. "We've got time. I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you."

You take a deep breath, wincing slightly as the needle hits a sensitive spot. "I've been thinking about it for a while. But today… today felt like it was finally the day to take the leap."

"Spontaneous decision, huh? Those can be the best kind."

You nod, feeling the heat creep up your neck. "I guess I just wanted to do something for myself. Something permanent.”

Ari nods thoughtfully, his eyes still focused on your wrist. "Sometimes we need a physical reminder of the changes we're making inside," he says softly. "Something to look at and think, 'Yeah, I did that. I made that choice.'"

His words resonate with you, and you find yourself relaxing further. The pain has faded to a dull, almost pleasant sensation.

"So, what's your story?" you ask, curiosity getting the better of you. "How did you get into tattooing?"

Ari chuckles, pausing to wipe away excess ink. "Now that's definitely a long story. But the short version? I was a troubled kid, got into some bad stuff. Tattooing saved me, gave me a purpose."

He glances up, meeting your eyes. "There's something powerful about creating permanent art on someone's body.”

The words send another thrill through your body and you nod, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens at his intense gaze. "I can see that," you manage to say.

Ari returns his attention to your wrist, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's intimate, you know? Creating something that becomes a part of someone forever."

The word 'intimate' hangs in the air between you, charged with unspoken tension. You're acutely aware of the warmth of his hand on your skin, the gentle pressure as he works.

“You’re the one Steve says I nearly got to mark for the first time,” a new voice startles you, and you jump slightly in your chair.

Ari tsks, but his left hand had been holding your arm down firmly.

The other man chuckles. “Sorry, sugar.”

He steps closer, coming into Ari’s booth. He looks to be slightly taller than Ari, and a shade leaner, but he’s still built with more muscles than the common man. His hair is dark, shorn close to his head, and a dark beard covers his angular jaw. Ice blue eyes pierce into you, and you fight hard to suppress an actual shiver running down your spine.

"Curtis," Ari says without looking up, his tone a mix of amusement and mild irritation. "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to interrupt?"

Curtis leans against the partition, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement draws your attention to the intricate tattoos covering his forearms. He’s got more ink than Ari.

"Just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Steve said we had a noteworthy first-timer."

You feel your face flush, unsure whether to be flattered or embarrassed. Curtis's gaze is intense, almost predatory, as he looks you over.

"Well, now you've seen," Ari says, his voice tight. "Don't you have your own client to attend to?"

Curtis huffs. "Just finished up. Thought I'd come say hello." He turns his attention back to you. "How're you holding up, sweetheart? Ari treating you right?"

You nod, finding your voice. "He's been great," you manage to say, your voice a bit shaky. "It doesn't hurt as much as I expected."

Curtis grins, a glint in his eye. "Oh, Ari knows how to make it feel good, doesn't he?"

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks at the innuendo. Ari's hand tightens slightly on your wrist, and you see his jaw clench.

"Curtis," Ari says, his tone a clear warning.

Curtis holds up his hands. "Alright, alright. I can take a hint." He fixes his gaze once again on your face. "Maybe next time you'll let me be the one to mark you up. Lot more skin still to explore."

With that, he stalks away, leaving a charged atmosphere in his wake. You can feel the tension radiating off Ari as he resumes his work on your tattoo, his jaw clenched.

“Sorry about that,” Ari says after a moment, his voice low. "Curtis can be… intense."

You nod, still feeling flustered from the encounter. "It's okay," you manage to say, trying to calm your racing heart.

Ari looks up at you, his blue eyes searching your face. "You alright? Need a break?"

You shake your head. "No, I'm fine. Let's keep going."

He nods, returning his attention to your wrist. The buzz of the machine fills the silence between you once more. You try to focus on the sensation, the slight sting as the needle moves across your skin, rather than the lingering tension in the air.

After a few minutes, Ari speaks again. "You know, you don't have to let anyone pressure you into anything you're not comfortable with. Not here, not anywhere."

His words surprise you, and you meet his gaze. There's a protective glint in his eye, but he quickly returns his attention to your wrist. Ari's movements become more deliberate, almost possessive, as he continues working on your tattoo. The tension in the air is palpable, and you find yourself hyper-aware of every point of contact between your skin and his.

"Almost done," he murmurs after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all. "Just a few more touches."

You watch as he adds the final details, marveling at how the constellation seems to come to life on your skin. When he finally sits back, setting down the machine, you can't help but gasp.

"It's beautiful," you breathe.

Ari's eyes meet yours, a mixture of pride and something deeper in his gaze. “It suits you perfectly."

You feel a warmth spread through your chest at his words. Ari gently wipes away the last traces of excess ink, revealing the full beauty of your new tattoo. The stars seem to shimmer on your skin, the delicate lines connecting them creating a sense of movement and depth.

"Now, let's get this wrapped up and I'll go over the aftercare instructions with you," Ari says, reaching for a roll of clear film.

As he carefully covers your new tattoo, his fingers brush against your skin, sending little sparks of electricity through you. You can't help but notice how his large hands handle your wrist with such care and precision.

"There," he says, smoothing down the edges of the wrap. "All protected."

Ari walks you to the front, and your heart races when you see Steve and Curtis speaking quietly with their heads together. Ari clears his throat, and at the sight of you, Curtis nods, rakes his gaze over you once more. “Come back soon, sugar.”

You feel a shiver run down your spine at Curtis's words, but Ari's steady presence beside you helps ground you. Steve steps forward, a warm smile on his face.

"How did it go?" he asks, his eyes flickering to your wrapped wrist.

"It was amazing," you reply, unable to keep the excitement from your voice. "Ari did an incredible job." You extend your wrist, showing off your new tattoo.

Steve nods approvingly. "Beautiful work. Ari’s one of our best. Let's get you checked out."

As Steve begins to ring up your work, Ari leans against the counter beside you. His arm brushes against yours, and you're acutely aware of his proximity.

"Remember," he says softly, his voice low enough that only you can hear, "take care of it. It's a part of you now."

You nod, shyly meeting his intense gaze, looking up at him through your lashes. "I will," you promise, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ari's eyes soften, and he reaches out, his fingers ghosting over the edge of the wrap on your wrist. "Good girl," he murmurs, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

Steve clears his throat, breaking the moment. "All set," he says, handing you a receipt. "We hope to see you again soon."

You nod, suddenly feeling flustered. "Thank you," you manage to say, gathering your things.

As you turn to leave, Ari's hand catches your elbow gently. "Wait," he says, reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a small business card and presses it into your hand. "In case you have any questions about the aftercare. Or anything else."

Your fingers brush as you take the card, and you feel a jolt of electricity at the contact. You look down at the card, noting the personal cell phone number scrawled on it. "Thank you."

Ari's blue eyes lock with yours, intense and filled with unspoken promise.

You barely seem to turn away, but somehow manage to break off from the eye contact, and quickly rush out of Obsidian Stain Studio.

You keep Ari’s business card, but as the weeks go by, you don’t use it.

After a couple of months, you move the card from the spot next to where you keep your keys where you see it every day, into the top drawer of your desk. Out of frequent sight, but not out of mind completely.

It’s a solid six months before you return to Obsidian Stain again, but ultimately you do. The bell jingles above your head as you step inside.

The tattoo on your wrist had healed beautifully, and you loved seeing it on your skin. You had decided fairly soon afterwards that you wanted another tattoo, but even after saving up for your next one, it had taken you longer to decide whether to return Obsidian or not, the experience with Ari and encounters with Curtis leaving you torn between terrified and desperately curious to go back.

Ultimately the allure was too strong to deny.

But, more logically, although finally going in to get your first tattoo had been on a whim, you had been very thorough in narrowing down and exploring your options for months before. You knew they were one of the best in your area, especially for the style you wanted, and the price point you knew you could afford while still ensuring quality.

Unwilling to make an appointment, though, you were going to gamble on a walk-in again.

No one was immediately at the front desk, but at the sound of the bell, Steve quickly appears. “Welcome back,” he said, a broad grin on his face.

“Walk-in?” you ask, and remind him of your name.

“Oh, I remember you.” Steve beckons you forward. “Let me see that wrist,” he says.

You offer your arm with pride, and he smiles warmly.

“Looks good. You hit us on a slow day, perfect for a walk in. I’ll get you booked in, and then I’ll take you right back.”

You feel a mix of excitement and nervousness as Steve leads you to the back. The familiar scent of antiseptic and ink fills your nostrils, bringing back memories of your last visit. Your eyes scan the room, half hoping and half dreading to see a certain tattooist.

"Curtis is free right now," Steve says, guiding you to a station. "He'll take good care of you."

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of Curtis's name. You remember his intense gaze, his bold words from your last visit. Part of you is disappointed it's not Ari, but another part is intrigued.

Curtis looks up as you approach, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Well, well. Look who's back," he says, his ice blue eyes locking onto yours.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very exposed under his gaze. "Hi," you manage evenly.

Curtis's eyes rake over you. "I was hoping you'd come back to us," he says, his voice low and smooth. "What can I do for you today, sugar?"

You begin to explain the design you have in mind - a delicate, line art floral piece. As you talk, Curtis listens intently, occasionally nodding or asking questions. His focus is entirely on you, making you feel both nervous and oddly thrilled.

“And where do you want it?” he finally asks.

You trace an area of your other arm - opposite of the one with your inked-up wrist — moving your fingers over the delicate skin between your wrist and up toward the crook of your elbow.

“Hmm,” he hums. “You sure?”

Your eyes shoot to his. “Yes?” an edge of hesitation now in your voice at his query.

He narrows his eyes slightly, then shakes his head. “No.”

“No?”

“No. A piece like this could work well there, but that’s not where you want me to put this.”

“It… isn’t?”

“No, it should go here,” he says, and he reaches out and brushes his fingers lightly over your ribs instead, causing you to shiver.

He gestures for you to take a seat in the chair. As you settle in, Curtis rolls his stool closer, leaning in. "Now, this is going to be a bit more intense than your other wrist. You sure you're ready for it?"

You nod, trying to project confidence despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. "I'm ready."

Curtis grins, a predatory glint in his eye. "That's what I want to hear from that pretty mouth. Now just sit tight and wait for me while I draw something up.”

Your heart races as you lean back in the chair, Curtis's words echoing in your mind, causing heat to pool in your core. You watch, mesmerized by the intensity of his focus. After a few minutes, he turns back to you, holding up the sketch.

"What do you think?" he asks.

Your breath catches in your throat. The design is beautiful - delicate flowers and vines intertwining in a way that would perfectly follow the curve of your ribs.

"It's perfect," you breathe, unable to take your eyes off the design.

Curtis smirks, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Alright then, let's get started. I'm going to need you to lift your shirt for me."

Your cheeks flush as you slowly raise the hem of your shirt, exposing your ribs. Curtis's eyes darken as they roam over your skin.

"Beautiful canvas," he murmurs, his voice low and husky.

You feel exposed, knowing your own soft belly and imperfections, but he looks at you in a way that has your head spinning, it’s a hunger that’s almost reverent.

“Better if you take your shirt off for me, sugar,” he says, his tone firm.

Head swirling, you don’t think to refuse, just do as you’re told. With trembling hands, you pull your shirt over your head, feeling incredibly vulnerable as you sit there in just your bra. Curtis's eyes roam over your exposed skin, a look of satisfaction on his face.

"That's better," he says, his voice low and approving. "Now, let's get you positioned just right."

His hands, surprisingly gentle, guide you to lie back and slightly to the side. You shiver as his fingers trail along your ribs, mapping out where the tattoo will go.

"Nervous?" he asks, a hint of amusement in his tone.

He already knows the answer, but you nod, not trusting your voice.

Curtis leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Don't worry, sugar. I'll take good care of you."

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you.

Curtis begins to clean and prepare your skin, his touch clinical yet somehow still intimate. You try to steady your breathing, hyperaware of every point of contact between his hands and your body.

"Now, this is going to hurt more than your wrist did," Curtis warns, his voice low. "But I know you can take it. You're tougher than you look, aren't you, sugar?"

You nod, steeling yourself for the pain. The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the air, and then you feel the first bite of the needle against your skin. You gasp, your body tensing.

"Breathe," Curtis instructs, his free hand coming to rest on your hip, grounding you. "That's it, nice and steady."

As he works, Curtis surprisingly stokes and then keeps up a steady stream of conversation. Mostly it’s inquiry after inquiry, forcing you to focus on finding words, but his deep voice also helps to distract you from the pain. He asks about your life, your interests. You find yourself opening up, sharing more than you intended about your life, your dreams, your fears. His voice continues to provide the counterpoint to the buzz of the tattoo machine.

"You're doing so well," Curtis murmurs, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before returning to his work. "Such a good girl for me."

The praise sends a shiver through you, and you bite your lip to stifle a small moan. Curtis notices, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

"Sensitive, aren't you?" he says, his voice low. "I like that."

Your cheeks flush, but you can't deny the thrill his words send through you. The pain of the tattoo blends into the sensations he’s evoking as his hands move with practiced precision across your skin.

"So, sugar, what made you come back for more ink?" he asks, his eyes flicking up to meet yours before returning to his work.

You take a shaky breath before answering. "I loved how the first one turned out. And… I guess I wanted to experience it again."

Curtis chuckles, darkly. "Addictive, isn't it? The pain, the permanence... the intimacy of it all."

His words make your heart race, and you're acutely aware of how close he is, how vulnerable you are beneath his hands.

"Speaking of your first time," Curtis continues, the steadying hand that had been at your waist ghosting just a little lower, "Ari seemed quite taken with you. Did you ever give him a call?"

The question catches you off guard, and you feel a flush creep up your neck. "No, I… I didn't," you admit softly.

Curtis's hand stills for a moment, and he looks up at you, his ice blue eyes intense. "No? Now that's interesting. Why not, sugar?"

You swallow hard, unsure how to answer, yet unable to stop the words from flowing. "I... I guess I was nervous," you finally say.

A slow smile spreads across Curtis's face. "Nervous? Of Ari? Or of what you felt?”

Your cheeks flush at his perceptiveness. "Both, maybe," you whisper.

“Or maybe you were waiting for something else?" His hand resumes its work, but the touch his anchor hand seems more deliberate now, each movement charged with unspoken intent.

"I don't know what you mean.”

Curtis chuckles, a low, dark sound that sends shivers down your spine. "I think you do, sugar. I think you knew exactly what you were doing when you came back here today."

His words hang in the air between you, charged with tension. You can't bring yourself to deny it, can't even find your voice to respond. Curtis seems to take your silence as confirmation.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

The buzz of the tattoo machine fills the silence as Curtis returns his focus to your ribs. You try to steady your breathing, acutely aware of every point of contact between his skin and yours. The pain of the tattoo blends with the heat pooling in your core, creating a heady mix of sensations.

"Tattoo nearly done," Curtis says after what feels like hours.

You let out a shaky breath, a mix of relief and disappointment washing over you. The intense experience is coming to an end, but part you that scares you doesn't want it to.

"Just a few more touches," Curtis murmurs, his eyes focused intently on your skin, and the buzz of the machine continues for a few more minutes.

"There we go," Curtis murmurs. He wipes away the excess ink, then sits back to admire his work. His eyes roam over your exposed skin, a mixture of professional pride and something darker in his gaze. "Want to take a look?"

You nod, not trusting your voice. Curtis helps you sit up, steadying you with a hand on your lower back as you move to face the mirror. Your breath catches in your throat as you see the intricate design now adorning your ribs. The delicate flowers and vines seem to bloom across your skin, following the curves of your body perfectly.

"It's perfect," you whisper, unable to take your eyes off the mirror.

Curtis's smile widens, and his eyes darken. "Of course it is. I knew exactly what you needed."

His words send another shiver through you, but then suddenly you feel the heat of him too close, and he’s pressed right up against your back, planting his large hands on your hips and caging you in.

"You're trembling," Curtis murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. His hands tighten on your hips, holding you steady against him. "Are you scared, sugar?"

You can't find your voice to answer, your heart pounding in your chest. You're acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies - his broad chest against your back, his strong hands on your hips, the heat of him seeping through your skin.

"Or maybe," he continues, his voice low and dark, "you're excited."

One of his hands slides up your side, carefully avoiding the fresh tattoo, until it comes to rest just below your breast. Your breath hitches, and you see your pupils dilate in the mirror's reflection.

"That's what I thought," Curtis says, satisfaction clear in his tone. "You've been thinking about this, haven't you? Since the moment you walked in.”

You can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint scent of ink and something uniquely him. Your heart races, a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through you.

"Tell me, sugar," Curtis murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. "Did you come back here hoping to see Ari? Or were you hoping it would be me?"

You swallow hard, your mind spinning. "I… I don't know," you manage to whisper.

Curtis chuckles, the sound low and dark. "I think you do know. I think you've been thinking about this for months." His hands slide up and down your sides, careful to avoid the fresh tattoo. "Thinking about what it would be like if you came back. If you let yourself give in."

Your breath hitches. “No.”

“No?” he challenges. His right hand, still gloved, audaciously slips past your waistband and down the front of your panties to cup your pussy. He laughs softly, discovering a growing wetness there. “Yes.”

You gasp as Curtis's hand begins to stroke your most intimate area, your body betraying you with its response. Your mind races, torn between the thrill of his touch and the shock at how quickly things have escalated.

"Wait," you manage to breathe out, your voice shaky. "We shouldn't…"

Curtis pauses, his hand stilling but not withdrawing. "Why not?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. "Your body is telling me a different story, sugar."

You're acutely aware of how exposed you are, standing there in just your bra with Curtis pressed against your back, his hand between your legs. The mirror reflects your flushed face and wide eyes, Curtis's intense gaze locked on you.

"Someone could walk in," you whisper, a weak protest even to your own ears.

Curtis chuckles darkly. "They could.”

Your mind is spinning, caught between the intense sensations and the voice in your head screaming that this is wrong, that you shouldn't be doing this here, now, with him. But your body betrays you, responding eagerly to his touch.

"Curtis," you manage to whisper, your voice shaky, and tears springing up in your eyes. "We can’t—"

"Shh," he soothes, his free hand coming up to gently grip your throat. Not choking, just holding. "Don't overthink it, sugar. Just feel."

His fingers continue their exploration, finding your clit and circling it slowly. You bite back a moan, plant your hands on the mirror, and your hips rock back against him.

“Fuck, knew you wanted this,” he speaks directly into your ear.

You whimper and shake your head, but then his hand moves up to cover your mouth. “Gotta keep more quiet than that unless you want someone else to join us, sugar.”

Your eyes desperately seek his in the mirror, fear flashing in them, and the tears begin to spill over. There’s a predatory glint in his icy blue gaze.

His fingers continue their skilled ministrations, drawing forth sensations you've never experienced before. Your body betrays you, responding eagerly to his touch despite your mind's protests. You're caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions - fear, excitement, shame, and an overwhelming, undeniable pleasure.

"Look at yourself," Curtis commands softly, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror. "See how beautiful you are like this."

You force yourself to look, to really see yourself - flushed cheeks, wide eyes, chest heaving with each ragged breath. Curtis behind you, his large frame dwarfing yours, his hand between your legs, the other still gently but firmly covering your mouth.

Curtis's eyes meet yours in the mirror, his gaze intense and predatory. The fear in your eyes seems to excite him further, his grip on you tightening slightly.

"Don't worry, sugar," he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “I knew all those pretty tears were just for show, you want this just as badly as I do, and I've got you."

His words send a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and arousal coursing through you. You're acutely aware of how vulnerable you are, how easily he could overpower you if he wanted to. And yet, there's a part of you that thrills at the danger, at the forbidden nature of what's happening.

Curtis's fingers continue their skilled exploration, drawing involuntary gasps and moans from you that are muffled by his hand. Each deliberate movement sends waves of sensation coursing through your body, igniting a fire that you never expected to feel. Your body continues to betray you, responding to his touch despite your mind's protests, creating a tumultuous conflict within you. The thrill of the moment is undeniable, yet a flicker of apprehension lingers in the background, whispering the dangers of being caught in such an intimate entanglement, making it impossible to pull away.

"Damn, that’s a pretty sight,” a familiar voice jolts you nearly out of your skin, and you whip your head around to see Ari looming in the entry.

Curtis stops only for a moment and looks over his shoulder at the other man. "Didn't anyone teach you it's rude to interrupt?"

Ari shrugs, all nonchalance, and palms the large bulge pressing at the front of his jeans.

Your heart races, caught between exhilaration and apprehension. The sight of Ari standing there, a blend of curiosity, mischief, and lust in his eyes, adds an element of unpredictability that excites and terrifies you.

Curtis grunts, then says, “I’m not stopping, but I’ll share.”

Your jaw would have dropped to the floor in that moment had Curtis’s hand not been holding it in place, securing your response and anchoring you to the present. The idea of a threesome, tantalizing yet fraught with risk, swirls in your mind. How did this escalate so quickly? The thought of being discovered sends a shiver down your spine, but the allure of the forbidden is intoxicating, pulling you deeper into the moment.

You sob, overwhelmed and afraid, but it’s muffled as Curtis turns your body around with him, his grip firm yet reassuring His fingers are still moving, relentless and sure, and you can hardly focus on anything else. Your mind races through the possibilities, the dangerous thrill of being discovered adding an exhilarating layer to the encounter. Would Ari join in, or would he simply stand by and watch, adding to the intensity of the moment? The idea of indulging in such a forbidden experience fills you with a mix of dread and excitement, as if you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff, about to leap into the unknown.

Ari pulls a privacy curtain you had failed to notice across the opening to the booth before taking the few short steps to close the distance between you. This sudden shield from prying eyes heightens the anticipation, transforming the atmosphere into one charged with desire and unspoken possibilities. Ari traces the back of his forefinger down the column of your throat, down your sternum, between your breasts, and then circles around the expanse of your new tattoo, eyes roaming over the beautiful design.

Not to be forgotten, Curtis tweaks your clit, cracking the pleasure that had been mounting like a whip, demanding an orgasm from your body, and you tremble in his arms as you cling to him. Each flick of his fingers sends shivers through you, igniting a fiery response that leaves you gasping for more.

“Knew you were such a good girl,” Ari praises, and your chest surges from his praise, his low, sultry voice invading your mind. Then, he unzips his jeans, the sound echoing in the booth like a promise yet to be fulfilled. He goes to sit on the black leather chair, pushing his pants and boxer briefs down around his ankles, revealing the enticing sight of his big, throbbing cock.

Curtis lifts you with ease and places you in Ari's lap. The transition is seamless, and you find yourself enveloped in the warmth of Ari's embrace. His hands instinctively find their way to your hips, grounding you as you settle in. With Curtis standing close, the dynamic continues to shift and evolve. You can feel the heat radiating from both men, each one eager to exact pleasure, and you hope the fire doesn’t consume you completely.

“Take off your bra,” Ari directs you.

Your eyes widen over his immediate demands, but, nervous as you still are, you don’t hesitate to do as he says. His hands on your hips hold you steady while you reach around to unclasp, and then you let it drop and fall away, biting your lip. Ari groans appreciatively, and grinds your core against his cock. You let out a shuddering breath at the friction, but it’s a singular sensation for only a moment, because then Ari dips his head and takes one of your breasts into his hot, wet mouth, and you gasp. Your fingers tangle immediately into his hair, looking for some kind of anchor.

Vaguely you hear the rustle of fabric from Curtis close behind you, and then you feel the heat of his now naked chest press against your back. He nips lightly at your neck, but then pulls back slightly. He rucks your loose skirt up over your hips, but then he rips the fabric of your panties right off, and you yelp in surprise.

Ari’s quick to muffle your sound by shifting his lips from your breast to your mouth, but his lips and tongue are no less eager, and the kiss is delicious and demanding, and you’re easily almost completely lost in him again. But Curtis has also discarded his gloves, and now his warm, calloused hands move slowly up your thighs before squeezing your hips, then start to knead the flesh of your round ass.

Curtis places a hand between your shoulders and pushes you forward, coaxing you against Ari’s chest. Ari takes the hint and leans back in the reclined chair, pulling you with him. This exposes your most intimate parts to Curtis, and he spreads you open, then presses his tongue flat against your cunt, eliciting a moan that, luckily, is swallowed up by Ari, who’s still eagerly kissing you, and now kneading your breasts in his large hands. Curtis continues to lick and lap at your cunt, but then his tongue begins to move up, and then suddenly he’s tonguing the tight rosebud of your ass, and you whimper and freeze.

Ari stops when you stop, pulling away to look at your face and assess the situation.

Curtis teases you with his tongue for another moment before pausing to pull away as well.

“Not a virgin,” he guesses, “but never had anyone play with your ass, have you, sugar?”

You close your eyes and try to take a steadying breath, your, “no,” soft and barely audible.

“Do you want him to stop?” Ari asks, and you can feel him studying your face.

Your mind is racing, but you remain frozen, unsure of what to say.

Ari brings one hand up to stroke your cheek. You lean into his touch and open your eyes again, but still don’t speak.

“Keep going,” he says to Curtis, and Curtis does.

While Curtis works your tightest hole with his tongue, still splaying your cheeks open, Ari reaches down to slip two fingers into your dripping cunt, and you eagerly rock your hips for more. Ari smiles, then brings you down with his other hand to kiss you again.

When you’re positively humping his hand, Ari pulls back from kissing you again with a darker laugh than you expected, but you’re so far gone between them, you think of stopping or slowing at all now.

“Open your eyes,” he commands.

But it doesn’t register.

He withdraws your fingers and slaps your pussy, making you gasp and groan, and your eyes whip open.

His dark blue irises are barely visible, pupils blown wide with lust, and it just cause another surge of electricity to run through you to your core.

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”

And then it’s his cock nudging at your entrance.

“Ari,” you groan.

“Since that first fucking minute I saw you in the lobby,” he says. He taps his cock aggressively against your swollen clit, and you keen for him. “Knew you were an innocent little thing, and I wanted to absolutely ruin you.”

You bite your lip, unable to look away from him, and think of that day, too.

“We both wanted to ruin you,” Curtis adds. And his finger takes over where his tongue had been, working gently but insistently into your ass.

You moan softly, but the two men hear it and exchange a glance over your shoulder. Ari looks pleased.

“I didn’t touch you that day, only teased you, enticed you. I knew you’d be back,” he growls. “Shame I didn’t have you on my chair again, but that wasn’t going to stop me.”

He pushes your lips back to his for another devouring kiss, but it’s brief.

“You’re desperate to be filled up, aren’t you?” he asks.

Closing your eyes again, you whimper and drop your forehead to his, but your answer is undeniable. “Yes.”

“You didn’t have to wait this long, but we won’t punish you for that. We’re patient men.”

“It only gave us more time to think of all the ways we’ll take you apart, sugar,” Curtis murmurs against your shoulder, then presses open-mouthed kisses against your hot skin there.

And then Ari is slipping his cock inside of your cunt, slow, insistent, and doesn’t stop until he’s into the hilt, pushing all the air out of your lungs. He’s so big it feels like he’s everywhere, and it takes you concentrating on making your lungs work again to suck in deep breaths, impossibly full of him.

But as full as you feel, it wasn’t everything. Because while Ari was slipping his cock inside you, Curtis had removed his fingers, and now his thick cock was splitting you open and finding room in a hole that had never been filled before, and it was unfamiliar pain, but already pressing into impossible pleasure, and really, you had to press your palms to the leather on either side of Ari’s head and focus on breathing and only breathing if you were going to survive this.

And then they both began to move.

In and out and in and out and inandout.

And you were sure you were going to black out or bliss out from how full you were and all the sensations surging through your body and –

read the next part: TAKING YOU HOME

I make no apologies for this. Send me your medical bills as needed.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[hesperisms]

hello! can i request zayne with reader who shows up at his doorstep really badly injured and just passes out against him when he opens the door?

i really love how you write zayne in your fics and i've been thinking about this idea for awhile..

// Safe Haven

"You're not fighting alone this time..."

// summary: your assignment was taking a turn for the worse and out of desperation and panic, you turned to the one person you know will always be there for you...

// content warnings: injuries, blood, angst, fluff. IT'S SOFT BOI HOURS, OKAY?

// a/n: hope I did your idea justice anon! something about the idea of seeing Zayne's all possessive and protective makes my chest ache!

likes, reblogs, comments are always appreciated!

Zayne couldn't place his finger on the feeling, but something had him full of restless energy despite the late hour. He'd decided the only course of action was to burn it off, so he put on his sweats and headed out into his quiet leafy suburb for a late night jog. He used it as an opportunity to clear his thoughts and mentally debrief himself about the surgery he had completed earlier, about his to-do lists and then his thoughts drifted as they always do, to you.

He hadn't heard from you for a few hours, which wasn't unusual for you two, but he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing that he hadn't seen a goodnight text or voice note from you, hoping that it meant maybe you had conked out on the couch and were getting some rest. As he walked the last block back towards his house, relaxing on his cooldown he takes a photo of the full moon in the sky and sends it over to you along with a "the moon looks beautiful tonight" note.

DING.

Zayne approaches his driveway and your notification sound rings out, echoing in the silent night. He shakes his head, a smile touching the corner of his lips as he realizes you're nearby but his brow knits in confusion when he doesn't see your ride parked nearby. She probably got dropped off by Tara or that partner Xavier, he thinks to himself with a shrug. The cool night air was trapping the sweat in against his compression shirt, making him shiver as he walked up the steps to his front door. Something was off, he realized suddenly; one of his ambient security lights that normally cast a soft glow up his front steps was dimmed and bent at an odd angle, like something had fallen on it.

He leans over, attempting to make out in the dark what landed on top of it to break it when he hears it again and sees the flash.

DING.

Blood turns to ice in his veins as your notification tone sounds from beside the broken garden lighting, the flash of your phone camera strobing in the darkness for a split second in tandem with the sound. Delicately picking up your phone in his left hand, his heart catches in his chest as he sees bloody fingerprints on the screen. Zayne's mind surges with all sorts of worst-case fears as his eyes desperately scan the yard for any sign of you, but you're nowhere to be found.

Wary now and knowing you're hurt, he carefully calls forth shards of ice to his fingertips of his right hand, holding them tensely, ready to jump to action if he needs to defend himself too. Punching in the code for his electronic front door lock, he lets the door swing open as he steps inside cautiously, but nothing seems to be out of the ordinary inside. Zayne moves room to room silently looking for anything out of place, any sign of you, without success.

He's just about to shut the front door and start making calls to your boss Jenna and emergency services when your hand slams against the closing door, jolting him as he stares at you. "Zayne..." you squeak out, using all your strength to prop yourself up on his doorframe.

"I'm so gla-" you don't even get a chance to finish before your body is in freefall towards him and his eyes widen in panic, the phone and the ice shards both clattering loudly on the entryway tiles as he scrambles to catch you before you hit the floor. "My hero..." you joke weakly, face pallid as you slip out of consciousness in his arms.

Cradling you gently, kneeling on the cold tiles beside you his combat medic instinct overtakes his fears and he begins to perform some cursory checks, noting how pale your lips are, how shallow your breathing is, and that's when he sees it; your right arm is dangling limply, seemingly dislocated from the socket and the sleeve has been ripped to shreds, your bicep showing a deep, angry wound. You've lost a lot of blood and you're in shock, so Zayne knows he needs to act swiftly.

"I'm so sorry, this is not going to be enjoyable for either of us." he murmurs to your unconscious body gently as he takes hold of your dislocated shoulder, feeling for the socket before firmly and skillfully setting it back into place. You cry out a whimper of pain as it temporarily wakes you and he brushes your hair away from your forehead with a bloody hand, stroking the backs of his fingers tenderly across your brow with a trembling touch. "Shhhh my love, I'm sorry, I know it hurt but I had no choice, it couldn't stay that way, you're okay, I've got you. You're okay."

Your eyes are glassy and unfocused, but you look up at him like he's an angel, the ceiling down light cascading around his dark hair above you like a halo; that handsome face stroking your brow lovingly with gentle sweeps, trying so hard to hide from you how scared he is as he smiles down at you trying to reassure you both with his soft whispers. As your eyes begin to flutter shut again and unconsciousness swallows you, you see him pulling his compression shirt off up over his head, his bare chest sucking in deep shuddering breaths that betray his smile and measured tone.

Zayne ties a sleeve of the compression shirt around your bicep wound like a tourniquet and loops the other sleeve around your neck, creating a very crude home made sling for your badly damaged arm. If he thought he had more time, he'd run to the bathroom for medical supplies but you were too pale and he was terrified to let you out of his sight so he made do as best he could. Swallowing down all sorts of insidious memories and fears from his time on the front lines, he works to stabilize you so that you'll be safe to move.

Grabbing the throw blanket off the couch and draping it over you, he scoops you up into his arms, pressing you tightly into his body as he carries you to his car, delicately lowering you into the passenger side and locking the seatbelt over you. You flit in and out of consciousness under the bright streetlights as he drives you to Akso Hospital, the steady weight of his large hand cradled behind your head, pressing and stroking tenderly on the nape of your neck the only constant feeling other than pain.

"Dr. Zayne, didn't you finish a couple of hours ago? Did you forget something in your office?" The tired but friendly voice of Dr. Greyson rings out over the car's Bluetooth speakers as Zayne's call to the nurses station connects. "Go cuddle with your Lady paperwork can wait!" Yvonne laughs in the background and Zayne realizes he's on speakerphone.

"I'm just about to hit the exit ramp. I'm 2 minutes away, prep a bay in Emergency Greyson...it's y/n." Zayne says with a harsher, colder tone than he intended, fear for your wellbeing getting the better of him.

Silence hangs on the line for a moment before someone sniffs awkwardly and a cacophony of chairs scraping and shuffling flares to life as the nurses scramble.

"How bad?" Comes the soft reply and Zayne can hear the concern in his colleague and friend's tone.

Zayne squeezes the nape of your neck reassuringly, but whether it's to reassure you or himself, he can't tell; "she's lost a lot of blood, it's hard to say. I have her stable but we don't have much time," he responds, his voice breaking slightly.

"We'll be waiting for you at the front doors." Greyson says confidently as he disconnects the call. Zayne's golden-green gaze flits across to your lips, checking on your shallow breathing as he pulls his car into the ambulance bay. Just as promised, Greyson, Yvonne and the other nurses pull up a stretcher to the passenger side of the car and open the door, looking across from you to Zayne and giving him a solemn nod.

Zayne gives your neck one last squeeze and lets them take you from the car, watching critically as they lift you gently onto the stretcher and rush you into the waiting Emergency bay. He shivers as the shock starts to wear off and the cold silence of the middle of the night settles in. Looking down at himself, realizing that he's half-naked and covered in smears of your blood, he grabs his coat out of the back of his car and jogs in after them.

He's about to follow them into the Emergency bay when Greyson puts a firm hand on his shoulder and shakes his head. "Are you trying to come in as her Doctor, because you don't trust us to work on her, or her lover because you need to know she's okay?" He asks pointedly.

Zayne snarls out a frustrated sigh, but Greyson continues.

"The code of conduct is there for her interests as the patient, you know that. I'll call you in as soon as we're done. You look like hell, go clean yourself up."

Zayne nods his resignation with a scowl, knowing Greyson was right. He wasn't happy to be called out on it, but Zayne couldn't maintain his objectiveness and professionalism, not when you were involved. The Akso Hospital board might turn a blind eye to him being your General Practitioner while dating you, but they would not stand for him being part of a surgical team.

He showered in the Doctor's suites and grabbed a spare shirt from his office before settling into the visitor's seating in the hallway outside Emergency. Zayne was lying back in the armchair, his head tilted back as he rubbed slow circles on his temples when Greyson finally come out to get him a couple of hours later.

"She's got a fractured humerus and she needed almost a litre of blood, but she's out of the woods now. Pulse is strong again, color has returned and we've stitched up the wound in her bicep. She's asking for you." Greyson said with a smile, giving Zayne a pat on the shoulder as he walked off towards the Doctor's suites.

"She's awake?"

He calls back over his shoulder with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Go to your woman, Zayne!"

Zayne slips in through the door to see the nurses packing up the crash cart and various other Emergency supplies and they give him a knowing smile as they make way for him. Yvonne hands him the pillow she was about to put behind your head and says with a smile "we should leave you two lovebirds alone, you've been through a lot tonight."

"You look..." Zayne begins, pushing the pillow in behind your head.

"Terrible?"

"A sight for sore eyes. For a minute there I was scared I was going to lose you."

You chuckled weakly, color rising in your cheeks. "You aren't getting rid of me that easily, Handsome." You reached for his hand, wincing as your stitches pulled and Zayne slipped his hand over yours, gently snuggling himself onto the bed beside you. "I don't know what would've happened if you weren't there..." you began, emotions spilling over and you choke back a sob. He presses you into his chest, hushing you and peppering kisses into your hair.

"Don't think about it Darling, don't upset yourself with what ifs and scenarios." He murmured. "I was there, you're safe now. I've got you and that's all that matters."

As he let you cry softly against his warm chest, he rubbed slow circles on your back, squeezing you tightly, pecking little soothing kisses onto your head. Zayne gently brushed your tears from your cheeks, gazing down at you lovingly, the pad of his thumb feeling so comforting as you stared up at him.

Zayne released you and reached over to read your chart, his brows knitting and his eyes narrowing as he scans through your status and treatment observations. Giving you a gentle peck on the cheek, he tells you he'll be right back and slips from the room.

He's gone for a few minutes and when the door to your room opens, he's carrying the powder blue baby blanket you bought him when he was struggling with nightmares and sitting on top of the bundle were a couple of his always on hand mint candies. Climbing back onto the bed beside you, pulling you onto his chest so he can support your wounded arm he spreads the blanket out over the two of you.

Zayne unwraps a mint candy and holds it out for you.

"Open." He commands gently and you part your lips to let him pop it into your mouth, before he takes the other one himself, tossing the wrappers into the little trashcan beside your bed. "They're keeping you in for observation overnight, so lets do our best to get a good night of sleep, my love." Zayne explains to you in a soft, whispered tone, pulling your head down to rest underneath his chin. As you both chew your candies and cuddle into each other's warmth, he strokes your hair until after a few minutes he feels your breathing settle and you relax, falling asleep against him.

The door opens with a soft click, Greyson poking his head in silently to check on you before he ends his shift, changed out of his scrubs and now in his casual wear. He gives Zayne a small nod and Zayne nods back at him solemnly in thanks, the two men exchanging a whole conversation unspoken in their gestures. The whole time Zayne is squeezing his arm tightly around you, cradling you to his chest as you sleep, his heartbeat lulling you into gentle dreams.

[luvyeni]

❛1-800-SERVICE ME❜ ( z. chenle )

p. ceo!chenle x toplessmaid!reader w. 2.6k+

— 𖦹 warnings. small age gap ( reader is 23 and chenle is 26 ), fem!reader, oral ( m. receiving ), unprotected sex

— 𖦹 ( instead of giving chenle his normal maid cleaning services his assistant gives him a surprise for his birthday ) !

Chenle was a busy man —being the CEO of the top electronic company in Seoul, he didn’t have time to do things, like clean his condo himself, which is why he got his assistant and friend jaemin to schedule maids' services to come do it for him.

“Happy birthday boss man.” Jaemin met him at the elevator, his coffee in his hand. “How are you feeling this morning, the big 26.” He took the cup from the boy, taking a sip. “it’s a regular day for me, meetings, answering calls, meeting with investors.” He said as they walked through the office.

“Yeah, but now you’re a year older.” Jaemin followed behind him into the office. “So i’m closer to thirty, big whoop.” He sat in his chair. “Such a downer, anyways what are you doing later, for your birthday?”

“I’m going home jaemin, that’s all I want to do.” He said, it wasn’t that he didn’t like to party, but he was always so busy, and the only thing he wanted was to get off early and go home and rest. “I want to order some food, drink a cup a whiskey and then crash in my bed.”

“No fun.” Jaemin said, “You’re gonna die alone at this rate.” Chenle shrugged. “Jaemin go prepare for the meeting and leave me alone.” He spoke. “Just trying to help.” The boy said. “That is helping, go.”

“Fine, fine, i’m going.” He said making his way out the door, only to turn around. “What now?” Chenle sighed. “I just wanted to tell you that the maid service you like was closed down, so I chose a new one, they’ll be over later today.” He nodded looking at his computer. “Good, now go.”

Chenle finished his day early, most of his meetings were canceled or rescheduled — so why not get out of here. “Going home early boss?” jaemin asked. “Yup, i’ll see you tomorrow.” He said, jaemin yelled before he got on the elevator. “don’t forget, the maids' services will be there later on today!” Chenle didn’t notice the mischievous smirk that was evident on his assistant's face.

Chenle got home, sitting his briefcase down on the kitchen table — making his way into his bedroom to change his clothes, exchanging his black Prada suit, into some comfortable sweats and a white tee short.

He found a nice Chinese restaurant, picking up his phone, ordering his favorites, it would be an hour and a half wait but he was willing to wait, it would give him enough time to pour himself a drink and wind down some.

He set off the the kitchen, pouring himself his most favorite expensive whiskey in a glass with a huge ice cube, taking a sip, humming in delight — this was looking like his best birthday in a while, just peace and quiet.

His peace and quiet was soon disrupted by his buzzer going off. “That was fast.” He said, “I thought it would be an hour and a half wait.” He pressed the intercom button. “Hello?” He spoke through the microphone. “Oh hello.” A soft voice came through the intercom. “You can leave it there, someone will be down to pick it up.”

You were confused, “Are you not Zhong Chenle?” you were sure this was the address, had you gotten it wrong? “T-the maids services.” Chenle forgotten about that. “Oh yeah, i’m sorry about that.” He hit the button. “You may come up.”

This was a nice apartment, you’ve only been in this line of work for a few months, but most of your clients were rich so you’ve seen a lot of nice houses and apartments — but this was the nicest you’ve ever seen, this guy must’ve been really important.

You made your way to the apartment, sitting all your supplies down, knocking on the door. “Coming.” You heard his voice, then the door unlocking, swinging open revealing a tall guy, he was cute, dressed in the sinful, grey sweats, white tee shirt combo. “Hello.” He spoke.

“Oh h-hi.” You waved, “Mr.Zhong?” you asked, he smiled. “Call me chenle, come in.” You whispered his first name, picking up all your supplies, following him into the apartment. “You can start in here.” He pointed to the kitchen. “Okay.” You said, sitting the supplies down, reaching for your black trench coat, untyping the belt, revealing your baby pink lingerie.

“The bedroom isn’t that bad, i mean I only use it for sle- whoa!” His eyes widened as you reached for the back of your bra. You stopped, looking at him. “Would you prefer of I kept it on?” You questioned, but that was the furthest thing on his mind. “Why are you wearing that?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “The email said that’s what you requested, is this not the shade of pink you like?”

“N-no it’s very pretty- I mean- never mind that, i’m talking about why are you wearing lingerie?” He said, trying not to look at you, fear of a law suit. “And why are you trying to take it off.”

“It’s just the bra.” You said, he couldn’t understand why you were so calm, he was freaking the fuck out, who did jaemin call. “Plus, it’s part of the services.” You explained. “Service?” He questioned. “Yes, the topless maid services— topless, maid sorta the whole thing.”

That cheeky fucking bastard, he was gonna kill jaemin tomorrow. “I’m sorry, this is all new to me, my soon to be ex assistant hired you, it’s my birthday today, and he has to be over the top.” You nodded. “It’s okay, we can cancel the services if you’d like.” You were sweet, you stared at him with wide innocent eyes, you’ve must’ve been new to this.

“No.” He said, “No it’s okay, just shocked me a bit, you can continue.” He spoke. “You sure sir, I would hate to ruin your birthday with such an inconvenience.” He ignored the way his cock twitched when you said sir. “Who am I to stop you from doing your job, you may continue.”

You nodded, “okay.” You said. “Would you like for me to keep the bra on?” he shrugged. “Whatever you feel comfortable with.” You hummed, his eyes widened as you reached behind, unlatching the hooks, letting your bra fall into your hands, your boobs perky the air from the condo had your nipples pebbling — fuck he was getting hard.

“May I start sir?” He coughed; he loved the way sir just fell from your lips. “Um sure.” He said, you began your job, starting with the kitchen like he told you, he watched from the other room, he gulped watching as you washed the dishes, you weren’t even doing it sexy, he was just being a pervert, wishing the water would spray on you, or a little bit of soap would get caught on your boobs — he felt like a virgin seeing a pair of tits for the first times.

You made your way into the living-room where he was sitting. “You need me to leave.” He still didn’t understand how this worked. “No, the whole point is for you to watch me.” You said, chuckling. “And you clean my house naked?” He said, you nodded. “Topless, not naked.” You corrected, he nodded. “Right topless, and you get paid a lot for it – i’m sorry i don’t mean to pry.”

“It depends – if you have a lot of clients, you get paid a lot of money, and your tips, if you’re asking if I get paid a lot personally.” You reached up dusting his fireplace, giving him a peak of your ass, he palmed himself, stopping when you turned around. “I am able to live way more comfortably than someone my age normally does sir.”

He was gonna burst if you kept calling him that. “A-and how old are you?” You smiled, you could tell you were effecting him. “I’m 23 sir.” You bent down, you heard him sigh.

“What about you sir, how old are you?” He coughed again. “Me? Oh, i’m 26.” He wasn’t that older than you, you hummed. “And what do you do?”

The sudden turn of questions stumped him, especially since it was hard not to stare at your boobs. “I-i’m the CEO of sm tech company.” So, he was a huge deal, that explained the nice house.”

You nodded, getting back to work. “That’s so cool, i’ve never worked with a CEO before.” He smiled, you were cute, had this freshness to you, it was quite the scene change from all the corporate girls he met. “I guess.” He spoke.

You eventually moved to the other rooms, cleaning and tidying up everything until you were done. “You did such a good job.” You smiled. “You did better than any maid i’ve had come here.” He spoke. “Are you saying that because i’m topless?” You were a tease. “Well, i’m mean that is a plus, but you’re also a good cleaner.” He spoke. “Good job.”

Fuck he was really turning you on, your tried to ignore the feeling in between your legs, trying to remain professional like normal, but you were only human, and you could literally see his thick cock stiff in his sweats, begging to fill your mouth. “How much do I owe you?” He asked. “Oh no, I was paid already.” He nodded. “Well then a tip.”

He reached for his wallet, pulling out 5 hundred dollar bills. “Here.” He handed it to you. “This is such a generous amount.” You said. “Well I said you did a good job.” He smiled. “Take it.” He said, pulling at your waist band, putting it inside snapping it, normally that was a breech of contract, and you should’ve called him out for it, but he was fucking hot, and you were horny, you couldn’t help but whimper.

“You liked that princess?” He smirked as you nodded. “Y-yes sir.” He could feel a groan bubbling in his throat. “Fuck princess, you keep calling me sir, it’s getting really hard for me.” He spoke, his voice low. “I’m sorry sir.” You smiled. “Oh, you’re a tease, princess I could do so many things to you.”

Fuck you wanted to drop to your knees so fast. “Sir you know there’s no touching in these services.” You teased. “Yeah, but I don’t see you stopping me, you must want me to touch you.” His hands crept up your waist, you sighed. “See princess, you want this just as much as I do.” He pulled your body flush against his, pulling you into a deep kiss, pulling away. “Fu-fuck my cock is so fucking hard right now.”

You guided him to the couch, pushing him down. “Let me help you.” You sunk to your knees, right in front of his cock, biting your lip, looking up at him. “It’s your birthday after all.” He nodded, you grabbed his waistband, he lifted his hips up allowing you to pull his sweats down to his ankles.

You freed his cock from his underwear, his thick cock springing up, hitting his abdomen. “You’re so big.” You grabbed the base, kissing his tip, he hissed. “So heavy.” He groaned as you sucked on his tip. “Fuck princess, take it into your mouth.”

You engulfed his cock, he moaned out, throwing his head back against the couch. It had been a while since he’d been giving a blowjob, and the the way you were sucking him, hollowing your cheeks, deepthroating him like your life depended on it — he was gonna blow his load.

You worked your magic on his, looking at him through your lashes. “Sh-shit princess of you keep sucking me like that, i’m gonna cum in your mouth.” You released his cock with a pop, stroking it. “That’s what I want.” You kept stroke. “Cum in my mouth sir.”

You took him back into your mouth, deepthroating him. “Fu-fuck, fuck.” He moaned. “Im gonna cum, gonna fucking cum down your throat, ngh fuck!” you felt his cum hit the back of your throat. “That’s it, take my cum down that pretty throat.”

You took him out your mouth, giving his tip a few kisses. “You taste so good.” He groaned; your panties were soaked through, desperate to feel his cock in your cunt.

“Wanna ride your cock.” You climbed into his lap, your pantie clad cunt, sitting directly on his cock. “Fu-fuck, gonna take my cock?” He brought his hand down to your ass, slapping it. “Fuck yes.” You moaned. “Wanna ride it so bad.”

“Fuck.” You were killing him, all he wanted for his birthday was to have a peaceful night in and a clean house — now he has all that and a pretty girl ready to ride his cock.

“Take your panties off, leave those pretty thigh garners on.” You stood up, pulling your panties down your legs, giving him a nice look at your ass. “Fuck, sit down.” You straddled his lap, hovering over his cock. “Mmh, fuck!” you moaned, sitting down on his cock. “Your cock is so big.”

You bounced up and down, his cock stretching you out. “Fuck princess, keep bouncing, fucking taking my dick like a good girl.” He moaned, you grabbed his shoulders to steady yourself, “S-sir.” You moaned, he slapped your ass. “Fu-fuck!” You screamed. “That sir word is gonna get you fucked dumb baby.” He growled. “I want it.”

He planted his feet, fucking up into your, your moans became high pitched, chenle’s neighbors probably heard you, but you didn’t care, not when you were about to reach your high. “S-sir.” You spoke. “Sir i’m gonna cum.” He grunted, grabbing your boobs. “Fuck me too, cum for me princess, cum all over my cock, so I can cum all over those perfect tits.”You screamed, thighs shaking as you coated his cock in your cum. “That’s it -fuck- cum all over my dick.”

“Fuck.” He cursed, he was about to cum, he could feel it. “Fuck get back on your knees, i’m about to blow my load.” You got up, sinking back down on your knees. “Stroke it for me.”

You took his cock into your hand, stroking it, he moaned out. “Fuck!” he groaned. “Fuck I’m cumming, I’m gonna cum.” He moaned, cum spurting from his cock, landing on your boobs and on your lower chin. “Sh-shit.” He breathed, watching his cum drip down your chest, coating your nipples. “So pretty.”

He scooped up some of his cum from your nipples, pressing it on your lips — you took his fingers into your mouth. “Fuck good girl.” You sucked his fingers cleaned.

You chuckled taking in everything that just happened. “I’ve never did that with a client before.” You said, chenle chuckled. “Guess i’m special.” You excused yourself to use his bathroom to clean up, putting your panties back on, and your bra, ready to leave. “Here.” He gave you an extra 200 dollars. “Think of it as a birthday present.” You said.

He nodded, “well then hand me your phone number, so can schedule another appointment.” You smiled, “You’re supposed to book me on the sight.” He rolled his eyes. “Stop being such a tease, i’ll book you on the stupid site, but your number is if I want a personal type of service.” Your smirked, writing down your number. “Here.”

You put your jacket back on, grabbing your cleaning supplies, he walked you to the door. “Happy birthday sir.” You said kissing his cheek, before walking away down the hall. “Shit.” He closed the door, sitting back down on the couch.

His phone rang, he answered it, jaemins voice rang through the phone. “So, did you enjoy it?” he rolled his eyes. “Next time, give me a heads up.” he said. “Did you like it?” He bit his lip. “I should fire you.” The boy laughed. “I see you had a good time; I hear the happiness in your voice, I won’t ask questions.” jaemin teased.

“I know you’ll be booking again though.”

©️LUVYENI

[sadesluvr]

Turbulence

You join the mile-high club with a mysterious English gentleman. 

A/N: First BT fic! Been obsessed with this movie, and just had to make something with one of our favourite assassins. I had to do a weird amount of research on flying for this... It won’t be my last so follow for more! :)

Set pre movie. 

Word count: 2.5K 

Tags: SMUT / Porn with little plot / Minor spoilers for references in Bullet Train (2022) / Unprotected sex / Creampies / Hookups / Mentions of birth control / Quickies / Canon-typical language / Canon-typical banter / Minors + Ageless blogs DNI

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome onboard Flight 4B7 to Tokyo. We are currently second in line for take-off and are expected to be in the air in approximately five minutes time. At this time, we ask you to please fasten your seatbelts and secure all baggage underneath your seat or in the overhead compartments. Please turn off all personal electronic devices, including laptops and cell phones. Smoking is prohibited for the duration of the flight. I’m Goldie, and thank you for choosing our airline. Enjoy your flight!” 

Hanging the speaker up, you smoothed out your skirt as you fixed yourself to take the final walk before take-off. ‘Goldie’ wasn’t your real name of course, but a nickname given to you by a sleazy boss. You would’ve hated it, but you found that it greatly helped with creepy passengers who were searching for a place in the coveted ‘mile high club’, or those who simply flew with the intention of sleeping with flight attendants across the world. On the contrary, it was always cute when toddlers cooed your name from across the plane, calling for you as if you’d known them their entire life.  

As you pushed past the curtain to the business class, your eyes fell on a pair of men; one dark-skinned with curly dyed hair, the other with long, slicked back hair and a moustache. They wouldn't have been anything out of the ordinary had the moustached man not been holding a phone to his ear. Great. There was always at least one person who never listened to the announcements, but there was something about those who rode in first or business class that held a different kind of entitlement entirely. 

Swallowing, you put on your best customer service and sauntered over to them. The dark-skinned man noticed you first, raising his brows before nudging the one next to him, who seemed deep into an important, but strained, conversation. 

“...Yeah, yeah. We get the kid and the briefcase, then the train to Kyoto...Yes, we know who we’re dealing with, I forwarded Lemon the briefing. Right, can we go now? Take-offs in two minutes --” 

“Excuse me,” you cut in. “You’re going to need to hang that up...” 

The man did a double take, holding his phone away from his ear as he glanced up at you. If it wasn’t his old English accent that captivated you, it was his eyes, a striking blue with hints of grey that seemed to stare directly into your soul.  

“I’m going now.” He said snarkily to the person on the phone before hanging up, placing the object into the pocket of his navy-blue suit before staring up at you with a charming, but cheeky smile. 

“My apologies darlin’,” he said, his voice as smooth as butter. “Work won’t give us a break.”  

“Don’t I know it?” you replied, shifting your weight as you prepared to move on. “Thank you, sir. Enjoy your flight...” you said before looking down at his hands; strong and adorned with gold rings.  

“...Nice watch.” You finished with a knowing smile. Given the parts of the broken conversation you’d heard, and the elaborate way they were dressed, you figured that they were at least some kind of secret service members - not that it was any of your business, of course. Still, there was something particularly arousing about the blue-eyed man in the three-piece navy suit with the nice watch, and you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if you broke your ‘no-sex-on-the-job’ rule, just this once. If he wasn’t busy with mission stuff, of course. 

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He replied, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he smiled, watching you as you walked off, admiring the questionably short length of your skirt in the process. Sitting back in his seat, he chuckled to himself before turning to see his brother Lemon hastily swiping through the movie selection on the screens. 

“The fuck are you doing?” 

“Tryin’ to see if they’ve got Thomas...” Lemon said matter-of-factly. “It’s alright though. I always come prepared.” he finished, tapping his laptop pointedly. Tangerine frowned, shaking his head as he sat back in his seat, side eyeing you as you made your way to your jumpseat in the corner.  

It was going to be a long journey, but at least he had a nice view. 

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

As soon as it had been safe to take seatbelts off, you’d wasted no time in making your way back down to the business area. The best part about the job was that you were able to walk about, getting a good glimpse at the passengers you thought were attractive – all under the guise of providing good customer service. The man with watch was reading a book, whilst the other seemed engrossed with whatever was on the screen, with his fingers covering his face in a concerned manner. They seemed like polar opposites, yet seemed to work so well together, something that made your job a lot easier when it came to seating passengers. If only everyone was like them. 

If it hadn’t been obvious, you were rather interested in the blue-eyed gentleman in particular. Whilst he hadn’t given you definite signs he was interested, you fixed your make up in your compact mirror regardless, and opened a button on your blouse so it was just a little lower than industry guidelines. It never hurt to try, and it certainly wasn’t as if you were going to see him again. 

Smiling, you guided a cart down the narrow aisles, stopping at the pair of men. 

“Refreshments?” 

The dark-skinned man, ‘Lemon’, as he had been referred to, answered first, eagerly pausing his screen to speak to you. 

“I’d love somethin’, love,” he said, holding the same accent as his partner. “D’ya have anything fizzy?” 

“Of course,” you hummed. “We have Coke – regular, Diet and Zero, Dr Pepper, Sprite, some SanPellegrino --” 

“I’ll have a Coke, love. Make it Diet...” he said, and you nodded, quickly finding the box for the right can. “It’s a shame ya don’t do any bubble milk tea up here...I got a real craving for one...” 

You laughed as you handed him the can. “Luckily for you Tokyo is full of great places to get one. You probably could even find one in their vending machines...Don’t get those in the West, do you?” 

“Certainly not in London,” he chuckled, opening the can and taking a swig before pursing his lips and tapping a finger on his chin. “Say, I don’t suppose you could settle a little argument for me, could you?”  “Oh here we go...” the other man interjected, drawing himself from his book to huff and look between the two of you. “Fucking unbelievable.” 

Lemon rolled his eyes.  

“That SanPellegrino of yours...Which flavour do you sell the most?” 

You bit your lip. 

“Depends...It’s usually lemon because people think it might taste like lemonade. The orange one never goes to waste, though...” 

Lemon gave the other man a pointed look, and he scoffed before looking at you. 

“Not to completely waste your time, love, but if you had to choose between a lemon or a tangerine...” he didn’t finish, probably because it would’ve pained him to, and moved his hands as if he were balancing weights on scales.  

You stared blankly between the two men, confused but utterly endeared. 

“Tangerines are good on their own, but lemons are far more versatile...”  “See?” Lemon said triumphantly, celebrating with himself before shaking your hand. “Pleasure doing business with you, darlin’.” He grinned before restarting his movie, moving on as if nothing had happened. You chuckled to yourself, conscious of the hundred other guests that needed you, but looked back to lock eyes with the other man, ready to ask him the same question. He wore a knowing smirk on his face, the curve of his pink lips still evident under his thick moustache and tutted chidingly. 

“Really thought you’d be on my side there, sweetheart,” he sighed. “Suppose you can’t trust everyone, can you?” 

“I’m sorry,” you pouted. “You must give it to him though. Lemons are pretty good.” 

“Darlin’ I don’t have a problem with the message, but the messenger,” he said, nodding to the man next to him. “He’s a grown arse lad watching Thomas, that one.” 

You chuckled, glimpsing at the screen to see that it was indeed correct. Shaking your head, you scanned the crafted features of his face before raising a brow. 

“So, what’s your poison?” 

“A gorgeous lady pushing a cart, it seems.” 

“Smooth,” you hummed, unable to ignore the way a dangerous heat shot through your stomach and down to your core, making your legs feel like jelly. He’d hardly done anything, and yet you were under his spell. “What would you like to drink?” 

“Nothin’ at the moment, love,” he grinned. “I’m a bit peckish, if anythin’...” 

Sighing, you quickly checked the man out again, this time eyeing his body. Broad shoulders, muscular thighs, thick legs...The total package.  

“Hurry, up! I’m thirsty!” Someone from across the aisles said. The man was about to argue, but you halted him, nodding in the direction where the voice came from.  

“I tell you what,” you said softly, lowering your voice as you stared into his eyes, your composure so controlled that it would’ve been impossible to tell that your heart was pounding in your chest as you spoke. “-- Us staff have our own snacks. If you meet me by the toilets in fifteen, I can get you some...” 

“Don’t leave me hangin’, sweetheart.” The man grinned, not-so subtly uncrossing his legs and giving a cheeky wink before you headed off down the aisle. Gripping onto the handle of the cart, you tried your hardest to walk straight, excitement boiling in your loins as you counted down those fifteen crucial minutes with every strained smile at a customer. 

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

He was there when you arrived. 

“Took ya’ long enough -” was all he said before cupping your cheeks and pulling you into a passionate kiss, pressing your body against the wall of the bathroom. It was by far the most glamorous place to have sex, but there was something about the sleaziness of it all (with such a put-together man, nonetheless) that made it that more enticing. His scent was an ode to his masculinity; aromatic and woody, and it consumed you as he kissed down your neck, nipping at your collarbone as his large hands caressed the sides of your body. You moaned, writhing your front against his pelvis, desperate to feel the outline of his erection against your own. Admittedly, you weren’t entirely sure what to do with your hands, settling to drape them around his neck in fear of messing up his hair. He seemed like a man who took pride in his appearance, and he certainly wasn’t going to be able to fix it up in an airplane bathroom. 

“Feel me, darling. I don’t bite...” he whispered, his hands now sliding between your thighs as he fought to push your panties to the side. You took this as a hint, and you combed your fingers through his roots with one hand, whilst the other fumbled to undo the button on his trousers, difficult to do with his considerable bulge. You let out a broken gasp as you felt his cock, likely over average sized with a nice girth, and he shuddered in response. 

“Goldie, is it? You’re a naughty one...” he sighed, slipping a finger into your wet cunt. 

“Mhmmm,” you crooned. “’S nickname. I don’t suppose you’ll give me yours?” 

“You’re a bright bird, ‘m sure ya figured it out.” 

“Tangerine, huh?” you hummed, throwing your head back as he began to finger fuck you, his gold rings adding the extra girth that would prepare you nicely for his cock. “I like tangerines...” 

“Ya didn’t seem to back there.” 

“Well, give me a reason to...” you chuckled, and he grinned, grunting before he hoisted your leg up around his waist, his cock dangerously near your entrance. 

“Better be quick,” you teased, staring at him through your lashes. “They’ll get suspicious if I’m not back in five.” 

Tangerine chuckled.  

“I can do that. Just know it’s not a reflection of me at my best.” he sniffed. 

“Good to know.” 

Your words were unfounded as he pushed into you, his girth filling you completely as you moulded perfectly around his cock, gripping onto his shirt as he began to buck his hips. The man grunted, accosting himself to the feel of your warm, wet hole – raw and unfiltered, sighing into the nape of your neck as he fucked you. He steadied himself with his hands, gripping onto your thigh with one as the other rested above you, lending him the luxury of staring into your eyes as he drilled you. 

“God...” you panted, your lips wet and raw from his kisses. “T-Tan -- You’re so good...” 

“That’s it, love,” he beckoned, words rolling off his tongue like honey as he rolled his hips deeper into you. “Say my name...” 

“Tangerine...” you whined, eyes fluttering shut as you drowned out the vacuum-like ambience around you, focusing on the small grunts and sweet nothings the man whispered into your ear, his warm breath sending chills up your spine. The room around you was making a slight creaking sound, and you barely even cared that your calf was banging slightly against the door.  

With every passing second his thrusts became more focused, solely intended to bring you both to that point of ecstasy- yet you didn’t doubt that Tangerine was the kind of man who made sure you finished, even if he himself didn’t.  

His hair was beginning to become undone now, brown strands falling in front of his face, just barely clouding his vision, but enough to make him look even hotter. Both of your shirts became more and more dishevelled as he pressed up against you, the muffled sound of his clothed thigh against your bare ones becoming more frequent as he growled, the sound coming from deep within his muscular chest. 

“Fucking hell, darlin’...’M gonna make a mess...” he hissed through laboured breaths. “I’ve gotta pull out --” 

“It’s alright,” you lulled, and you could’ve sworn that his cock twitched at the phrase. “I’m on the pill...” 

“You naughty girl...You’re gonna get me in trouble --” he groaned, throwing his head back as he gave you a few fast and sloppy pumps, shutting his eyes as you clamped down on him during your own release, creaming around his cock as he filled you with his own. You dug your nails into his clothes as you rode off your respective highs, hair and clothes askew as he rubbed small circles your trembling leg before lowering it to the ground. 

Panting, there was a brief silence as you dressed yourselves, with Tangerine preening himself in the tiny mirror. 

“You look good as gold.” You said with a smirk, fixing your hat.  

“Thanks,” he said with a broad smile, popping some gum into his mouth as he looked you up and down. “You’re a dime a dozen, y’know? Fly this route often?” 

“Sometimes,” you hummed, opening the door so that the sign no longer read ‘occupied’. “Why, are you thinking of coming back?” 

“I’ll be headed to Kyoto,” he said, looking around before he stepped out. “Maybe I’ll catch you there.” 

“Yeah,” you grinned, fixing the final button on your shirt. He’ fucked you so good you could barely even remember what your next journey was. “Maybe.” 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three for One 3

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, cheating, customer service abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: As a customer service associate, you’re used to work with a wide variety of characters. Your efforts to go above and beyond draw the attention of a certain set of customers who want more than what’s on the shelf.

Character: Andy Barber, Lloyd Hansen, Ransom Drysdale

Note: Let's go!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Two days before Christmas. The store is left in tatters. Shelves strewn with sparse lefftovers and aisles hastily paced by those who left their shopping a bit too late. The frantic shoppers searching for a diamond among the sand grains of untouched product.

You work at arranging the remnants of the season’s beauty advent calendars on a table draped in a bright red cloth. There’s a large tag in a metal stand that marks them as ten percent off. On the other side of the holidays, they will drop to a full eighty percent off. You always believed giftcards were a better prize, not that you got many gifts.

That year, Luanne gave you a new journal and a specialty hot chocolate bomb in the department’s secret santa. You go Michelle and gifted her a copy of your favourite novel and some nail polishes. That is the extent of your shopping and gift exchanges. Except for your puppy, Ernie, who will get a bone and one of those special gourmet dog meals.

You finish your arrangement and step back, admiring your work. It’s close to close and so close to the end of the race that the shop isn’t as busy as usual. The only customers you do see are in a rush and horribly disappointed when that very specific thing isn’t in stock.

“Excuse me,” you’re drawn around the deep voice. A man strolls up the center aisle of the beauty section, the tails of his coat flicking behind him, “hi,” he uses your name as he approaches, “I’m so sorry to bother you again but can you point me to, erm,” he looks down at his phone, “a ring light?”

You hesitate. He seems to know you and you admit, he looks familiar. You’re at that point where the faces all blur together. Your one innate flaw is that you really don’t have a good memory for that, bt you definitely recognise his voice.

“Hello, sir,” you fall short of his name. You want to say Alan but you also don’t want to be wrong. “The ring lights are actually with the cellphone.” You gesture back at electronics, “I know it makes more sense to put them with cameras.”

“Ah, oh, thanks,” he nods but doesn’t move to find his quarry, he lowers his phone, “how’s your holiday going? Thing’s slowing down,” he looks around and you can’t help but do the same.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, most people are all done,” you shrug.

“Ha, wish I could say the same,” he sighs, “I thought we were done but the wife just sent me on a wild goose chase.”

“Hm, oh, well, I’m not very busy, did you need help finding anything else?”

“Really?”

“Yeah, my manager’s done for the day so doesn’t really matter if I leave my zone,” you say, “kinda boring around here.”

“You’re too sweet,” he smiles, his blue eyes deep and swirling, “and that sweater is adorable.”

You look down at your dark blue sweater with the white crochet peter pan collar. You wiggle your shoulders and grin back at him, thanking him. You know he bought some perfume for his wife but you’re still blanking on his name.

“Here’s my list,” he tilts his phone towards you and looks down, shifting closer to you as he shows you a text bubble.

“Oh my, right. I’m not sure we’ll have everything,” you teethe your lip as you go through the items, “but we’ll see.”

A message pops up over the top and you try not to read, putting your head up as you try to act like you didn’t see it. It’s not that you meant to decipher the words but your brain quickly skimmed that ‘tomorrow night?’ Not much but just feels a bit personal.

“Alright, we’ll go to electronics first, then work our way forward,” you suggest.

“Good idea,” he agrees.

You set off and he follows at just a step. You have to remember to slow down as often you’re so determined you find yourself leaving your customers far behind you. You bring him to the mobile accessories and point to the ring lights.

He considers them and rubs his chin. He points between two; “what’s the difference?”

“Oh, this one comes with a tripod extension and this one is a full kit with a mic,” you point from one to the other.

“What do you think is better for, uh, streaming?” He sounds unsure of that last word.

“I think that kit would have more to it, especially if whoever it’s for is just starting out. But I’m don’t know too much about these things.”

“I’ll take the kit,” he scoops it off the shelf, “the kid can never have enough.”

“Oh? You have kids?”

“One,” he sounds less than excited, “teenager now so he really can’t stand me.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to…”

“No, no, it’s not your fault,” he forces away the shadow across his features, “you know how they can be. What about you? You going to see your parents? Spending the day with someone special?”

“Um, just Ernie,” you answer, “my puppy.”

“Cute,” he remarks, “are you guys open tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, yeah, ‘til five,” you try to remember the next thing on his list. 

He seems less concerned with the items than before, instead turn to examine a pop socket, “you have to work on Christmas Eve?”

“Yeah, closing, but I don’t mind.”

“What’s this?” He holds up a pop socket.

“It goes on your phone,” you pull out your phone and show him your daisy one, “see?” You hook your fingers around it, “it’s a grip to help you hold on.”

“Ah, makes sense,” he turns the thin package over, “kid’s always breaking his screen…”

You wait patiently as he makes up the mind to add the grip to his haul.

“What’s next?” You prompt as gently as you can.

“Oh, uh,” he looks at his phone, “video games…” he squints, “V-bucks?”

“Ah, yes, that would be a gift card,” you say, “I can show you the rack.”

He lets you lead him to the large rack of subscription cards. You point out the various currency amounts available and he rubs his brow. His forehead lines as you see the stress needling in his cheek. He’s struck with the late shopper syndrome. He’s start to feel the crush of time.

“So, just your dog?” He wonders as he picks up a $75 card.

“Yeah,” you answer softly.

“No boyfriend? Siblings?”

“Just me,” you assure him, “I don’t mind. I get to choose the dessert!”

He chuckles, “that’s a good way to look at it. Did you buy yourself something special?”

“Not really, I’ve been saving for a vacation so I put most of my overtime into that,” you explain. “You having a big dinner?”

“Last minute change, wife’s parents want to host. Had to figure out travel plans.” He looks at the giftcards again and your eyes fall to the large back curled up in his arm and the card and phone grip balanced between his fingers. He slides free a Netflix card and reads the fine print.

“Do you want a basket, sir?” You offer.

“Oh, well, sure,” he accepts as he looks down, “that’s very considerate.”

“Don’t want you to drop anything,” you smile and turn on your heel.

You go to the stack of rolling baskets beside the electronics desk. Tyler doesn’t acknowledge you as he sorts through game shells to put back on the shelf. You pull the basket behind you, rattling on its wheels as you approach the shopper by the gift cards.

“Here,” you veer it around towards him.

He bends to lower the ringlight inside and drops the smaller items into next to it; he adds the Netflix subscription along with it and holds onto the Kindle card in his hand.

“You got any of these around?” He holds up the card, “the reader?”

“Hmm, we should,” you rub your neck, “I suppose if we didn’t, you can get a tablet and download the app.”

“I guess,” he nods, “can you check?”

“Of course, sir.”

You turn away and call over your headset. Regan tells you there’s a kindle up in return they can sell. You ask them to put it aside.

“There’s one left at checkout. They’re going to have it waiting for you,” you announce proudly.

“That’s great. You like to read?” He asks.

“Oh, sure, my one vice is my book addiction,” you giggle, “how about you?”

“Well, I don’t get much of a chance with work. I’m usually burnt out from all the legal documents,” he drones grimly, “then the kid has extracurriculars or there’s a PTA meeting or the wife needs something done.”

“Sounds busy,” you say empathetically, “I hope you get some time to relax this holiday.”

“Me too,” he agrees. “I almost envy you. I’m sure your dog’s good company.”

“He’s so sweet,” you can’t help but beam at the mention of your boy.

“Big cuddler?” He asks.

“Uh, yeah,” the question is a bit unexpected, “you like dogs?”

“Never really had one. Don’t need the extra work,” he says, “but I don’t mind them.”

“That’s fair. He can be a bit needy.”

He flinches and looks down at his hand. His screen flashes and he gives an apologetic look as he raises his palm, “I’m so sorry. I need to take this.”

“Take your time, sir, I’ll wander,” you point over your shoulder with your thumb.

He mouths a thanks before he answers, “Barber.”

You back up and turn to distract yourself with the shelf of controllers and switch cases. His deep voice carries but you focus on the Sinatra carol playing overhead to drown him out. Still you can’t help but catch a few words.

“Five, yeah…no, she won’t…it’s fine…” He’s quiet for a moment before he raises his voice, “figure it out.”

His stern tone sends a chill through you. It’s a sharp contrast to his previously friendly demeanour. Well, he mentioned he’s a lawyer, you assume he has a lawyer voice, akin to your customer service one.

“Sorry,” he comes back to you, “my wife…” he takes a breath, “you don’t happen to sell wine here?”

You smile. The way he answered, it didn’t sound very affectionate but maybe he hadn’t expected his wife.

“No, sorry, sir.”

“Kidding,” he chuckles, “well, I guess I should get my butt in gear,” he flicks through his phone, “um, I assume toiletries? Face masks?”

“Oh, that’s near me,” you point back towards beauty, “there’s a special for the sheet masks.”

“Great,” he grabs the extended handle of the basket, “thanks so much for this. I’m so lost.”

“That’s fine,” you go ahead of him, “it’s the job.”

🎀

You groan as you put the last empty bin in the stack. You stand and rub your shoulders, traps sore from all the lifting and moving. The night crew will set up for the day after Christmas but in the last hour of work, you and the few others in the store scrambled to get the old displays torn down.

Luanne walks with you to the employee break room. She’s in more of a hurry as she has her three children waiting for her at their grandparents. She goes ahead of you and punches out as you wait and stretch out your arms.

“Have a good Christmas,” she says breathily as she opens her locker and pulls out her purse and jacket, folding the latter over her arm, “I’ll see you after. You’re opening, right?”

“Sure thing,” you say as you punch in your employee number. “Merry Christmas.”

“Give Ernie some pets for me,” she trills as she goes to the door. “Thanks again. You saved my ass today.”

“No problem, “ you shake your head, “Christmas Eve brings out the best.”

“Does it ever. Bye, sweetie,” she waves over her shoulder as he sweeps through the door.

You go to your locket and take out your fluffy pink sherpa coat and purse. You loop your scarf around your neck and slip your earmuffs around your head. You sit to pull on your boots and stand with an ache in your calves. You feel the fatigue finally setting in. It’s not over yet; one day off and you’re right back to the furor.

You yawn as you leave the breakroom and drag your feet across the store. You take out your phone as you pop your earbuds in and choose your holiday mix. You wave goodbye to a few other stragglers and go out the front door, Spencer locking it behind you.

It’s bitterly cold out. You’re surprised by the fresh fall of snow swirling in the air. It gives an extra sparkle to the time of year.

You scroll through your phone. The buses are on holiday hours already. The next one is in an hour. Great. You can just walk, at least until you get to the next stop. More buses stop there and you can get at least ten minutes within your building.

You trod along, kicking through the powder of snow as headlights gleam ahead of you. You walk along the narrow walk beside the hotel on the other side of the intersection and a pair of flashing tail lights blink ahead of you. A dark figure stands beside the white SUV but you can’t make out much more than their silhouette.

You keep going, peeking up curiously as you near. The boot of the car pops up and the stranded driver searches. As you pass, you trip over an unseen shape, the metal clank painfully against your toe. You look down at the small foot jack.

“Oh, shoot, sorry,” the man stands straight and turns to you, “I didn’t see you coming. I was just grabbing the iron–”

“That’s okay,” you pick out your earbuds, “I wasn’t looking.”

“Wait,” he stops short and points a gloved finger in your direction, “it’s you. You work at the store just down the way, right?”

You know the man. He’s the one who was in the store just yesterday. There’s a flutter in your chest at the coincidence of your encounter. It happens, especially in the shopping district. Half the city at least passes through her during the holidays.

“Yeah, uh, that’s me. You finish your shopping?”

“Just about,” he tuts and shakes his head, “blew a tire. So, happy holidays to me.”

“I’m so sorry,” you look down at the snowy walk.

“Mhmm,” he grumbles, “all this snow, I can’t get the jack to work either.”

“Dang, unfortunately, I’m not help. I don’t know much about cars.”

“That’s fine, I called roadside assistance but they’re taking their damn time,” he checks his watch.

“Oh…” you utter.

“Don’t let me rain on your holiday, honey,” he says, “your toe okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” you look down.

“Wait, are you walking home?” He asks.

You nod.

“Wish I could offer you a ride. This weather’s only getting worse,” he bemoans. He slips his hand into his jacket and pulls out his phone, “they should be here shortly so if–”

A set of headlights pull onto the apron and roll towards you. You look over as the man beside you does the same. You stand, somewhat dumbfounded at the unexpected run-in. 

“That’s them,” he declares, “hey, guys.”

He waves as the white van pulls up. You were expecting a tow truck. Oh, well. Not your problem.

“Great, I guess I should get going,” you excuse yourself, “have a happy holi–”

As you step back, your heel catches on something. You don’t realise until your plummeting onto your ass that the man stuck his leg out behind you. You hit the ground with an oomph, barely missing the metal jack half-buried in the snow.

You hear the van door sliding open and a clatter of heavy treads. You can barely catch your breath as the world moves fast around you. The man bends over you as another rushes over, grabbing you off the ground as the two vehicles block out the street from view.

“Be nice,” the first man warns as your arms are seized. “Don’t hurt her.”

You suck in a deep breath. What is happening? You go to let out the shriek as you’re struck by the situation. This can’t be real but you’re being half-carried towards an open vehicle. A hand comes up and stifles your scream, smothering you as you’re yanked harshly forward.

“Careful,” the man girds again.

“Shut the fuck up,” the other grits and pulls you away from the other, spinning you around as he hooks an arm around your neck and covers your mouth, forcing you towards the van. He bends backwards, lifting your feet as you kick and squirm.

“Honey, calm down,” the friendly customer coaxes, “it’s okay.”

You don’t understand. Why are they doing this? Why you?

The man’s hand slips as you grab at his arms and your teeth come over the vee between thumb and index. You bite down and he yowls. Even through his leather glove, you give him a viscous pinch.

“Fuck!” He tosses you forward so your knees hit the side of the van and fall half-inside.

“Hurry the fuck up,” another voice calls from inside the van.

“Trying,” the second man snarls as you stand and let out a shrill note, only for a second before you’re caught from behind and muted again. This time the leather glove seals over your nose. “Fucking bitch.” 

You’re lifted into the van, writhing and kicking as the door slides shut from the outside. You’re pinned on the floor in the seatless rear of the vehicle. You whimper as your eyes glisten with a sudden spring of tears. 

That question rings in your head again; why you? You have no one to look for you, no one to care. It’s only you against them.

[deepdreamnights]

Hey, you know how I said there was nothing ethical about Adobe's approach to AI? Well whaddya know?

Adobe wants your team lead to contact their customer service to not have your private documents scraped!

This isn't the first of Adobe's always-online subscription-based products (which should not have been allowed in the first place) to have sneaky little scraping permissions auto-set to on and hidden away, but this is the first one (I'm aware of) where you have to contact customer service to turn it off for a whole team.

Now, I'm on record for saying I see scraping as fair use, and it is. But there's an aspect of that that is very essential to it being fair use: The material must be A) public facing and B) fixed published work.

All public facing published work is subject to transformative work and academic study, the use of mechanical apparatus to improve/accelerate that process does not change that principle. Its the difference between looking through someone's public instagram posts and reading through their drafts folder and DMs.

But that's not the kind of work that Adobe's interested in. See, they already have access to that work just like everyone else. But the in-progress work that Creative Cloud gives them access to, and the private work that's never published that's stored there isn't in LIAON. They want that advantage.

And that's valuable data. For an example: having a ton of snapshots of images in the process of being completed would be very handy for making an AI that takes incomplete work/sketches and 'finishes' it. That's on top of just being general dataset grist.

But that work is, definitionally, not published. There's no avenue to a fair use argument for scraping it, so they have to ask. And because they know it will be an unpopular ask, they make it a quiet op-out.

This was sinister enough when it was Photoshop, but PDF is mainly used for official documents and forms. That's tax documents, medical records, college applications, insurance documents, business records, legal documents. And because this is a server-side scrape, even if you opt-out, you have no guarantee that anyone you're sending those documents to has done so.

So, in case you weren't keeping score, corps like Adobe, Disney, Universal, Nintendo, etc all have the resources to make generative AI systems entirely with work they 'own' or can otherwise claim rights to, and no copyright argument can stop them because they own the copyrights.

They just don't want you to have access to it as a small creator to compete with them, and if they can expand copyright to cover styles and destroy fanworks they will. Here's a pic Adobe trying to do just that:

If you want to know more about fair use and why it applies in this circumstance, I recommend the Electronic Frontier Foundation over the Copyright Alliance.

[see-arcane]

The Vampyres--The Bones and Blood of the Book

Good news! I’m not dead and the book isn’t either! Just shambling slowly through the wasteland of the publication process. It’s been a bit since I last waved this bloody morsel around. So, consider this a progress report on the state of the novella, the prospective publishing options, and a few other questions that have been bouncing around in the inbox.

EDIT:

I have a website now! For some reason.

It's See Arcane Scribbles.

Smaller Edit:

Got a Spotify too for story soundtrack goodness:

COVERS

First things first—and the first part of a finished book is the cover. Here are some mockups I’ve been juggling, starting with the original placeholder. They’re far from perfect, but I’m proud of what I managed with a fairly skinny graphic art skill set.

FINISHING, FORMAT, AND FINANCE*

*(OR, THE HEADACHENING)

Copyright: Technically speaking, you have the copyright to your own writing once you put it to paper or screen. But this is somehow a different thing from a legally-binding registered copyright, which everyone declares is a must-have if you want your work to be protected with more than a non-textual trust-fall exercise, hoping nobody steals your work and runs.

That said, electronic registration with the copyright office is $65, or $45 to register one work by one author.

ISBN: I only recently learned the words behind this acronym. ‘International Standard Book Number.’ It’s the ID on a book that marks it as unique and helps commercial booksellers and libraries circulate it. Each iteration of a book—paperback, digital, hardcover, new editions, et cetera—has its own ISBN. When you’re publishing on your own, you purchase ISBNs through a service called Bowker.

One book/version’s ISBN costs $125.

There are better bargains the higher the number of books and/or versions you go, starting at a bulk of 10 books for $295. But as I only have the one (1) skinny novella on the table, that’s a no-go. Which begs the question of how many ISBNs are in store for this little monster. It depends on how many formats I go with.

eBook: The quickest and most cost-efficient option across the board for any self-publication service. Short, sweet, no printing pains of trim sizes or distribution costs or formatting, oh my. Nice.

Paperback VS Hardcover: …But I am now and forever a sucker for physical media. Even though it’s a teeny brochure of a thing, I want to hold a physical copy of The Vampyres in my hands! So bad! And every service I’ve looked through has stated the obvious: Hardcover costs more than paperback. My heart won’t break if I have to stick with paperback to spare everyone’s wallets—hardcovers are pricy in both directions!—but I am a little torn. Especially as physical size might affect the price too.

Here we have two of my favorite quick reads, an anthology of Poe stories and Clive Barker’s novella, The Hellbound Heart.

The Poe book is a clothbound hardcover. 6.5 x 4.5 inches, a bit over 120 pages.

The Hellbound Heart is roughly 8 x 5 inches (about standard for a novella), at 164 pages. But unlike Poe, it looks like Barker took some liberties with the spacing and font size.

Standard size dimensions cost less than unique cuts, which means that whether paperback or hardcover, I sadly have to say goodbye to the petite palm-sized edition I was hoping for. On the upside, good news to us crap-vision readers—the font’s going to get H U G E in order to make the book more than a pamphlet with delusions of grandeur.

Audiobook: The fact is, my voice is not up to the task of reciting anything with appropriate gravitas and I think we’ve all been spoiled by @re-dracula and assorted other podcasts’ skill in orating. I don’t have the cash to hire a professional and I’m not about to accept anyone’s freebie offers. I won’t pickpocket friends for their talent. If an audio version ever comes along for any story of mine it’ll be down the road when it proves worth the format’s effort and cost.

REVIEWS (and a Foreword!)

It was the best of times (People reading the thing! Commenting on the thing! Good good good—), it was the worst of times (The Mortifying Ordeal of People Reading and Commenting on the Thing). Time for what every advice site declares a book absolutely must have the moment it’s thrust into the wild.

Reviews, reviews, reviews.

I’ve already bitten several bullets and passed copies out to a handful of fellow scribblers to scrutinize, their reviews destined to be hung up like literary gold stars on their bookselling site of choice, my own included. Now comes my preliminary grovel to readers en masse to please drop a review, a comment, a blurb of any shape or size where you can once The Vampyres drops. I’ve already gotten some early comments that have consisted mostly of screaming. Screams also count as a review.

As an aside, there are two folks in particular who I reached out to who exist in the stratosphere of Coolest People in the Vampiric Lit scene. They promptly exploded me into disbelieving giblets when they told me, yes, they’d be happy to read my little story and offer up a review and a foreword for the book respectively.

I’m not sure what the decorum here is, but for safety (and surprise’s) sake, I’ll not name names. But they are names I’ve been happy to come across for the past two years while neck deep in the undead book club. I’m infinitely grateful to both of them and am waiting on pins, needles, stakes and kukri blades by my inbox so I can pin their words up inside the book itself.

FUTURE SCRIBBLING

To get one of the biggest questions out of the way, let’s talk about Barking Harker.

My very own object lesson on sunk cost fallacy.

I wrote my way through a goddamn cinderblock of text without even grazing the finish line of the first section of the story. A story made of so many convoluted triple-decker layers of subplots and side characters that it had the structural integrity of a monolithic Nature Valley granola bar, just waiting to fall apart under its own weight. Such is the hubris and curse of too-many-words-itis. The Vampyres remains a miraculous fluke, jotted down during an overdue break from BH’s slog. Not just because I tripped and fell into finishing the story, but because it’s comparatively compact! Brevity at last!

For those still craving the assorted gothic and ghoulish promises of the initial novel idea, don’t worry, those aren’t going anywhere. I’ve just crumbled the metaphorical bloodstained granola by my own hand and have done the sane thing of parsing out the various subplots to become the foundations of their own stories. Which they really should have been from the get-go. Insert 100+ clown emojis here.

On that note, I am turning into WIPs Georg over here. Good god.

I hesitate to throw myself all-in again and make promises of X Story that may leave me spinning my mental wheels or ballooning the plot out into a behemoth that can’t be steered back on course. Even so, here’s a peek at a few ideas I currently have on the brain.

So.

Not exactly lacking for stories. It’s just a matter of seeing which of them breaks ahead of the herd and squeezes out into the publication ether first.

LAST BIT  

Blah, blah, requisite reminder that I have a Ko-Fi where you can donate a buck or commission my best attempt at art, blah. Any pennies are a help.

But I’m betting very few of you came around here for my doodles. Somehow, a good amount of people tripped into this pit with me because you enjoy the rambles and horrors I’ve written over the years. Maybe some of you will even buy my book once it’s out. And you, there, on the other side of the screen—you’re reading this right now. You made it all the way to the bottom of this pile of exposition just because you wanted to. So, thank you.

Thank you for reading this far. Thank you for reading before and reading what’s to come. Thank you for giving me the confidence to even consider shouldering my own work out into the wider world.

Thank you.

P.S. If you want to re-read the preview, go here!

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Wild Nights || CL16 {5}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x songstress!reader Summary: You show your support for Charles and he shows his support for you. Warnings: 18+only, just Charles being himself WC: 2k

F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Epilogue

“Hurry up or you’re going to be late to your own show,” Bea urged as she tugged at your arm. “Come on, we have to go!”

You rose on your tiptoes and tried to look over the sea of people. “Just one more minute.”

“I gave you ten.”

You checked your phone again but there was no new message from Charles since his last update that he was just going to quickly shower. You had briefly seen him before the free practice, but other than a few quiet words in the back of Ferrari’s hospitality you hadn’t really spent any time with him since landing in Las Vegas. 

You had thought scheduling concerts in the same city would mean seeing more of Charles but nothing was ever quite that simple.

Sighing, you sent him a message apologising for leaving without a proper goodbye and reminded him not to wait up for you. It would be late by the time you finished the show and he needed an early night before his qualifying race, but hopefully you were able to find a few minutes together in the morning before he left.

The drive through the city was long with traffic congestion and you spent most of it checking your phone to the point that Bea leaned over and ripped it from your hands.

“Hey!” you growled as she tossed it into the front seat beside the chauffeur. “I was using that.”

“No, you were distracted by it.” She grabbed a bottle of champagne from the minifridge and popped the cork. “Here, bottoms up.”

“Classy,” you murmured as you took the bottle and drank straight from it.

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and took it back for a quick swig of her own. “At least I know it will get you to relax. Luckily your makeup has survived the day, there won’t be time to redo it.”

“There was a time when you said I didn’t need make up, is this you saying I’m getting ugly?”

“Pfft, bitch, please. If I thought you were ugly I would tell it to you straight, like a good friend. You’re beautiful and I’m jealous, I just thank god I have these,” she said as she grabbed her boobs for emphasis. “They kill my back, but they look damn good.”

“Forget your back, I heard they nearly killed Pierre,” you chuckled. “I think his fans would have a problem if you accidentally smothered him with those.”

“At least he would die happy and doing what he loved. Imagine that obituary.”

“I’d rather not.” Your nose wrinkled at the thought of any type of obituary for a racer, it was an all too real possibility you tried not to dwell on.

Bea agreed quietly with another drink from the bottle and cast her eyes out the window, taking in the bright lights of the strip. She nearly spit out her mouthful at the sight of an electronic billboard advertising the first Las Vegas F1 race. “Wow, they really got him again?”

You leaned over the seat and saw the ad of Charles decked out in a glittering jacket, elvis wig and pink feather boa as a deck of cards rained down. A laugh bubbled up as you took the bottle back and brought it up to your lips with a dopey smile. “He’s too sweet and trusting, a little gullible too.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” she joked as the car pulled into the service entrance of the MGM. and she took the half empty bottle away. “Can’t have you drunk on opening night.”

“Can I have my phone back?”

She reached through the front and grabbed it off the seat. “Fine, but no moping like a sad sap because we have to run.”

The door to the car opened to an entourage of people chiding you for the tardiness and you were hustled through the back channels of the building, stopping briefly in a room little larger than a closet to change outfits before you reached the backstage area.

“You have five minutes,” the head coordinator warned as Bea arrived with a cup of lemon, ginger and honey tea to help warm your vocal chords.

You thanked her as you sipped the hot drink and felt your phone vibrate with a notification as Scuderia Ferrari’s Instagram went live. ‘Music Challenge’ was the caption and you waved Bea over knowing they were always entertaining.

“Oh, I love this song,” Charles exclaimed as he nodded his head along.

“You say that every time,” Carlos complained.

“Kill Bill?”

“Correct!” The interviewer confirmed as Carlos groaned and fell back into the couch in defeat.

“How do you know that?”

“I listen to a lot of music.”

They both fell silent as the next song started and they both smashed their hands on their little bells.

“Flowers,” Carlos shouted. “Flowers, flowers, I got it first.”

“You got it loudest,” Charles disputed but the moment the next song started he was jumping up and pinging his bell in time. “Y/N, Love You Need!” He turned to Carlos and blew him a kiss. “It’s my song.”

“That’s not fair, I don’t have a song.”

“I’m sure someone has written a song about you, probably not a love song though,” Charles teased before he checked his watch. “Ay, I need to go or the next song she writes about me won’t be happy either. Ciao!”

“He quit so I win, right?”

“No, no, no I didn’t quit.” Charles paused his exit to point an accusing finger back at his teammate. “You took so long fixing your hair that we started late.”

“Still, I win, because you’re leaving.”

“See this,” Charles turned to the camera, his hand still waving to his team mate, “he doesn’t care about winning, he’s just upset he wasn’t invited to Y/N’s concert. Carlos?”

Carlos batted his eyelashes with a smile. “Yes, Charles?”

“Would you like to come with me?”

Carlos was already on his feet. “I thought you would never ask.”

Charles rolled his eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “Vamos, we’re late.”

You turned to Bea as the live feed ended and you shoved your phone into the storage cupboard beside the stairs leading to the stage. “Did you know he was coming?”

“Duh, who do you think set him up with a backstage pass?” She shrugged and put her own phone away along with her jacket. “I gave him a few in case he wanted to bring some friends.”

You cocked an eyebrow and smirked. “You mean Pierre…”

“I mean friends, and if that happens to be Pierre then I have no problem with that.”

You didn’t have an opportunity to tease her further about the commitment issues the two of them had before a microphone was shoved into your hands and you were pointed to the stage entrance.

“Kill it babe!” Bae shouted with a thumbs up as she jogged around to the other stage entrance for her cue.

The sold out crowd was a swirling mass of energy and it swelled as you stepped into the spotlight, their screams barely blocked by the earpieces that you had pushed into your ears as you took the stairs. The rush of seeing the excitement on their faces never ceased to amaze you and you bounced on your toes eagerly.

“What’s up, Las Vegas? Are you doing alright tonight?” Their responding screams shook the stage and widened your grin. “That’s good to hear, because, for me, well, I’m Fine.”

The music started and remembered the day you started writing the song, taking off from Monaco. It had begun as a tribute to Bea and the friendship you shared but then as the weeks went by and Charles stayed in touch it had evolved. It really was a song for any sort of relationship and why it was one of your favourites after Love You Need.

“Woke up too early, Almost put salt in my coffee, Oh, I thank God that you stopped me before that.”

You grinned to the shadows where you knew Bea was waiting, having been the inspiration for the line.

“Tripped over something, Spilt it all over your front seat, Didn't even say I'm sorry about that.”

You had been so frazzled trying to clean the mess up in Charles’ ridiculously expensive car that you had forgotten to apologise at the time. You had made it up to him later, and luckily it hadn’t stained, probably credit to the expensive upholstery.

“On and on, it's just more of the same And even when you ask if I'm okay… I try to say I'm fine (I'm fine).”

The drummer came in with the heavy beat for the chorus and the hands in the crowd waved in time as Bea jumped into the spotlight for her parts. This was what made it a favourite of yours, when she grasped your hand like she had when you had broken down over your ex. She had called you on your bullshit when you said you were fine and she had been there through the worst. It made performing this with her even more special. 

The entire concert was going to be even more special knowing Charles was going to be in the crowd soon and he knew exactly which songs were devoted to him. 

You shouldn’t have been surprised that he was coming because he balanced you, and everything was equal between you. You supported him in his races whenever you could make it to them and he supported you when he could make it to yours, but you knew how tired he would have been after his day. 

There were thousands of people beyond the blindly bright lights of the stage but somehow you knew where to look when you felt the energy shift halfway into the set. And there he was. 

He must have changed in the car as he was no longer wearing the bold red Ferrari shirt, opting for more sedate casual clothes to blend in with the crowd. It didn’t exactly stay that way when you pointed to him during one of his songs, singing the lines solely for him and drawing the attention to him.

“Can we stay frozen in time, in between hello and goodbye?”

You collapsed onto the bed of the hotel still riding the high from the concert and Charles fell down with you, equal parts of happiness and exhaustion warring in his eyes.

“You should get some sleep,” you said as you rolled onto your side to face him so you could cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the 5 o’clock shadow along his jaw. 

“I will soon,” he murmured as his arm curled over your waist and pulled you closer. “I just want to hold you for a little while.” He tucked you into the curve of his body until there wasn’t any space left between you, his cheek resting atop your head. “You make me so proud, seeing you living your dream. I wish I could be at every concert.”

“Me too,” you sighed longingly. “It’s the hardest thing when we have to say goodbye.”

His chest rose and fell slowly as he relaxed in the embrace, bordering on the edge of sleep. “You’ve never asked me not to race.”

“Why would I do that?” You pulled back to see his face and recognised the look. It was something his ex had asked of him. “Would the moon ask the sun not to rise? No, because both are equally important and their paths still cross. We are the sun and the moon.”

You felt his smile as he kissed your forehead. “Am I the moon or the sun?” 

“The moon,” you stated as you tipped your head back so you could stare into those gorgeous eyes if his. “You are there to lighten my darkest nights.”

“And you make my day infinitely brighter.”

Click here for the epilogue.

Tagging: @91vhs @alwaysclassyeagle @applespiez @ravenqueen27 @booksobsess @tempo-rary-fix @baw-sixteen @im-an-overthinker @notleclerc

[villainofmyownstory]

Light years

masterlist

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x android/hologram!Reader

summary: Many decades of longing. A lot of years of waiting. Hundreds of light years away from an Earth that no longer seemed like a memory, but a fictional story. A fairy tale written by poets. Earth no longer existed, and life on Zeus 2 went on as if the years of intergalactic war had never happened. As if the destruction of most of humanity had never taken place. There were still a few people on the new planet who remembered their lives on Earth. A past that was a memory stinging under the ribs. A small personal utopia for the last living people. Paradise lost.

tags: sci-fi!au, android, angst, ambiguous/open ending

1.4k words

author's note: Unfortunately, most of the 5th chapter of Day Zero, I don't know why, but it disappeared from my files, probably my mistake that I wrote it on my phone…. and I don't know when I will finish the 5th chapter. So I decided to write something else. I have never read sci-fi books, I have only watched a few movies of this genre in my life. Everything I've written here are my own thoughts about this alternate universe I've invented. Let me know what you think.

This story I wrote for @glitterypirateduck #GhostChallenge. I used prompt #’s 9 and 17. Challenge Masterlist

——————————————————————————————————

Wet streets and neon lights are two certainties of any Saturday evening. The man started his motorcycle from the parking lot with a squeal of tires. The vehicle flashed through the streets of the crowded city at high speed despite the heavy rain. Passing through one intersection after another, the man paid no attention to his surroundings. He had one goal in mind. Like every second Saturday of the month. One damn hour. Just one. Sixty minutes.

He cursed Captain Price in his mind, even though he knew the man had a visit this Saturday, sending him and Gaz to a neighboring planet to see if the unrest caused by the robot revolt has been adequately handled by the new authorities. Although they had their cybernetic teammates on the new planet, the captain trusted his human soldiers the most. Only Price and his three subordinates remembered well their service in the former Task Force 141 many decades ago on Earth. Sometimes, on their free evenings, they reminisced about their past lives, like a long-read book or a movie they watched. Memories that seemed so distant. It was hard to tell that they were their own. And yet they were. Earth had once existed. Their lives were different. A better place.

As the man approached his destination, he wondered if the next visit would look the same. Every month he deluded himself that this time it would not be like the previous one. That the clinic's staff would inform him of progress. About a breakthrough.

So much time. It had been so many, many years since they had lived on Earth. So many decades of longing and hope.

White, smooth walls. The floor lined with rectangular snow-white tiles. 134 pieces to be exact. Electronics and many screens on one of the walls. A comfortable chair and an empty space on the other side. He has long known every nook and cranny of these two rooms. The one where he stays during every visit and this small room, behind bulletproof plastic glass.

As on every single Saturday evenly at 7 pm he was greeted by the same artificial, synthetic voice.

"Welcome, you are a visiting guest at medical facility number 3 and your appointment is about to begin. Sit comfortably and enjoy the company of your still living loved ones.Thank you for using our services. To change your monthly subscription package, please head to room 221 on the 2nd floor. Memories from Earth eternally alive. Light years are no longer an obstacle. With us, everything continues uninterrupted. MedZeus 3 at your service. Light years don't matter. Earthly memories at your fingertips."

When silence falls, he counts every breath. Exactly 17, when a light comes on in the room behind the glass. The figure flickers and after a moment is visible in all her divine beauty.

You are as he remembers you. You are the same as you were taken out of his mind. A memory.

"Hi Simon!" The man clenches his tightened fists. Your voice is always the same. Bright, melodious. Joyful. Like every month you stand in the same place. In that fucking white void. So close and so far away. He dreams every day to be able to touch you again. To feel your soft and smooth skin under the pads of his scarred, rough hands. To touch your wavy hair at least once more and smell the fruity sour fragrance of your favourite perfume. He would like to see your rosy cheeks one more time. At least one damn tear in your eyes. Some human emotion.

"How was your service? You look tired. I hope the mission was successful." The same sentences spoken for months. He so longed to hear something different. Sorrow. Longing. Joy. Anger. Anything, some human feeling.

Meanwhile, everything is just as the signed script predicted. The programmed hologram of your character stands dressed in a plain black t-shirt with your favorite band and plain straight jeans. Hair tied in a loose ponytail. Just as he remembered you. Just as he saw you on the last day of his life. Yours.

If you hadn't been so stubborn, if you hadn't said those words. Maybe you would be together now. Light years from Earth. Light years from that life together.

The man slowly gets up from his chair and walks over to the glass. He removes the glove from his hand and stares at the bare palm to the cold transparent wall separating you.

“I miss you.” He finally says while swallowing that damnable, choking tightness in his throat. That bitterness that appears every time he looks at the product of his memories. You're seemingly here. You're so close. But he knows it's not you. You were now the product of his selfish desire. When he was awakened from centuries of hibernation many years ago the first thing he bought in his new reality. In his new life. You.

He damn well regretted that decision. He should have buried you long ago, erased your memories as other living people have done. Forget you and live on Zeus 2 like the others. He could eventually start a family, or adopt a small humanoid robot-child. He could even buy himself an android wife. After all, he was an intergalactic soldier. An Earth hero. One of the last humans from Earth. A myth.

That's probably why he couldn't let you go. You were something that kept him alive. Were you? No. For him all the time - you are. He didn't want to be like the others, he didn't allow his DNA to be changed. Even Captain Price was no longer fully human. He was afraid that with making him half human and half robot he would destroy the last part of you that had been in him all along.

Long minutes of silence after saying that three words. I miss you. They caused the figure behind the glass as if trying to process and quickly in gigabytes of stored data to find the answer to his words.

He smiled gently. But maybe the staff of the facility has managed to improve something, maybe there has been some kind of revolution and you will finally be more human. His again.

The hologram twitched slightly, as if it was about to disappear. The man glanced anxiously at his watch, it had been only 17 minutes since the start of the meeting.

“Simon”

Your voice is like behind a fog. His name whispered with the same tenderness when you first confessed your feelings for each other. That rainy November evening when he held you for the first time in his bare arms. When he gave you his heart. When he first said that he…

The man shakes his head. He didn't give them back those intimate memories. No. That's what he didn't transfer to the data cloud. So how is it possible…

“Don't let go, Simon. Never.” Your lips don't move. Your figure again slightly disappears for a fraction of a second. No it can't be true. Maybe this some bug in the system. A badly written code. Maybe a virus crept in, or a hacking attack. He had heard at the base, about recent cyber attacks on medical facilities. Maybe the attacks have reached his planet as well.

The image of your hologram is back to normal. As you do every month, you tilt your head slightly to the side and extend your hand. The man freezes, holding his breath. You always make this gesture at the end of your meetings.

You put up your thumb, index finger and pinkie finger, while keeping your ring finger and your middle finger down.

“I Love You” in Sign Language.

After a moment of hesitation, he extends his hand and his palm shows the same gesture. He rests his forehead on the cold glass closing his eyes.

You are about to disappear. Again you will remain just a part of a recollection. Data stored on the server.

When the man opens his eyes again he continues to see your figure. In white. A braid of tiny white gypsophila and purple eustoma flowers adorns your head. Your hair is loosely undone. Slightly curly hair reaches below your shoulders. A simple white dress covers your body from neck to ankles. Lace sleeves adorn your arms.

Time seems to have stopped. Again. As if there were no light years from earthly life. Like that tomorrow has simply arrived. Your image presented to him.

It wasn't his memory. He had no right to see you in your wedding dress. He did not have time. Tomorrow never came for the both of you.

This is your memory.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

THE VEES | VELVETTE, VALENTINO, & VOX (Hazbin Hotel)

—

Imagine a minor AI demon gaining the ire and (reluctant) infatuation of the Vees.

Headcanons

CHARACTERS: VELVETTE, VALENTINO, & VOX

Fem!OC

SFW, 16+, non-romantic, non-sexual, sex industry mentions tho (TW: Valentino, but no seriously the Vees kind of are their own trigger warning in this fandom)

Pic source: Hazbin Hotel Ep8 “The Show Must Go On”

the short oneshot is 1k+ words

⚠︎ I DO NOT ENDORSE VIVZIEPOP (& associated parties) but I did watch the show and wanted to write for it, so idk ⚠︎

THE VEES

Some sinner has been stealing their gains from right under their noses (because she’s been impersonating each of the three).

Supplies and new prototypes keep getting snatched until one day Velvette sees that (without her input) one of the electronics that Vox had been trying to get off the ground before it’d been stolen has gone viral.

Before then Velvette had been far more entertained by the AI Demon than anything else — only working to stop them at all because Vox told her to — but after stealing what was supposed to be Velvette’s spotlight when she unveiled the new in demand device, and going viral more often than Vel, the Overlord is beside herself with rage and jealousy.

Velvette’s typically put together appearance cracks and the string of fits she has rival some of Valentino’s own; she’s so over the top and out for blood at being made less relevant it’s crazy.

The internet drama that sprouts around both sinners' public feud has Hell in a chokehold for weeks.

At first Valentino would be endlessly entertained by the AI Demon driving Vox up the wall, he’d even give Vox grief over how long taking her down was taking just to fuck with his partner himself.

Problem is the AI Demon eventually also starts imploding his own business and then Val is out for blood and making it everyone’s problem.

He’s so caught up on mitigating the damage the lower level sinner is doing, and on his own work, that Angel Dust barely sees him or is summoned to work at all.

The AI Demon drives Vox crazy at the same time that she reinvigorates him. Vox is the type who likes to be on top, he likes to coast, but coasting comes with a price. Namely that everything gets far too routine and boring.

So when the AI Demon starts to make poorly made but just good enough knockoffs of the shows on his streaming service(s) and of his technology he finds immense joy in hunting her down and tearing apart every site the other sinner creates to host her plagiarism.

Plus, unlike with Alastor, this is a challenge that he can take on without worrying about having to deal with any emotional damage too so he goes all in.

❤︎

“Why the hell should I care that someone’s ripping off Voxflix? Just drop some malware on the site and get outta my face, I have shit to do.”

Vox doesn’t move from where he’s standing as she turns her back to leave, but he does nearly roll his eyes.

“Velvette,” he snaps lowly.

At his tone Velvette stops dead, shorter form stiffening. Vox waits her out.

It takes a silent slew of seconds before she shakes it off and then - finally - turns back to him. Slowly. Her head goes first, he’s sure just so that he can get a good look at the irritated scowl she’s taken on, before she lets the rest of her body follow.

Only once she’s staring at him again - eyes narrowed, arms crossed, and hip cocked - does Vox start back up.

There’s about a million things being transmitted to him at any given moment, but he takes care to narrow his active focus down to only the necessary few to give Velvette his due attention.

“Finished?”

“Fine.” She bristles then noticeably forces her tone to something trying to be more acquiescent, “What can I do for you Vox?”

The corners of his screen fizzle, but he came to her before he set off Valentino with the news of their newest dilemma for a reason, more than anyone else’s he needs those sharp eyes of hers looking out for whoever this trifling little ant is.

So he starts playing a peppy little jingle through the speakers of his primary build like he would in front of a crowd.

“This just in!” Vox exclaims, mostly mockingly. The smile on his screen widens as he thrusts his hands to the sides, wiggling his fingers, and kicks his foot out to balance his leg on that heel. “For the low low price of your own non-obligatory free time—!”

“Oh, shut it,” Velvette growls, flicking her taloned fingers at him to emphasize her point, “I’m not a client or Val, don’t pull that poppyshow crap with me.”

He sighs, rising back into his default power stance and smoothing his lapels, “Live a little, why don’t you?”

Gesturing towards the pocket he knows she slipped her phone into Velvette raises a brow at him in challenge. “That’s rich coming from you.” She huffs, “Now get on with it, you’re boring me.”

This time around he opts to let some of his residual irritation color his words as he breaks the issue down to her in a more approved manner. Although he’s also not not smiling any longer despite his more subdued tone.

“Velvette. Dear,” he adds, because he knows it softens her up, and low and behold her scowl eases the moment the endearment leaves his speakers, “if this new…sinner is mimicking my shows and my people what’s to stop them from coming for your models next? Every new show they copy is already starting to trend after they drop before I catch them. The masses are teeming for lesser inexpensive ripoffs of our stuff so I need you to take this seriously.”

The woman goes silent for a moment, lips pursed in what Vox knows is her actually evaluating what he said earlier. Then the scowl’s back, but one of her arms comes up so she can tap her thumb to her lips, and her hip realigns.

Somehow the lipstick doesn’t smudge as she does so. Even when she sucks her teeth, lips briefly pursing against her painted nails, the glossy black doesn’t dare transfer.

“Okay,” she mutters softly before cutting her eyes at him. “Don’t throw my name around like that again though.”

A shock of static flows through him as he narrows his eyes at her.

“Be more amenable next time.”

They stare at one another for a few more moments - Vox locking his screen on his unimpressed expression while he waits her out for a second time - before Velvette scoffs.

“Ugh, whatever,” she flips her long coil-filled hair over her shoulder, “just tell me what you need me to do.”

His processors ping with irritation at her wording, but he unlocks his screen nonetheless.

“I don’t know…just,” he waves his hands in her general direction, “make the insistent pest tacky, or whatever. Find a way to make this ‘AI Demon’ completely irrelevant. You can manage that much, can't you?”

Velvette’s eyes roll so hard that for a good few seconds all Vox can see are their reds.

“Your lack of faith would be insulting.” Velvette waits, almost explicitly, for him to begin reacting to her words before continuing. “If I cared more about your opinion, that is,” she cuts him off.

She smiles when his screen glitches slightly and his brows furrow.

“Funny,” he deadpans.

Nearly unnaturally bright fangs flash up at him as she giggles, throwing him a wink.

“I know I am.” In the next breath her phone materializes in her hand. Already tapping away rapidly at it she glances up at him with no small amount of slyness. “No need to sing my praises too much though, I’m already doing what you asked. That Hack’ll be yesterday's news before the dinner rush.”

Vox values self preservation above most things so he doesn’t question her claim. Not that he’d even be able to considering the surge of ruckus that comes from a few halls over in that very moment.

“They impersonated who?!”

Valentino’s high booming voice firmly marks the end of their conversation and - Vox visibly deflates - the destruction of his plan to carefully broach the issue with the other Overlord.

“Oh dammit to Hell,” he grumbles, straightening up and brushing off his suit before marching off to go douse whatever fire whichever one of Valentino’s assistants just lit under the moth demon’s ass.

Behind him Velvette still finds it in her to laugh. A rich giddy thing that has no right sounding so mocking.

He’s a class act though so Vox very pointedly doesn’t flip her off, only glaring as he banks the corner.

She just laughs harder, kicking one leg back and rising on the toes of her other to give him a jaunty little wave.

“Cheers, Darling!”

❤︎

The AI Demon is able to take their shit and profit off of it for months before The Vees figure out where the demon’s usual selling posts are and track the other sinner down with extreme prejudice.

No one in Hell is allowed to have more social influence than Velvette, the AI miscreant is costing Vox millions, and she’s been damaging Val’s reputation with his usual buyers since she can create scenes with all his usual stars but sell them for a cheaper price and add in personalized scenes of whatever the buyer wants to watch.

Despite this they’re all still…impressed.

Once the Vees find the AI Demon they’re so sure that they’re going to rip her limb from limb for fucking with their business….until they start theorizing about all the things that the demon could do for them instead of against them.

They end up keeping the AI Demon alive only because she’s useful. She’s not elevated to Overlord status but the AI Demon is made a high priority “enforcer” for the Vees, which is significant.

Vox also 110% makes her sit in on certain business meetings and acquisitions that end with him killing some manipulated sinner(s) in a bid to intimidate her into staying in line.

She’s unphased until Vox orders her to oversee a feeding and she’s gifted to the sight of his electric sharks eating one of his employees whole and ripping them to shreds while the sinner thrashes wide-eyed in the tank. How fast blood spread throughout the water had stunned her into silence until the whole ordeal was done and Valentino had come slinking around to taunt and tease her over her clear horror at what she’d just witnessed.

Vox gets what he wants though: her culled, and though she still won’t completely cower from the Vees, she certainly learns to stay wary.

(the oneshot of this scenario is posted here)

THE AI DEMON

She’s a know-it-all; frequently corrects people’s grammar mid-sentence and glitches at the sight of spelling errors no matter how intentional they are.

Velvette makes misspelling even more words the thing to do on purpose just to piss the AI Demon off. It annoys Vel too though so she doesn’t keep it up for very long before disavowing the whole trend as boring and try-hard.

Has shapeshifting and vocal mimicry abilities but tends to give herself away with her face copy being too perfect or adding extra features like seven fingers instead of five or having too clean vocals and hilariously mispronouncing words.

Likes to steal (like, nothing is off limits). She’s a full on kleptomaniac.

Velvette’s good curl enhancer? Snatched. Extra clothing pieces from Velvette’s collections that the AI Demon makes go missing all the time once she becomes a permanent fixture in their operation too.

Vox’s power cords are being sold on Hell’s black market as we speak.

Valentino’s shit outta luck to find his contract papers. And really, she’s doing a public service with this one.

She’s selling his scripts and bootlegs of his pornos too.

Is malicious compliance incarnate, and while they could kill her she’s far too useful for them to want to (and unfortunately for them she knows it).

I’ll be honest as much as I think making an AI Demon look more reminiscent of the types of people who frequently do “AI stealing” the most (white male CEOs to be the most exact to just one line of thinking I have) would be interesting, I don’t want to do that for my OC. So my AI Demon’s black (bcs that’s what I do here) and female and began stealing mostly because she was getting stolen from and then got fed up with that. She becomes inexplicably petty and greedy in the process though and goes to Hell after having been one extremely profitable professional scammer.

Is tasked with doing work for Vox and VoxTech visual mediums the most, but gets along with Velvette best, and does nothing but bitch back and forth with Valentino about his ridiculous attempts to have her understudy for some of his actors or him whenever he has to attend meetings he’d rather not.

Would slip them all cyanide if she could get away with it— and if their resulting deaths (not as a result of angelic means) would actually stick.

Still though, she doesn’t want to be redeemed and thoroughly enjoys scamming people and grifting savings or souls from other more gullible sinners so she will stay on her villain grind. At least the Vees provide her with protection now while she’s at it.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

I’ve been sitting on this one for a while so I figured I’d just put it out even though I can’t say I’m expecting to gain much from it.

And, yes, I made Velvette more obviously black since her black-coding was so piss poor in the show that it’s still embarrassing.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[krurbbbylift]

WIP

MASTER LIST OF STORES AND EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW!!!

Adidas:

Aeropostale: 

Abercrombie & Fitch: 

American Eagle: 

Armani: 

Banana Republic: 

Barnes & Noble: Uses Rfid tags and sometimes spider wraps on kpop albums and anime figures if there’s frequent theft in area. Cameras are not actively monitored, but are checked after theft. Store managers are the only ones who have the authority to call the police. Store managers are the only staff who can trail shoplifters, but they will give aggressive customer service if they suspect you. They won’t chase. Pretty easy to lift from. 

Bath & Body Works: Intermediate 

No LP, and cameras aren't actively monitored. The stores are small and have many employees mostly concentrated at the counters except for a greeter who helps customers with questions. They don't prosecute, but they call mall security and will let them determine if police will be called. This is a store only good for small lifts, and then leaving quickly.

Bed, Bath, and Beyond: Out of business.

Best Buy: There is security in the front. They will tackle. Very hard to lift from.

Bloomingdales: 

Books-a-million: 

Burlington Coat Factory: 

Carson’s: 

Chanel: 

COACH: 

Costco: Wouldn’t recommend. Unless you have a gift card, they will use your membership info to find out more about you.

CVS:  Uses RFID tags on some products (some medicines and some makeup) but that varies on the location. Some at locations the security towers don’t go off (don’t risk it). Semi-Easy

 They have no chase policy and workers aren’t allowed to do anything. They can’t stop you, or ask to check your bag unless it’s LP. Cameras are usually non actively monitored. LP rotates regionally, usually working two, 8-hour shifts per week at specific stores.

Dick’s Sporting Goods: Not recommended for beginners. Conceal in dressing room or in tall aisles. Check for stickers/tags and dispose of accordingly. RFID Tags on clothes can set off alarms.

Dillard’s: Hard store. Dedicated LP.

Dollar General: Super easy, conceal in aisles. some stores are going out of business, take advantage of areas without cameras.

Dollar Tree: Beginner Friendly Store 

Oftentimes, the cameras are fake. Few employees are usually in the store. DT doesn't want to waste money on security or LP because their products are cheap. 

Family Dollar: Uses rfid tags on electronics, some hair and body products. 

At most they will have four employees in the store, but they usually only have one or two. Extremely easy as long as you watch over your shoulders. At some locations the workers are required to tell you to leave your book bag at the front. If you're a school student—but they usually don’t care enough to say it or enforce the rule.

Semi-Easy

Five and Below: 

Finish Line/Footlocker: 

Flying Tiger: Medium

No LP, but small with a lot of cameras. Went to one in a mall

Food Lion: 

Gamestop: 

GAP: 

GNC: 

Gucci: Best for a grab and run.

H&M: 

Hobby Lobby: So easy. The aisles are very tall and usually the only cameras are near the front by the registers. Body concealing is recommended.

Hollister: There are cameras. Hook is required to detag. Fairly easy so long as you are not counted for clothes. Security is seldom called, so just be sneaky and don’t get sloppy.

Home Depot: 

Hot Topic: Use Pencil Tags and Ink tags. Sometimes there’s a camera up front near the desk but usually there’s no camera. Depends on the value, store location, and what the item is.

Jo-Ann Fabrics: Just as easy as Hobby Lobby, but there is a camera at the beginning of the entrance. Conceal in blind spots near the back of the store. Watch out for customers.

JC Penny: 

King Super’s: 

K-Mart: 

Kohl’s: 

Kroger: 

Lord and Taylor: 

Lowes: 

Lush:

Macy’s: 

Martin’s (closing): 

Meijers: 

Mervyns: 

Michael’s: Conceal in blind spots, quite easy as long as you avoid cameras. I wouldn’t recommend going super often as most stores exits are located by the registers and you have to walk past a cashier to leave. 

Michael Kor’s: 

Nike: Stickers on apparel tags. Take clothing and conceal in fitting room. For shoes, use structured bag and conceal where there aren’t any cameras. Check shoes for any stickers or tags beforehand. 

Nordstrom: If you are a teen, SA will be on your ass. Not only are they paid on commission, they make extra for catching shoplifters.

Office Depot/Max: Barely any cameras except near the front. Don’t try and get printer ink. School supplies are easy, just body conceal in aisles. Watch out for workers.

Old Navy: 

Pet-Co: 

PetSmart: 

Rite Aid: 

Ross: 

Safeway: 

Sam’s Club: 

Sears: 

Sephora: Crouch down to conceal, and don’t go around in circles too much. If you have a blind spot, gather everything you want, conceal, and discreetly leave. Walk around the check out area so you look like you’re considering purchasing items.

Sheetz: 

Spencer’s: 

Staples: Same as Office Depot.

Stop & Shop: 

Sunglass Hut: Easier to bring an old pair of sunglasses and switch them. Check tags, and don’t go if it’s not busy. LP situation is unknown but it’s good to practice sleight of hand.

Target: Uses RFID and hard tags. Notoriously hard to lift from, build’s cases, and employees and security are allowed to chase.

Things Remembered:

Toys R Us: 

Tuesday Morning: 

Ulta: Easier than Sephora. Conceal in haircare or while crouching. They cannot chase. Watch out for customers and don’t linger around too much in blind spots.

Vans: 

Virginia Diner Shoppe:

Walmart:

Walgreens:

Wawa:

Wegman’s:

Zumiez: 

7-Eleven: Easy to lift food and candy. Don’t exactly know if they have tags but if you body conceal

There's info still needed so dm me to help!

[beautyandlifestyleblog86]

Ways to practice eco-friendly living in your home

1. Reduce energy consumption:

- Install energy-efficient appliances and LED light bulbs.

- Turn off lights and unplug electronics when not in use.

- Use natural light as much as possible.

- Set your thermostat to a lower temperature in winter and higher in summer.

- Insulate your home properly to reduce heating and cooling needs.

2. Save water:

- Fix any leaks in faucets and toilets promptly.

- Install low-flow showerheads and faucets.

- Collect rainwater for watering plants.

- Only run the dishwasher and washing machine with full loads.

- Use a broom instead of a hose to clean outdoor spaces.

3. Practice waste reduction:

- Recycle paper, plastic, glass, and metal.

- Compost kitchen scraps and yard waste.

- Opt for reusable products instead of disposable ones (e.g., cloth napkins, rechargeable batteries).

- Avoid single-use plastics, such as plastic bags and water bottles.

- Use a reusable shopping bag.

4. Use eco-friendly cleaning products:

- Choose natural, non-toxic cleaning products or make your own using ingredients like vinegar, baking soda, and lemon juice.

- Avoid products containing harmful chemicals that can harm the environment and your health.

5. Grow your own food:

- Plant a garden to grow vegetables, fruits, and herbs.

- Use organic and natural fertilizers instead of synthetic ones.

- Compost food scraps to enrich the soil.

6. Opt for sustainable materials:

- Choose furniture made from sustainable materials like bamboo or reclaimed wood.

- Use eco-friendly flooring options like bamboo, cork, or reclaimed hardwood.

- Select paint and other finishes that have low or no volatile organic compounds (VOCs).

7. Reduce plastic waste in the kitchen:

- Use glass or stainless-steel containers for food storage instead of plastic.

- Replace plastic wrap with beeswax wraps or reusable silicone covers.

- Use refillable water bottles and avoid buying bottled water.

8. Conserve energy in the kitchen:

- Use energy-efficient appliances.

- Cook with lids on pots and pans to retain heat and reduce cooking time.

- Opt for smaller appliances like toaster ovens instead of full-sized ovens when possible.

9. Encourage sustainable transportation:

- Use public transportation, walk, or bike whenever possible.

- Carpool or arrange a car-sharing service with neighbors or colleagues.

- Transition to an electric or hybrid vehicle if feasible.

10. Educate and involve your family:

- Teach your family about the importance of eco-friendly practices and involve them in the decision-making process.

- Encourage everyone to adopt sustainable habits and lead by example.

- Discuss environmental issues and brainstorm new ideas for greener living.

[once-upon-helluvaboss]

Rewrite of the end of 'The Harvest Moon Festival'

Stella sat in an office, presumably her’s, breathing heavily, her glowing pink eyes staring down at her electronic phone. She stared at Stolas’s name typed in the search bar; she repeatedly refreshed the page before scrolling and then refreshing again.

She scrolled to bottom the page ready to refresh it again before she saw it, an article from the wrath ring. Her eyes widened with excitement seeing Stolas’s name, until she read the rest of it. ‘Goetia Prince Stolas professes love for imp dick?!?!’ in big bold letters. She clicked the headline quickly, skimming through the article, the website was terribly made, so many misspellings she assumed whatever imp had pulled it together favourite colour was red.

“I expect nothing more from those imps…” Stella hissed gripping the phone tighter, however considering it was an imp she doubted anyone would believe a word they said. “If they could even read it!” She cackled, ready to disregard the article I mean who would even take it seriously? Even with Stolas’s recent behaviour she doubted he would do something that outlandish. He was a cheater not an idiot, right?

She chuckled ready to exit out of the page until she saw a video attached, her eyes widened in horror as she clicked it. The video was clearly recorded on a shotty camera but it was still easy to tell it was Stolas, her breathing became unsteady as he listened to her husband talk about some imps dick. And more importantly he wasn't dead.

She replayed the video over and over as she felt herself becoming overtaken with rage, the tips of her fingers covered in a pink flame as she scratched at her desk. She slammed the phone down, surely breaking the screen as an imp Butler peeked his head in the door.

“I’m sorry but, didn't your mother teach you how to knock!?” She seethed, snapping her head toward the imp.

The imp gave a comically loud gulp, as he entered the room walking over to Stella her rotary phone on a platter in his hand, “Apologies miss,” the imp started readjusting his collar averting his eyes from Stella’s rage filled gaze. “But it's an urgent call for you, so I came as soon as I heard it-” The phone rang before he could finish.

Stella’s eyes softened a bit at his explanation, silently beckoning him over, the imp did just that walking until he was right next to her.

Stella grabbed the phone bringing it to her ear, the disgruntled voice of Striker the assassin she had hired came on, “Listen ma’am there's been a complication…” Striker started,

“You failed.” Stella said in a tone a lot calmer than Striker expected.

“I-i know ma’am I-”

“I had to pay you extra because of your ‘spouse fee' and this is the service I get?!” Stella screeched over the phone.

Striker pulled the phone away from his ear as he yelled, “I know I know, I’ll discount you on tha’ final payment. But don't worry ma'am… it won’t happen again.” Striker assured

Stella drummed her fingers on the already charred table, “It better not! I want that cheating prick dead!” Stella growled, her hand engulfed in flames again. “I don’t care who or what you have to go through, MAKE IT HAPPEN!” Stella yelled, practically incinerating a large chunk of her desk, as Striker pulled the phone away from his ear once again.

“Am I clear?” Stella said her voice shaking with rage as she smashed her fist into the table, falling back into her chair.

“Very,” Striker responds, Stella huffs in satisfaction, as she drops the phone onto the receiver.

“I’ll get next him time” Striker grins as he sits on the bed in the crappy motel he is stationed at. He chuckles, shutting off the light in the room hissing to himself as he plots his next move.

The imp next to Stella gulped again as she seethed , “Um also, miss dinner is ready and your hus-” He faked a cough as Stella’s eyes shifted towards him, “Your daughter requested you join them,” The imp butler said softly.

Stella grumbled to herself ready to decline Octavia’s request not wanting to see Stolas that evening, “She was also hoping to show you an outfit she had gotten after word!” The butler added

Stella sighed, “I suppose I have nothing better to do…" She replied, rising from her seat, the butler gave a small smile setting down the rotary phone into Stella’s desk. He rushed to the door holding it open while he held the platter under his arm, as Stella silently excited without uttering another word.

_______________________________________________

And another one finished! Again this is a short one, while I guess I didn't mind the original episode I had issues.

For one I feel like revealing that Stolas was just sitting there while she was saying all this and not reacting took away from the fear factor. Any real fear for Stolas's safety was taken away from the audience which makes it difficult to take both Stella and Striker seriously. So here I changed that, meaning at this point in the story while Stolas has his suspicions, he doesn't know for sure it was Stella who called the hit.

I also added the thing with Octavia because these two have had zero interaction in the show, so I wanted to characterize their relationship a bit more.

Also yes, I will eventually get around to fixing the formatting on the circus rewrite, I actually did a few days ago but it didn't save :').

[archangeldyke-all]

What about Sevika as a librarian👀

omg im crying

men and minors dni

it doesn't seem like it'd make sense at first, but if you think about it, it's a quiet job, and sevika loves quiet. it's a way to help people, and i think deep down that's all sevika wants to do. she also loves reading, so it's perfect for her.

sevika in glasses???? omg...

she loves helping people working on research projects. whether it's a kid doing their science fair project or a phd student scouring the shelves for an obscure academic publication. it's like a puzzle for her, scouring the shelves, searching the databases, helping someone find the answers they seek.

she swears she hates kids, but on thursday evenings she can be found reading aloud to the kids who come in for after school activities. the material isn't always appropriate for school aged children-- murder mysteries and horror stories-- but the kids love it and sevika tries to censor herself when she can remember.

she's a huge advocate for all the free services the library offers. always tells people about the electronics available for checkout, the job fairs they host every month.

you come into the library after moving to town, looking to get a new library card for your new city.

sevika's eager to clock out and go home, but she sees you waiting at the tail end of a long line of people wanting to check out books, and she sits her ass right back down in her rolling chair.

when you finally get to the front of the line, sevika gets tongue tied and flustered trying to help you.

you think she's cute, stumbling over her words and repeating your name under her breath when you give it to her.

you notice the little lesbian flag in her pen holder and grin.

"is that yours or is this a co-workers desk?" you ask, nodding to the flag. she chokes.

"m-mine." she grunts out. you grin.

"cool." you say. you pull your keys out of your back pocket, showing her your own pride keychain. "me too." you say. sevika gawks at you for nearly a full minute before she manages to pull her eyes back down to the screen in front of her.

she finishes printing and magnetizing your card, handing it over to you.

"you don't need my number?" you ask. sevika shakes her head no.

"your address and email are enough for a library c--"

"not for the card." you say. sevika freezes. you shrug. "sorry. thought we were flirting a bit." you say, embarrassed, collecting your new card and turning to leave.

"wait!" sevika shouts, scrambling to reach over the desk and grab your wrist. "yes. please. i'll take your number. if you want... to... give it to me." she finishes awkwardly. you grin, and grab a sharpie from her pen holder, jotting your number down on her hand.

she watches you go, ignoring the next customer until you're out of sight.

the first thing she does once you're gone is program your number into her phone, holding a finger up in a 'one second' motion to the patron standing before her.

she gets shit from him for being so slow, but it doesn't even bother her. nothing can bring her down now that she's got your number.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix

[ourtalechara]

Don't ask what I'm doing I'm not doing anything (VBS Data Stream guys look at it)

Kohane An Akito Toya and Luka

(actually nice and finished looking lyrics under cut)

Eventually, all walls meet demolition

So Wall Street had to keep the tradition

Their financial systems resigned to ignition

And out of the ashes, we have arisen

An empire is forged in the fire of ambition

In business, there isn't the time for attrition

Invest to suppress then ingest competition

Then each acquisition is new ammunition

When governments crumble and fall to the floor

That was paved with the graves of a corporate war

A fundament funded in blood just to shore

A foundation for founding our covenant

Born of a need for control of societal entropy

Enterprise at the price of your indemnity

Chart out the course and of course you were meant to be

Bent to the will of a corporate entity

Arasaka Security. You're in safe hands

We're the light in your screens, we're the lead in your veins

Then you wake from your dreams, so we can sell them again

In the light we distract with the shiny and new

So you're blind to the fact that the product is you

So let your brain dance and replay the dream

But don't drown in the data stream

'Cause we see where you are and we see where you go

'Cause we know what you own and we own what you know

From the top of all our towers, the corridors of power clearly need rewiring

Arasaka saw the spark and then embarked upon the path to turn that spark to lightning

There's no autonomous megalopolis so populous or prosperous you could reside in

And every citizen that's living in this city is a digit on the charts we're climbing

Political systems are too inefficient

They split like the atom and burned in the fission

Now every department and every decision

Defer to the herds of our corporate divisions

If you don't remember the ballot you cast

It's printed on every receipt you were passed

Each time you selected our products and services

We were elected in each of your purchases

What's left to do when you've got the monopoly?

Turn the consumer into the commodity

It isn't hard where you've hardware neurology

Honestly, do read the company policy

Take information and trade it for wealth

You pay it in each augmentation we sell

It's easy to cut out the middleman

When he's cut out most of himself

Arasaka Finance. Investing in your future

(chorus)

All that you say on the net we composite

To maps that go straight from your head to your pocket

Complain if you want, you're still making deposits

Of data — each day you log on is a profit

Society currently lists electronic

So isn't conducting resistance ironic?

We've plenty of skeletons locked in our closets

But yours are assembled from old-stock hydraulics

So lucky we know just the pieces you need

All plucked from your social media feeds

The places you go and the posts that you read

All snatched for a new algorithm to feed

Now, holding our gold isn't par for the brand

Our silver is sat in the palm of your hand

Quit whining and sign on the line in the sand

The supply does not get to make the demands

(chorus)

Arasaka Manufacturing. Building a better tomorrow

Name, age, qualifications

Race, faith, career aspirations

Political leaning, daily commute

Marital status, favourite fruit

Family, browser, medical history

Hobbies, interests, brand affinity

Fashion, style, your occupation

Gender identity, orientation

Lifestyle choices, dietary needs

The marketing contact you choose to receive

Posts, likes, employers, friends

Social bias, exploitable trends

Tastes, culture, phone of choice

Facial structure, the tone of your voice

If it's inside your head, we know

You can't escape the ebb and flow

(chorus)

When guiding the hand of the market

If it's holding a cheque or a gun

The fingers go deep in your pockets

And you can live under the thumb

You seem so surprised, what did you expect?

We're thinking outside of that box that you checked

The terms were presented in full to inspect

You scrolled to the end just to get to "Accept"

Arasaka would like to know your location

Arasaka would like to know your location

Arasaka would like to know your location

Arasaka would like to know your location